#...AND I STILL HAVE THE STUPID MIGRAINE it's just a little less Total | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

revirushifaa · 3 years

Note

Ummm let's seee: Girl MC who just remembered that she had a check-up in the human world and has hidden it from the brothers and they have to take them there because they don't want her to get sick in the Devildom? Hope this is okay!

Oh sure! A HC request this time because I would have to write lots, but here is this! I hate doctors too anon, so I can relate to MC here ;w;

PS: I'm sorry for not including Belphie, I just have no idea how to write him and I don't want to ruin his character. So just six bros in this. I hope it is okay, I'm well with the six ones that I have been learning about so much.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Scared of the Doctor F!MC:

Lucifer and MC:

*When MC wasn't acting her normal self one day, he noticed how she was all tense and flinching at any form of contact, he wondered what was up with her, but at first he didn't ask her just let it continue, until he thought it was enough and time to ask her.

*Finally, when it had gotten enough of it, Lucifer went to confront her.

"MC, what is the matter with you? Why are you acting too anxious? Is there something wrong?"

"W-what? Something wrong with me? N-no, of course not, I'm totally fine!"

*MC was just a terrible liar, she wasn't making eye contact with Lucifer when she was trying to deny that there wasn't anything wrong with her.

*At Lucifer's mighty icey glare, MC spit out the beans and explained to him that she had to go to a doctor appointment in her world, because she was just a very sickly human but it scared her because she hated doctors; specially if there where.... NEEDLES.

*Lucifer told her without hesitation that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he was going to go with her where she had to go. If she needed him to hold her hand like an infant, then he would.

*MC felt at least a little better when he was so determined to not leave her alone.

*They went to there, MC is all jittery and even uptight than how she was in the Devildom. Lucifer held her hand and tightly, didn't let go of it and waited in the waiting room with her until she was called for her turn.

*She's patient number 3 and said that she wasn't the patient that got called, and would've immediately bolted out of there if Lucifer hadn't gripped her hand tightly and forbidden her from going a centimeter further.

*He would gain a huge migraine as he had to carry MC over the shoulder as she started screaming in fear, once he entered the doctor's consultory, he sighed looking drained.

"Excuse her... she just doesn't like the doctor at all."

*As expected, MC needs to take a shot and she had a very scene in there, where she screamed and kicked Lucifer right where the sun doesn't shine in her panic. He would need something to recover from that... but whatever. He held her cheeks and made her look at his eyes and just for her made the attractive of faces, just so he could distract her.

*The shot was given and MC didn't even feel a thing, not even the sting of a bee. Lucifer sighed, still sore from down below but whatever, something like that wouldn't weaken him and soon he treated MC to ice cream, just like a little child.

Mammon and MC:

*"Oi, the heck is wrong with ya?" Was the first thing Mammon asked MC when she was just tense and jittery. Something was off, MC was not like this.

"...Doctor."

"Huh?"

"I need to go to the hell of a doctor....!"

*Oh. She was deadly afraid of the doctor. Well, he can help her and make her visit to the doctor a less terrifying one.

"You don't need to be worried about a thing! The Mammon got ya!"

*They arrived at the doctor's. Because MC had told him about her life and everything, Mammon could answer to all the questions for MC because she was just a stammering mess and she couldn't get a word out of her mouth. They were given the number five and they went to sit down.

*They're called to enter and immediately MC refuses hanging from the doorknob. Mammon sighed and tried to detach her from the doorknob.

"C'mon, MC! Let's enter, the quick we go inside the quicker we'll get out of here, I promise I'll treat ya to something that you like!!"

*The doorknob is yanked off the door. Mammon said that he would use Lucifer's credit card for it, no worries. But they could enter now and the Avatar of Greed sits down next to MC and lets the doctor do the check up.

*MC needs a shot and she is ready to run away but Mammon catches her and locks her in a steely grip, girl is screaming her lungs out and Mammon tries to keep her in place. His face results getting harshly slapped, but he doesn't lose it and now distracts MC by telling her a fun story about Lucifer's childhood. It works as the human turns to him and is intrigued.

*Shot is given and MC can be done with this nightmare. Mammon sighs in relief and smiles, though there is a huge red hand print over his cheek, but he pays it no mind.

*He takes MC to get some nice treat as he promised her for at least getting her shot and staying in place during the whole check up. And he used Lucifer's credit card to pay for everything that MC destroyed in her big panic.

Leviathan and MC:

*MC came to Levi herself and knocked on his door. It was panicky knocks, so Levi went out his room.

"MC? What's the matter? You seem so uptight."

"Levi... I don't feel so good about today..."

"What about today? What's happening today?"

*So she had to go to the doctor and she was very, very frightened about it. Levi told her that she had nothing to be afraid of, he was coming with her and be there through the whole ordeal.

*MC could at least say all her information to the secretary, but she was full on grabbing Levi's hand without even thinking of letting it go. She was given the seventh turn and then she went to sit in the waiting room with Levi next to her, waiting for their turn to come.

*Since MC was all jittery and anxious, Levi decided to distract her with any of her favorite anime, so he chose one and the two of them got full on watching it together, it really was distracting as MC was totally distracted by it, for a moment she had forgotten about the check up.

*Eventually their turn came, and MC jumped, excusing herself that she wanted to go the bathroom, but it was all to stall entering the doctor consultory. Levi knew about it though, and took her hand in his again.

"I'll go to the anime store with you to get the last chapter of the manga that you're currently reading, MC-chan. For now be a valiant human and go to your quest of getting over with this check up! Like Henry would've done!"

*During the whole check up, MC manages to remain still and let the doctor examine her. Then it was revealed that she needed a shot and that didn't go well at all with her, so she turned to Levi and immediately hugged him, shaking.

*Levi wrapped his arms aroung her, and whispered soothing things in her ear, distracting her from the thought of the shot. He made it a good time for her, because she became distracted by everything that he had told her and she didn't feel nothing, not even the tiniest of pinches.

"You did so good, MC. I'm so proud of you. Now let's go get that manga as reward!"

*They both went to the anime store as promised. MC didn't really make a huge of a scene in there, so Levi went out of this ordeal without any bruise or slap, just as perfect as he was.

Satan and MC:

*When Satan was going to the kitchen to get a drink, he noticed a very anxious MC slumped up by the corner and having just a small glass of water, but even her hands were shaking so much, he rose a brow and approached her.

"What's up MC? Why are you so anxious?"

"Nothing really.... it's a stupid thing."

"No thing is as stupid as Mammon's own stupidity. C'mon, tell me."

*MC explained to him that she was so frightened of the doctor and that he really didn't have to worry about something so lame about that. But Satan shook his head and told her that it wasn't stupid, he will go with her and make the visit to the doctor a calid one.

*So the two went to the hospital located in the human world. MC wouldn't stop gripping Satan's arm as they walked to there. It was Satan who had to give her info to the secretary, because the human girl was being too stuttery to speak clearly. after that they were given the second turn, which was what put MC even anxious than before.

"Calm down, kitten. You don't have to feel scared, because I am here. Honest. After this, let's go get a treat." He used a soft tone when he said that to her, holding onto her hand as they went to sit and wait for twenty minutes until their turn came along.

*To calm her down and give her more tranquility, he shows her pictures of cute cats, and it was all enough to make her feel less anxious to see a person in a white coat with that thing around the neck that he still had no idea what was the name.

*Twenty minutes later came their turn and Satan led MC over to the office, he was grabbing her hand and making it clear that he had no intentions of just leaving her alone with that person, he didn't trust the doctor so he was a little protective of MC, seeing how anxious she was with all this idea.

*MC sat still there. The doctor came and began doing the check up and the normal stuff that doctors made. It was a quick check up and all what the human girl needed was just a tiny little shot. She looked more tensed than before and hid her face unto Satan's shoulder, not resisting but refusing to watched the needle. Satan let her do that and caressed her hair. By the time she opened her eyes, the shot was given to her and she didn’t feel a thing, she was finally free from this nightmare, or at least she believed it was a big nightmare to go to a place where she felt insecure.

“Come now, kitten. We’re going out for a nice treat, you’ve earned it.” He said softly to her and off they were to get that nice treat.

Asmodeus and MC:

*Oh dear, when Asmo heard a loud screech coming from MC as she ran over and ended up crashing with him. His arms immediately captured her and she was hysterical.

“Woah, woah. What’s the matter, MC dear? Who put you in this state? One of my brothers? Satan? Lucifer?”

“They didn’t hurt me... I’m escaping from them!”

“Why?”

*He understood then, that the girl was scared of a check up at the doctor’s. After telling the others that the one who would be going with MC was him, he reassured her that he wouldn’t leave her alone. He only wanted what was best for her health, MC was a very sickly human so her check ups were not ignored, it was an important rule.

*With an arm around her shoulders, Asmo led her inside the hospital. The girl was very, very uptight and she really didn’t want to have to go through this, but she had to. They couldn’t risk losing her to illness. He told the secretary all of her info, and then let her to the chairs to wait for their turn which was just after three patient.

*Let her lean her head against his shoulder, his caresses didn’t stop at all he wasn’t going to let her go or leave alone when she needed the company that she could get, because she was just to uptight.

*They were called and the fifth born was ready to get her in as he had both his arms around her and walked righ inside the consultory. All the while MC is near him and refuses to let him go. Let the doctor do her check up without any protest.

*When she needed a shot, Asmodeus covered her eyes and whispered stuff in her ear, she wasn’t looking the tiny shot and when it was given to her she didn’t even feel it, she didn’t believe herself that she actually managed to go to the doctor without causing much of an scene in there.

“There. All done, darling. We can go to wherever you want to go you won’t need to go back there for quite a long time!”

*And off they were to wherever MC wanted to go, which was the best part of a doctor’s appointment.

Beelzebub and MC:

*MC was hiding in the kitchen behind the fridge. Beel was just going to his favorite place to get a meal, and what he saw was MC behing the fridge.

“MC? What are you doing there?”

“...?”

*She didn’t even know someone else was there when she was hiding. She sighed. She could lie to him or sabotage him into keeping the secret of the doctor just between them.

“Oh nothing, Beel. I was just... hiding.”

“Why are you hiding?”

“If I allow you to eat all my daily meals, will you keep a secret, Beel?”

“Mm... you’re being strange. You would always eat all first so I don’t eat yours. What’s all this about?”

*And soon MC told him what happened. She had a doctor’s appointment and she was just frightned. While the idea of eating more because of MC was wonderful, Beel couldn’t allow that. He didn’t want MC to fall ill because she skipped a check up.

“MC, you know I can’t do that. Food wouldn’t be the same as letting you fall ill... you will come with me to the doctor...”

*Beel had her in his arms as he walked to the clinic. She had nearly two panic episodes there, so the Avatar of Gluttony had to go with her all the way round to there. He let MC say her info as he really didn’t know much of her, MC hadn’t really told him much about her life.

*They waited. Beel’s stomach is growling once again. MC kept trying to sabotage him into just going out of the place. But Beel wouldn’t comply, he restrained himself and the urge of eating. A world without MC wasn’t the same at all.

*Soon they were called to go inside the office and MC was slowing down, as the demon had to pick her up again and walked inside with her. He sat with her on the stretcher, keeping next to her. The check up went well, until the shot was brought up.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

MC had a fierce scene right there, and Beel had to hold her down so she wouldn’t go, he was kicked further by accident. He didn’t say anything only grunted at the kicks. He then told MC to close her eyes and relax. The girl was grabbed so she wouldn’t get off. She did just that, thinking of her ideal world.

*pinch*

The shot was given and there was nothing else left to be done. Beel pat her head gently.

“That’s all. Reward for going on well with your check up, you pick the place.”

*And off they went to a sushi place the had just opened in the human world. MC didn’t have to go to the doctor for at least a few months ahead.

#obey me imagines #obey me #obey me shall we date #female mc #headcanons #belphie not included #demon brothers #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub

88 notes · View notes

codename-adler · 4 years

Text

foxes + onesies (7/9)

based off of that one post i saw and don’t remember, where people once caught Allison wandering around Fox Tower in a giraffe onesie, and i absolutely melted for her. here is the Foxes’ journey to getting a onesie each!

Andrew

TW: mentions/implications of sexual abuse

Andrew does not get a onesie

instead, he watches Lilo & Stitch, alone, in his bed, on his laptop

the first time he saw the movie, it was in theaters

he was 4 or 5, maybe

it was with one of his first foster families, who cared for three other foster kids, all around Andrew’s age: Claire, Kelly and Ben

sometimes he wonders where they are now, but he doesn’t care: it’s just a fleeting thought

Lilo & Stitch marked him for life

something about Nani and Lilo’s relationship, something about family struck him deep

something about it broke his little heart, and he never recovered

and yeah, the aliens were pretty cool too

but Andrew never said anything about it to anyone

except for the year before he turned seven

he was still with the same foster family that had brought him to the movies

for Christmas, instead of asking for the usual necessities like clothes or the very unnecessary candies… Andrew asked for Lilo & Stitch

and he got it

he got the brand new VHS

he kept it under his pillow for a few months, untouched, unopened

at night, he would run his little fingers along the edges of the box, and play the movie in his head

because yes, in one viewing, Andrew had memorized the entire movie and could now remember it scene by scene, eyes closed

Lilo & Stitch was one of the first things he actively committed to his memory

Andrew only put the VHS on when the other kids were out of the house

which, didn’t happen a lot

he watched it maybe three or four times before moving into another foster family

Andrew didn’t care that he left this one, as long as he could keep Lilo & Stitch

the next few foster homes he moved into were packed with kids

like, 8 kids and counting

all his foster parents were either greedy, exhausted, overworked or deeply uncaring

by the time he was 7, Andrew had rewatched his VHS less than five times

he was always so careful with it, he never let anyone touch it, and he often threw hands with whoever dared lay a hand on it

which is part of why, by the time he was 7, Andrew had been through 4 more foster homes

he remembers the night he lost his VHS, though

and he remembers exactly where he left it

he was in a home with 9 other kids ranging from 7 months to 13 years old

the foster mother was a lazy woman, but very stressed out and impatient

the 7-months-old that had just joined them 2 weeks ago was giving everyone migraines

one night, the woman couldn’t take it anymore; she had to get rid of some kids

but instead of calling child services to take away the baby, she told them to come pick up “three cases”

Andrew knew he was one of them, somehow

he slipped out the backdoor and into the garden

he dug a hole in the far back, with his bare hands

he buried Lilo & Stitch right there and then

he slipped into the house again, unnoticed

he washed his hands of the cold, wet, black dirt without a second thought

child services came that night and left with Andrew and the other two oldest kids

Andrew didn’t care, he just thought that the woman was stupid

Andrew wasn’t fun, wasn’t cute, wasn’t nice

but at least he didn’t talk, didn’t cry, took care of himself

after that home, he was transferred to a new one, where he was alone

a middle-aged couple took him in, Sandra and Harvey Whittaker

it was that home

Andrew was glad his VHS never touched a thing from that dirty house

the rest, as they say, was history

Andrew never saw the movie again

he never once closed his eyes to recall every minute of Lilo and Stitch’s adventures, never uttered a word about it, never even glanced at anything resembling a blue little alien or a red hawaiian pattern

until Palmetto

it was totally by accident

Andrew had gone on his usual convenience store runs to buy ice cream

(he was thinking bubble gum or peanut butter rocky road)

and right there, next to the register, a DVD stand

with all the Fast & Furious, the Marvel movies, Stuart Little…

and Lilo & Stitch

Andrew bought it on a whim

he went back to his dorms with his movie and his pints of ice cream, and locked himself in his room

he put it on his laptop, and watched

it was still the same

it was still good

it was still Lilo, and Stitch, and Nani

(David was, well, quite good-looking now, though)

(but why did he have to be called David? that was Wymack’s name, it was an ugly name, a boner-killing name. why.)

as the credits rolled, Andrew removed the DVD from his laptop, put in back into its box and hid it in his desk

Andrew went on with his life as if nothing had happened

but that wasn’t… nothing

and so now, in present-day Fox Tower, the Foxes had got it into their heads to make one Neil Josten watch the Disney classics

mind you, Neil didn’t care at all

action movies or intense movies could keep his attention long enough, but “baby movies”, as he called them, did nothing for him

but these Disney nights served as bonding time for the Foxes, and Neil could sneak a nap in the back of the room while Andrew played with his hair

however, one night, when Matt had suggested they watch Lilo & Stitch next, Andrew had left the room without a word

which, not unusual per se, but Neil could tell it didn’t mean nothing

he didn’t follow Andrew, nobody did, but Neil waited until half the movie to go looking for him

he found him in his room, in his bed, his laptop illuminating his face

Neil went to stand at the end of the bed

Neil: Yes or no?

Andrew: …Yes.

Neil got into Andrew’s bed and laid down beside Andrew, face smushed into the pillows, a foot of space between their bodies

Neil angled his head backwards to glimpse at the screen

and right there

Lilo & Stitch

Neil looked up at Andrew, then back at the screen, then again at Andrew

he didn’t smile

he didn’t tease

he didn’t move

he didn’t say a word

he just looked at Andrew, and looked, and looked and looked and looked…

Andrew: Staring.

Neil stopped, then, and curled himself on his side, eyes trained on the screen

Andrew removed his earbuds, lowered the volume of his laptop and put on the subtitles for Neil, because he knew that would give him something more to focus on

they watched the whole movie together

Neil stayed awake

Andrew stayed put

Neil stayed

Andrew stayed

it’s a month later, when Neil comes back from class and checks their P.O. box

it’s there

he goes up to the girls’ dorm and asks Renee for her Post-Its

he then goes back to his dorm, where Andrew is sitting on his bed, with his laptop

Neil simply chucks him the package but doesn’t wait for Andrew’s reaction

on the plastic bag, a single orange Post-It with Neil’s terrible handwriting

Ohana

Andrew knows what it is

he’s seen the others

with their ugly-ass wannabe pajamas

he rips the plastic open nonetheless, because it’s a package, it demands to be opened

and yeah, it is what he knew it was

an oversized, velvety blue onesie

it’s Stitch

it grants Neil a 399%

so, maybe Andrew wears it, maybe he doesn’t

because he didn’t want a onesie

and, technically, Andrew did not get a onesie

but Neil did

yet, Andrew keeps it, and the Post-It

because maybe he did want a onesie

because it’s Stitch

because it’s from Neil

because Ohana

127 notes · View notes

olivinesea · 3 years

Note

Oooh fun! Okay, do you have any headcannons or thoughts on a dyslexic Hotch? I feel like I never see dyslexia with any characters really, and I like the idea of him with it. And if you do and you want to write something about it, a dyslexic Hotch with the team (and them being the supportive and protective family they are?) Thank you! ❤️

I hope you have fun, wherever/whatever you’re doing!!

I love this so much!! Thank you :) okay I don’t have much personal experience with dyslexia so hopefully I get this decently accurate. The biggest thing that surprised me when I was doing a quick search is that it isn’t actually a matter of reading words or letters backwards? It’s more an inability to connect letters to the appropriate sounds or to break words up into component parts; a general phonological awareness struggle.

So, as with many things, it seems to me to be a matter of slowing down, learning at your own pace. This ties in nicely with so many of my other Hotch thoughts, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. Idk what this is, it’s neither headcanon nor proper story but hopefully it’s something like what you were looking for:

When he’s a kid he gets called a slow learner due to his undiagnosed dyslexia. It was much less common to get that kind of diagnosis back then in general and I am sure his dad would have hated the idea of his son needing any kind of extra help. So he’s slow to speak, slow to learn how to read, has difficulty with numbers, absolutely hates being called on to read out loud because it’s actual torture and the other kids have no hesitation about laughing at him. So he becomes withdrawn, labeled a “bad kid,” stops trying because, fuck it, he never gets any kind of support, who cares right? It’s always a fight at home, he starts hiding his work, lying about his grades. This works for awhile bc his parents are distracted by other things. His problems are much bigger than grades by the time they do notice.

However, while he hates school and the way people talk about him and his struggles, like he isn’t even there, he discovers that he doesn’t hate learning. There’s a small library in town where he found he could hide out, no one bothering him for hours if he just sat still for with a book open. He was good at sitting still, at being invisible. But eventually a librarian notices that he’s always got the same book open, some sort of technical manual, that he is rarely turning the pages. She asks him if he likes what he’s reading. He’s just alarmed to be spoken to, afraid that being noticed means he will soon no longer have this sanctuary. He nods and tries to bluff his way through but it’s obvious he hasn’t read it, despite having looked at it for weeks straight. The librarian doesn’t say anything outright, just lets him be for now.

Next time she sees him she brings him a different book, a collection of Grimms fairy tales. He wants to complain that it’s for little kids but is too nervous to refuse it. She asks if she can read him her favorite story from it. It’s dark and twisted and fantastical and he can’t help but be drawn in by it. He’s sad when she’s done reading, wants to hear it again, to capture all the details to replay to himself later. She shows him where it starts, encourages him to read it himself. He doesn’t look at her bc he doesn’t want her to see how upset he is by that, already frustrated by the anticipation that he won’t be able to get through it. But she stays with him, helping him where he gets stuck, asking him questions about the story, making sure it’s making sense to him.

They slowly work their way through the whole collection over the course of months. They spend days on each story, repeating it until he’s confident, she never makes him feel like he’s taking too long or wasting her time. Sometimes has to reread a section multiple times, gets hung up on the language rather than the story but it’s okay, she gives him a notebook to copy down parts that spin too loudly in his mind, saving them and also releasing him from their hold so he can move forward. She lets him keep the book, tells him it was too old to stay in circulation anyway, they had a new copy on order already. She’s the first person who was patient with him, that showed him he could do it, he just needed a little more time, a little more practice than other kids.

In college this is part of why he spends so much time at the library. Part of it is his natural inclination to overwork himself, push until he’s given more than he can in hopes that it might be almost enough. He knows he’s never been enough, why would that change just because he’s in a new place? But the other part is he simply needs more time to get through the coursework, to make it through the excessive amounts of reading he’s assigned. Some other students don’t even bother to read but he would never do that, he makes sure that he not only reads every chapter assigned but he reads it again, takes notes, highlights, annotates, does everything in his power to be prepared. Sure he might work himself to the point of exhaustion, to the point where he makes himself sick (though he’ll try to deny that too) but he’s never caught trying to read something while others wait for his answer, the letters and sounds meaningless, slipping away from him faster the more eyes he feels turn towards him, wondering what could be taking so long. No one ever gets the chance to laugh at him for being slow in college, he never allows them to see that side of him.

As an adult, the leader of the BAU, he’s too well respected for anyone to dare laugh at him but he still hates feeling unprepared. This ends up looking like long nights in the office, reviewing case files to the point of memorization, so that he won’t have to read any of it in front of his team. He can if he has to, he’s developed skills over the years, ways to calm the panic that only makes it harder, can fake it well enough that no one would really notice. Until one day, distracted by a migraine and the fallout of some fight with Haley, he gets stuck. He can’t remember something and he tries to read the sentence that has the information but the stupid word just won’t resolve into sounds that make sense and he just stops talking. He’s glaring at the form like it might catch fire. No one says anything for a moment while he tries to refocus, tries to work around echoes of laughter, decades long past but always ready to jump out at him if he lets his guard down, allows a mistake, a tired moment to derail the image of perfect competence that he’s built around himself. Penelope jumps in, finishing the thought, completing the list of traits shared by the victims. He forces himself to smile at her because he really is grateful, it wasn’t her fault. She scrunches her nose at him, dismissing his silent thanks with a toss of her head. It was nothing, everyone needs a little assist now and then.

No one brings it up and he doubles his efforts not to let anyone see. But he’s so tired on the plane coming back from a case, he’s been staring the same forms for an hour at least. He can feel his ears turning red with frustration. There’s really no reason he has to do this now but the fact that his mind is refusing, almost seems to be teasing him, makes him dig in harder. Emily sits down opposite him, pulling the folder away without asking. He’s about to say something sharp, something he’ll regret saying to her when he really means it for himself, but the expression on her face is so odd, smiling with a frown between her eyebrows. It isn’t pity, she respects him far too much, but there is curiosity and something else, something soft.

“Drink with me.” She slides him a glass and they don’t talk, just look out the window, look at the light playing off the ice in their glasses. He doesn’t see the file again until it appears on his desk, every form neatly filled out, the places needing his signature flagged. All but the last spot, where she’s signed his name eerily perfectly, difficult for even him to see that it’s not his own. Just so he knows she can if she wants to. Equal parts offer and threat.

Penelope and Reid start a book club. Derek joins right away. Emily rolls her eyes when she’s invited, muttering something about spending her free time on more work but they know she will join. Rossi flat out refuses to read the books but offers his house for meetings. Hotch hesitates, wanting to say yes but nervous to commit to an activity like that. He loves books, loves to talk about books. He doesn’t love a time limit on books.

The next time they have to drive to a case, Derek puts on a copy of the audiobook. It’s the first time they make it to a destination without any bickering from the backseat. They don’t get through the whole thing but later he finds a copy of the audiobook on his desk, complete with a disc player and headphones.

A different month, Reid tells him about how his mother always used to read him books and somehow finesses an offer to read to Hotch without him even realizing he’s accepted it. So Spencer comes in to Hotch’s office on lunch breaks occasionally and reads to him whatever the book of the month is. He loves it, remembering the first person who read to him, how shocked he’d been to be treated with patience, with understanding and wondering how he got so lucky to be surrounded by people like her, so ready to support him, wanting him there with them rather than off alone, uselessly fighting with himself to prove his self sufficiency over some uncooperative letters.

Okay, that was so much more than I was planning on but here we are. I hope you liked it and thank you SO much for the idea. If you ever have any others you want to share I am totally here for it. :)

Send me requests!

22 notes · View notes

beeexx · 3 years

Text

A little Tarlos moment fron 2x09

Read on ao3

TK’s headache has moved further down from his forehead, to settle like a blanket of pain wrapped over his eyes instead. It makes sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair all the more worse, the bright light doing nothing other than adding to his growing discomfort and slight nausea. He is tapping his leg, the sound bouncing off the quiet sleepy room, and he thinks that the only reason Marjan hasn’t whacked him to make it stop is because she’s still pitying him over his brief spell in a room similar to the one Judd is in for a concussion that still hasn’t completely gone away. He moves his head between his legs, closes his eyes to try and drown out some of the blinding lights and breathes through his nose.

He keeps bouncing his leg though.

TK hates hospitals. He has many reasons for disliking them but he’s never had to spend a night on the edge of his seat, worried sick for people he cares about before, not in this capacity at least and it’s making him feel sick.

The worst thoughts rush through to the surface unbidden. What if he never gets to see either one of them again, hear them laugh, joke around with Judd, dinner at their place every other Sunday. What if Judd doesn’t make it? What if Grace dies? What if -

“Hi, you okay?” It’s Carlos of course, back from his coffee run, who gently places a hand on his shoulder. TK tenses for a moment, caught off guard and suddenly ready to bolt right out of his seat. He can’t fully tamper down his reaction and Carlos notices of course. TK thinks he’s probably frowning and it doesn’t take long for Carlos to start to shuffle around until he’s sitting on the ground in front of TK, coffee cup left forgotten on the chair. TK opens his mouth-

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, it’s very obvious that you aren’t.” Carlos chastises making TK look up from the ground he’s been staring holes at. His lip twitches though and he nods.

“Yeah, I won’t.” He promises and it makes Carlos’ worry lines less prominent for a moment. His hair is still a little sleep tussled, a few strands of curls at the back Carlos spends ages on each morning to lie flat are now loose and he looks tired, he is probably as tired as TK feels.

It’s been just a few days since the kidnapping and TK’s gotten used to having a particularly sort of nasty headache as his daily companion since then, ruining both his days and nights with spells of pain that won’t go away. Well, it’s probably ruined Carlos’ nights too, judging by the growing circles underneath his eyes, and TK’s constant tossing and turning every time they’re in bed. It’s been a few days of bad sleep and lounging around the house with Carlos worrying. It makes TK feel really bad, he hates it when Carlos worries about him.

Both he and Carlos had however gotten their best night’s sleep in days when the call came through, waking them both and sending TK into a near panic attack when he heard what had happened. He’s strung so ridiculously tight he’s scared he’s going to snap in half and he goes back to bouncing his leg, trying to distract from his discomfort, averting his eyes.

“Hey, no shutting me out.” Carlos gently cups his chin and forces him to meet his eyes, thumb stroking up and down in comforting motions, eyes kind and understanding. TK sighs but he nods.

“Sorry.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat, trying to get the lingering thickness away. He looks away for a moment, sees Mateo is asleep with his head resting on Paul’s shoulder while Paul is reading, frowning slightly as his eyes move across the text, flipping pages now and then. Marjan left with Tommy a while back to go do something TK isn’t sure of exactly and he hasn’t seen his dad for a while either. They are all somewhere near of course, lurking, in case something changes.

“I’m scared.” TK keeps his voice down though, just in case. Carlos nods and moves his hands to cover TK’s thighs, pressing gently down on his right leg to stop the movement. It’s an involuntary reaction on TK’s end that he stops, the effect of Carlos’ touch on him, anchoring, calming him down almost immediately. Carlos gently squeezes his knee.

“I know baby, I am too. But the doctors are optimistic and we have to believe them.”

“They are cautiously optimistic and I don’t know what that means in doctor lingo but cautiously sounds like it’s not something to celebrate yet.” He mutters.

“Maybe not, but it’s not cause for sitting here looking close to fainting either. I don’t think Judd would like it if you ended up in a hospital bed yet again after getting out of one so soon.”

“I would do it if it would make him wake up and bust my balls.”

Carlos' mouth twitches.

“He’s going to wake up.” Carlos says with such conviction TK believes him.

“But what about Grace?” He whispers, dread filling his stomach. Grace with her kind eyes, easy smiles, never ending patience and generous support TK’s not realised he’s cherished this much until she’s suddenly been hurt, with the outlook not seeming good. He is scared, terrified even that she might not make it. He doesn’t know what it would do to Judd if that was to happen. Carlos grows serious and his eyes travel to the room she is in, sadness passing over his features. With Michelle gone a lot Carlos and Grace had formed an easy friendship to fill up that empty space, and so it wasn’t totally unusual that when TK came home after shifts to find Grace and Carlos out on the patio together, drinking lemonade and chatting away, smiles wide and whatever task they had said they would do, long forgotten. It’s not just TK it pains to see Judd and Grace hurt, it pains Carlos just as much and TK immediately reaches forward, cupping Carlos’ cheek and leaning his forehead on his, offering his comfort up like it’s second nature. They both exhale, breathing through it together.

“It’s going to be okay, it has to.” Carlos says quietly and gives himself over to the worry for a moment before he pulls himself together, pushing the worry down. TK knows compartmentalising like Carlos can do is something that isn’t always the healtihest of coping mechanisms. Right now though, TK isn’t going to say anything, god knows he has a terrible track record of bad ways to deal with things, and he wishes at this moment that he could do it too, push it down and focus on something else.

“The doctors say Judd is going to wake up but it will be a few hours until then, so we’re going to have to believe that everything is going to be okay. In the meantime why don’t we go home and shower and change clothes.” He suggests.

“Not to sleep?”

“I’m not aiming that high today, I don’t think either of us will be able to do that. But you don’t look too good right now and it’s worrying me a little, so instead of checking you into this hospital myself I suggest we go back to mine and recharge for a moment and come back with food for everyone. I’m sure they’ll all need it.”

It’s a distraction, probably as much for Carlos as it is for TK, but it’s a distraction born out of kindness and a big heart, the need to do something other than sit here and worry sick. Carlos, TK has learnt during this year, is the kind of person that needs to do something, he’ll feel absolutely useless sitting still. His brain works best when he’s doing things while TK tends to be the other way around, shutting down, unable to do anything other than freezing, standing still in his growing anxiety, until everything boils over and the urge to either get high or do something almost as equally stupid gets too much and he can’t stop it, sending him down bad paths.

So he takes the opportunity and nods. Carlos gets to his feet and holds his hand out for him. TK takes it and gently and carefully Carlos pulls him to his feet and wraps an arm around him immediately. For a moment TK snuggles close, nosing at Carlos’ neck before he moves his head away, focusing on walking instead.

“How’s your head?”

“Sore.” He admits out loud and Carlos frowns. “It’s feeling more like a migrain though so maybe it’s just stress?”

“Maybe, do you want an ice pack?” TK thinks of saying no but he isn’t looking forward to getting into the car with the raging monster banging against his eyelids so he nods. Carlos gently kisses his forehead, squeezes his hand before he walks away, leaving TK alone in the mostly deserted hallway, with his thoughts again.

Being a firefighter has made TK somewhat immune to certain high risk situations, gruesome injuries, fright so visceral people become unpredictable, or shock so silent it feels it lasts for days unable to break free of, and death too, to some extent at least. His dad’s cancer, which had been a suffocating presence, expanding each day inside of TK’s ribcage, making it impossible to focus on anything other than it, giving him little room to exist outside of the anxiety and constant worry. Tim more recently, which had been quick and taking the breath out of him, slamming straight into TK like a block of concrete, catching him unaware.

His own overdose is a reminder that it takes different shapes.

And then this. Relentless, big, sudden. Impossible to escape. Scary.

They all wear their worry on their faces and clinging desperately to hope that feels like it’s dimming with each moment he stands here.

He twists the string of Carlos’ APD hoodie, the first thing he had gotten his hands on when they were rushing to get here in the middle of the night. It was a few hours ago now and there hasn’t been an update for a while now, other than that they can only wait which anyone knowing him should be aware he’s terrible at.

Carlos comes back shortly after, holding the promised ice pack, TK looks behind him at a nurse with red cheeks and a bright smile as she watches them.

“Carlos Reyes did you flirt with a nurse to get me this?” But he accepts it gratefully and presses it to his face, exhaling in relief at the cold seeping onto his clammy skin.

“I charmed her more likely, by talking about my very cute but bratty boyfriend.”

“Yeah I’ve changed my mind, I don’t care how you got it, I’m just happy that you did.” Carlos snorts and ruffles his hair.

They drive back and Carlos helps TK up the stairs before he disposes of him gently onto the bed. When he goes to leave, TK tugs him back, holding tightly onto his hand.

“Where are you going?” He sounds small, he feels small right now.

“Just to get some water, I’ll be right back -” But TK shakes his head, moves the pack of ice away and pulls harder on Carlos’ hand until he gets the hint and climbs into the bed. TK pulls him close, arms wounding around his neck and tucks his face into Carlos’ neck. Carlos' hands come to rest on his waist, big and strong, secure around TK. He feels the heath of them through the shirt he is wearing. He can feel Carlos’ heartbeat against his ribcage too, riverbating through him.

Still here. Still alive.

TK is used to danger.

But he isn’t used to this kind of danger, when it feels deeply personal, like an attack.

And it’s all so sudden, after Carlos’s suspension that has luckily been lifted but had given him enough stress and worry making TK wish he could march into Carlos’ precinct and yell at his boss that one of their best officers deserved better. It comes too soon after he was taken hostage and hurt, the wound hasn’t even begun to heal and it’s been roughly torn open again making TK feel so goddamn unsteady, the fear he’s suddenly been slammed with so tangible as it presses down on him from all sides. He feels he’s been edging closer and closer to a panic attack all night and the only thing that hasn’t sent him completely over the edge is having Carlos near.

But he’s also so goddamn scared suddenly. He’s suddenly terrified of losing Carlos. A car accident, those happen so often and maybe TK’s been naive but this has never felt like such a palpable threat to him before, until now. Until Judd and until Grace.

“Talk to me?” Carlos whispers, forcing TK out of his thoughts for a moment and TK hugs him closer, biting down the tears that have come unwillingly.

“You can never leave me.” The words come pouring out of him and his voice breaks, unable to be kept steady. He bites down hard on his lip but an audibly sniff escapes and when Carlos tries to move his head away TK hugs him tighter, not wanting any space left between them.

Carlos is quiet for a moment, but no longer than that. He takes his hands away from TK’s waist and wraps them gently around TK’s wrists to gently tug them away from his neck so he can look at him.

“What’s wrong?” He asks and takes TK’s hands in his, holding them delicately, stroking his thumbs soothingly across TK’s skin. TK angles them slightly against Carlos’ chest, closer to his ribcage, where he can feel the thumping of Carlos’ heart underneath his shirt. It comforts him, the only steady rhythm to latch onto at the moment, to try and steady his own breathing, copying the unwavering rise and fall of Carlos’ chest.

“I don’t know…” TK whispers, unable to meet Carlos’ eyes. He focuses on his and Carlos’ tangled hands, trails the blue veins with his eyes, Carlos’ slender and long fingers, trying to find the right words, while also buying some time.

“No?” Carlos gently pushes and TK shakes his head. “TK.” Carlos sighs before he cups TK’s cheek and angles it up so he can meet his eyes. TK blinks a few times to clear his watery eyes and Carlos wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, expression stricken, like it gets when he wants so badly to help but doesn’t know what to do.

“When I was taken hostage…” He begins, clears his throat a few times, can’t bear watching Carlos upset. “I didn’t really stop to consider how awful it was for you during those hours, and I haven’t been able to grasp the intent completely behind your worrying these few days and now it makes me feel like such an ass. But I understand it now too, what happened to Judd and Grace, it could happen to us too and it’s so scary, so scary Carlos, what if -” He stops, gulps down more tears and bites his wobbling lip hard.

“Hey, hey.” Carlos says gently and TK’s eyes snap to him. They are sad, but determined too. “It could, but even so I will always promise to fight to get back to you.”

“I wish you could promise me you won’t leave me or that I could promise that nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“Well knowing you, letting you out of my sight has proven to be a massive mistake, I swear you’re the most accident prone person I know.” TK wetly chuckles and Carlos’ mouth twitches, the joke easing the tension between them.

“I get scared too, all the time…” Carlos confesses and TK searches his face, reaches out automatically to smooth over the worryline on his forehead, itching to kiss it away.

“Yeah?” TK asks. Carlos nods.

“Yeah, all the time. Especially where you are concerned. But I do think it’s only normal with our jobs and so on. Just… I don’t know, try and be more careful?” The frown grows into a wry little smile and maybe if TK wasn’t so shook from earlier he would have joked it away, but he nods seriously instead.

“I promise. I will always come back, always. Even if I leave.” It’s a painful reminder of TK walking out on Carlos a few months back, still making TK feel ashamed of how he acted. But things are different between them now and walking away from Carlos and from everything they have built together and are going to continue building, that is not an option anymore. “Good.” Carlos whispers and kisses his nose making TK smile. “I will always come back too. Always. I will fight every day to make that promise true.”

“Me too.” TK promises, takes their intertwined hands and kisses the promise into their hands, hoping that the day will never come where he doubts it, doubts them and their future.

“We’re going to be okay.” Carlos promises and TK closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Carlos’, slowly starting to accept it.

“Yeah.” TK whispers.

“And so is Judd and Grace.”

TK isn’t fully there yet where he dares believe it to be true, but he isn’t giving up hope that it’s all lost either.

“So, how about a shower?”

TK opens his eyes, yawns before he stretches, pops his back and nods.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Carlos helps him to his feet and in the bathroom they undress each other before they get in together. TK hums in content as the hot water washes over him and with it the last doubts he has about the future, down the drain where it belongs. As soon as Carlos joins him inside TK walks close, presses his body to Carlos’. It’s not sexual, but it’s a need, to have him near, to let the calmness of Carlos’ wash over him and bring with it a comfort only Carlos can bring out in him and judging by the harsh breath escaping Carlos’ he craves the contact almost as much as TK does. TK presses a soft kiss to Carlos’ heart and it grows comfortable between them. That’s until Carlos decides to squirt shampoo loudly on top of TK’s head, breaking them out of the moment. TK’s glare turns into a laugh and Carlos’s eyes sparkle, so very much alive and TK’s insides flutter.

They shower for longer than what they had planned and when they do make it back to the hospital, carrying food from a place Carlos knows to be one of Grace’s favourite takeaways he feels better, more hopeful and willing to believe that things will work out. Carlos’ hair is messy from TK running his fingers through it, but his arm is secure around TK’s waist and TK’s leaning on his shoulder, watching their family help unpack the bags.

And then Judd wakes up.

#tarlos #tk x carlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star #9-1-1 lone star #missing scene from 2x9 #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic

46 notes · View notes

ashdoesfandomarchieved · 3 years

Text

we're living in a powder keg (and giving off sparks)

Fandom: Star Trek Lower Decks

Rating: M

AO3

Beckett Elizabeth Mariner wakes up with the absolute unshakable knowledge that she has done something unspeakable.

“Oh my fucking god.”

On the pillow across from hers, Brad opens his eyes. He blinks once or twice, squinting at the obnoxious sunlight streaming through the blinds. It creates bars of light slanting across the bed and floor. There’s a brief moment of confusion where he stares up at her owlishly before he groans and rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. Clearly not shaken at all by the unspeakable horror coursing through Beckett’s veins.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God .”

“Please lower your voice,” he mutters, voice muffled almost beyond comprehension. Almost. “I think I have a migraine. Or a hangover.” A pause. “Or both .”

“Oh god oh god oh god-”

Beckett’s comm begins chirping on the nightstand, derailing her mental breakdown. She lunges for it, flips the device open and answers the call. “Yeah?”

“Beckett Mariner, where in god’s name are you?” her mother’s voice shrills across the tiny speaker. Not exactly the distraction she was looking for, but she’ll take it. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I swear to god if you’re in prison again-”

“I’m not in prison!” she hisses. “And that was one time!”

“Six times. In the last month.”

“I- mom -”

“We’re in Wvaxuv,” Brad snaps, snatching the comm out of her hand. “We’ll be there in fifteen. Over.” He snaps the comm shut, throws it at the nightstand on her side, and flops facedown into his pillow again. Beckett, both impressed by Brad hanging up on his captain and horrified by him hanging up on her mom , stares at him, mouth agape.

“You just hung up on my mom.”

“Mffffmmn.”

“My mom , Bradward.”

“Mm.”

“Your Captain .”

This does get a reaction out of Brad, but not quite the one she expected? He peeks one eye out of where he’s currently trying to become one with the bedding. It’s cute, in like a cat-like way. Which is exactly where Beckett is trying to keep her thoughts from going. There is nothing cute or nice about waking up in the same bed as Brad. There’s not.

“I think I’ll care about that when I’m sober,” he says, at last.

“You don’t care that you just hung up on my mom, but you know what city we’re in?” Beckett raises an eyebrow, both impressed and unimpressed. She contains multitudes.

“I always know where I am,” he mumbles, turning his face back into the pillow. “Also, it literally says in the tourist brochure on your nightstand.”

Beckett grins and then stops herself. “Okay, Mister ‘I always know where I am,’ how long will it actually take us to get back to the Cerritos ?”

“ Ten minutes if we get dressed like right now.”

She stops, face heating at the reminder that oh yeah they’re both fucking naked under the duvet. Beckett carefully inches away, toward her end of the bed, just in case. She casts a quick look around the room and locates her clothes on the floor, near the bathroom.

“Don’t look,” she warns. Threatens?

Brad gives her a thumbs up, seemingly content in continuing his faceplant. Beckett decides that she can trust him not to sneak a peak--not that it mattered at this point but she was not thinking about that --and hurriedly dives toward them and gathers them up. She throws them on the bathroom floor and slams the door shut.

“Oh my god.” Beckett stares at the yellowing tiled floor. “Oh my god .” She turns on the sink, cupping the freezing water in her hands and splashing it onto her face. It does little to clear her mind, but it does help with the hangover nausea. She grips the sides of the sink, breathing in and out slowly. After a few moments of this, Beckett finally dares to look in the mirror.

She’s looked worse. Especially after a night of getting blackout drunk. Her hair is down, out of its usual high ponytail. It’s also completely wrecked, she notes, running her fingers through it to pull out the tangles. She looks a little sweaty and her eyes are bloodshot with dark circles rimming them, but nothing about her appearance suggests that she did anything stupid or dangerous last night. All of her limbs and toes are accounted for. All things considered, it’s not that bad.

Well, except for the trail of hickeys going down her neck. Jesus , she thinks, straining her head around to see how far they go. Nevermind, she doesn’t really want to know. That’s definitely going to be a problem to examine later. Much, much later.

She quickly pulls her pants on, studiously ignoring her sore muscles and the purple bruises in other places besides her neck and shoulder. Fuck . She can hear her comm chirping again through the bathroom door, but doesn’t make any attempts to hurry and answer it. From the sound of things--or lack thereof--Brad isn’t making an effort either. He probably decided, as she has, that they can get reemed out when they actually get back on the ship.

Beckett pulls her tank top over her head, frowning when she realizes that it does absolutely nothing to hide the bruises on her neck. Where the fuck is her jacket? She pops back into the bedroom.

“Where’s my jacket?”

“You threw it in the Gezorvazors’ fountain.”

“And you didn’t stop me? Dude, that was my favorite jacket.”

He makes a vague hand gesture, still face down on the bed. “You can borrow mine.”

“Yours isn’t nice like mine is,” she snaps, picking his weird hoodie/jean jacket hybrid. “Mine is leather, and badass, and-” She slips his jacket on, pulling the collar up to hide the hickeys. “-And. Oh shit this is comfortable.” The fabric is soft in the way that clothes only get after you’ve owned them for years and years and ruined the fabric with too much fabric softener and shit. Also, it’s a little big around her shoulders, and Beckett’s kind of a slut for comfy clothes that are too big for her. “You’re not getting this back,” she realizes out loud.

Brad finally lifts his head off the pillow, eyes zeroing in on her. His face is unreadable. “Huh.”

“What?”

Her comm chirps again. Brad picks it up and throws it to her. “Call your mom.” He jerks his head toward the balcony on the other side of the suite. “Or don’t. Either way, we’re gonna be late.” He makes to get out of bed, which is Beckett’s cue to get the fuck out of there . She escapes onto the balcony which is less of a balcony and more of a ledge.

She flips the comm open and answers it.

“ Your mom is flipping out,” D’Vana says. “She thinks you went AWOL and kidnapped Boimler again.”

“Her thinking that is a thousand times better than what actually happened,” Beckett replies, relieved. “She’s not leaving, is she?”

“ Without you? Fat chance.” There’s a pause. “So are you gonna tell me what did happen-”

“Just a long night of drinking and bad decisions. I’ll see you back on the Cerritos, ” she swiftly interrupts. “If my mom asks, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” She hangs up over D’Vana’s sputtering protests. “Shit.” What was she going to tell D’Vana. What was she going to tell her mom?

A gust of cool wind blows through the street, cutting straight through her. She wraps the jacket tightly around her. It smells like Brad. “ Shit. ”

_____

Beckett sits in her mom’s ready room with a paper cup of coffee heating her hands. The smell isn’t doing great things to her nauseous stomach, but the warmth radiating through her fingers is soothing and the caffeine is knocking out most of her headache. Turn of the century and there still isn’t a definitive hangover cure for humans. Go figure.

Her mother’s slightly raised eyebrow is both a question and a criticism. She has too much tact to say that Beckett looks like shit, but they both know Beckett looks like shit. Damnit.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Freeman says at last, rubbing her temple with two fingers. “Just please stop violating regulations while on shore leave.”

Beckett wants to ask if this means she can violate regulations while off shore leave, but feels too shitty to get into that argument. “You got it, Cap’n,” she says, instead of emoting. She gives her mom a lazy, two fingered salute.

“Also, please remember to keep up with your birth control, I don’t really need any Beckett/Boimler hybrids running around on this ship-”

“Literally what the fuck -” Beckett all but shrieks, voice way to loud for the hangover she’s sporting. “ Why would you even say-”

Her mom looks pointedly at Beckett’s bruised neck. “I’m not a complete idiot, kiddo.”

“Oh my god,” Beckett buries her face in her hands. “Oh my god .”

Freeman rolls her eyes, flicking her fingers at her daughter. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s my job to embarrass you. Now get out of my sight. And ask T’Ana for a hangover cure.”

This has Beckett sitting up. “Wha- T’Ana said there wasn’t a hangover cure .”

Flat look. “Beckett. What century is this?”

Beckett scowls at the desk. “Ripped off for five years and counting,” she mumbles.

_____

Avoiding Brad was harder than she thought it was going to be.

(Not that she’s avoiding him. She’s not.)

(She totally is. )

When he first came back to the Cerritos --almost two years ago now?--it had been easy. He’d been in a state of remorse/guilt, and had basically allowed Beckett to call the shots. This was generally considered a bad idea by absolutely everyone, because it meant that Beckett swung dangerously between watching his every move like a crazed stalker to having nothing to do with him. It had accumulated in Sam and D’Vana going the old-fashioned route by locking them in a storage closet.

Things had eventually ironed out after that. Nothing was ever quite the same--it couldn’t be with Brad’s newfound confidence and Beckett’s decision to see him as an equal rather than someone to mentor--but it was better that way. They worked better that way. At least until Beckett had fucked everything up by having drunk sex with her best friend of four years.

So here Beckett was, hiding in medbay because she thought she might have seen Brad walk by.

“You gotta admit, this is weird, even for you,” D’Vana says.

Beckett peaks over the biobed. “He’s gone, right?”

“Honey, what’s going on between you two? Do I need to fight him? I can totally fight him.”

“What?”

“I mean, the last time you were this mad at him was because--”

“I’m not mad at him,” Beckett waves her off, not too keen on dredging up ancient history. Shitty ancient history at that. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine,” D’Vana repeats dubiously. “Which is why you’ve been hiding in medbay--your least favorite place--all day. Instead of doing fun things, like moving everything in Ransom’s cabin a little to the left or putting extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”

Beckett grins. “We should put extra espresso shots in T’Ana’s coffee.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m not.”

“ So are.”

Beckett scowls. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“I am, as in I will help you bury the body if need be, but as it stands there isn’t a body to bury and you’re in my way.”

“Rude!”

“Coward.”

“Killjoy.”

“ Both of you, out,” T’Ana snaps, from like 20 feet away. She’s not even looking at them, but one of her ears is swiveled in their direction.

D’Vana gives Beckett a dirty look, turning on her heel and marching out of the medbay. Beckett follows, more subdued.

“Seriously, you need to get your shit together,” D’Vana says, once she’s caught up to her. “I promise whatever happened between you and Brad isn’t as terrible as you’re thinking. It’s probably even fixable.”

“Real encouraging, bestie.”

“I try.” D’Vana gives her a friendly punch on the arm that’s probably going to bruise. “Now go find your man.”

_____

Becket does not, in fact, “go find her man.” First of all, because she doesn’t have one, but also because the idea of facing Brad right now is so mortifying--seriously what is she supposed to say? --that the thought makes her break out in hives.

(Not literally, but still.)

A couple more days of this has Sam and D’Vana returning to the tried and true method of locking Beckett and Brad in a storage closet to sort out their shit.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!” D’Vana shouts through the door.

Beckett flips her the bird, even though she can see, scowling at the door. “Fuck you, D’Vana Tendi!”

There is no response, meaning that her ex-friends have left her alone with her thoughts, Brad, and Brad’s very loud thoughts. Goddammit.

“Look, just say it,” Brad suddenly snaps after the longest, most awkward pause Beckett has ever had the misfortune to be a part of. His entire body is tenser than Beckett has seen in a hot minute. Probably since before he transferred back to the Cerritos.

“Say what?” she says back hotly, now not really sure if they’re about to argue about something, but also not one to back down from a fight.

“I don’t know-just. Whatever it is- just please. I’m tired, D’Vana’s tired--hell the whole ship is tired of this. So just.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know it was bad, I know that you regretted it.”

“I. What.”

“But, you’re also my best friend and I don’t want things to go back to how they were when. When I came back and you hated me and I was shitty to you and-” Brad stops messing up his hair. “Just say it was awful and we can forget it ever happened.”

Beckett steels herself as she finally admits: “I don’t remember it.”

It was Brad’s turn to go still and quiet.

“Brad--I. You know how I get when I’m drunk.” Beckett has never felt embarrassed by her drinking habits, but now she wonders if she should. Okay, she’s not, not really. But she was at least regretful that she had done something so stupid as fucking up one of her best relationships while intoxicated. Literally. “I don’t remember anything after the sixth drink,” she groans. “I think I was messing with your hair?”

“You said it was the color of jellyfish.”

She manages a weak smile. “Yeah.”

“And then I said jellyfish were translucent and have been extinct for over a thousand years on Earth so your point was redundant and that’s when you kissed me.”

“Oh.” Beckett wracks her memory. Nothing comes up. She doesn’t know if she feels proud or scared by the fact that she was the one to initiate whatever happened between them. “Was it. Good?”

“For me.” Brad shrugs, nonchalant in a way she wishes he weren’t. “Can’t really say if you liked it or not. Rest of the night is.” He makes a gesture with one hand. “Fuzzy.”

“But you remember more details than I do.” Beckett takes a step toward him.

He takes a step back as she crowds his space. Swallows. “Guess I do.”

“Was that good? What came after?” she asks, steadily, taking another step toward him.

His back hits the wall. He makes a little oof sound, maybe at the impact, but more likely at her question. “I-it was fuzzy ,” he reiterates, voice pitching up.

“Just answer the question, Bradward. I thought this was honesty hour for-”

“Yes it was good!” he snaps. “It was awesome, and earth-shattering, and all the stupid fucking cliches we both make fun of and mock together, and-and you didn’t care the next morning! Actually, no, you were fucking horrified-- so I panicked and--”

Beckett kisses him. It’s a short peck, hardly a brush of lips really, but enough to leave him gaping like a fish after. Kind of shocked, like a computer bluescreening. Goddamnit, he is cute.

“I. I- what .”

Beckett carefully leans in, brushing his hair out of his eyes with one hand--giving him time to opt out or push her away if he wants-- and kisses him again. This time she goes a bit more slowly, somehow coaxing his panicked mind into letting him kiss her back. Only for a moment, sadly. As soon as he begins softening against her, mouth opening slightly to kiss her back, he draws away, face disturbed. “Beck, what are you doing?” His voice is weak.

“Experimenting,” she replies, eyes quickly darting back and forth between his.

“ Experi -”

“I mean, there must be a reason I jumped straight from drunken makeout to lets fuck on our last night of shore leave. I’m just trying to find the missing puzzle piece.” She leans back in. Kisses him again. Pulls back almost immediately. “That means kiss me back, dumba-”

Brad cups her face and kisses her back. Like really kisses her back. Like tilts her face to the side until the angle is just right and slips his tongue in to slide against hers-

“Fuck,” Beckett says, when they draw back for air. “ Fuck.”

Brad drops his hands, but makes no move to pull out of her space. “Got enough data?” he asks sarcastically.

“I might need a larger sample size,” she says breathlessly, eyes darting back down to his lips.

“Well, feel free to go makeout with whomever-”

“Not that kind of sample size, dummy. I'm working with just one test subject, you see.” Her hand fingers the top button of his shirt almost thoughtfully. “My sample size needs to be bigger in quantity, not diversity.”

“ Beck- ” he whines.

“What, so you get to remember this awesome, showstopping one-night stand while I wonder forever if you're actually as good as my sore everything implies?”

Brad’s face visibly heats up. “Well, it's not a one-night stand if we do it again, is it?” he mutters.

“No,” Beckett replies curtly, making her eye contact as direct as possible. “It's not.”

“And you really want to fuck in a storage closet.”

“It can't be much worse than on a planet of jellybean aliens.”

“Gezorvazorians,” he corrects. Pauses, considering. “It might not be that good sober.”

“Are you seriously trying to talk me out of having sex with you?” Beckett groans again in exasperation. “This is literally a one time, limited offer, Bradward.”

“I have anxiety, Beckett! It was fine when I was on drink number eight, but I'm going to freak out if I do this without-”

“Oh my god, just stop thinking-” she shoves him back into the wall, hands fisting his stupid Starfleet shirt, “-just do what feels good.”

Apparently what feels good is letting Beckett once again call the shots on this one, like she does on everything. He lets her crowd him back against the wall, pop each of his shirt buttons and makeout as aggressively as they can while still standing upright.

“For the record,” she says, in between kisses, “if you don't want to have sex with me, that's a hundred percent fine, I don't want to pressure you-”

Brad rolls his eyes. “You really gotta-” kisses her again, “make up your mind-” her hand pulls at the short hair on the nape of his neck, eliciting a high pitched noise “- getting mixed signals-”

“My mind is made up, it's just that I realized that I maaay have been a bit pushy-”

Brad pulls away to give her a deadpan expression. “Yeah, if there's one thing I do remember about you in bed, it's that you're kind of pushy. Actually, scratch that, you’re relentless.”

Beckett flushes. “I-”

“I don't mind. Just as long as you're sure.”

“I am,” she meets his gaze challengingly, fighting her blush down.

“Cool.” He nods once, curtly. The image doesn’t exactly mesh right with his disheveled hair and unbuttoned shirt. “Cool, cool, cool. I'm probably going to freak out in the middle of this, fyi.”

“Don't say ‘fyi,’ it's lame.” She glances around the room. “So. Floor or wall?”

_____

They don't actually fuck in the storage closet, much to Beckett's disappointment and everyone else's general embarrassment. D’Vana in particular is going back and forth between remorse and spastic giggling. It’s just as well. Brad really couldn’t stop laughing at her after her “floor or wall” comment which made getting laid kind of hard. No pun intended.

_____

The next few days are kind of a living hell for the Cerritos. Which is unbelievable, considering how weird Beckett and Brad had made it for everyone before their conversation in the storage closet.

It really really doesn’t help that Brad’s bunk is like. Right over hers. Goddamnnit.

“Good news is we have shore leave again in three weeks,” Jennifer says, handing her a wrench.

Beckett, who’s holding a screwdriver in her mouth, makes whahed? noise, eyes glued to the charred remains of the food replicator. Jen leans back against the counter casually, flipping her silver hair over her shoulder. She’s not really helping Beckett, just watching while she takes advantage of her own buffer time. Beckett doesn’t mind because a) everyone’s entitled to their own buffer time and b) Jen isn’t bad company. At least when she isn’t involving herself in the soap opera worthy drama that is Beckett’s life. Like right now.

Jen gives her a bemused look. “You don’t have to tell me what happened last time,” she says, which is great because Beckett has no intention of bringing up the events of their last shore leave, “But you want my advice? Fix it this time. For everyone’s sake.”

Beckett takes the screwdriver out of her mouth and places it on the counter. “I literally have no idea what you are talking about,” she says in lieu of feeling an emotion.

“Me neither,” Jen admits, sighing. “Look, I don’t put much stock in the rumor mill, but even I know there’s something going on between you and Boimler.”

Oh. Shit.

“Oh, shit,” Beckett says.

Jen grins. “Yeah, shit Mariner. Who’d have thought: you and Brad Boimler. Six years ago, I’d have laughed in your face.”

Beckett makes a face. It’s not a laughing one. More of a grimace, really. “It’s not whatever you’re thinking.”

“With you it rarely is.” Jen looks wary, but the corners of her eyes still crinkle with amusement. “I’m just saying, I know something’s up. Don’t really care, but it’s making this ship socially awkward. I refuse to work somewhere socially awkward, Mariner.”

“Oh, we are in agreement,” Beckett quickly defends, holding her hands up.

“Good, then fix whatever the fuck’s going on. I can’t take much more of this.”

Beckett doesn’t have much to say to that. Mostly because she’s in total agreement, but also because that’s the moment D’Vana comes around the corner and she’d rather not get Into It with the perky Orion today.

_____

It’s Sam who brings it up. “So, shore leave on Earth,” he says. “Who’s down?”

The four of them are sitting at the bar, pretending like nothing weird is going on between two of their members. It helps that Sam is sitting between her and Brad, but it also doesn’t because he keeps catching them staring at each other. It’s super fucking awkward, so Beckett takes the opportunity to direct their attentions elsewhere.

She groans loudly, dropping her face onto her folded arms. “If I wanted to be on Earth I wouldn’t have joined Starfleet,” she grumbles. “This fucking sucks.”

D’Vana perks up immediately, like Beckett knew she would. “I love Earth!” she says, enthusiastically gesturing with her martini glass. “So many different cultures and languages and religions on one planet. If I wasn’t stationed in deep space, I’d have asked for a position there.”

“All those religions and cultures and shit is why Earth has a reputation of not getting along with itself,” Beckett mumbles into her arm.

“That’s not specific to Earth though,” Brad points out, pretty much speaking for the first time that night. He looks a bit surprised, like he hadn’t meant to talk to her at all or make eye contact. Which was most likely the case, considering. Still, he pushes on. “I mean, how many interplanetary disputes have we broken up in the last year alone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t come from those planets so I don’t have to feel bad about it,” Beckett mutters.

Sam snorts. “So is that a no?”

Beckett shrugs. “Fuck if I know. Will there be alcohol?”

“There can be.”

She flutters her eyelashes at Sam. “Well, if you insist then.”

Brad and D’Vana exchange a look.

_____

Earth isn’t too bad.

Beckett should know, she was born there.

The distinct lack of shenanigans she can get up to are fairly disappointing, however. And the distinct presence of cops is still as annoying as ever. But Sam drags the four through downtown San Francisco, intent on making the most of it.

He is determined to teach D’Vana how to surf, so they find themselves at one of those swim stores--the ones that smell like chlorine and weed and have like a display of goggles that takes up two entire ailes and the walls are covered in surf boards and body boards, and there’s little naked mermaid figurines everywhere. It’s one of those out-of-this-world vibes that has Beckett remembering the little things about earth she misses.

Sam somehow cuts a deal on four surf boards and some swim trunks for him and Brad. Beckett, who had the foresight to bring her own swimwear, doesn’t spend a dime on anything but the salt water taffy up at the front counter. D’Vana, who showed up for shore leave already in a bikini and has chronic steal Beckett’s food syndrome, walks out of there the least broke.

“So we want to start in the whitewater,” Sam says, rubbing copious amounts of sunscreen on D’Vana’s back. It’s a wise move, considering the last time they spent free time on a sunny planet, D’Vana walked away with the worst sunburns. “That way we can work on your stance without any pressure.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Beckett flips her shades down. “I’m heading out for the Big Bois. The Chungos, if you will.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Have you ever surfed before?”

“Does doing handstands on a floatie in my pool count?”

“No.”

“Then listen to the expert. We also probably don’t want to go way out until we get wetsuits. Trust me on that one,” Sam says, grimacing. “I mean, I’ve gone without, but it’s cold as shit out there.”

Beckett snatches the sunscreen from Sam’s hand and squirts a glob on her calf. “Fine, defeat me with your logic. You want some of this, white bread?” she asks Brad, who very much lives up to said nickname. He sighs, accepting the bottle from her.

All sunscreen up, Sam stands, picking up his surfboard. “I’ll take D’Vana out first,” he says in a blatant show of favoritism.

Brad and Beckett roll their eyes in tandem. “Whatever,” Beckett says, shooing them off with one hand. “I’m taking a nap.” She flops down on a towel under the giant umbrella that D’Vana got from god knows where . Brad looks from her to Sam and D’Vana unsurely before deciding that he’ll strike out on his own for a bit.

“Don’t drown,” Beckett says, already half asleep.

“Duh.” She can practically hear his eye roll. “Remember to wake up in two hours and apply more sunscreen,” he shoots back.

She gives him the o-k hand signal, not opening up her eyes. “You got it, Mom.”

_____

A few hours later--way past when Beckett was supposed to dump more chemicals on her skin (and yes she’s going to be feeling that later)--Beckett wakes up to Sam and D’Vana’s dulcet tones. By dulcet tones she actually means they’re belting out I’ve Had the Time of My Life in tandem with the music booming on the speaker Sam brought because they are those annoying beach people .

D’Vana must’ve gone to one of the street vendors on the boardwalk, because she has a tray of tiny sandwiches and a paper bag of popcorn that she’s sharing with Sam. Beckett tries to get in on that action, but because D’Vana is the biggest hypocrite Beckett knows, she finds herself banned from the snacks.

“You and Brad can get your own,” D’Vana says stubbornly.

Beckett rolls her eyes. “Where is he, anyway?”

D’Vana points vaguely off in the direction of the water. Brad is sitting on his surfboard, looking more relaxed than Beckett’s seen him in a while.

She stands up, stretching out the kinks and stiffness in her joints, grinning when Sam winces at the cracking of her spine. Shaking the fogginess away, Beckett makes her way out into the waves, shivering at their chill. In a stroke of genius, or maybe just chaotic evillness, Beckett ducks under the water, swimming beneath where Brad is peacefully sitting.

“Nice view,” Beckett says, bursting out of the water. Brad flails, arms pinwheeling. He does fall off his perch on the surfboard, but Beckett catches it before the waves can take it away. She heaves herself gracefully over the side, sitting with her legs in the water. After a moment she offers a hand to a very sulky looking Brad, who’s usually coiffed hair is plastered to his skull by the water.

He takes her proffered hand and sits beside her.

After a moments pause, where they sit bobbing in the waves and watching the sunset, Brad says, “I would like to say that not even the holodeck can recreate colors like that buuut-”

“We do have top-of-the-line technology,” Beckett agrees. “It’s still nice knowing it’s real, though,” she adds.

“How sentimental of you,” he says, almost teasingly. It does wonders for the tension Beckett’s holding.

“Shut up,” she gets out, shoving his shoulder good-naturedly. It’s not hard enough to push him back in the water, but it’s enough that he swats her off. “I’m just saying .”

“So Earth isn’t so bad, after all?” he asks, smug.

Beckett rolls her eyes. “I guess ,” she allows, grudgingly. “But don’t go telling anyone.”

Brad just grins, turning back to the sunset. They don’t say much more after that.

_____

Beckett is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of the hotel they’re staying at overnight, when she comes to a decision. “I’m going to have sex with Brad.”

D’Vana, who Beckett had been pretty sure was sleeping, chokes in the dark. “Beckett what the fuuu -”

Beckett sits up. “I’m going to have sex with Brad,” she reiterates, throwing the covers off.

The bedside lamp clicks on, washing the room in a pale, yellow light. D’Vana’s expression is somewhere between I’m too sleep-deprived to deal with this shit and a murder is happening tonight .

“Like, right now?” she asks, finally.

“No time like the present,” Beckett says, already halfway out the door. Whatever protests D’Vana has is cut off when the door slides shut behind her. Sam and Brad are staying just across the hall, so it takes no time to get there and knock on the door.

“So are we gonna fuck or what?” Beckett asks the minute Brad shows his face. Sam makes a choked, gagging noise from somewhere behind him. Brad makes an equally despairing sound.

“Sam, could you-?”

“Gone! I'm gone.” Sam pushes past them, heading for the other suite. “I'll just sleep with D’Vana-- in D’Vana’s room!” He hurriedly course corrects, “In her room. I'm--I'll. Bye.” He ducks behind the door, slamming it.

“Yeesh, my girl ain't getting any tonight.”

“But we are apparently,” Brad dryly remarks. Or tries to dryly remark. It comes out strangled. “I thought that was a limited offer.”

“Yeah well, maybe I changed my mind. Are you gonna invite me in or what?”

Brad opens the door wider. “I didn't know you needed a literal invitation like some sort of vampire.”

“I was being polite.” She brushes past him. “I am capable of that on occasion.” She flops on the bed with forced bravado. Brad starts doing that thing where he avoids eye contact but realizes it's awkward so he then makes too much eye contact. Beckett resists the urge to tease him about it, if only because she's starting to feel weird about everything too.

“I’m not saying no-”

“Jesus, okay, rejection time-”

“But right now might not be the best time,” he finishes, face crimson.

“What?” She glances around the room. “Master suite in a five star hotel in San Francisco is a worse time for you than a storage closet? I didn't know you had an exhibition thing-”

“ I don't.” Brad scowls. “I'm just not in the mood.”

Oh.

“Oh,” she says, leaning back with her hands supporting her behind her. She kind of feels like an asshole for just assuming he’d be down anytime. There’s another moment of silence. Awkward.

Then, “I have some old timey soap-opera that Jen gave me, on my padd. You down?”

_____

“I don’t think this is a soap opera,” Brad says, ten minutes into their third episode.

They’re both lying on top of the covers, padd propped on a pillow, watching a collection of random episodes Beckett seemingly has. There’s about four feet of yawning distance between them, four impossible feet that’s frankly starting to piss Beckett off for reasons she’s trying not to examine.

“He’s married to his best friends’ daughter which means his mother-in-law made out with him,” Beckett replies, rolling her eyes. “His wife and her parents are pretty much the same age. He gets assassinated by his wife who was trained by a cultist group to take him down. How is that not a soap opera?”

Brad shrugs. “It just seems to be more action based.”

“Give it time, you’ll get it.”

Silence as they watch the main characters get chased by dinosaurs. Brad, surprisingly, does not offer up why it’s unrealistic--(she can totally hear him lecturing on about how dinosaurs actually had feathers, Beckett, and that one was definitely bipedal why is it on all fours?)-- instead tapping his fingers against the mattress and occasionally spacing out.

Whatever. Beckett’s perfectly comfortable reclining on the other side of the bed and ignoring him.

“It’s not me, right?” she blurts out. “I didn’t like, push you too much and now you want nothing to do with me?”

Way to sound insecure, Mariner.

Brad startles in surprise. “What? No!” He sits up. “Why would-”

“I don’t know, it’s just weird! And we’re not weird like this--we watch shit all the time together and make fun of it and it’s not socially awkward!”

“I’m not trying to be socially awkward! I just-”

“Well you are -”

“I thought you were mad at me ?” He tries, looking askance.

Beckett blinks across the bed at him. “You thought-- what --that I was mad at you for not being up for-”

“If you make that pun, I swear to god-”

“Not a pun, I’m being literal-you thought -”

“Beck-”

“You thought I was upset that you aren’t in the mood for-for my weird need to-to-” She can’t even finish it.

“Ughrhrh.” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “It sounds bad when you say it out loud.”

“Yeah no shit, Bradward.” She huffs loudly, turning back to the episode only to find that it’s over.

“Sorry,” he says at last, still into his hands. “I’m having a weird night.”

Aaaand now Beckett feels like shit. Because of course she was making everything about her when there were other people emotionally involved. God she needed to talk to her therapist.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks, nervously tapping her foot at the air.

Brad drops his hands, staring at her flatly. “Do you really want to hear my weird TMI relationship hangups?”

Oh fuck, it’s gonna be that kind of talk.

“Uh, yes? I tell you my weird shit all the time-”

“ Unsolicited -”

“And you don’t give a shit. Why would I be upset about you telling me your weird shit? Is it a kink thing? I bet it’s a kink thing.”

“It’s not a-! Just-just let me talk!”

Beckett makes a phhhft- ing noise, but relents. She twiddles her thumbs for a moment, a mannerism she picked up from D’Vana over the years. Brad’s eyes zero in on the motion for a moment, as he nervously begins tapping his fingers against the mattress again and then stopping to clasp his hands tightly.

“You know how I don’t really. Date people?” he tries, wincing slightly.

“Yeah, sure.” She shrugs.

“Have you ever wondered why-”

“Because our friend group is so batshit fucking certifiable that any potential boyfriends or girlfriends get scared off. It’s why Amina and I were never gonna get back together.” Beckett doesn’t say duh , but it lingers in the air.

Brad rolls his eyes. “ Yes that, but also I don’t date people for the same reason it took D’Vana six years to figure out she and Sam were dating.”

Oh.

“Oh. Oh .” Beckett blinks for a moment, world realigning. “Wait, how did I not know that about you? I know everything about you.” Which is entirely the wrong response to your best friend sharing something that personal, but Brad doesn’t seem to pick up on it so Beckett thinks it’s okay. Hopefully.

“Apparently, not,” he replies, amused.

“But, you’re like. Okay hooking up every once in a while.” God, she hopes so. If she pressured her best friend into having drunk sex with her-

“Yeah, I’m in the mood every once in a while. Like, once a year kind of once in a while,” Brad says casually, alleviating her worries. “Just not right now.”

“Oh okay, cool.” A pause. “Thank you for telling me.”

He rolls his eyes again like she knows she’s going over every social media post and session with her therapist concerning how to handle your best friend coming out to you in her head and settles down next to her. “Whatever. What’s happening?” he asks, turning back to the padd.

Beckett apparently has episodes out of order because the main characters are hijacking the 1969 Earth space missions. “An alien race that controls humans through post-hypnotic suggestions is giving them the technology to land on their own moon.”

Brad huffs, amused. “Naturally.”

_____

Everything kind of goes back to normal after that.

Well, as normal as things get on the Cerritos .

Beckett takes her conversation with Brad to mean that he’s not interested in le sex with her (at the moment anyway) and backing off is in their best interests.

Whatever, she didn’t really know what she was going on about anyway. It’s not as if she was using not remembering their one-night stand as an excuse to hook up with Brad because she’s suffering from unacknowledged requited feelings.

(She’s not. She’s not . Goddamnit.)

The ship seems to give a collective sigh of relief, now that Beckett and Brad aren’t doing...whatever it was they were. Beckett is back to annoying the shit out of her best friend and Brad is back to pretending like he hates everything she stands for. It’s a comfortable equilibrium that Beckett’s glad to be back to.

Even if she still ponders all of the what ifs .

_____

If Beckett’s life is a movie--which is a metaphor she hasn’t used yet, but now’s probably the best time to start because the drama of hooking up with her best friend is totally some awkward comedy shit--then the Halloween party Sam and Jen throw is the punch line. Or the climax--whatever, no pun intended.

Beckett didn’t even know Halloween was like still a Thing until she and her friend group came across a Halloween themed shop during shore leave.

“Isn’t it July?” Beckett had pondered. “I’m pretty sure this holiday is supposed to be in October?”

“It’s one of those “Holiday in July” shops,” Brad said, rolling his eyes at D’Vana who’d donned a witches hat on and was cackling appropriately. “They were totally a thing when I was a kid.”

Sam pulled out his comm. “You know how Jen wanted to throw a party for the end of our assignment in the Neutral Zone? I think I know what theme we should go with.”

Beckett had laughed, delighted at the idea of them throwing a Halloween Bash on the Cerritos , but hadn’t taken it seriously until she walked into her favorite bar on the ship, which was now decked out in the most ridiculous decorations she’s ever seen.

“This is amazing,” Beckett says.

D’Vana grins. “Right? I think I’m going to marry Jen.”

“If I don’t get there first,” Sam retorts, darting off in Jen’s direction. D’Vana shouts after him, breaking out into a run. Beckett shakes her head and heads off to find a corner to enjoy her alcohol in peace.

She finds one, and gets through one red, plastic cup of cheap beer before Brad is at her shoulder.

“So, we’re done being weird, right?” Brad confirms. Surprised that he actually has the backbone to bring The Incident up, Beckett shrugs, eyes still on a dancing D’Vana. She’s somehow roped to humans into a weird-threeway dance that is honestly making Beckett wish she had a recorder device on her.

“Yeah, we’re good,” she says. “Sorry for. You know.”

“It’s cool,” Brad replies, giving her a thumbs up. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually?”

This gives Beckett pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, someone in our friend group was eventually going to hook up and make everything awkward,” Brad rubs the back of his neck, laughing, well, awkwardly . “Sucks that it was us but,” he shrugs in a what can you do way.

Beckett nods back, almost absentmindedly. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah,” she finishes off, lamely and god this is awkward. “Could have been worse,” she finally settles on.

“Could’ve been me and D’Vana,” Brad agrees, nose wrinkling at the thought. She’s pretty sure he had a crush when they first met, but it mellowed out over the years. Especially after D’Vana made it clear to a handsy ensign that she was only interested in girls .

(And being in a co-dependent/queerplatonic relationship with one Samantha Rutherford, but that was beside the point.)

Still, something about the suggestion of the two hooking up leaves a sour pit in Beckett’s stomach.

“It’s too bad though,” she blurts out, “that it happened like the way it did.”

Brad pauses, brow furrowed.

“I mean,” she bulldozes on when he doesn’t say anything. “If I’d have had a choice on how it would have happened...I would have done things differently.”

“Oh?” Brad angles his body toward hers. She leans back against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Yeah.” Her voice sounds far away.

“How would you have done things?”

“I-” She fists her palms and then forces herself to relax them. “Well, for starters I wouldn’t have been drunk .”

“Ah.” Brad winces, probably remembering the terrible hangovers they had the next day. “Yeah that probably wasn’t the best -”

“And it would have meant something.”

There. She said it.

It’s what her mom’s been hinting at for years now, what D’Vana had been getting at and Jen and Sam and even Brad himself; the one truth that Beckett had been shoving to the back of her mind, since even before that shared night with Brad.

Brad Boimler is her best friend and she’s in love with him.

The pause goes on for too long. Beckett doesn’t dare look at him, doesn’t dare breathe. She keeps her eyes firmly on D’Vana, who’s been joined by a slightly tipsy Sam. They dance around each other, ridiculous and fond.

“It did mean something.”

Beckett whips her head around, meeting Brad’s gaze disbelievingly. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing.

“Of course it meant something,” he says. “It was with you.”

Beckett likes to think that she’s smarter than the average person. And if not smarter, witty enough to pass as smarter. She has an automated response for every situation, a retort for every comment, a comeback for every line. There isn’t much that phases her-at least not until she woke up in a hotel room, naked, with her best friend at her side. And just like then, Beckett finds herself speechless.

“Oh,” she says, dumbly, as if she just hadn’t shown her own hand less than a minute ago.

“Mmm,” Brad agrees, looking stressed out. He doesn’t take it back though. He doesn’t do much of anything, actually, beyond staring at her intensely. Then, “Oh god, I made it weird again.”

“No, no,” Beckett holds her hands up placatingly as Brad begins to freak out. “ I made it weird first, you don’t have to-”

“Well I made it weirder!”

“No,” Beckett grabs his collar, shaking him slightly, “-no you didn’t -”

“ Then why are you freaking out? ” He throws his hands up in the air, almost dislodging her grip on his shirt. She tightens it, bringing him down to her eye level.

“I’m not freaking out you’re freaking out -”

“Then why are you the one all up in my personal spa-”

“I’m not-”

“ Jesus Christ , WILL YOU TWO JUST KISS!” D’Vana shouts over the booming bass of Spooky Scary Skeletons Communist Remix.

Beckett freezes , as does Boimler. She’s suddenly aware that the two of them are standing, nose to nose, practically shouting at each other--even though the loud music drowns out what they’re saying to the people around them (thank god).

Beckett slowly lets go of Boimler’s shirt.

“Uhm.” She blinks up at him, every part of her completely aware that she left the ball in his court last time they had an opportunity to do anything.

Brad looks like he’s wrestling with himself--not an uncommon emotion when it comes to the uptight little dude--eyes darting from both of her eyes to her lips, to over her shoulder where D’Vana is probably being a little creep. Then, all of the tension bleeds out of his body, all at once and a determined look lights up in his eyes.

“ Fuck it,” he says, cupping her face and kissing her.

_____

The walk from the bar to Beckett’s room has never seemed longer, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that they can’t keep their hands off each other.

Even with the buzz of alcohol in her system, Beckett feels entirely present for once in her life. She pushes Brad back against her door, pressing kisses into his lips and the length of his jawline. He gives a little huff when she nips at his skin, pushing her off enough to get a good look at her.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Never been surer,” she replies, already having a go at his buttons. She gets down to the final one, pleased to note that this time they aren’t interrupted. “Are you sure?” she blinks up at him. “You’re in the mood, right?”

“Yes, Beck, I’m in the mood.” Brad rolls her eyes. It looks fond. “Are you in the mood?”

“So so in the mood,” she agrees.

“Great, now that we’ve covered the consent end of this-”

Beckett interrupts, diving back in for more kisses, much to his bemusement.

A few minutes later finds the two of them on her bed, sans their clothes. Beckett wants to feel very very smug about the fact that it’s been a while since that first, mistaken one night stand and Brad still has bruises in places unmentionable, but she’s kind of in the same boat.

“Holy shit, watch it ,” she swats at his face as he kind of nips at a dark bruise on her thigh.

“Oh I am .”

“Stop, that’s not sexy,” she kicks his shoulder, scowling when he snorts.

“Uh-huh.”

“No, no it’s not .”

“Yeah, okay, I stopped doing it .” Brad stares up at her unblinkingly for a moment.

Beckett stares back, arms folded-which feels weird because she’s super naked right now, but she’s already started doing it and Beckett fucking commits to shit-scowl firmly in place. Their little stare off only lasts for a minute longer before Beckett groans, “ Ugh , do it again.”

Brad does not, in fact, do it again because he's laughing too hard at her.

Beckett raises an eyebrow, flipping them over. Brad does not look like he minds, though, blinking up at her with equal amounts bemusement and what Beckett is assuming is appreciation. Whatever, it’s not as if Beckett doesn’t know that she’s smoking hot. It’s nice to see that Brad can acknowledge it though.

“Sooo,” he says, hands on her hips, steadying her as she grabs a scrunchy off the nightstand to pull her wayward hair out of her eyes. “How do you want to do this?”

Beckett takes a moment to make herself comfortable in his lap. “How did we do this last time?”

Brad’s face turns red. “Uhm, I’m not sure if-”

Beckett grins, leaning in. “How’d we do it last time, Brad?”

“ Beckett ,” he whines. She flicks his nose, but then leans in to give him a quick peck. “That’s cheating,” he tells her.

She shrugs, unrepentant. “Well you have all the time in the world to make an honest woman out of m-”

“ Stoooop ,” Brad covers his eyes with his hands. “I hate you. Maybe we should ’ve been drunk for this.”

“I have tequila under the bed.”

“Why do you-nevermind.” Brad sits up, jostling her slightly. “I really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”

“Too much talking, more kissing,” Beckett says, pressing a couple of featherlight kisses on his lips. She gets her way--as always--and there’s very little talking after that.

(That’s a lie, of course, because it’s BeckettandBrad, meaning that there’s a lot shit-talk and laughing and an embarrassing amount of awkward moments where Brad elbows her in the eye or Beckett makes a noise that’s distinctly not sexy, but honestly? Neither of them would have it any other way.)

_____

The next day goes like this:

Beckett shows up to her shift 40 minutes late, a string of freshly made hickeys on her neck and a shit-eating grin on her face. Freeman takes one look at her and reassigns her off the Bridge for the day, muttering something incomprehensible about grandbabies that Beckett’s forcibly not thinking too hard about.

She finds D’Vana just outside of medbay, who looks utterly delighted by Beckett’s disheveled appearance.

“So, everything’s fine between you two?” D’Vana is grinning a little evilly.

Beckett throws an arm over her shoulder, delighted as always over their height difference. “Oh so fine, mi amore.”

D’Vana shoves her off, but looks just as pleased as Beckett feels. “Thank god,” she says. “I couldn’t take much more of your sad, sad faces. It was embarrassing.”

This gives Beckett pause. “Hey, we weren’t that bad,” she protests.

“Oh, you definitely were,” D’Vana promises. “There’s only so many times Sam and I can lock you two in a storage closet before our quaple isn’t worth it anymore. We were like a minute away from throwing you out of the polycule.”

“I- polycule? Since when -”

“Oh Beckett,” D’Vana sighs. “I have some bad news for you.”

“Did you know that we were in a platonic quaple with Sam and D’Vana?” Beckett shrieks, practically flying out of the turbolift.

Brad stares at her. “...yes?”

No one tells Beckett anything.

#marinler #my fic #beckett mariner #brad boimler #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #the warp core four #star trek lower decks #stld fanfic #star trek lower decks fanfic #star trek lower decks fanfiction

29 notes · View notes

dwead-piwate-meggers · 3 years

Text

Someone Else’s Shoes

In which Farah starts planning for Pride, and Charlotte and Tina have a not-versation about how sometimes things just don’t fit. For @wayhavensummer festival Day 5 - Pride Festivals, bonus challenge: belonging.

Charlotte Langford & Tina Poname & Farah Hauville; Tina/Farah (background) Approx. wc: 1089 Rating: t, for mild swearing Warnings: biphobia/bi erasure, internalized biphobia, aphobia, internalized aphobia

Common Room, Agency Facility in the Big City

“You’re not coming!?” Charlotte flinches as Farah’s voice and disappointment ring through the windowless room. “But you’re not, you know, a” she pauses, looking around at the no one else around to make sure that they aren’t listening in, before dropping her voice to stage whisper the word, “cop” as if it was a piece of classified information, “anymore. You can totally come now!”

Resignation from the Wayhaven PD had been a requirement of their turning, hers and Tina’s - too hard to keep their agelessness a secret if they were always out and about in such a small town - so Farah had taken it upon herself to make PLANS for their first opportunity to join Pride in over a decade.

It’s very kind of her.

She had also decided to regale them with the details of said plans while they were trying to finish the absolute reams of documents the Agency required the newly turned to read through.

Charlotte assumes that, at least, is more for Tina’s benefit than hers.

In any case, she runs a hand through her hair, (it’s a strange sensation, somehow lighter and more substantial at the same time, like she can feel every single strand, but they weigh less than they should), “I...wasn’t really planning on it.”

“But I thought…” the young vampire pulls a fang over her bottom lip. “Oh.”

There’s a half-beat in which Charlotte considers how, exactly, she’s going to talk her way around this one, before Tina jumps in, “She was bad at parties before. Now? With the whole,” she circles her hands around her ears, hypersenses, still adjusting, “Migraine central, right?”

Farah takes it in, nodding (Morgan rarely goes either, for similar reasons) before brightening up again, the lightbulb moment so clear it’s almost an audible ding. “Oooooh, I have to check on something!”

She leans down to kiss Tina on the cheek before launching herself over the back of the couch and out of the door, a shouted, “Catch you later, babe! You too Charlotte!” thrown over her shoulder.

Charlotte waits until the sound of footsteps has died away. “Thanks,” she mutters.

“For what?”

The look she gives Tina - head tilted back, eyebrows raised - says, ‘For covering for me.’

Tina’s response is a slight frown and stuck-out tongue, Nothing to thank me for. “I’m not nailing your panties to the flagpole, Char,” she says.

Charlotte turns back to the papers in front of her with a snort. “There’s an image,” she says, dodging the swat aimed at her arm.

Dodging the first swat anyway. Tina throws a second, with just a little too much power behind it, and they both hiss when it connects, rubbing arm and knuckles respectively. “You know what I mean.”

Silence, again. Charlotte knows the question is coming. That it will come in three heartbeats.

One. T- “You want to talk about it?” Tina asks. Their hearts beat slower now; she’ll have to learn to account for that.

“Not really.” Charlotte shrugs.

Lub-, the mitral and tricuspid valves go first. If she concentrates, she can feel them move, and... Oh. Eugh. Dub- She can feel her pulse. As in, the blood flowing through her veins. All of her veins. That’s... deeply unsettling. Has that always felt like that? Lub-

“You know you’ve got as much right to be there as I do,” Tina says quietly. One-and-a-half beats, then. It’s one-and-a-half beats now.

She doesn’t reply. It doesn’t matter. Her silence speaks for her. Do I?

“I mean, they’re bi. Obviously they’ve been with both.”

They’re a stranger’s words. They shouldn’t matter. But, still... Lub-dub, lub-

“That’s some bullshit.”

“I didn’t say anything!” She gives up pretending to fill in the form, leans back on the couch and rests her head against the backrest.

“You didn’t need to.” Tina has her arms crossed, a small smile playing over her pink-painted lips. (It was the first thing she forced herself to re-adjust to, lipstick. Charlotte had personally considered clothes of slightly more importance, but to each their own.) “I can hear you just fine.”

Charlotte just rolls her eyes.“Vampires can’t read minds, Tee.”

“Best friends can, stupid. I knew what you were thinking before the superpowers!” There’s a pause, while Tina twirls her pen between her fingers, before she adds, “You know you belong, Char.”

“Any girl who’s into girls...”

Not a stranger, this time. And it was just the heat of the moment, but...

“Oh my god, help. I’m so bi…”

It’s not like it’s rare.

She just hums in response.

“It’s not like there’s some kind of agency that checks.” Tina reiterates, putting on a mock-official voice “You must be at least this queer to join.”

Charlotte snorts at that. “What, queer passports?”

“Get a stamp for every time you get laid?”

Ah. It must show on her face.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Tee,” she says with a sigh, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before, “I’m just being oversensitive.”

“You’re being the normal amount of sensitive. Which just feels like oversensitive for you because your baseline is super undersensitive.”

“That’s not a word.”

“That’s not important. You’d feel better if you would just talk about things,” she emphasises each word with a poke to the leg, “with your best friend.”

Lub-dub, there won’t be a follow-up question. Lub-dub. Tina’s done her prodding (literal and figurative), it’s just a matter of who gives in first. Lub-dub.

Charlotte toys with the ends of her hair, looking for the right words, (she can never find them when she needs them). How can she explain the way the words eat and eat until the scraps fall away in her hands? How the definitions twist and turn until they don’t seem to work, don’t seem to apply anymore? The way it’s impossible to feel like she belongs - she's only ever reminded of all of the ways that she doesn't.

She sighs. Lub-dub. (It’s always her that gives in first.) “It’s like… you remember that summer when we had the same shoes?”

They’d been the same size, then, before Tina’s growth spurt had hit, and Charlotte’s hadn’t. (Vampirism had just made it worse, Tina gaining four inches to Charlotte’s one.)

Tina laughs, “Matching wardrobes you mean. And we were always putting the wrong ones on?”

In spite of herself, Charlotte chuckles along. “But we always knew right away. Because they just felt kind of...”

“Off?”

Off. Yes. That. “Exactly.” She tips her head back to look up at the ceiling. “They just feel… off.”

#wayhavensummer #twc #charlotte langford #tina poname #farah hauville #biphobia #bi erasure #aphobia #internalized biphobia #internalized aphobia #in which your author gets uncomfortably personal #wsf challenge

21 notes · View notes

mavrisfanfics · 4 years

Text

[Requests] Preferences - Assassin’s with drunk s/o

Ask: by @lunavadash-creates I’m sorry it took so long!

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Words: 1043

Warnings: Heavy drinking references

Notes: Happy blog Anniversary!

Ok, so I didn’t do Shay because I haven’t played Rogue yet (Doesn’t stop me from doing Jacob). In fact, I haven’t played an AC game in years because college and life and stuff. The little time to play I’ve had has been spent in other games, which is why I don’t write for any character beyond AC IV except Jacob

Either way! I hope you enjoy the ones I did write!

Requests and small talk are welcome!

---___---___---___---___---___---___---

Altair

Altair will be amused at first, but progressively get more annoyed and/or embarrassed at your antics. The more he drinks, the less annoyed he gets, but this man knows when to stop, so don’t expect to ever see him wasted. He will definitely think of your unhinged laugh as cute, due to how honest it is, but he won’t find it so funny when he’s the one who practically drags you home.

At this point, he may complain at how annoying you are being, but he would never even think of letting you walk by yourself, afraid you might get hurt. In fact, he’s one of the guys who you can trust the most to take care of you when drunk, because, even if he gets annoyed, he still cares about you and will do anything to make sure you’re safe.

However, do expect him to comment on your behavior the next morning, and God forbid you do something stupid, because he will remind you of it every other time for years to come.

Ezio

If he’s sober, Ezio will chuckle at you and drag you home safely at the end of the night, but this is Ezio we’re talking about, so I bet my money he’s going to be as wasted as you. He’ll find your laugh absolutely hilarious, which results in a couple of drunks laughing at each other until their bellies hurt or one of them pukes, whichever comes first.

If you expect to drink freely and have someone take care of you at the end of the night, Ezio is the worst partner to do that with, and chances are you either have to be the one to take care of him, even if you can barely function, or you’ll have to pray to have a third party to take care of you both, otherwise you won’t make it home.

And although hangovers are never fun, they are a great excuse to have a lazy day together the following morning, so expect lots of cuddles once morning comes.

Connor

Connor is built like a tank, so I doubt this man gets drunk easily. But either sober or tipsy, his reaction doesn’t change, he’ll fondly watch you laugh any day, whether because you’re drunk or not. In fact, his personality doesn’t change at all when drunk, and it’s very hard to see when he’s had a few too many. He will mostly let you do your thing, but he will always watch you like an hawk, hovering near you in case he has to step in and stop you from doing something dangerous or drive away any creeps that may come your way.

Definitely the best guardian when you’re drunk, because unlike Altair, Connor is patient and won’t complain at all, no matter at how loud you may be. If you have difficulty walking, this man won’t make you lean on him, instead he’ll totally carry you himself. This is the only time when you can notice if he’s actually drunk or not, because he may stumble a little too much carrying you home.

10/10 I’d go out and drink with him with no worries.

Haytham

When you get drunk, Haytham will be amused at your antics, but won’t let them get too far. You can laugh all you want, in fact he’ll love it (not that he’ll admit it), but the moment you try to do something more embarrassing, you’re being taken home. And good luck getting him anywhere beyond tipsy, this man knows how to drink, and he definitely knows when to stop. Because of that, unless you explicitly state you want to get wasted, we will stop you before you get to such a state, saving you from possible embarrassment, and from a migraine the following morning.

Edward

I’m sosEdward is the best drinking partner you can get. For starters, that man has built up an insane tolerance at this point, which doesn’t stop him from getting drunk either way, because, while Haytham know how to drink to not get drunk, Edward knows the best ways to get wasted. Then there’s also the fact he’s a pirate, drunk sailors and messy taverns are his things, so dealing with drunk people is a skill of his by now as well. Unlike when dealing with others, though, he’ll have a special tact when it come to you.

He’ll love seeing you have so much fun with yourself and will even join in on it. However, just like Connor, he will be ready to step in and stop you from doing something overly stupid or protect you if needed, even when he’s pissed drunk too. He just has such an overprotective instinct when it come to you that no alcohol can wash it away, which I guess it’s expected from a man who has lost everything at some point.

By the end of the night, he might have sobered up just enough to get you home safe (damn his trained alcohol tolerance), or he might be just as drunk has you and still be able to help you stumble home. All in all, you can be assured that you will have fun and be home safe at the end of the night.

Jacob

Whatever alcohol tolerance Edward forced into the family genes has definitely skipped Jacob because he cannot hold his alcohol. One glass? Fine. Two glasses? Pissed drunk. However, he’ll require about 10 glasses to actually pass out. Basically, he somehow goes from sober to drunk, skipping over the tipsy part completely.

But whether he is drunk or not, he will find your laugh both adorable and hilarious. He will laugh at your antics non-stop and may, sadly, suggest you do some of the stupid shit you will regret for the rest of your life. If he’s drunk too, he’ll be the one to do the embarrassing things and then drag you with it.

Basically, just like Ezio, he’ll join you in your drunk antics but, unlike Ezio, he’ll actually make them worse. Fortunately, he has an entire gang under his command, which means there will always be someone nearby to drag you two home.

Expect to be reminded of everything the following morning because he’s one of those drunk people that remember everything.

#altair x reader #ezio x reader #connor kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader #edward kenway x reader #jacob frye x reader #altair ibn-la'ahad #ezio auditore #connor kenway #haytham kenway #edward kenway #jacob frye #assassin's creed x reader #Assassin's Creed #reader #reader insert #request #requests are open

480 notes · View notes

chickwiththepurpleguitar · 3 years

Note

totally jealous of and amazed by your creativity and endless wip ideas... so 📓!

Thanks friend!

Okay, so this was fun, I counted my wips (both in-progress and planning)-- there are 38 lkjadslkfja-- and then had the writerbot roll a die and the corresponding number is the wip I'll tell you about! So, the bot picked 7, which is my dyslexicbobby fic currently titled I Should Not Be Writing This because I have. Too many. Projects. As you can all see.

This is a fic in my if things had been different verse and, as usual, inspired by late night conversations with @sunsetcurvecuddles. Basically, Bobby didn't finish high school cause his best friends died the summer before his senior year and he was already 18 so he could drop out without much issue. Except Ray and Rose don't know this because Bobby doesn't want them to know think he's stupid, until he loses his job cause he doesn't have a high school diploma, so they convince him to get his GED. But then studying goes terribly, even though he's so good at memorizing things he's heard, he just has so much trouble reading. And he basically has a breakdown cause he thinks he's worthless, etc, and Ray "Minored in Psychology" Molina sits him down and goes, "Honey, I think you're dyslexic" and gets him help like the good boyfriend he is :)

Snippet under the read more if anyone's interested!

Send me a book emoji and I'll tell you about one of my too many wips!

Bobby knows he’s stupid.

For years, he had people telling him so: his parents, his teachers, the guidance counselor who kindly suggested he redo the first grade as if he had any kind of choice in the matter. He was shit at math and worse at reading, to the point where sometimes he wondered if he ever really learned how. The only thing he was ever any good at was music, and he was okay with that, because as long as he could shred on the guitar and more or less carry a tune, he had a career, and at least three friends, in the bag without having to do much better than the C-pluses he scraped by with at school.

And even those, by the end, were only because Reggie would stay up late with him drilling equations into his head and reading him his English books out loud when trying to read them himself gave Bobby a migraine.

It was a relief already when he turned 18 in March of his junior year and knew that, if the band really did make it big, he could drop out of school without causing much trouble. Even if the guys had another year left, Bobby figured he and Luke could work while Alex and Reggie were in school, and they could all play music together on the weekends, and Bobby wouldn’t feel like so much of a screwup all the time.

There’s no band now, and the guys are gone, and whether or not he’s going to finish high school is the least of Bobby’s worries.

They’ve been doing this...whatever it is they’re doing, him and Ray and Rose, for a few months now. They live together, sleep in the same bed, go on the cheesiest dates when they all have an evening free. As much as Ray and Rose try to insist otherwise, Bobby feels a little like he’s glommed onto their relationship rather than them all dating each other, but he’s not one to complain. He cares about them both a lot, and anything’s better than being alone.

But they don’t know how stupid he is sometimes, because they’ve only known him the last year, only seen him flirting and playing music (and sobbing and screaming and shaking) and now, recently, working fixing cars at this auto shop down the block for fifteen bucks an hour. They’ve never had to see him stare at the same sentence for ten minutes straight, unable to make the words stand still, never had to watch him struggle to do basic math because the numbers keep switching around on the page and in his head.

Sometimes Bobby feels like he’s tricking them, because he’ll remember some fact about birds Ray told him three weeks ago that Ray himself doesn’t even remember reading, or he’ll pull out trivia he learned from hearing the boys talk about music all the time, and Rose will say, “How do you know all that? You’re so smart!” And he’ll say, “I’m really not,” but she won’t believe him.

It’s not a big deal, though. Bobby has no interest in going back to school the fall after he loses his boys, so as long as he’s working a good enough job to pay rent, it doesn’t matter that he’s too stupid to read more than a few words at a time and he can’t spell to save his goddamn life and he never finished high school.

Until one day, his boss corners him on his break and says, “Hey kid, corporate’s getting on my ass about labor laws, I need to see your diploma.”

#ask #jatp #bobby wilson #ray molina #rose molina #bobbyrayrose #if things had been different #wips #my fics

14 notes · View notes

haikyuu-sickfics · 3 years

Note

Akaashi sickfic where he’s rlly nauseous and there’s a lot of build up. He’s trying to keep it down as long as possibly but eventually loses its

> Maybe Akashi and Bokuto are at an amusement park and Keiji throws up there? You can choose why he does.

Glowing yellow reflected off the various metal surfaces at the amusement park, their bright shine blinding those without adequate eye protection. Keiji and Koutarou both fell into the unfortunate group with melting eyes, the former squinting while the latter looked ahead without twinge.

"What should we ride first?" Koutarou wondered outloud, his eyes shimmering with glee.

Keiji thought to himself for a moment, deciding which ride would be the best on his nervous stomach. A feeling akin to anxiety nestled deep into Keiji's core, it's root remained unknown. There were no triggers present, the crowd was light and and calm, the high tempo music providing the perfect upbeat atmosphere. Additonally, Keiji was not one to be afraid of roller coasters.

So why did his stomach flip every time he thought of riding one?

"Maybe the carousel," Keiji offered quietly, subconciously gravitating closer to Koutarou.

"Sounds good to me!" Koutarou grabbed Keiji's wrist and practically dragged him closer to their day of immature fun.

---

A cold breeze fluttered the area as the sun set over the horizon, gentle pink and orange hues blanketing the atmosphere of the park. Abandonded litter skittered the asphalt, the walkways significantly less crowded as guardians carried their sleeping kids out of the park. Keiji couldn't help but feel envious for those kids, their arms stretched lazily towards the grounds as they struggled to keep their eyes open.

Truth be told, Keiji felt drained. The awful feeling in his stomach had remained promiment, if not more so after a small greasy lunch. But he was almost done. He had made it through the day and Koutarou seemed to still be in high cheers.

"Akaashi!" Koutarou dragged out the 'a' in Keiji's surname, "can we please ride the ferris wheel?"

Keiji frowned, his right hand instinctively traveling towards his stomach.

"You said the last ride would be the last one. I'm tired and ready to go home."

"I only said that cause I wanted to get you to ride it! Plus," his voice got softer, "I really want to see the sunset from that high with you."

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Keiji turned towards the direction of the attraction. Koutarou's excitement was contagious, an aura of happiness radiated off his body as though he was the sun. Keiji liked being around him for this reason. Fueling the happiness was one of the most rewarding activities in the world-- and Keiji would do anything for the familiar splash of yellow to infect his grey world.

"Let's go," Keiji conceded softly, walking towards the queue enterance.

Koutarou smiled widely to himself before reclaiming his spot at Keiji's side. The latter bit back a frown. Anxiety gnawed away at their midsection, with more strength and warning than normal. Going on this last ride was a bad idea. But who could say no to the charming team captain?

Well, a lot of people- predominantly Keiji- but something about being away from their responsibilities made him want to shrug off his sensible side for a day. Take a walk on the wild side, so to speak.

Or maybe Koutarou's sheer volume of dumbass-ery was finally rubbing off on him.

No matter the cause, here the two sat. Across each other in a plastic car, still warm from the previous passengers, slowly rising into the daunting evening.

The movement, though far slower than the previous attractions, affected Keiji in an overpowering way. Perhaps it wasn't the movement at all. Maybe his luck had simply run out, leaving him white knuckling the edge of his seat and practically glaring ahead.

"Are you mad that I made you come on to this last ride?" Koutarou asked, guilt seeping into his tone.

Keiji shook his head.

"I don't..." Should Keiji be honest with his upperclassmen? Lying wouldn't get him far in this situation... But maybe he could will out for a few more minutes.

His stomach turned

Scratch that. There was no willing this out, "I haven't really been feeling that good today."

"Really? Why didn't you tell me? I mean- you did look kinda constipated all day but you usually have that stoic expression so I didn't think much of it. No offense. Well I just said that you look constipated all the time there's not really a way to not take offense to that but I didn't mean it in a bad way, you pull it off. Well that sounded weird, but I meant that in a totally normal way, in a 'you always look good' way not a 'I like it when you look constipated way'; because that would be weird wouldn't it? Or maybe I'm just overthinking it. Sometimes I surprise myself with how much I think. It's like. Woah. I've been holding this in my brain without even realizing it and boom it's all coming out at once. Did you know that competive art used to be in the olympics? What did they do? Isn't art relative based off perception? How could they judge what someone elses mind created? That's why I like volleyball. It's set in stone. I'm gonna be in the olympics, you know that? I dunno when but it will happen. And everyone will look on their screens and see how awesome I am and you'll be in the stands because you don't want to continue your carreer for SOME reason. But that's besides the point. Hey, are you listening?"

Keiji had his eyes closed. The nausea was becoming overwhelming. There was too much happening at once.

The smell of food, perfume and trash.

The jerking movement of the cart.

The incessant rambling of the person seated across from him.

Everything surrounding Keiji took on microscopic form and roiled ruthelessly inside his gut. His shoulders occasionally lurched with queasy hiccups- threatening to send everything overboard.

Why now?

Of all places why did Keiji's stomach chose to revolt at the very top of a ferris wheel, the setting sun casting a blindingly painful glare into his eyes.

Did he have a migraine? Maybe. He couldn't tell at this point. Keiji couldn't keep into account everything going wrong in his body at this point. The only thing he was concerned about was finding a way to leave this ride with as little mess as possible.

"Do you have a bag, Bokuto-san."

"A bug?"

"A bag."

"A rag?"

"A. Bag."

"A hag?"

Keiji muttered curses under his breath at the futility of trying to properly communicate with Koutarou.

"This is time sensitive," he took a deep breath, swallowing a bubble of air traveling up his throat, "I don't believe I'm going to make it off this ride without being sick. So I ask you once more. Do you have a B-A-G."

Koutarou's eyes widened as he began patting his shorts in search of a valid recepticle. There was a fish net (who knows why) but that wouldn't work for obvious reasons. The only other thing which came to mind to be of use was the suveneer sinsola hat he had purchased earlier in the day to protect his neck.

Hastily, he pulled the hat off his head- having a bit of struggle with the strings and his ears, but handing it to Keiji top-down in record time.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Keji squinted his eyes at Koutarou.

"It's that or your lap."

"I'm not going to-"

Get sick in a hat- is what he was planning on saying. But the first gag took over his body before he had a chance to vocalize the rest of his sentence.

"Not going to... what?" Koutarou smirked, finding humor in the situation.

Keiji hiccuped over the hat, averting his eyes from Koutarou and clenching his jaw in embarrassment and annoyance.

Just as their cart jerked to a top at the peak of the ride, Keiji's stomach squeezed. It was a sensation stronger than the tugs he had felt throughout the day. This time, a hot sense of urgency burned the back of his mouth and gripped his esophogus.

Coughing, his body instinctually tried to dislodge the psycological ball in his throat. In response, his stomach contents finally pushed it's way up and out of his mouth in one large wave.

A strange sense of relief came with the awful act- as if the tension which had been slowly building up finally broke. He closed his eyes and allowed the conflicting feeling to overcome him.

Spitting residue acidic spit from his mouth, Keiji leaned back against the seat rest. Drying tears cooled around his eyes, which felt achingly tired. His thighs felt warm where he allowed hat to rest, lacking the energy to lift it fully up.

He barely registered the warm body sitting next to him, let alone the hand gently squeezing his shoulder.

"You okay now?" Koutarou asked gently, his breathy voice warming Keiji's ear.

"Mn-mn," Keiji slowly shook his head no, his eyes remaining shut and face tilted toward the sky.

"And you call ME reckless and stupid, how the turn tables twisted. Why didn't you say anything? Or like, I dunno, stayed home? I would've understood... Maybe."

"Please just be quiet," Keiji mumbled, "and keep rubbing my shoulder... It feels nice."

"I'll rub it until we get you in bed," Koutarou assured, adding his right hand to Keiji's right shoulder.

"Mm, thanks."

Keiji paused.

"And sorry about the hat."

#sick akaashi keiji #tw vomit #vomit tw #haikyuu sickfic

19 notes · View notes

fishyspots · 4 years

Text

cover me with stuff

happy happy birthday to @petrodobreva!!! also available on ao3.

“What just happened?”

Patrick’s breath is coming fast, eyes darting between the back door and where David’s standing in the kitchen. “Um,” he clears his throat. “Nothing. Not a thing. No things.”

“Ah,” David nods. “No things. Would you like to try for something more believable?” After an afternoon of organizing folding chairs in the yard behind the store for a watercolor class the next day, he doesn’t really have the patience for their usual thing, where Patrick talks around his problem until David can suss it out for himself. He might have saved the patience if Roland hadn’t insisted on helping him. David knows that Jocelyn didn’t have to loan him the chairs, but the presence of her husband still felt like too high a price.

Patrick goes to lean against the back door but overshoots and has to use his arm to brace himself. “There’s a snake in the hydrangeas.”

David wrinkles his nose. “This is one of your worst euphemisms.”

“Ew,” Patrick says with feeling. “That’s—I hate snakes.”

“Was it a big snake?” David turns to peek out the kitchen window; he can see a bucket half-filled with weeds and soil spread out where Patrick had abandoned the gardening to find cover. “Should we call someone? Ray was talking about animal control at Twyla’s last party, but I can honestly say that I lost the thread and don’t know if it’s a new business of his or not.”

Patrick shakes his head, cheeks still flushed from his run. David narrows his eyes and looks a little closer. “Garter snake.”

“And you are...allergic to garter snakes?”

“I hate snakes.” Patrick looks at David then, and the look in his eyes makes clear that it’s not exertion but embarrassment turning his cheeks red.

“Aw.” David frowns exaggeratedly. He can sympathize; there was a millipede in the store last week. “Gross. Well, hopefully the snake goes away soon.”

“You don’t have to—” Patrick’s voice goes sharp like it does when they fight. David’s pretty sure this shouldn’t be a fight, so it’s...off. Something’s off. But Patrick inhales and lets it out slowly. “I hate that I’m scared of those stupid things.”

“Um, have we met?” David turns toward the cabinets but keeps Patrick in his sight. “I’m scared of many things.”

“But yours make sense.” Patrick runs a hand over his eyes. “Like the parasailing thing. Who wouldn’t hate heights after that?”

David takes Patrick in without being too obvious. He’s doing that thing with his lower lip that’s adorable and infuriating in equal measure. It’s probably technically a pout, but neither of them want to admit that. David can only make fun of it when he’s being condescending, but Patrick normally doesn’t bring this particular expression out unless it’s something serious that David can’t be petty about. Infuriating, really, because he has so few things he can poke at Patrick about. “You know that a fear doesn’t have to be logical, right? Like, sometimes it is. But I was terrified of my mom’s eyelet lace clutch for a year after she told me it was poisonous. That’s not logical.”

Patrick’s lip stops doing the horrifying thing, which is progress. And the light of teasing is back in his eyes, so David counts it as a win. “Why did she say it was poisonous?”

“She knew I was plotting to steal it.” David waves a hand. “Not important. As long as you can still take care of any and all moths, we don’t have a problem here.”

“Where did the moth thing come from?”

David can play this game. “Where did the snake thing come from?”

Patrick makes a face that’s less horrifying and more funny. David loves his husband and always wants to see him happy, of course, but. It’s fun to see him squirm. “I give.”

But something still isn't quite right. About Patrick’s face. David shakes his head. No, he loves Patrick’s face and all the things it does. Especially—ahem. He’s getting off track. “What else is going on?” He reaches behind Patrick into the wine fridge and grabs a bottle Patrick likes. Or at least David’s pretty sure he likes it—he grabbed three bottles last time they went to the first vineyard that didn't sell banana wine within five hours. It’s not a huge leap he’s making.

“Nothing else is going on.” Patrick looks up at the ceiling, which is one of his more obvious tells.

A memory from their belated honeymoon to Toronto wakes up and kicks around David’s head. Patrick had gotten all worked up about getting a migraine, moaning into the dark hotel room that this wasn’t what David had signed up for, as though he wouldn’t want to be there for any part of Patrick. “Hey,” he says lightly as he reaches for the corkscrew in the drawer. He keeps Patrick trapped between the counter and his arms—he doesn’t want Patrick to slip away from this conversation, slithering away like—ew. Screw this day for making him think so much about snakes. “What else?”

“It’s—I just don’t want you to have to. To be with me when I’m—this isn’t—”

“My kingdom for a conclusion,” David says mostly to himself. But they’re pressed in close, so Patrick fixes him with a look. He winces and sets about being soothing. “You’re not making me do anything.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. David thinks he can probably make fun of this move, but. He’ll wait to test the theory. “You didn’t sign up for—”

“I signed up for you,” David says. He tucks the you idiot back behind his teeth. He senses it will not aid his mission. “Warts and all. Or, um, some other non-amphibious reference.”

“Snakes and frogs are totally different.”

“And we’ll get right back to that deflection after we finish this,” David says sternly. “You didn’t know that I would break my arm in two places the week before our first anniversary, but you still saved me from Stevie’s attempts to deface my cast with doodles. And you didn’t know that my parents would basically move in with us for nearly a month after Sunrise Bay wrapped again.”

“That’s different.” Patrick’s being stubborn, which, water is wet, so it’s not exactly news.

“Because it’s me?” Patrick never minds soothing David’s worries, or talking him down from spirals, or letting him pluck at his shoulders while he works through distressing thoughts.

“No, David.” Patrick uncrosses his arms and pulls at David’s hips until David sways forward. “Because it’s—hard. It’s hard for me.”

“It’s hard for me too, you know.” David shakes his head. That’s not exactly right. “It is in the beginning. To trust that you’ve—got it. That you can handle the hard stuff, or the embarrassing stuff.” He resolutely does not think about wet sheets and aborted livestreams.

“But I can,” Patrick reminds him. Then he breathes out into the space that he’s made for himself against David’s neck. “And you can.”

David wiggles, but gently. He doesn’t want to dislodge Patrick. “I can.”

Patrick’s arms tighten around him, then loosen just enough for David to grab both bottle and corkscrew again. They’ve both earned a drink.

“You’re really good at this,” Patrick says, looking far too impressed. David’s done the corkscrew before. “I feel very supported.”

“I wish I could say I got that all the time.” David plays it up because he knows it will make Patrick smile. He straightens his back and pulls away from the cage of Patrick’s arms so he can watch the way his husband’s mouth turns down in fondness before the happiness takes hold.

Patrick clears his throat, then turns and reaches for the glasses. “A shame,” he agrees. “Especially since you’re so supportive that you won’t make me go back out there. Really kind that you’re going to weed the flower beds for me.”

“I support you,” David says. He thinks fast; doing one outdoor chore might open a door that he can’t close. And he’d rather die than mow a lawn, even if it’s his own. “And because I support you, I also support you facing your fears.”

“I’ll remember that when the next moth needs rehoming.”

“Fine.” David sets his wine glass down and crosses into the kitchen; he’ll get the weeds in the morning. Stevie’s coming over to crash between trips, so if he plays his cards right he’ll make it through the chore without getting any dirt on the knees of his jeans. “But we’re having spaghetti for dinner because now I’m thinking about noodles.”

Patrick chokes on his wine. “Why would you ruin pasta for me while I’m in this fragile state?”

#schitt's creek fanfiction #schitt's creek fanfic #schitt's creek fic #schitts creek fanfiction #schitts creek fanfic #schitts creek fic #david x patrick #also HUGE thanks to #rockinhamburger #for basically all of this #my fic

42 notes · View notes

twomoonstwosuns · 4 years

Text

scared.

back to you [series masterlist]

previous part · next part

pairing: professor!poe dameron x reader

warnings: mentions/details of injuries/blood, age gap (reader over 18), light angst

word count: 3.4k

a/n: sorry for the wait for this chapter, i hope this is worth it! feedback greatly appreciated!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jessika never thought she’d get that phone call.

She didn’t know what to expect when she practically raced to the hospital, sliding all over the icy roads as she tried to get there in one piece. Luckily, she got there safely and was able to walk into the emergency room to see that her friend wasn’t anywhere near death. You were sitting on a bed getting looked at; they weren’t even going to need to admit you.

As you were getting looked at, Jessika went to collect your purse that luckily didn’t have anything missing. Even the cookies you put in to bring to Poe were only a little squished. Before heading back to you, she entered the passcode into your phone and called Poe. She knew you wouldn’t call him, most likely thinking he’d probably ignore your call anyway given your fight.

His voice was just as scared as hers had been. Jessika waited anxiously for him just outside the emergency room, in the waiting area where the people who brought their loved ones in waited to see if they were too late or not. She was so grateful she wouldn’t have to call anyone with bad news.

“Y/N L/N?”

The voice saying her best friend’s name snapped Jessika out of her morbid thinking. She stood, the movement grabbing Poe’s attention out of the corner of his eye where he stood at the check-in desk. He rushed over to her, his heart beating rapidly with each step.

“She’s fine,” Jessika said immediately. “She’s got a minor concussion, some cuts and bruises, and one cut on her forehead that was deep. She’s getting stitched up now.”

Poe visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping in complete relief as he let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Jessika sunk down into a chair, running a hand through her hair as she let out a dry laugh.

“You know, I can binge the hell out of medical dramas but I can’t watch them stitch her up.”

Poe sat down next to her. “What happened?”

“A deer jumped in front of her car. She hit her brakes and hit a patch of ice, which made her spin out, fly off the road, and hit a tree. I guess the front of her car is completely totaled.”

Poe let out a sigh of relief. It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been so much worse. Jessika squeezed her eyes shut, a quiet and pained groan coming from her.

“Are you okay?” Poe looked over at her, genuine concern crossing his face. Jessika nodded slowly.

“I’ve had a migraine all day. It’s better than it was earlier, I’m just waiting for the pain meds to kick in.” She massaged her temples, looking for some kind of relief. “The hospital lights are just really bright.”

“I can take you home, if you want,” Poe offered.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Jessika inhaled sharply as a shot of pain throbbed inside her head.

“You’re not fine,” Poe said again. “It’s not going to go away if you don’t rest. You need sleep in a cool, dark place. Y/N can stay with me tonight so you can do that.”

“Y/N’s expecting me--”

“I know, but if Y/N’s got a concussion, the doctor’s are probably going to want someone to watch her tonight, wake her up multiple times and ask her questions to make sure her memory’s fine.” Jessika glanced at Poe, who gave her a small smirk. “I’ve binged medical shows, too.”

She laughed lightly as Poe continued.

“It’s going to be hard for you to do anything let alone care for another person if it gets worse again. Y/N will understand. I know she’d want you to get better.”

Jessika sighed. “You’re right. I’ll go tell a nurse so they can tell Y/N.”

Jessika grabbed her purse and stood up, turning back to look at Poe.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N is really happy with you. And she really misses you. Whatever argument you guys had, I’m sure it’s not worth letting it go on any longer. Take it from me, who said something stupid and hurtful that I didn’t meanl and has barely talked to her best friend in weeks.”

Poe watched her find someone in scrubs, her words being repeated in his head. She was right and he was stubborn. And with you perched on a hospital bed getting injuries tended to, he could care less that you were in an argument. He had been really worried about you.

》》》

An uncomfortable shiver went down your spine as you felt the needle and thread pass underneath your skin. Your head throbbed and your body ached from being jostled around the inside of your car. Anxiousness consumed you as you waited to hear the diagnosis,, practically collapsing forward into the doctor’s arms when he told you that you had been lucky with only minor injuries.

When you finally had the opportunity to call your mother, it took you twenty minutes to convince her that you were fine, that her driving to the hospital would probably result in her ending up in a bed right next to you in the emergency room. You even had to put your doctor on the phone to tell her that you were physically ok and that your roommate would take care of you. She made you promise to rest up and FaceTime her the next day.

The doctor finished your stitches, asking you to hang out while they got you ready to leave. You stretched out your neck from holding it still for so long, sucking in a breath as you grimaced against the pain. Your eyes fluttered shut, the near death experience and adrenaline physically and mentally exhausting you. Quiet, heavy footsteps approached your bed and you opened your eyes in time to see Poe sit down on the end of your bed. Your eyes widened slightly. He was the last person you expected to see.

“Hi,” you quietly said.

“Hey,” he said back, his tone softer than you anticipated. “How’re you feeling?”

“I hurt everywhere, but otherwise good.” You looked behind him. “Where’s Jess?”

“She still has a migraine, so I took her home.”

Your eyes landed back on Poe, softening with appreciation. “Thank you.”

Poe nodded as the doctor came back.

“Y/N, you are good to go. Do you have someone to help you tonight?”

“I will,” Poe interjected, rising from the bed and shaking the doctor’s hand. “She’s going to stay with me tonight.”

Your lips quirked into a small smile. It had been a hopeful sign that he showed up at the hospital, another one when he’d said you’d stay with him.

“Very good. She’s not showing any symptoms of a major concussion, but you’ll both want to monitor for symptoms since she did hit your head - memory loss, balance issues, and prolonged dizziness to name a few.” The doctor spoke directly to Poe, making sure he understood before turning to you. “Here’s some gauze pads. You’ll have to change them out a few times a day, especially after taking a shower. We’ll see you back here in a week to take those stitches out. Take it easy for the next few days. Don’t overwork yourself. Feel free to call us if you have any questions.”

Poe helped you off the bed as you thanked the doctor, keeping a hand on your back as he walked out with you. He grasped your arm as you got into the front seat of his car, patiently allowing you to take all the time your sore body needed. Poe was cautious as he drove to his apartment, careful because of the roads and careful to not scare you. He could tell by the short breaths you were taking and the bouncing of your leg that you were nervous about getting back on the roads that took you out so soon. His car hit a patch of ice as he slowed down to brake for a stop sign, the sudden jerking movement making you tense up.

But neither of you spoke, the only sound in the car coming from the radio.

Poe was helping you, out of obligation or care you didn’t know, but you didn’t want to push your luck by bringing up your argument. He was an affectionate person but he wasn’t touching you like he usually did. You didn’t know where you stood and that worried you.

Beebs jumped and greeted you happily as you walked inside and you had to regretfully nudge him off of you due to your aching body. The warmth of his apartment made you realize how wet and cold your clothes were from the accident. Poe led you into his room, going into the drawer and grabbing some items of clothing.

“I’ll let you change,” he said quietly. “The shower’s yours if you want.”

And then he shut the door behind him. You’d almost wished you were at your own apartment just so you wouldn’t be surrounded by the tension. Going into the bathroom, you placed his clothes next to the sink and turned on the shower, the idea of scalding hot water a heavenly thought. As the water warmed, you removed your clothes and for the first time that night, you looked up at your reflection.

You were beat up. Small cuts and bruises littered your body from the impact, the cut on your forehead disguised by gauze but throbbing painfully as the edges pinked with the beginnings of a bruise. You peeled back the gauze pad and stared at the cut that was at least the length of your thumb and the ends of the stitches sticking up haphazardly in every direction. For a lack of a better term, you were a mess.

Stepping into the shower, the hot water instantly relaxed your muscles. You carefully washed away any remaining traces of blood, the water at your feet turning pink as it spiraled down the drain. Instead of taking a full shower, you stood under the stream of hot water, replaying the entire night in your mind.

Poe wouldn’t have come to the hospital if he didn’t want to be with you anymore...he wouldn’t have taken you back to his apartment if he no longer cared...right?

You needed to know where you stood.

When the water ran cold, you got yourself together and got out. As you dried off, you pulled Poe’s clothes and smiled. He had grabbed your favorite shirt of his. You slid it over your head, the familiar scent bringing you immediate comfort. His sweatpants were baggy on you, but at least the relaxed clothing wouldn’t constrict your body.

Poe’s bed was still made, indicating that he hadn’t been back in the room since you got into the shower. You sat on the edge, the big bed threatening to swallow you whole if you slept in it alone. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to sleep without saying something, you went searching for Poe. You walked out to see him setting up bedding on the couch. It hurt.

“Poe, can I say something?”

Your voice was quiet, meek; like you were afraid. Poe stopped moving, his attention completely on you. You felt less nervous when you saw the gentleness on his face. It was now or never as you took a deep breath.

“I have never been more ashamed of myself in my life. What I said...you trusted me with something that hurt you so bad and I used it against you in a stupid argument. I broke that trust.” Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to fall with each spoken word. “I never meant that what happened to you was any less important than what happened to me. I can’t even remember why I said it, but I did. And I hurt you.”

You took a shuddering breath, two single tears falling from each of your eyes.

“I know we’re not talking right now and I can wait until you want to talk, but I couldn’t go to sleep without you knowing how sorry I am. Because I am so, so sorry.”

Poe was silent as he took in your words. The emotion behind them nearly broke his heart.

“I don’t want to lose you. And I don’t know if you can ever forgive me, but I will do whatever it takes for however long it takes for you to forgive me.”

With a final breath and a strange comfort knowing that your words were out there, you turned to go back into Poe’s bedroom. His footsteps and soft voice stopped you.

“Y/N.”

Poe placed a gentle hand on your back, turning you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You sniffled into his chest, your own arms coming up around Poe’s waist and squeezing him into your embrace as a few more tears fell. The fear, the anger, the loneliness; all of the emotions of the past two days overwhelmed you as you clung to Poe like he was your lifeboat and you were sinking. Poe cupped the back of your head, placing a kiss on the crown and resting his face in the softness of your hair as you continued to whisper apologies into the fabric of his t-shirt.

Poe pulled back, damp spots on his t-shirt. The hand that cradled your head came down to wipe the tears off of your cheek. Poe unwound his other arm from you, encouraging you with a gentle push to go with him into the living room. He sat you down on the coffee table, sitting down on the couch directly in front of you, your hands held by his.

“I’ve already forgiven you,” Poe said, and you felt a huge weight lifted from your chest. “And I’m sorry, too. I had no right to get angry with you because of my own jealousy.”

Your shoulders dropped, the weight that had just lifted from your chest returning.

“Turns out you were right, so I guess you did have every right to be mad at me for not telling Ben.”

Poe tilted his head in confusion and you blinked away tears.

“If you’re going to get mad at me for this, please do it tomorrow. I don’t have it in me to fight with you again,” you prefaced. You were pretty sure you’d have a breakdown if you got into a shouting match with Poe. “I got coffee with Ben today, as friends, and he told me he wanted to give our relationship another try. So, I told him about you and he didn’t believe me so I stormed out. I was on my way here when I got in the accident.”

Poe exhaled deeply. Clenching your jaw, you looked away from Poe’s eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the disappointment and anger in them. You went to remove your hands from his, but he just held tighter.

“I’m not mad,” Poe finally said. You looked back up at him. “I’m not the kind of guy that won’t let you have guy friends. It just makes me uncomfortable when your guy friends still want to date you.”

“It makes me uncomfortable too, especially because he didn’t respect me for turning him down and my desire to keep you private. I don’t want to be friends with Ben now that I know this.”

Poe released your hands, not because he was angry but to run a hand through his hair. It was completely messed up from the multiple times he had done it since Jessika called him.

“This was a stupid fight, wasn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, kinda,” Poe agreed, leaning forward and resting his arms on his legs. “If I hadn’t said anything, you wouldn’t have said anything, and none of this would’ve happened. So we’re both at fault.”

Nodding in agreement, you suddenly laughed. The action confused Poe.

“I’m kind of a hypocrite,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

“What do you mean?”

“You can forgive me for saying something hurtful but I can’t accept Jessika’s apology? I’m a hypocrite.”

Poe placed his hand on your knee, his fingers wrapping around the bend of your knee. His thumb caressed your kneecap.

“You’re not a hypocrite,” he said. “Everyone processes hurt different. You’re human. Give yourself a break.”

The corners of your lips twitched and you shook your head in disbelief.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do. You deserve everything.”

You tried to stop the smile on your face, but couldn’t.

“There’s that smile,” Poe said as one graced his own face. You chuckled lightly. You put your hand on top of his.

“You know it was risky for you to come to the hospital?”

“I know,” Poe said softly, “but I’m your boyfriend and I had to make sure you were ok. And you’re worth the risk.”

Warmth spread from your neck to your cheeks. Poe had an incredible ability to make you forget everything you know, from his touch, his words, and even with just a look. You didn’t know how to respond to this man, this kind, kind man who had taken care of you despite being in a fight with you. So you said the only thing you’ve been thinking since he sat down on your hospital bed.

“Can I kiss you now?”

Poe chuckled. “Please.”

You stood up and pulled Poe’s lips to yours with both hands on his face, a sense of urgency behind the movement of your lips. You climbed into his lap, Poe gently guiding you down as he leaned back against the couch. You missed his kisses, the softness of his lips and the way he kissed you like it was better than breathing. Your hair fell around you, acting as a shield between the happy bubble you were in and everything else. He pushed your hair back from your face and you melted into the tender touch, the warmth of his hands on your skin lighting your skin on fire and igniting one in your belly.

Poe’s hands moved from your neck down to your waist to bring you even closer. You gasped sharply as his grip tightened, making him pull back suddenly with a worried look.

“Bruises,” you whispered with a half chuckle. “I have to take it easy for awhile.”

Poe placed a kiss on your lips, his hands tenderly moving down your waist to rest on your thighs.

“Well, it’s a good thing I like you for more than sex.”

“Oh, I’m such a lucky girl,” you yawned. Poe chuckled.

“You need sleep.”

“Come with me?”

“I don’t know,” Poe leaned against the couch, relaxing into his spot. “My couch is pretty comfortable.”

You sighed loudly and dramatically, sliding off of Poe’s lap.

“Suit yourself.” You flashed him a cheeky smile. “I’m sure Beebs will be happy to keep your spot warm.”

The flicking of light switches turning off echoed behind you as you walked into Poe’s room and climbed into his bed. Poe got in next to you, settling onto his side and looking down at you.

“How’s your head?”

“It hurts.”

“What’s your name?”

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure your minor concussion hasn’t become worse,” you gave him a look. “Humor me, please?”

You rolled your eyes. “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N.”

“Who am I?”

“You’re Poe Dameron, my incredibly sexy and kind and wonderful boyfriend.”

Poe smiled down at you,

“What day of the week is it?”

“Friday. Well, technically Saturday now.”

Poe nodded, content with your answers. He then pressed a kiss to your forehead. When he pulled away, you placed a hand on his cheek to stop him from moving away. You gazed up at him, like you were memorizing every inch of his face. Lifting your head, you placed your lips on his for the second time, this time with a tenderness only lovers shared. Poe’s eyes were soft when you pulled back.

“Thank you for forgiving me,” you whispered, caressing his cheek with your thumb.

Poe leaned down and kissed your lips, the tip of your nose, and then your forehead before relaxing his head onto your pillow and pulling you into him. Your arms encircled him, your head nuzzling into his chest.

On a night you think you wouldn’t be able to sleep, it welcomed you like the familiar arms that held you.

tag list [open!] - @ah-callie @darksideofclarke @gloomygoregirl @leilei-draws @imaginecrushes @i-ievu @brianamaree @yeeintensifies @spider-starry @krazykatkay456 @fanfiction-trashpile @afootnoteinyourhappiness @easterncryptid @my-child-gaara @myrandom-fandomlife @onebatch--twobatch @the-cry-of-youth @p3nny4urth0ught5 @porgiez @umchrisevans @galaxy-of-stories @seeking-a-great--perhaps @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @dameronsgalaxygal @mserynlarsen @yougottakeeponkeepinon @maze-It101

#poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader insert #back to you series #modern au #modern poe dameron #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron angst #poe dameron x reader

186 notes · View notes

lookoolah · 4 years

Text

love in every sip (1.9k) read on ao3 for the “coffee” square on my @tonystarkbingo flash card

Tony startled himself awake when he made a move to get into a more comfortable position on the tiny couch that was clearly not meant for sleeping on, which he certainly had a difficult time learning over the course of the years that the tiny couch had found its way to Tony’s workshop (with some help from Pepper, probably). He wasn’t sure whether he woke up in the millisecond that he was hovering in the air between the ridiculous couch and the ground or when he facepalmed into the floor, but awake he definitely was.

“Ow, shit.” He groaned, looking up vengefully at the stupid sofa. “J, as soon as you can, place an order for the biggest, comfiest couch you can find on the internet, thanks!” He gritted out through his teeth, hoping that the tiny couch felt insecure and unlovable.

“Right away, Sir.”

He looked up at the StarkPad displaying the time that he had perched on top of his coffee-table as a make-shift digital clock (whoever said he wasn’t one for interior design?). It was 9am, anyway, so he might as well be getting up now. That is if he was pretending to be a healthy functioning human being that didn’t spend the last 72 hours in his workshop and fell asleep 3 hours ago on this stupid, unlovable couch.

He made his way to the main kitchen, waving sleepily at the team that was lively bickering in the breakfast nook. Oh right, that’s what they looked like, other people. He thought it would be a good idea to brush his teeth before any silverware made contact with the inside of his mouth lest it immediately corroding.

After spending way too long sitting on the toilet because his body seemed to enjoy falling asleep in the most uncomfortable of places, he finally made his way back to the now-empty kitchen, where on the counter he found a steaming coffee in the Iron Man mug from the Avengers mugs set that Clint thought was the perfect $15 Christmas gift for the people that literally risked their lives by his side on day-by-day bases. Tony frowned, walking over to the island, unsure whether he blanked out and made coffee in the short interval of semi-wakefulness between sleeping in odd places. He spotted a napkin next to the mug, where a neat cursive looked back at him.

“Good morning, Tony. Please stop pulling all-nighters for three days straight,” it said.

Huh? Tony really only had the energy to ponder about when, by whom, and why the note was written and the coffee made for a total of ten seconds before his sleep and caffeine-deprived mind short-circuited and he gave in to the inviting aroma of the drink. And, well, whoever his barista in shining armor was unquestionably knew just how strong and sweet Tony liked his coffee (that being, real strong and real sweet).

☕.

He really didn’t expect it to become an ongoing thing. He didn’t expect that the next morning, upon walking into the kitchen (from his bedroom this time, thank fuck ) he would be met with the same Iron Man mug on the counter with another napkin neatly placed next to it, its edge tucked under the mug as if to make sure that the soft blow of air from the air conditioning wouldn’t blow it away, care written all over the scene.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Glad you actually got some shuteye tonight, finally. Hope you have a good day.”

Tony read the note over a few times, twice in his head, and once under his breath, with a small smile that he didn’t notice was there until Steve, who was apparently in the pantry, called attention to it.

“Cheery this morning, huh?”

“Oh, uh,” Tony looked up from the napkin in his hand, trying to hold back the smile, “You tripped and fell in my dream, still laughing at it.” He lied, protectively wrapping his hands around the warm Iron Man mug.

Steve chuckled in response, putting down the box of Lucky Charms and reaching above the sink to grab himself a bowl.

“You want some cereal?” He asked, putting down a bowl in front of Tony without waiting for a response.

“So courteous of you, Cap,” Tony started filling his bowl with milk while Steve was pouring cereal into his, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

Steve made a face at him, probably about to give a schpiel about why would you pour the milk first, Tony?

“Why would you pour the milk first, Tony?” He said, handing Tony the Lucky Charms and taking the milk from his hands.

“Because I’m a certified genius, that’s why.” Tony winked, taking a sip from his coffee. Shit, so perfect again. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to see who made this coffee, would you?” He asked tentatively, filling his bowl with cereal.

“Didn’t you make it?” Steve canted his head in confusion and brought the spoon to his lips.

“No, actually, I didn’t,” Tony took another sip of his coffee, “I wonder who did, though.” This time, as he looked down at the dyed marshmallows in his milk, he failed to notice both the involuntary smile he pressed into the rim of his Iron Man mug and the one Steve stifled around a mouthful of his cereal.

☕️.

The random coffee offerings in a particular Iron Man mug and a neat cursive turned regular from then on, and it was starting to become clear that his barista in shining armor was really more of a secret admirer expressing their affections through coffee beans.

The mugs waited for him at the counter almost every morning, the team off at a mission, the team just sitting down for breakfast, the team finishing up breakfast. The mugs were on a coaster on his desk when he fell asleep at it while working on a new design, while fixing an old design, while ignoring emails from some super important government officials. The mugs, for fucks sake, were sat on an old paperback next to the tiny couch that Tony continued to fall asleep on, even after the biggest, comfiest couch on the internet arrived.

“Good morning, hope you slept well. You look adorable with bedhead.”

“Heard you walking around late last night, I wish I could drive off all your nightmares with a broom.”

“Stop falling asleep at your desk, idiot, your neck will get stuck like that.”

“That couch looks like it’s not meant for sleeping on.”

Tony found himself growing more and more fond at every note, every word, every sip. He didn’t think that it was possible for him to look forward to his daily dose of caffeine more than he already did, but this new routine indisputably made him jittery with excitement every morning.

He started to watch the team closely, in an attempt to figure out their tells. Who saw me this morning with my bedhead? Who likes to broom? Who doesn’t like tiny uncomfortable couches?

But, alas, none of the notes had been specific enough to pinpoint someone or even narrow down the list, and Jarvis was refusing to give him any information on the grounds of some “No Stalking Protocol, Sir” bullshit.

That was, of course, until the afternoon that Nick Fury, somehow Tony’s saving grace in this mystery, called him up to his office. Tony plopped down on the chair in front of the desk, crossing his leg and taking a sip of his smoothie.

“You should really try this place from down the block someday, I hear they grow all their shit themselves.” He took another sip, the little to no remnants on the bottom of the cup loudly coming up the straw. “Ugh, to die for!”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Nick rolled his eye, and Tony wondered whether The Nick Fury Eyeroll pre tragic eye loss accident was more or less puissant. “I need you to look over this report that Rogers submitted and discuss with the team whether or not every update that you insist on installing in their suits has really been necessary.” Nick handed him a transparent folder and Tony cringed at both the utmost ludicrous implication that advancement is not always necessary and at the prospect of paperwork. “It seems to me like on this particular mission they were more of a disruption rather than advantage.”

Tony flipped open the file and looked up at Nick through his eyelashes, taking one final loud sip of his Blueberry Mist smoothie.

“I’m sorry, did you just allude to that progress is not an essential part of human existence? My goodness, I did not know you to be such a conservative, Nick!” He clapped a hand over his heart, prompting another eyeroll. The eye patch, Tony thought, definitely made it more effective.

“Stop bullshitting me and just look over the report, Stark.” Tony chuckled and looked down at the paper, a neat cursive looking back at him.

“Uh,” He cleared his throat, flipping through the pages and staring at the way the letters braided into each other, just like on the napkins Tony read sweet nothings form every morning. He looked up at the top of the paper, where next to the printed “Name” it read in pretty, oh-so-pretty cursive, “Captain Steven Rogers.”

☕.

Steve woke up from a dull migraine that he had been nursing for the past week or so. He sighed, taking a large sip of the lukewarm water from the bottle he had discarded in his room a few days ago. Everyone was always talking about how important drinking water is nowadays, but Steve was never really a fan of health schticks anyway. As he made his way to the kitchen, he asked his own brain not for the first time this week why it wasn’t healed by the oh-so-magical properties of the oh-so-magical serum. A look at the digital clock in the elevator told him it was 7am on a Sunday, and he tried to remember what time it was last night when Tony excused himself to his bedroom from movie night, claiming that he was too exhausted for thrillers that evening.

Stepping into the kitchen, however, he was met with a sleepy Tony in an oversized gray Led Zepellin hoodie and plaid pajama pants, sitting Indian Style in the breakfast nook with an Iron Man mug in his hands, taking small sips from it and the smell of coffee traveling from the coffeemaker on the kitchen counter to Steve.

Oh. He felt the pang of disappointment in his chest at the realization that Tony woke up earlier than him. This week really didn’t like Steve much, did it?

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Tony broke the silence and Steve felt some of the disappointment dissipating at the raspy sleep-deprived timbre of Tony’s voice, “I made coffee,” he nodded over to the island that Steve was standing in front of, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I ―” Steve cut himself off when his eyes landed on the Captain America mug from the Avengers mugs set that Clint thought was the perfect $15 Christmas gift for the people that literally risked their lives by his side on day-by-day bases. Steve felt his heart skip a beat and he held his breath as he reached out and pulled the mug towards him. Under it, of course, there was a napkin with a blocky print scribbled over it.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are, Mr. Rogers.

Busy tonight?”

#tony stark august flash bingo #tony stark bingo fill #karina writes #stony #stevetony #stony fic #stevetony fic #steve/tony #steve x tony #steve rogers #tony stark #mcu fanfiction #marvel

41 notes · View notes

1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

Princess and the Migraine -7

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: When Princess needs his help Murder Panther undergoes a trial by fire and comes out soft and gooey. Like a marshmallow. A really sexy, highly dangerous marshmallow.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and 'the code is more like guidelines' outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

NO SMUT, usage of names, mild groping (he’s still Diego), illness and medical establishments, plus size woman+fit man, secretly competent Diego!, helpless Princess, bad boys with too much money and not enough impulse control, secondary OCs, excessive swearing (???), illegal business dealings... I mean, its DIEGO

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I'm not a fan of "plot" so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

gif by @nicke0115

Diego had received the normal text from his Princess, a simple and efficient 'here' attached to a selfie. This Friday the selfie was in his bed, that mane of ringlets tossed up over the pillow and those deep blue eyes half closed in relaxation. There was nothing sexual about it, hell, he couldn't even see her lips, and it still made him half hard. What if I could see that every day? In person, right next to her? I must convince her to quit that stupid little job.

Groaning softly, he flips the phone to be held horizontally in his left hand while the right presses the heel of his palm into his burgeoning erection. He cannot wait to bury himself into that soft little body; fingers, tongue, dick, anything. She is the softest woman he has ever touched, even her tiny little feet are soft, it is maddening. He slouches down into the backseat to relieve some of the pressure from his pants.

"You want me to stop anywhere, boss?" Bastian asks from the driver's seat. Bastian is a good kid, he follows orders, he is efficient, he even anticipates needs like this, offering to get food on the way home. He looks nothing like his uncle. Julio always did say that his little sister liked blondes and Bastian was living proof.

"No, I will see what she wants to do first." Diego wants to get his hands on Princess more than he wants food.

Julio chuckles from the front seat, "His dinner is already at home, eh?" He's been with Diego for twenty years, he knows how this goes down.

"One can only hope." Diego mutters as he flips through the 'Pretty Princess' photo album in the phone's gallery. Sure, there are the expected compromising pictures (much to his delight, she enjoys posing seductively at any level of undress), but many are shots of her laughing, being excited at a new restaurant, snuggled into his side at some scenic location perfect for a couples' pic.

A couple. Is that what they are? Does he want that? (Yes) Can I have that? (I will). He hasn't wanted any of what used to be his regular girls in… six months. Sure, Franchesca and, and whatever-her-face-is accompanied him to some club events, he even let Franchesca blow him in the car. But it wasn't until he closed his eyes and saw another gaze, drowning blue and dark as ink, that he came. Vocally. Franchesca at least knew better than to comment. That was the last time.

He wants this. He wants Princess. His Princess. How, he has no idea, but he assumes he'll figure it out. He has figured out how to survive his sister and his profession all the way to age 42. He has figured it out so far and he has no plans to stop now.

That book about relationships and autism spectrum really helped, maybe there are other similar books that he can get. Is there a book on how to get women to admit feelings? There has to be a book on something so… unusual, yes?

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

The elevator dings and he steps out before the doors are fully open. The common area is dark and quiet. "Princess?" He calls. Nothing.

Maybe she is still in the bed waiting for me. The image throws him into rapid motion; the jacket is tossed over the back of the sofa and he pulls the gun out of his belt to place it on the breakfast bar as he passes by. With huge strides, he hurdles up the stairs and into the bedroom.

The small lamp on the nightstand is at the lowest setting, turned to a faint aqua color. She does love fiddling with the ridiculous color options. Her bag is on the floor in front of the closet along with her purse, shoes, and a trail of clothing to the bed.. Odd, she always places everything just so. Never just, just dropped… anywhere.

Princess is in the bed… but she is asleep.

Diego pushes his shoes off and pads over to her side of the bed. Her glasses are on the nightstand and next to them the gemstone ring he gave her is threaded onto one of the diamond tennis bracelet for safekeeping. It makes him smile, how thoughtfully she cares for his gifts.

"Princess?" She winces at his soft rumble and cracks one eye open. "What's wrong?" He reaches out to touch her hair and she flinches away. Ouch, what the hell?

She holds out a hand, he takes that instead. "Baby?" Her voice is so quiet he can barely hear her. Something is very wrong.

Kneeling to the floor, Diego rests his chin on the bed directly in front of her face and waits. He has learned that if it's something physical that is bothering her he can simply wait her out. Each time that he has tried this it resulted in a shorter wait period the next time and a less agitated Princess. He's not sure if he is training her or if maybe it's the other way around.

Her fingers curl around his thumb, small but strong. Finally, she opens her mouth, "I have a migraine. Was fine earlier, but police lights. On whatever bridge. We sat for like ten minutes, Bastian couldn't get out of the traffic. I took medicine, but I need to sleep." She pauses, her eyes closed tightly and brow furrowed. Her breathing is shallow, like she is trying very hard not to cry. "I'm sorry, baby." She whimpers, and then a real tear does escape.

"No no no, Princess. No crying. Please do not." The absolute last thing Diego can deal with today is that pretty little face all red and messy with tears. She sniffles but doesn't move away when he wipes the tears with his thumbs. Those blue eyes are watching him very closely.

"Are--" she licks her lips and tries again, "Are you mad at me?" Her high voice cracks at the end and she blinks back more tears. Apprehension is coming off of her in waves.

Diego cocks his head, trying to understand where this question comes from. "You… think I will be mad at you for being ill?" Slowly, he leans closer to her while she nods tightly with a tiny 'mm hmm' of affirmation. When she huddles into herself, almost hiding under the covers, understanding begins to bloom. "Have other people gotten mad at you for becoming ill?"

Princess swallows hard, her eyes slide away from his. She is embarrassed. Someone has managed to shame her into feeling guilty about a hereditary illness she has no control over. He can feel rage climbing up inside his chest.

"Y-y-yeah. It's really inconvenient. I ruin p-plans like this. I'm sorry." Her voice is muffled by the covers. She picks at the stitching on the sheet, snapping her nail back and forth over the threads in a nervous tic.

Right now, I am doing the training because this needs to be broken. Immediately. He takes a deep breath, "No, Princess. No one can be mad at you for suffering from a condition you cannot control. That is ridiculous. I could never be angry at you for getting sick." He tries very hard to sound soothing and not like he's about to reprimand a ludicrous child. Slowly, he pulls the sheet down until her entire face is visible. Her eyes flick back to him, then away again. "Aqui." She obeys the command thoughtlessly, locking on his gaze. Diego raises a brow in question.

Princess huffs a soft sigh, then whispers, "Okay." Her face smooths out, eyebrows straightening and lips relaxing back to their normal fullness. Her little nose even unwrinkles as she eases. She must decide she buys it, because next she timidly asks, "Will you bring me a Coke?"

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

Diego gets her settled with her phone (which he silences) and the small bottle of Coke (opened downstairs so the noise doesn't hurt her). When she pulled herself upright to drink he realized she was still dressed so he got her into pajamas, it was odd putting clothing onto her instead of taking it off. She kept her eyes closed and allowed him to move her around like a ragdoll, relaxed and trusting.

The tightness in his chest only worsened when she crawled into his lap and nuzzled into him with a plaintive, "Hold me." Princess wasn't really a cuddly type of girl, so he knew this was bad. After ten minutes she was done with the 'mushy stuff' as she referred to it. He let her get situated then went downstairs with instructions to check on her in two hours.

Diego spent the time researching migraines, her medication, and other possible treatments. Julio came and went with dinner, cheesesteaks that Princess had mentioned long before the police strobe lights.

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

The required two hours have passed, Diego swears it was two days long, so he heads upstairs to check on her. Princess is on her stomach, head turned to the left, and her mouth hanging open. His hand lands softly on her shoulder while he calls her, "Princess?"

Nothing happens.

He tries again, just a little louder, "Princess? Hey, mirame." Still no response. She is a light sleeper, this is highly unusual. And he is beginning to be concerned.

Diego nudges her shoulder, then, when he gets nothing, pushes until she rolls over. She doesn't even make a sound. Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Hey! Bicki! Wake up, come on." Her lashes flutter and she makes a whiny noise. Sitting on the bed, he hauls her into his lap so she leans back against his left arm. Tapping her cheek with his right hand gets a semi-verbal response.

"Dieg.. Where. I'm. Can't." She slurs and burrows into his chest. "Too brigh. Is brigh." Her voice is so quiet he can barely understand her. Her tiny hands are fisted in his shirt, hanging on for dear life.

He grips her jaw in his right hand and turns her head to face him. "Princess? Can you tell me?" She's struggling through his name, like her tongue is too big for her mouth. "Yes, it's me. It's your Diego. We're home, in bed. You're safe." Her brow furrows as she processes this information. It takes three times longer than it should, he hasn't seen anyone this fucked up in a long time. Its terrifying.

Finally, her hands in his shirt ease their grip and she looks around the room. "Diego?" She is squinting hard, blinking slowly.

"Right here, Princess." Turning her to face him, he can see that her eyes are completely unfocused, pupils so small they're barely visible in a sea of grayish blue. Her hands come up to touch his face and she makes a tiny noise of distress.

"Baby. Can't see. I can't." Her whisper fades as she goes limp, eyes rolling up. Her breathing stays even, if shallow, so he doesn't panic. Yet. She said she does this, that she will black out. Her whole family does it. Her sisters, her niece, her mom… HER MOM.

Hit by sudden inspiration, Diego whips around to her phone on the nightstand and snatches it up. Her mom. Her mom would know what to do, right? Easing her deadweight back to the bed, he makes sure she is breathing easily, then turns back to her phone. He unlocks her cell with his left hand while digging his out of his right pocket. There, at the top of her contacts labeled 'Emergency', Mom. Dad. Diego. He ignores the sharp flutter in his chest at seeing himself as her emergency contact, and opens up the Mom item. Before he can second guess himself, he taps in the number in on his own phone and hits the green button. She better know who I am or this is going to be a disaster.

It rings twice before a remarkably similar voice answers, "Hello?"

Shit, now what?

"Hello, is, is this Kat?" Fuck. Shit. Damnit Diego.

"Yes…?" It really is startling how similar their voices are.

"I do not know if you know who I am, my name is Diego and I--"

"Diego! Ohhh, I know who you are." She laughs lowly, just like Princess. He notes the fact that she recognizes him instantly for later discussion.

"I apologize for calling like this, but I need your help." He tries not to sound scared. He does not get scared.

"What's wrong? Is she okay? Are you okay?" Apparently he failed. Her mom, Kat, knows instantly that something is amiss.

"She said she had a migraine and took her medicine. Now, I cannot get her to wake up fully and she keeps repeating that she can't see. I don't know what to do, I've never seen her like this. Please." It all comes out in a rush, he hopes she can understand his rapidly thickening accent.

"Okay, first of all, take a deep breath." Do I sound that panicked? Should I be panicked?!? "This isn't that unusual for her more severe migraines. As long as she keeps breathing. Is her breathing fairly normal?"

He watches her chest rise and fall at regular intervals. "I, err, yes? It's a bit fast, but even."

"Good. That's good, Diego. She is not going to like this, but you have to take her to the ER."

"Okay. I can do that. Yes." Wait, what do you do when you take someone to the ER?

"Okay, listen. You have to tell them that she's had these since she was a kid. She takes the highest tablet dosage of imitrex, tell them what time she took it. She needs the shots, yes she has had them before, no drug allergies. Under no circumstances do you tell them that she blacked out or they will admit her. Also, no chance of pregnancy, they'll ask that. If they think she might be pregnant then they won't treat her."

THEY WHAT.

"What do you mean? Won't give her the shots? If she might be pregnant? What shots?" Diego is very confused. This is a lot of information in a very short time and all of it is very important. Why would that matter?

"Hospitals will not give medications to pregnant women. Only tylenol, generally. And that isn't going to help." Her mom sounds like this topic has been thoroughly debated in their household.

"Okay. No pregnancy. No black out. Have been having these her whole life, need shots, have had those before. I have the bottle of ...imitrex? I should take it along?" He ticks each item off on a mental list. "Actually, could you text all of... that?" He most definitely does not want them to admit her.

"Of course. And taking the bottle is perfect, that's quick thinking. What time did she take it?"

What time did she take that?? She had already taken it when he got home. "Sometime before seven…? Yes. Between six and seven."

"One last thing, I want you to be prepared. Its two shots, a sedative and a pain medication, but they'll put it in her butt."

That's… interesting. "In her butt?? She won't even let me put something in her butt." He mutters petulantly.

Her mom is sputtering with laughter. "Oh, I see why this relationship works. Wow. This is perfect."

"Err, is there anything else? I've never been to an ER, so. Um." Something about the way she sounds just like Princess puts him at ease, like he doesn't need to worry about impressing her.

"No. I'll text you the list after we hang up. Just let me know how she is tomorrow, okay? I know you'll take care of her, Diego."

"Yes, I will. Thank you." He ends the call and texts Julio to get up here now.

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

The ER is pandemonium and Princess is extremely unhappy to be there. She is curled into his side, trying to hide from the noise and the light, while Bastian fills out forms for her. Julio thought to bring her purse, it was a very good idea since her entire identity is in there. When Bastian hands over the forms to the desk the nurse sees Princess's hospital work badge in his hand with her ID and she magically shoots to the top of the waitlist.

The nurses come to take her into the back, they bring her a wheelchair which she grumbles about but goes willingly when Diego pushes her into the seat. He wants to go with her, but he isn't family. If this were anyone else he would do whatever he wants, but this is his Princess. The thought of breaking her trust by violating her privacy is unbearable, anything like this has never been discussed.

They barely disappear around the corner before a nurse comes right back.

"Alright. Which one is Diego? She will not shut up and she will not calm down. Come with me." The nurse grabs his arm and practically drags him for a few steps until his longer legs catch up.

They go into a curtained room where one nurse is trying to manhandle yoga pants down well-rounded hips and another is opening prefilled syringes. Princess is swiping at the unfamiliar hands on her body, unbalanced and jumpy. Little noises of fear escape from her lips in high pitches, her head is down and her eyes are closed tightly against the florescent lighting. Diego suddenly remembers that she can't see. She is terrified.

"Princess?" The second he touches her with one hand she dives into him. Her own little hands claw into his shirt and she tries to mold her body to his. "I'm here. You're safe." Wrapping arms around her, he holds her still tightly. She nods against his chest and relaxes a tiny bit.

The nurse with the syringes looks pointedly at Princess's butt, then back up at him. Oh. Right. Sliding one hand down her back, he inserts fingers into the back of her pants and eases the elastic waistband down. "Its just me," he whispers into her hair as she trembles in his hold. The strong muscles of her butt twitch, but she doesn't fight him. She trusts me.

Its over in under five seconds, both shots and both bandaids, one set on each side. She jumps with each injection but can't seem to process what happened fast enough to respond appropriately.

The nurse doesn't even bother to look up from cleaning the table. "Okay, take her home and put her to bed. She'll sleep for the next eight hours."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That's it?"

"Yep, thanks for your help."

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

Princess succumbs to the sedative halfway home and Diego has to carry her to bed. She really does sleep for most of Saturday. He keeps going in to check on her, she is completely limp and doesn't change position once. Its a bit disturbing how helpless she is like this. Has she had to do this alone before? Or, worse yet, with the awful ex?

He stays right beside her after that.

When she finally wakes her eyes are normal again and she immediately reaches out for him. "Diego?"

Her little question makes him smile warmly.

"Right here, Princess. Welcome back." He rumbles softly, unsure if sound still hurts her. Stroking one hand down her back makes her arch up into his caress. So beautiful.

She squints up at him through the curtain of her hair. Slowly, Princess rises to all fours, then eases back to sit. "I…" she blinks at him. "I have to pee."

Okay, so awake but not totally coherent yet. She requires a little assistance in the bathroom, mostly a steady arm to lean on, but they manage it with only mild to moderate giggles and one bruise-inducing bump to the corner of the counter.

She stumbles back to bed, collapses face down, sticks her left arm out in his general direction, and wiggles fingers at him then back at herself.

"Take the stupid bandaids off. Shit itches."

Oh yes, finally time to touch the butt.

Diego sits on the bed beside her, one hip pressed up against her own. He firmly strokes both hands down her back just to hear her deep moan of pleasure. She arches up when he reaches the curve of her ass. Oh good, she is feeling better. Fuck that, she feels amazing, he chuckles at his own joke but doesn't pause in gently groping her. The silky panties slide easily over her cheeks, the sight makes his mouth water. The pale skin is only marred by the bandaids, so he pulls them both off in rapid succession then smooths fingers over the red marks.

"Mmmmm," she moans with the gentle treatment, "Thank you for taking care of me. That's the first time someone other than my parents did that for me. How did you know to take me to the ER, anyway?" Her voice is muffled in the pillow, soft and sleepy and content.

Diego absent-mindedly runs a finger down the crack of her ass, feather light. "Your mom told me what to do when I called her."

"YOU CALLED MY MOM?!?!"

Judging by her volume, apparently no, sound does not hurt her anymore.

#damnit diego #actually thank you diego #murder panther #soft murder panther #zash writes #stupid fluff

34 notes · View notes