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idontplaytrack · 11 months ago

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✧ “you’re a softie.”

Rosa Diaz x teen daughter! reader

warnings: mentions/descriptions of anxiety, medical gaslighting, chronic pain & illness

in which, rosa gets a call from reader’s school that she hates to receive.

part 2 here!

rosa’s always been a private person, you knew her reasons for not telling her friends about you. however, it wasn’t exactly like it ever came up after all the (very limited) knowledge they had about your mother. but of course, one person on the 99th precinct squad was the exception- captain holt.

the day was going by as per usual, until diaz abruptly went onto the terrace to answer a phone call. the noise startles the relatively quiet bullpen, but they resumed their respective work tasks. “what’s going on with rosa?”

“hm?” amy asks, still distracted by her paperwork.

“rosa seems very…i dunno. have we ever seen her showing this much emotion on her face? that isn’t annoyance or anger?” jake shrugs, pointing at rosa who was currently on the phone with you.

“she doesn’t look happy though. that can’t be good.” amy seethed. just as she finished her sentence, rosa reenters the bullpen and was immediately headed for holt’s office. she knocks, he allows her to enter.

“diaz. how may i help you?”

“my daughter called me. i need to take her home from school. her symptoms have been flaring up for awhile. i don’t want her to get hurt if she makes her own way home.”

“very well. i understand. how much time do you need?”

“can i clock out now? i’m not sure if i need to take her to the hospital or not because she’s not really talking to me- i’ll stay later tomorrow and do whatever task you assign me.” rosa promised.

“hand over the work on your desk to me and you may clock out.” holt decided.

“thanks.” rosa swiftly walked to her desk to grab the small stack of files and turned it in to holt, then left the precinct without another word.

————

“i can’t believe you won’t let me get a car.” rosa scoffs playfully.

“and let you part ways with your motorcycle? I couldn’t possibly do that.”

“i can have both, you know?” rosa bit back a smile, “are you sure you don’t want me to get us a cab home?”

“hurts, but eh.” you shrug.

“hospital?”

“just let me curl up in bed for a couple days, they’ll just hook me up to an iv and give me the same meds i have at home.” you sigh, “i’m due for an mri in two weeks anyway- i can tough it out till then.” rosa pulls you to the side, “i don’t want you to tough it out. your doctor already said that if the pain suddenly worsens and persists you can go in to see her.”

“i can, but i won’t.”

“you amaze me.” rosa huffs, “flareups cause you a 8-9 out of 10 pain and you can walk, spend a whole day out.”

“all thanks to the whole year of medical gaslighting. had to learn how to function with the symptoms.”

you two board the subway and rosa spots a seat. she nudges you to sit down but you refused. “sit. down.” she insisted. “fine, fine.” you gave in, she stands in front of you, keeping the conversation going to keep your mind off of the pain. “how was school today?”

“just did worksheets and asked questions if i had any. but, lunch did suck.”

“why? someone give you trouble?”

“no, the food was revolting.”

rosa lets out a soft laugh, “is there anything i can do to make you feel better?”

“i already had you abandon your work at 2pm. i feel bad as it is. i could’ve went home myself.”

“yeah, i’m not risking that.” rosa scoffs, “nice try.”

“how about a slice of pizza from your favourite place? or two?” rosa suggests.

“if you want.” you shrug, tired.

getting off the subway, she leads you to your favourite pizza place - it was a short walk. pushing the door open, the bell above the door tinkles. “hey, y/n!” the usual counter staff, ana, spotted you. “ay, rough day?”

“she’s not feeling well.” rosa answered on your behalf.

“pobrecita.” ana frowns, “usual order?”

“yep.” rosa nodded curtly, “2 slices sausage. 2 slices pepperoni.”

“of course, just a minute.” the older lady smiled. rosa paid, then took you to the side to wait away from, the crowd. she had a protective arm around you. “i’ll be fine.” you glanced up at her. “i don’t care. you’re my baby.” to you, this was the norm, but still quite rare. you just knew her coworkers would kill to hear this interaction.

after picking up your order, you and rosa resumed your journey home. the last stretch was a nine minute walk from the pizza place. once at home, you excused yourself and went to change into your favourite loungewear set. that made you feel a tad better: to be out gross sweaty clothes. soon after you emerged from, your bedroom, rosa walked out from hers donning a plain black tank top and a pair of matching leggings.

“let’s eat.” rosa tilted her head toward the dining area. you walk over before she did and laid the table. “ana gave us free garlic knots and sauce again.”

“she always does that when you go there with me.” she smirked. you chuckled, sitting down. “didn’t you tell her to stop doing that?”

“i did, but she likes giving you a little treat. her words, not mine.” rosa shrugged, “the lady’s happy. let her do it. she’s been there since before i had you- she’s kinda like another abuelita of yours. besides, she won’t take my money. i tried to pay her back for the extras she gave, but she wouldn’t take it.”

you fought back a laugh, “what?”

“it’s true.” she places the box containing the pepperoni pizza in front of you, “she’s been there for years.”

“i know.” the laughter mellows out and you quietly ate your slice, your mind drifts off. rosa caught you spacing out almost instantly. you caught her gaze for a moment, “i’m fine. just trying not to think about anything at all, actually.”

she shrugs. “how was work?”

“the recent cases are nothing too intense so i won’t be working too much overtime, i hope. it was a good day, though.”

“good. why?”

you saw that subtle glimmer in her eyes, “you know, don’t you? you just want me to say it.”

you gave her cheeky grin as you chewed your food.

“ha! some things really don’t change.” she remarked, “you always gave me this…grin even when you were really little.”

“you’re a softie.” you teased her. she purses her lips together, her attempt of trying not to smile or laugh. which failed - the corner of her lips tug into a small smile.

“take a nap after this.” she changes the subject abruptly.

“okay, softie.” you pout.

————

the remainder of yesterday went by like clockwork during a flareup for you. so it was uneventful in rosa’s opinion, and she was glad to be back at work the next day because that meant you were in less pain than you were before. “why’d you leave work so early yesterday?”

“not talking about that, jake.” she told him absentmindedly, focused on her computer screen.

“oookay.”

“i’m not kidding.” she glares at him. he rolls back to his desk on his chair, “i’m gonna keep bothering you till i find out~”

“not gonna happen.”

“diaz, my office.” holt stepped into the bullpen briefly. rosa followed him inside silently. “you don’t have to work over time this evening.”

“i can.”

“there is no need.” holt reiterated, “there isn’t any paperwork that needs to be done.”

“okay.” rosa acknowledges with a nod, “is there anything else?”

“yes, how is your daughter doing?” he asked, which caught rosa by surprise.

“better. she’s at school again.”

“that is good to hear. dismissed.”

as soon as rosa shut holt’s office door behind herself, jake returned with the same question. “shut up.” rosa’s phone beeps, jake beats her to it. “oh! your phone’s not on silent mode like it usually would.” he peeks at the screen, “oh my god, rosa-”

“what?” rosa deadpanned, “give it back.”

scared, jake handed the device over. but it wasn’t just that. rosa’s been way more guarded up ever since your recent diagnosis of this chronic illness— which your doctor told you was a rare disease. by the name of aggressive fibromatosis. something apparently ‘harmless’ but has been the root cause of your pain and sleepless nights. the name alone terrified you, even rosa. but more so when she sees you go through a flareup episode. for the first time in her life, she felt helpless. she hadn’t told anyone other than holt, and he didn’t even know the specifics. it took a very long time for you to get answers. doctor after doctor brushed you off and painted you as crazy or dramatic, telling you it was either period cramps or all in your head. day after day, rosa’s anger grew but her patience depleted. she was desperate for you to get the help you needed and she was so, so relieved that you did now. but despite knowing she would probably need the help of her friends in one way or another regarding your situation, she was still choosing to keep this to herself.

but, you were absolutely right about one thing. she was softie. but only you have seen this side of her, and maybe arlo- but he was a puppy. which sadly passed away some time ago.

“who is she? why’s she calling you softie?” asked jake, eagerly.

“give it up, jake.“ rosa exhaled sharply, “give it up.”

“fine, softie.”

#rosa diaz #rosa diaz x daughter reader #b99 #brooklynninenine #alternateuniverse #comfort #sickfic #x reader #reader insert #teen daughter reader #daughter reader #alternative universe #reader imagine

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atinylittlepain · 2 years ago

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Firehouse Harrington - Chapter 5

fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

Steve is still recovering from his injuries. She's just trying to help. But tensions run high when they clash over who knows best.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, really rough sex, degradation kink, slight dubcon, also angst because, duh

a/n | wooh boy! I got a little carried away here, folks. Had the day off and couldn't help myself. get yourself a tall glass of water and sit down for a long one

“You’re healing nicely, son. I’ll send another refill script to your pharmacy for the oxycodone and I wanna see you back in a month, alright? Wanna keep an eye on those headaches you’re having.” Steve grunts out a thank you to the doctor as he’s led back to the front desk. After three weeks, he’s still not used to seeing her, sitting and waiting for him after his appointments at the VA medical center. She’s been coming with him whenever she can and he would hate to admit how much it means to him.

She offers him a bright smile from where she’s sitting in the waiting room, a large stack of index cards in her lap. With Thanksgiving next week, her exams are fast-approaching and she’s been studying so hard it makes Steve worry that she’s working herself to the bone, and that he hasn’t exactly been helping her stress-load. Since the week after Halloween, she’s all but moved in with him, save for when her RA job or classes demand she be on campus. She’s been taking care of him, and it both amazes and terrifies Steve that she’s willing to, while all he can really do is be a human rolodex for her endless supply of flashcards. She’s been having him quiz her in the evenings, her hands around his neck and her thighs straddling his waist as she rattles off insanely-smart sounding descriptions of the brain. His girl is studying neuroscience, and his girl is going to be a doctor, and then, Steve figures, his girl isn’t going to be his girl anymore. But for now, he’ll enjoy whatever sweetness she’ll give to him.

He finishes scheduling his follow-up, turning and finding her already standing with her bag slung over her shoulder. He opens the door for her and they step out into the sharp bite of the oncoming winter.

“Well, what did he say?” Steve’s apartment is only a few blocks away from the medical center, so they set off down the sidewalk as she asks her question.

“Said everything looks good. My next appointment is in a month, gave me another prescription for the painkillers.” He feels her hand flex in his and he knows it’s because she doesn’t like the sound of that.

“What about your headaches?” He shrugs, glancing at her and seeing the worried look on her face.

“He said he’d keep an eye on it, whatever that means.” She stops in her tracks, fully looking at him now. He just sighs.

“Steve, I really don’t like how they’re just feeding you these pills. Has anyone said anything about getting you in an MRI machine?” He huffs, tugging her along to continue walking.

“Baby, it’s fine. Nothing new, really. Once I get back to work it’ll go away on its own, it always does.” His paid-time-off is ending after Thanksgiving, and Steve is chomping at the bit to get back into the station, to her much-vocalized dismay. She stops walking again, and he tries his best to tamp down his growing frustration.

“I still think you should let me–” “No.” “Steve.”

“No. You’ve already done way too much for me. I’m not letting you do that.”

“You would be helping me out by coming in. You know I need the practice, i-it’d be killing two birds with one stone.” She had told him two weeks ago about one of her specialty courses at the university medical center, conducting brain scans and assessments that were free to volunteer patients. She had been bugging Steve about coming in ever since, but he was putting his foot down on this one.

“Hey, I’m sick of all this nagging, alright? I told you it’s fine and I meant it. Making my fucking headache worse, jesus. Just wanna get home.” He can see her face crumple at his words and his stomach twists, but he’s too pissed off and cold to really feel sorry, instead squeezing her hand and continuing their walk home. She’s silent the rest of the way.

…

Steve is really starting to worry her. At first, he had seemed to be making a change, being endlessly sweet with her, letting her take care of him, even opening up a bit about his life. She knows his concussion symptoms are lasting well within a normal amount of time, but it seems like some of them are getting worse. He’s been more irritable, more reactive, his headaches are endless, but he won’t listen to a word she says about it. She had talked to Robin over the phone about it, and she had told her his irritability could also be stemming from the impending holiday. Steve wasn’t exactly on good terms with his family, something he had only hinted at to her, and hadn’t been home for Thanksgiving or Christmas in five years. As a result, he turned into a bit of a scrooge (Robin’s words) the instant that the holiday season kicked up.

Perhaps more than anything though, she doesn’t understand why he’s so eager to get back to work after he nearly died on the job. She had actually started inquiring at her school about admittance for veterans, reading whatever information she could get her hands on. It’d be practically free at a state school like Indiana University, with vets nearly sure to be accepted. She hadn’t yet broached the subject with him, knowing it’d probably lead to a huge blowout argument, but she had convinced him to do Thanksgiving with her, just the two of them, and was planning to get him good and sedated on turkey and stuffing before bringing it up.

When they get back to his place after his appointment, he barely looks at her, mumbling that he’s going to lie down for a while. She already knows he’s going to be looking for his bottle of oxycodone, which she had flushed down the toilet that morning. She had talked to one of her supervising professors about the medication, posing questions from a place of clinical curiosity, and had learned just how wickedly potent the stuff was. Steve shouldn’t have been on it for more than a week max, and it was now coming up on a month of doctors filling the prescription for him. She had decided then and there that she was going to get him off it, kicking and screaming if she had to.

She sits down on the couch, pressing her fingers into her temples and waiting for his inevitable question about where his pills are. She can hear him rummaging in the bathroom, and then in the nightstands in his bedroom. All of the sudden, his movements still, and she can hear his bare feet padding back into the living room. Her heart sinks when she sees that he’s holding the pamphlets she had gathered about veteran’s admission to IU in his hand. She must have left them in the nightstand on her side of his bed. Shit. His expression is cool, steeled, as he waves the pamphlets in front of her.

“Care to tell me what this is?” Her mouth had gone completely dry, and a thickness settled in her throat.

“Um, I– um–” He cuts her off, shuffling over to stand in front of her, bending at the waist to get in her space.

“Um, um, um. C’mon, miss college. Thought you were a big girl. Use your words.” He’s practically sneering at her with the way he’s talking and it makes her feel impossibly small under his flashing gaze. She gulps a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“Steve, I’m just trying to help–” He scoffs, standing back upright and starting to pace the floor.

“You think you know what’s best for me? Think you’re so much smarter than me, huh? Gotta help your poor, stupid boyfriend get along, is that it?” She shakes her head vigorously, going to stand but he’s back on her in an instant, resting his hands on the back of the couch to cage her between his arms. She shrinks back into the seat.

“That’s not what I think, Steve. I-I just want you to have options, that’s it! All I did was ask around in the admissions office, it doesn’t mean a-anything, baby. I just thought it’d be helpful for you.” He lets out a humorless laugh, his sharp eyes fixing her in place.

“Well it’s not. Quit trying to mess with shit you don’t understand.” With that he’s turning heel so fast it makes her choke, storming back into the bedroom. A beat later she starts hearing loud clattering.

“Where are my fucking pills? Goddamnit!” She jumps in her seat at his roaring words, punctuated by the sound of what she assumes is one of his nightstands getting thrown on the floor. She sits there for a moment trying to steady her breathing, the continuous sounds of slamming drawers and muttered curses coming from Steve causing her heart to jump. Finally, all the commotion stills and she thinks to herself that she liked it better when he was at least making sound.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly stands, inching towards the bedroom on tenterhooks. She holds onto the doorframe, peering into the room. Both nightstands are tipped onto the floor, their drawers skewed open and the contents strewn on the floor. The wooden bureau that sits across from Steve’s bed has been shoved a few inches out of place, its drawers all open and the clothes usually neatly folded inside in various states of spilling out. Steve’s sitting on the edge of the bed, tugging harshly at the roots of his hair, his chest heaving. She really doesn’t want to do what she’s about to have to. She inches into the room, kneeling down in front of him to try to catch his gaze. She reaches out for him but he swats her hand away.

“Don’t. Fuck, baby. Don’t know where I put my damn pills. I-I need ‘em so bad right now.” His voice is a broken grumble and she feels a sharp twinge in her stomach at his words. It’s time to rip the band-aid off.

“Steve, baby? I know your head’s hurting, but you can’t keep taking those, ok? Why don’t I get you some advil? I know it’s not the same, but we can do that combined with tylenol and it should start to help.” He finally looks at her, and the anger in his eyes is breathtaking, causing her to sit back on her haunches.

“What did you do with them?” She takes a sharp breath in, watching Steve’s knuckles go white where he’s still tugging at his hair. She’s not going to let him scare her, not on this. She squares her shoulders, slowly standing in front of him. She hates that there’s still a warble in her voice when she finally speaks.

“I-I threw them away, Steve. They’re no good for you, and that has become painfully clear this afternoon.” His jaw goes slack at her words, but he quickly catches himself, swallowing hard and glaring up at her.

“Well, that’s not really your decision to make, sweetie.” He stands, brushing past her out towards the front door, starting to toe on his shoes. She follows dumbly behind him.

“Where are you going?” He doesn’t even glance at her, already shrugging on his coat.

“The pharmacy. Gonna get my new prescription since someone has to make everything so goddamn difficult.” She swallows hard.

“I-I called the pharmacy this morning too. Told them that under no circumstances should they fill any more oxy scripts for you. Steve, please–” He lets out a bark of laugh that startles her where she stands, whistling low as he finally sizes her up.

“You are something else, bunny. Really think you know better than me, don’t ya?” He’s started slinking towards her, causing her to back up until she’s pressing up against the wall. He presses a forearm up by her temple, leaning into her. She’s trying to not dissolve on the spot.

“Steve, that’s not what this is about. I-I talked with one of my professors about those pills. He told me it's some of the nastiest stuff out there. People get addicted to them all the time. Please, I just wanna help you.” His other hand has come down to grip her hip harshly, his fingers flexing into the skin and sure to leave bruises.

“Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and stop trying to play doctor on me. You wanna help? Here’s how you can help. If you’re so hell-bent on taking away my pills, my relief, I think it’s only fair you make it up to me, don’t you?” She’s trying to steady her breathing, but can’t help the light gasps that rise as Steve nudges the slope of her neck with his nose. He harshly grabs her jaw, forcing her gaze to focus on his steely expression. She hates that there’s already a simmering heat trailing down her spine.

“Words, now.”

“O-okay, Steve. I’ll m-make it up to you, w-whatever you want, baby. I’m s-s-sorry.” His smile is slick, not reaching his eyes.

“Want you on your knees, pretty. Can you do that? Be good for me and do what you’re told, for once.”

“Yes, Steve–” He cuts her off with a sharp squeeze to her jaw that makes her whimper.

“Not my name. Not right now.”

“Yes, daddy. I’ll be good for you.” Part of her wants to leave, just grab her bag and go. But she’s fixed to the spot by the way he’s looking at her. She figures it’ll be quick, a rough blowjob and then Steve will finally calm down, so she complies, kneeling down in front of him while he starts working at his belt buckle.

She goes to reach for his hips when he starts to unzip his jeans but he immediately swats her hands away.

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to touch. You don’t even get to think. That pretty head of yours has done enough thinking for a while. Just gotta sit there, open your mouth, and take it, you understand?” She nods as he comes behind her, drawing both her wrists back. When she feels the soft leather of his belt circling her wrists she shudders. She winces when he tugs the loop tight.

“C’mon, if you’re so smart why don’t you use your fucking words?” She gasps when he pulls on the belt, making her fall back onto her ass, her back crashing into his heaving chest.

“Yes, daddy. I understand.” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own anymore, entering that higher, breathier register that she knows only Steve can draw out. He grunts at that, squeezing her hips to help her back onto her knees before he’s getting up and coming back in front of her. He slips his jeans and boxers down just enough to tug his cock out, already hard as he fists himself. Stepping forward, he cards his fingers through her hair, tugging harshly to tilt her face up towards him.

“Open your mouth, bunny. You better be good for me.” She complies, letting her jaw slacken and Steve’s on her in an instant, forcing his thick cock past her lips as he holds onto her hair for leverage. She can’t help the small, sputtering chokes that come out around his length as he already begins fucking her mouth, getting deeper with each thrust. Normally, he’d give her time to work her way up to taking all of him, it wasn’t exactly an option to just go for it with his length if she didn’t want to gag. But Steve didn’t seem too concerned with that today, already grazing her throat with his tip.

“Fuck– that’s perfect– just take it, bunny– s’what your pretty little mouth is made for– don’t want you thinking– shit– or talking– just keep your lips around my cock all the time, huh?” She can’t exactly respond to his degrading words with the way he’s dragging her mouth up and down his cock, his fist in her hair guiding her. But she guesses he’s not really looking for a reply.

“What would your little egghead professors think– shit, take it– if they knew their star student spent her time sucking dick like a f-fucking whore, huh?” His words sting, but she hates to admit that they send a clenching ache right through her core too. Unfortunately, Steve seems to notice the way her thighs are clenching at his words and he lets out a jeering laugh.

“Aw, you like that, bunny? You like it when I call you a whore, huh? Guess you’re not as smart as you think you are, just a dumb slut for her daddy’s cock.” His thrusts are unrelenting, now hitting the back of her throat everytime, causing her to gag and sputter around his cock. She can’t help but wriggle her arms against the belt confining them, trying to find some purchase as he uses her mouth but with no success. On the next thrust, Steve’s hips still with his cock down her throat, her nose crushed up against his pelvis. Drool is dripping down her chin as she chokes around him. He just holds her there, and she starts to panic, trying to fight against the hold he has in her hair.

“You don’t need air, do you, pretty? Just need my cock down your throat, right? S’all you need, you stupid slut.” He finally relents, pulling out of her mouth and she’s a wheezing mess, coughing out exhales as she hunches over her shivering body. He’s still hard, but he tucks himself back into his boxers, watching her reel on the floor. Before she can catch her breath, he’s hauling her up by her armpits and pressing her back against the wall, her hands still bound behind her. The way he holds her jaw, fingers skating over her cheeks, is startlingly tender as he drinks in her cockdrunk appearance. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks.

“Look at you, bunny. So pretty for me.” Something in her snaps, her lip starting to wobble as tears pool over her lashes. Steve sighs and she shivers under his delicate touch as he wipes away the first tears to fall.

“What’s got you crying, baby? I don’t like it when you cry, at least not very much.” His grin is sardonic and entirely patronizing as he watches her crumble. She’s trying to stifle the sobs that want to flood her body, her words coming out on heavy shudders.

“You’re s-s-so mean, Steve. I-I j-j-just wanted to h-h-help you.” He tuts, drawing his fingers under her chin to tilt her eyes up to his.

“Aw, you did help, pretty. You and that perfect little mouth of yours. And you know what else? I think you liked it.” With that, he wrenches one of his hands into the front of her jeans, cupping her cunt and stroking harshly through her folds. She lets out a broken gasp at his brutal movement. Steve just chuckles.

“See, bunny? You’re fucking soaked. All because daddy fucked your little throat, huh?” He easily slips two fingers into her, curving them in a way that makes her let out a long, preening cry. She stumbles in his grip, pressing her forehead into his shoulder as he starts fucking her with his fingers.

“P-please, daddy, it’s too much.” He scoffs in her ear, not letting up with his relentless thrusts.

“I know what’s too much for you, bunny. Daddy knows what’s best, right?” When she doesn’t answer, his other hand comes down in a harsh crack on the outside of her thigh and she yelps.

“Y-yes, daddy. You know w-what’s best!” She can feel his smile in her hair as he abruptly removes his fingers, causing her to slump in his hold.

“Atta girl, I think that little brain of yours is finally starting to get it right.” She can’t tell where the pleasure ends and the pain from his words begins, but she knows that the more he says, the more poison that drips off his tongue, the smaller she feels in his grip. Holding her in his arms, he walks them over to the couch, facing her towards the arm rest and bending her over it, her cheek smearing into one of the cushions. Her arms are still bound behind her back and she’s all but given up tugging at them, but Steve seems to notice her squirming.

“If I take the belt off will you be good for me, bunny?”

“Yes– yes, I will, daddy– please– be so good for you.” He shushes her, laying a kiss in the middle of her spine before finally unwinding the belt from her wrists. She flexes her hands, whimpering at the ache that’s already set into her joints. Steve presses a kiss to both of her wrists and she can’t help the shudder that runs through her at his gentle movements.

“There you go, baby. I know it hurts, I’m sorry. Gonna make you feel so much better.” His hands snake under her waist, undoing her jeans before sliding them down her legs. His rough palms splay over the swell of her ass, squeezing the flesh and making her gasp.

“Daddy’s gonna make you feel good, bunny. I promise. But, I just don’t think you’ve quite learned your lesson.” She jolts at that, craning her neck to look at him.

“No– I have! I promise I have, daddy!” He chuckles, catching her off guard when he lands a harsh smack to her ass that sends her lurching forward into the couch.

“You saying you know better than daddy, baby?” She shakes her head, burying her face into her forearms.

“N-no, daddy. Just don’t want it to hurt.”

“Aw, pretty, you won’t learn if it doesn’t hurt, yeah?” He runs his palms up and down her spine, a soothing before the storm.

“Tell you what. Since you’re being so good for me now, we’ll just do five alright? No belt, just my hand.” That’s a small mercy. She hates when he uses the belt, and he knows it. She sighs, nodding her acceptance.

“Does that first one count?” He chuckles, hands squeezing her hips.

“I don’t think so, pretty. That one was a warning, these five are punishment. You think your little brain can handle counting them for me?” She huffs at that, he’s twisting an already deep knife in her gut, but she nods.

The first blow is quick and she yelps out “one!” For a while after, he just rubs his palms on her ass to the point that her legs start trembling in anticipation. He abruptly lands the second and third in the same spot and she shrieks out the count. She already knows that he’s aiming to leave a mark. The fourth and fifth come quick too and she’s been reduced to a mess in the aftermath. Tears are streaming down her face and her whole body shivers under his touch, but she can also feel the wetness smearing across the inside of her thighs. Steve leans over her, draping his warm chest across her back and she reaches a hand back to grab onto his thigh.

“Did so good for me, baby. My good girl, huh?” He presses a kiss into her temple before he hoists her up, keeping her back pressed to his chest as she’s all but slack in his arms. He helps her step out of her jeans and panties, turning her around in his arms and letting her clasp her hands around his neck. She’s mute in his hold, pressing her face into his neck as his hands slide down her thighs to hoist her legs around his hips.

He pads into the bedroom, laying her down across his bed and slotting himself between her legs. She brings her hands to the hem of his shirt and he gets the hint, sitting back and shucking it off over his head. She thinks that she’ll never get used to it, seeing him bare. There’s strange scars along his abdomen, she assumes from previous burns, but he’s still the prettiest thing she’s ever seen, all tan muscle and the sweetest little freckles. He motions for her to sit up, slipping her shirt off when she does before pressing them both back into the mattress in a harsh kiss. His tongue invades her mouth immediately, wrapping her senses in a hazy fog of him. He pulls away with a hot gasp.

“Need to be inside you, baby. Need your pussy so bad.” She just sighs out his name, watching him lean back to tug his cock out of his boxers before dropping the heavy tip against her folds. She whines when he draws the head of his cock through her cunt, her wetness smearing over the length of him.

“Tell me you want it, pretty. Tell me you want me.” He dips into her entrance and she gasps at the feeling.

“I want it, Steve, please– want you now.” He rolls his hips forward in one smooth thrust that sends her reeling, her hands clinging to his back as she cries out at being entirely full with him. He groans into her neck, quickly finding a steady rhythm as he fucks into her.

“Fuck– pussy’s made for me, baby– so perfect– just take it.” He brings one hand down to toy with her clit and it makes her hips buck up into his as she chokes on his name.

“Come for me, pretty– need it so bad– you better fucking come right now.” Her release sneaks up on her and then she’s falling hard, spasming around his dick and digging her nails into his back. He isn’t far behind her, fucking her through her high before he thrusts into her one final time and spills inside her with a shivery groan. They’re both panting, laying entangled in a hazy stillness as they come down. The ache is already coming back into focus, in her wrists and along the swell of her ass. She winces hard when he finally pulls out.

He had certainly gotten her good and fucked out, but she’s all too quickly coming out of the haze, all the dark things he said resting heavy on her chest until it feels like she can’t breathe. She goes to get up, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing his hands to her shoulders to press her back.

“Woah, easy, baby. Just lemme take care of you.” She shakes off his hands, dipping under his hold to stand and shuffle into the bathroom.

“‘I’m fine, Steve. Just– give me a minute.” She scrubs her hands down her face before turning in the mirror to take in the sight of her mottled ass. Sure enough, there’s a perfect, blotchy, red handprint across her one cheek, it even looks like he broke skin around the edges. There’s little bruises dotting her hips as well from where he had dug his fingers in, and she hisses as she runs her fingers over them. It’s then that she catches sight of her wrists in the mirror, rubbed red and raw from his belt. Normally, she enjoyed this kind of thing, evidence of a good session with Steve. But right now, the sight of her weary body coupled with his words still swirling in her head just makes her want to cry.

“Baby?” She’s startled out of her thoughts by Steve’s hoarse voice. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a furrowed look across his face. She sighs, not quite able to meet his gaze as she brushes past him back into the bedroom. He’s following behind her mutely as she grabs her shirt, quickly pulling it back on before walking out into the living room to get her panties and jeans. She’s sliding her pants up her legs when he finally speaks again.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I think I should go, Steve.”

“What? What do you mean? Baby, I– you need someone to take care of you, lemme look at those bruises.” He goes to reach for her but she flinches, stepping back away from him. He stops dead in his tracks.

“All that shit that you said, did you mean it?” He gives her a confused look, but she presses on.

“Steve, your words really hurt me. All that talk about me being your stupid slut. I-It felt different, it felt like you meant it.” He swallows hard.

“I was just angry, baby. I didn’t mean that shit. You just– you caught me off guard with those– those fucking pamphlets– and then the pills. I overreacted, I–”

“I can’t keep doing this, Steve!” His face crumples in an instant at her words, and when he speaks, his voice is so small it makes her breath catch.

“Can’t keep doing what?” She huffs, throwing her arms out in frustration.

“This! All I wanna do is help you and all you wanna do is push me away. It’s-it’s absurd. Why you won’t stop being so fucking stubborn is beyond me. But then, you just get so nasty about it, so mean.” She lets out a bitter laugh, sitting down on the edge of the couch and holding her head in her hands.

“And the worst part is, I let you be that way to me. I keep trying to help you and you keep lashing out at me a-and I can’t take it anymore, Steve. I just can’t.” Her words seem to have left him speechless, he just stands there, his eyes searching her face. She huffs, standing and heading towards the front door. It’s silent as she shrugs on her coat and puts on her shoes, sliding her bag up her arm. When she goes to open the door, however, his large hand comes into view, pressing the door shut. She turns around to tell him off, but chokes on her words when she sees his face. His eyes are swimming in tears, his expression completely crumpled.

“Please don’t go, baby. I’m sorry– I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t mean any of that stuff I just– I got freaked out, ok?” She pinches the bridge of her nose with her fingers, squeezing her eyes shut to keep from crying anymore.

“You say that every time this happens, Steve. I can’t keep believing what’s obviously a lie.” And then, Steve does something she couldn’t have expected in a million years. He gets down on his knees in front of her.

“I swear it’s not a lie this time, I swear. I-I’ll go to a shrink like you want me to– I won’t take anymore of those pills, just– please don’t fucking leave me, baby. You-you’re so good a-and so smart and– I love you, I really fucking love you.” It’s the first time he’s said it, and she wishes more than anything that it had been under any other circumstance. For a moment, she wonders to herself how she got here, in only three months, completely entangled with this broken man. She’s startled out of her thoughts when he wraps his arms around her hips, burying his face into her stomach.

“Please, baby. You know I need you.” She tentatively rests her hand in his hair, feeling the way he slackens against her at the contact. She draws her fingers through his hair firmly, tilting his head back to look at her. She lets out a long sigh.

“Listen to me, Steve Harrington. This is it. I swear to god if you’re lying, if anything like today happens again? I’m gonna leave and I’m never gonna come back.” His eyes go wide at her words and he’s quick to get on his feet, cupping her face in both his palms.

“I promise, it’s never gonna happen again. Gonna be better for you. Love you so much, baby.” She lets him press a damp kiss to her lips before pulling back.

“Will you let me take care of you now, pretty?” She nods, having to admit that her skin is smarting under the rough material of her jeans. He gives her a sweet smile before taking her hand and leading her back into his bedroom.

…

She swears she could get whiplash from how quickly Steve can change, going so sweet on her the second he has her laid back out on his bed. He gently peels her jeans down her legs, having her turn over onto her stomach while he rubs aloe lotion into her welts, murmuring apologies as he works. He thumbs at her wrists before kissing each, letting her turn onto her side while he slides behind her, wrapping her up in his arms. She’s exhausted from everything and falls asleep easily, moored by the steady rise and fall of his solid chest pressed into her back.

When she wakes up, it’s much later, the sun already setting on the city. Steve stirs behind her, grumbling into her neck.

“Can you stay tonight?” She hums her affirmation. She’s off RA duty until tomorrow and doesn’t have morning classes either, she can stay. Steve sighs. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks.

“How’s your head?” He groans.

“Hurts. I’ll take some advil.” Relief floods through her system that he really has seemed to drop the prescription debate.

“You can probably take a higher dose than normal, just for a little while before it starts getting better.” He sighs again, a seeming acceptance of her words. She wills herself to believe that it will get better.

“You hungry, baby?” She hums another yes to his question, turning in his arms to look at him.

“Should probably get something in you before you take anything too.”

They order takeout from her favorite spot, something Steve does every time he’s had to apologize to her. She’s had a lot of takeout in the last three months. She hopes this time really is different.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington au

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immeasurablesaladagere · 6 months ago

Note

Your fics are keeping me very well fed. May I pretty please request a little!house fic where house is regressing at work but trying to hide it and one of the ducklings rats him out to cg!cuddy or cg!wilson?

Your works are amazing <33333

Middle!Regressor House for the soul. He would be the sassiest, most back-talking pre-teen you ever did see.

-----

Word Count: 990

Summery: House has regressed in the middle of a DDX, and after rushing the ducklings out of his hair so they can't bring it up, is bored out of his skull. Then, someone rats him to Cuddy.

-----

House capped the whiteboard marker. “Okay! Chase, recheck the bloodwork, Cameron and Foreman, run a chest MRI and a stress-test before Mr. State-Track-Champion’s heart explodes.”

For a second none of the fellows moved a muscle, just staring at him with dumb looks on their faces.

“Am I speaking Spanish? Go!” He snapped, and finally they got up and left him alone before they could voice any of the ideas he could see on their goody-two-shoes faces.

He let out a long sigh and trudged to his office. He grabbed his tennis ball, flopped down into his chair, and began to precariously balance the ball on his finger. He’d been trying to learn how to spin it like a basketball, but it still wouldn’t stay on his finger for more than a few seconds. The ball didn’t seem to want to cooperate any more today than it did the day before, and after a couple minutes he gave up and resorted to bouncing it off of the wall instead.

Why did Cuddy have to take away his Gameboy? It wasn’t even like he was ignoring a patient to play! He was waiting for his next appointment to show up and she took it because he was being “unprofessional” or whatever.

Maybe Cuddy would give it back if she knew he was only twelve years old. He snickered to himself. She’d be so embarrassed if he killed someone because he was bored. But he knew he couldn’t do that.He wasn’t stupid enough to work on the patient when he was regressed, even if he was bored out of his mind.

Anything they had in the office in case of regression emergencies didn’t look any fun, either. He was too old for the colouring pages and children’s books, and too young for Chase’s dumb crosswords and sudoku puzzles, which meant all he was left with was the ball. He felt like one of those sad tigers in zoos with no enrichment toys.

He wasn’t sure why his brain had picked today of all days to regress. The case wasn’t very hard and he wasn’t in any more pain than he usually was,but at some point during the DDX his adult mind turned to TV static and decided to abandon him to his own devices. Chase, Cameron, and Foreman had all noticed that something was up, but they didn’t say anything. Good, he thought, the last thing he needed were for his employees thinking he needed to be babysat.

There was a knock on his office door, and he had to resist the urge to groan and slide out of his chair at the sight of Cuddy walking in.

“House?”

“Doctor Cuddy!” He greeted, “To what do I owe the pleasure? Is a PEDS patient missing their balloon? It wasn’t me, I promise!”

She crossed her arms and gave him a patented Cuddy-Stare. “One of your fellows told me that you were regressed during a diagnostic meeting.”

House deflated. Those snitches. “Which one?”

“So they were right?” She asked incredulously, “House, you can’t be working if you’re regressed, it’s not safe.”

“Meh-meh-meh, it’s not safe!” He mocked, “I know. I’m not working on the patient right now, I made them do it.” Even if he’d rather be doing anything but sitting in his lame office. He was being responsible for once! Couldn’t she see that?

Cuddy shook her head. “But you’re still working on the diagnosis. What if you missed something, or forgot a possibility?”

“Technically that could happen at any time.” He pointed out.

“You know what I mean. How old even are you right now?”

“Twelve. So I don’t need to be babysat, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He prayed to whatever god above that she didn’t decide he needed ‘parental supervision’ all day.

She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Okay… That’s not the worst but,” Don’t say it, “I’d still like you to stay with me until you’re an adult again, just so I know you won’t try to go back to work.”

Damn it. “But Cuddyyyy…” He whined dramatically.

“Exactly. You’re twelve, which means you’re old enough to understand that this is a liability.”

Staying with Cuddy meant that now he’d have to be bored in her stupid office, and now she’d be breathing down his neck the whole time. “But I’ll die of lame-disease if I have to be around you! You’re already in the final stages, I won’t stand a chance!”

Cuddy smirked. “You’re a big boy now, I’m sure you’ll survive. Come on, let’s go.”

House trudged his feet every step of the trip down to Cuddy’s office, making sure to add at least an extra ten minutes to what should have been a five-minute walk. Once they finally got there his leg was burning, and he dropped into one of the chairs against the wall and popped two Vicodin. They tasted so gross without water. How did big-him do this all the time?

“How many did you just take?” Cuddy asked.

“Two, like it says on the bottle, Mom.” Taking more would make his leg hurt less, but he didn’t like the way the blurry feeling from too many pills mixed with the fuzzy feeling of being little. It made him feel unfocused and weird.

She raised a considering eyebrow. “…Oh. Alright. I’m just going to be answering emails,” She opened a drawer in her desk, “So to make sure you stay out of trouble, here.”

His Gameboy! He took it eagerly and turned it on. “So, wait— You’re saying I get to skip work and play video games all day?”

She chuckled. “Until you’re big again, yes. Don’t get any ideas, I’m not going to let you do this whenever.”

He saluted her, already engrossed in a game of Super Mario Bros. “Yes, sir.”

Cuddy just shook her head and got to work.

Maybe she wasn't so lame after all.

#sfw age regression #sfw agere #agere blog #age regression #fandom agere #house md agere #house md #gregory house #lisa cuddy

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disappearinginq · 6 months ago

Note

Fic association: Wrong Side of Heaven

Ah, Wrong Side, my beloved...

Deleted scene:

I wrote and rewrote Chapter 9 like 13 times. Possibly more. I kept trying to include every aspect of their captivity, and I wanted - so badly- to have the scene where Thomas 1) sees the bad guy and 2) realizes that Hannah sold them out. But I could not fucking write it to save my life and it irks me to this day

So, have the part I kept:

Thomas had plenty of time to think. In the dark of the Pit, where time ceased and all he had were his own thoughts and he needed something to distract him from the worry about his friends, the ache that settled deep in his bones and made it impossible to sleep, he wondered why.

Why were they here?

Not in the cosmic sense, but…why them? Why here? Why like this?

If they were so concerned about Robin, then why keep them here, alive? The longer they were prisoners, the less any intel they had would be useful. Information they demanded was out of date, utterly useless in a matter of days, if not hours. Weeks? Months? It was pointless. Unless it was just an excuse to torture him, but…why bother with a reason, other than because they could?

Jesus, it could be years before they were released. Only one POW was ever successfully recovered between WWII and now, and she was rescued after only nine days, and it was only because she was taken to a hospital and someone reported her to the Americans.

So why were they kept alive? They weren’t being bargained for. In all the times they’d beaten the hell out him - pulled nails, snapped fingers, punched and kicked and hit until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move - they’d never demanded he renounce the United States. They never asked after anything except Masters. Even now, months later.

What the fuck did you get us into, Rob?

Thomas’s best guess was Robin caught their traitor on camera, with undeniable proof of their existence. But if they were concerned about their identity being revealed, why not kill them? Before it could be rationalized that they wanted information, but now…now that made no sense at all. What information could they possibly think Thomas had that would be of any value? If Robin was dead, any information he had died with him. If he was alive, he would’ve given up the evidence by now, and Thomas and the guys would be dead, and the Taliban wouldn’t give two shits one way or another where Robin was.

Thomas let his head drop back against the wall of the Pit, wincing as he found another bruise. God, his MRI was going to look like a goddamn Christmas tree.

Okay, he thought to himself. If Robin doesn’t matter, why do they keep asking?

Why would he keep asking a question he already knew the answer to?

To keep them from knowing what he was really after.

He felt a surge of something disturbingly close to hope stir in his chest.

Something that started with Robin, or they would’ve never asked about him in the first place. Maybe something they thought Robin shared with him? If that was the case, it was again back to but why wouldn’t they just kill us and be done with it?

Back to the drawing board.

Information he shared with Robin.

Did they think he’d passed information along to Robin? No - had to be something a little more than just sharing with him, because again, they were more of a hassle to keep alive if they thought he was the one with the damning information.

---

“Oh. Oh…” Jahingir leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth curling up into a genuinely amused half smile. “You haven’t put it together, have you? Given the stories I’ve heard about you, Lieutenant, and, honestly, considering the colossal pain in the ass you’ve been to my operations, you must not have all the pieces.”

Thomas blinked, struggling to make sense of what the man was spouting off about now. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jahingir laughed outright. “You still don’t know why you’re here. Why it’s you, and nobody else.”

Thomas shook his head, not so much in denial, but because he had no idea what the guy was on. “Because we were with Masters.”

“Close,” the man said, clicking his tongue. “Very close. But not quite. You see…Masters is my primary target, that’s true. But only because he’s not here with you, and I don’t have any proof he’s dead elsewhere. No, Lieutenant, you’re here, with your friends, because you were poking about where you didn’t belong. Scratching at doors that didn’t need to be opened. You probably don’t even know how close you were to proving my existence. Well…” he shrugged, then amended. “Maybe you knew how close you were to me. You seem the type to have a sense about those things. But did you perhaps wonder…just for a moment…that I couldn’t have this empire of mine if I was alone? Who must have helped me, you think?”

Magnum didn’t dignify him with an answer. He’d suspected it many times. Too many pieces were just that – pieces. Loosely connected and hardly relevant. It was the argument he’d gone round and round with Greene about – having enough proof to justify a manhunt to rival that of the one for Bin Laden. The man seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice – he would let him talk. Let him implicate Academi and Wert and his guns-for-hire private paramilitary group.

Jahingir’s grin broadened. “You think you know, but you don’t. Because if you truly understood how you came to be here…I doubt you would take it so gracefully.”

Thomas frowned. “Just spit it out. I’m working on my third concussion, so all trains of thought are currently being derailed, and I think I might pass out before you get to the point.”

Jahingir suddenly leaned forward, out of his seat until he was almost nose to nose with Magnum, hands slamming down on his forearms and gripping with bruising strength. “You did, Lieutenant. All of my greatest successes, I owe to you. In another time and place, you would be an honored guest at my table for all that you have done for me. This empire of mine would not be possible without you and your friends. It shames me that I must treat you so now, but I have struggled too hard and too long to let Masters and his fatal curiosity to risk it now, and you refuse to give me the information I need. This could be over, Lieutenant, as soon as you tell me where I will find that fduli journalist.”

Magnum knew he misheard. Maybe Nuzo was right about the brain damage. He struggled to form a coherent thought, a rationalization of what the man in front of him just told him.

He was too sincere to be lying.

But he had to be.

“What?”

“You have cleared my path of any obstacles, my friend. My enemies struck down by you and your team. I control everything now. All thanks to you and –”

“Hannah…” he breathed.

Jahingir smiled. “Yes. Hannah. Your lovely fiancé, if I heard correctly? Congratulations on this happy news. She’s made me promise to keep you alive, but as she hasn’t lived up to her end of the bargain, I see no reason why I should. So let me make this abundantly clear, in as few words as possible - tell me where Robin Masters is, and what he knows, and I will let you live. I might even be persuaded to let you go. Now, I’m not about to drive you up to the base gates, but I’ll give you a sporting chance - a half hour head start. I’ll even tell you which direction to head in. And if the locals don’t shoot you, or the dogs don’t tear you and your friends apart, and the vipers don’t bite you…you’ll have a fighting chance of making it home. You are a SEAL. I’ve seen what men like you can do.”

Thomas stared at him. He didn’t hear a single word the man said. The world faded around the edges, tunneling his vision until all he could see was Jahingir. The confident smirk on his face. The pristine white of his perahan tunban, the fine embroidery of his coat along the chest. Everything about him was perfect. Pristine.

And in that moment, Thomas wanted him to be as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside.

He was still tied to the chair, but only at his hands, which was stupid on their part, but good for him. Jahingir’s face was still only inches from his, and Thomas lunged forwards and savagely bit down on the cartilage and bone of the bridge of his cheek. His teeth sunk down through skin and muscle, the taste of blood filling his mouth but he refused to let go. Hands pushed and pulled against him, yanking at his hair forcefully enough he thought for sure it would give way and tear his scalp from his skull, but he didn’t let up. He sank his teeth down further, scraping bone, until suddenly the skin between his teeth gave way.

There is the possibility that this will still be included in a flashback, but this is the inciting incident as to how he wants up with the wound of unknown origin from the pilot, and why he stops talking around this time in the fic.

#asks answered #games we play #thomas magnum #magnum pi 2018 #my beloved #I still think of them often and with great fondness #and after spending the weekend at a veterans retreat I have THOUGHTS and IDEAS #wrong side of heaven magnum fic

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sabraeal · 1 year ago

Text

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Written for @sepalina's birthday, who deliberated for two days only to suddenly remember, oh yes right she has a favorite fic 🤣

That Seiran chick might have a princess’s pedigree around here, but there’s nothing dainty about the way she grips the metal bar at the end of each of their cots, twisting her wrists like she’s picturing flesh and bone rather than steel.

“You two have to be the biggest boneheads I have ever seen stuffed into a drive suit.” Her fingers clench, and Obi could swear the mental dints. “A bare knuckle brawl in the dome? At a time like this? Are you two insane?”

“Ah, well…” The Big Guy may have looked tough when Obi took him to the mats, a more solid anti-kaiju wall than anything the PDPC could toss into the Pacific, but he cringes just like any other mortal would when Kiki Seiran looms over him, all her disappointment honed to a point. “It wasn’t really a brawl. Just a…regulated spar, like usual—“

“Usual?” Her arms fold the way steel does into rebar, and oh, the princess is not amused. “Obi’s more bruise than bone.”

“Aw, Princess,” he croons, trying not to wince from the effort. “If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.”

Her spine straightens, giving her all the extra inches she needs to give that glare of hers momentum, hitting him like a body off the Golden Gate hits the bay. “I can see the other guy. You’re both in the same infirmary, because you’re the same amount of stupid.”

“Actually, I’ve been wondering about the logic on that one.” He tilts his head, trying to go for that doleful dog stare that does wonders on sweet little nurses with hearts of gold. Too bad he’s got Yuzuri, who only wrenches his head back to the side, holding him still enough to swab when the skin’s split over his cheekbone. “Is this our— yikes, careful there, Florence— get along shirt or something? Two guys take some swings and you hope sticking us in a bottle sorts it out?”

“No,” she deadpans, taking a pen light out from the pocket of her scrubs. “I’m trying to quarantine the idiocy. You better be careful, Major” —she casts a long glance princess-side— “it might be catching.”

That regal mouth twitches, somewhere in the realm of amused. “Too late for me. No one ends up in a drive suit unless they’re born with it.”

“Ha, that’s for sure.” A light sears across his line of sight, leaving constellations in its wake. “As for you two, I didn’t see the point in sending you to your corners when you’re so friendly. Saves me space, and you can treat tonight like a sleepover. Braid each other’s hair and talk about cute boys.”

“Er…” How a big man like that can go through basic and still blush as easy as a school girl, Obi will never know, but it’s funny as hell. “I don’t really have opinions on cute boys…”

“Don’t worry, Big Guy,” he grunts, snuggling his shoulders into the pillows at his back. “I’ve got enough for both of us.”

That gets him a real side-eye from GI Joe, one that only ends when he swings those golden retriever eyes onto the real authority in this room. “Is there any way I get to go back to my bunk tonight?”

“Sorry, Major.” No matter what she says, Yuzuri’s shrug doesn’t give a single hint of regret. “Gotta keep you both on observation. SOP for rangers with head injuries. Last thing we need is for you guys to hare off and play hero just because you heard the dinner bell.”

He grimaces, all perfect teeth in a perfect face. Pity this guy fell into the military before someone could get him a magazine cover. Obi would have loved to hang that pin-up over his bunk. “Ah, right. That…makes sense.”

Of course it did. They might all be kaiju-fodder in the end, but they were the expensive, top shelf shit. The kind the PDPC wanted to stretch out as long as possible, not waste on some idiot who went into the drift concussed and had his brain melt right out his ears for the effort. Obi half surprised they haven’t been shoved into an MRI just to make sure.

“Aww, but you don’t really want to leave, do you, bestie? Not when we’re gonna have so much fun.” The target of his grin shifts from bed to bedside. “What do you think, Yuzuri? Think we could borrow some ManGo For It or Red Hot Rio?”

“I dunno,” she deadpans, not even looking up from her notes. “I think he’s more of Rosy Future guy.”

“Really? Still running your mouth?” Her Highness tosses her head, more pony than princess. “Did you not get beat bad enough?”

“What, this little mosquito bite?” Obi gives his jaw a good clench and turn, displaying his medal of honor at its best angle. Hurts like a bitch, but it’s worth it to see even Princess get squeamish. “Lucky shot. I got three hits for his one.”

Her mouth does that thing it does, that twitch, the one he’s starting to figure out is a laugh. “Yeah, and that’s all he needed to make you crumple like a tin can.”

“I already said I felt bad about that,” Big Guy grumbles, all folded in on himself like a teddy bear longing for a good squeeze. “I wasn’t trying to…well…”

“It’s okay, Superman, we all know you’re living in a world of cardboard.” Obi leans over, giving one of those meaty shoulders a good pat. Probably feels like a whisper to a man that stacked. “How can I blame you, when you were only defending milady’s honor—?”

Her weight shifts, no longer balanced parade-style between their cots, but sitting back in her hips, displeasure heavily implied. That man-sized mountain straightens so much it Obi can practically feel the plate tectonics beneath his palm.

“I was not!” Big puppy eyes swing right around to the ticking time bomb at the end of their beds. “I would never do that!”

One elegant eyebrow arches, and ah, now he can see why half the PDPC pisses itself when she punches the bag right off its chain. Most of the rangers the Academy rolls out are brawlers, the kind of guys that get in between a kaiju’s punch and the Pacific coastline, but this girl— her power’s in the application of force, the art of finessing a blow to where the bones can’t bear it. Can’t get into a brawl with a fighter like that and expect an old fashioned beatdown, oh no— when princess steps on the mats, she doesn’t fight, she dismantles.

Ha, and by the way she chucks her chin, all challenge, she knows it.

Now how about that. It’s a whisper in his ear, a hum across the million and one electric impulses in his brain, dangerous and fond. Remind you of anyone you know?

Knew, maybe. Bright blue smears over stark white when he closes his eyes; suits that stood out, even among halls that housed living legends. Eye-catching, the higher ups had called it, but it caught all the wrong eyes when it came to Sonisay. They all learned, of course; even now he hears the sickening crack of bone, sees the sweep of dark hair as she steps out of her spin—

Not just that. That laugh jangles his nerves, too close to his own and yet infinitely different, inimitable. Not just her.

There’s a boy too, too small, too skinny, too…not enough. Might as well be a shadow for how closely he clings to that same dance, to those same stances. Might as well be a monster for how easily the bones crack under his heels too, no remorse, no regrets—

A boy that shouldn’t exist. A boy that no longer does. Obi closes his eyes.

You can’t look away forever. Too many voices to count on that one. Watch me, only his reply.

“Let me make something clear.” Big Guy’s grunt grounds him, dragging him right back down to his bed, to the finger waggling at him. “Kiki doesn’t need me to fight her fights for her. If she wants to kick someone’s ass, she can make her own bodies.”

Ah, great. Got back just in time to witnessing Bloodbath Barbie over there desire Big Guy carnally. Not that he notices; oh no, the Jolly Marine Giant only has eyes for him, serious as a heart attack. Makes him want to mention that these rickety little med cots can’t handle two ranger pilots going at it, let alone three, but of course Yuzuri’s gotta make it a rain out.

“All right, all right, visiting hours are over,” she sighs, and oh, by Princess’s look, this is the first time someone’s tried to shoo Kiki Seiran out of anywhere. “These boys need some rest, not an audience. Just gonna rile ‘em up.”

This guy benches almost twice Obi’s weight, a monster of a man, but the second Yuzuri aims that scold his way, he’s all puppy. “But I wouldn’t—��

“You might behave, but he won’t.” She jerks a thumb back where Obi lounges, pointed. “And if he doesn’t want to play nice, he’ll find some way to drag you along with him.”

Sounds about right, hums a nuisance that has no right to throw stones. Not at this particular glass house, at least.

“Me?” Obi a presses a hand to his chest; harder to see it tremble that way. “Why, I was only going to take a small snooze. A cat nap, really. How could I—?”

“No sleeping!” Yuzuri glares at him, incredulous. “Didn’t I just say you could have a concussion?”

“Aww, come on,” he sighs, hooking his hands behind his head. “First no fighting, now no napping? What else are we supposed to get up to in here?”

Princess hangs in the gap of their curtain coverage, and oh, she may not smile, but that’s one masterclass of a grin. “Strenuous activity.”

“Kiki—!”

“None of that either!” With an officious wave of her hands, Yuzuri succeeds in doing what PDPC has failed to do for years: tell Kiki Seiran where to go. “Now, get. These two don’t need a bad influence.”

“Aww, c’mon, Flo! That’s no reason to shoo Princess out,” Obi whines now that his entertainment has sashayed right out of his evening. “I’m an even worse influence, so—”

“You don’t need to tell me,” she sniffs. “Now give it a rest. Or else I’ll call Shirayuki down here, and she can read you the riot act.”

There’s a time he might have laughed. Might even have let one shoulder and a wry eyebrow do the heavy lifting as he said, I’m sure the Good Doctor has better things to do with her time than worry about little old me.

But a week ago he woke up in one of these cots soaked in his own sweat, ears still ringing from a klaxon that never rang. At least, not in this dome, not that day; his stomach churning from the heady brew of trauma and military grade sedatives. He’d turned, half convinced he’d see either six bodies or and empty room, and instead—

It was her. Tiny ponytail and all, clumps of it making a bid for freedom from that poor excuse of an elastic. A borrowed one, all stretched out from trying to contain the fallout from Yuzuri’s nuclear-level event that she calls her hair, but it’s serviceable. Enough to bridge the gap between now and whenever Doc finally decides whether she’s gonna bite the bullet and grow it out again, or just chop the whole thing off.

That’s not the sort of stuff he knows about people. Not the sort of stuff he ever gets close enough to find out. But she was sitting right there, head tipped off the back of that chair, breath trembling the little flyaways splayed over her lips, and—

“Fine,” he sighs, settling back into his pillows. “I’ll play nice.”

Yuzuri snorts. “I won’t hold my breath.”

It’s when Big Guy lumbers out of their cozy little curtained love cave to go take a piss— or a shit; Obi might be nosy, but even he’s got his limits— that Yuzuri swoops back to his bedside, using his vitals as an excuse to say, “What the hell were you thinking anyway?”

None of her business. There’s a gruffness to that, a texture that implying barbed wire fencing with the prickly bits facing inside. Embarrassment, the kind a boy at the cusp of manhood couldn’t bear with any grace. Not that he had done all that well with other emotions either.

Could never bear being anything but the hero. A taunt, a snipe across the mess hall’s tables. Even in his head those two would never get along.

You can just admit it. Sonisay speaks the way silk would sting, if it could, a smooth stab with no mess left behind. A sliver beneath the fingernail, only noticed when it slips deeper. It’s not as if you were thinking of anything sexual.

Sure. There’s no need for the smile-like stretch over his synapses, too smug. But not from lack of trying.

He appreciates the honesty is the best policy shtick, especially from the girl who always spoke out both sides of her mouth as easy a breathing, but Obi settles on a nice neutral, “What?” instead.

Might earn him the sort of look that begs the question of just what is rattling around between his ears, but it’s better than having to explain that when he closes his eyes he sees red. Not spread out across his pillow or tangled in his fingers, but caught up in plain little hairpins, already slipping free.

“Are you kidding me?” Her gaze darts over the the empty bed beside his, pointed. Oh, so that’s what she’s asking about. “Did you somehow miss how big that man is? He could fit two of you between his shoulders!”

“Aww, Flo, he’s harmless.” Pain shoots up his cheek when he tries to grin, settling somewhere near his temple. Damn, that’s gonna put a real crimp in his game. “Big Guy’s a gentle giant.”

She stares at him. “Half your face is a bruise.”

Obi hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing himself in the mirror lately, but by the way one half of his face feels heavy enough to make him lean like a tower in Pisa, he doubts that’s an exaggeration. “He didn’t mean it though.”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to your capillaries whether he meant it or not.” One finger of hers brushes an eyebrow— yowch— and she scowls. “They’re broken all to shit anyway. God, you’re gonna be lucky if that smile of yours isn’t permanently lopsided from this.”

Already was, but she didn’t ask for his medical history. “I’ll be roguish.”

“You’ll be in PT, that’s what you’ll be.” She pulls back with a cluck of her tongue. “Lucky as hell that he didn’t break your orbital. Ugh, or your nose. That would have been a bitch to set. And your cheekbones—”

A cough, timid for how deep it is, rustles outside the curtain. “Sorry,” Big Guy starts, all doleful hound dog eyes as Yuzuri pulls them back. “I didn’t want to, er, eavesdrop, but…”

He’s smarter than to say, but you told us not to leave. Not to someone like Yuzuri, who’s already ruby red from the collar of her scrubs to her headband, ready to crack out of her shell like a crab left too long in the pot.

“You…I…” She slides out right around him, never once turning her back. “G-go. Lay down. Or something! Ugh!”

Big Guy blinks once at her back before swinging those hound eyes back to him. “Is she—?”

“Embarrassed,” he agrees. Yuzuri’s always happy to share her opinions, up until she get caught. “Big time. She’ll recover. But until then it’ll be your fault.”

“Oh…” He winces, though Obi can hardly tell if it’s from the thought of Yuzuri’s ill-wishes, or the kick he landed on his hip, making what should be an easy walk a bit of a hobble. “I am sorry about that, you know.”

That lantern jaw juts itself toward him, or more specifically, the shiner painted up one side. “This old thing? Don’t worry about it. Got worse from a mosquito.”

If Big Guy is impressed with his bravado, he’s got a funny way of showing it, looking all hangdog like that. “I just…I didn’t really mean to…”

Fuck you up is what the big guy can’t bring himself to say. It’s probably rude to tell him, I’ve had worse.

“No hard feelings, Major.” It’s half a laugh, half a groan as he hauls himself up his pillows, every muscle aching. “I did tell you not to go easy on me.”

A grimace is what he gets in reply, and a pained, “Still…”

The you didn’t know what you were getting into hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Like maybe he’s never fought a guy above his weight class. Like he’s never stood in front of a boy a third again his age, watching his knuckles crack beneath the cloth of his binds.

More like he doesn’t know how much he can mean it, a grim mouth huffs humorlessly. He will though. Give him a few months.

“Didn’t really expect you to try to kill me, though.” For a moment, he’s not quite sure who he’s talking to. He rubs at his jaw, pain scintillating beneath his palm, and, haah, yeah, he knows what fist laid a kiss on this cheek alright. “Damn, no wonder kaiju don’t walk away from you.”

“I wasn’t try to…” It’s funny watching a mountain hunch like that, shoulders riding up again his ears making him a whole range instead a single peak. “With someone who moves like you, there’s only two sure ways to win. I went with the one that relied on power. Wasn’t going to land many hits on you but had to make the ones I did count.”

“And then did too good a job.” That’s the thing with having a body that shares more in common with a jaeger’s chassis than human flesh; the fall back option is to just do everything more and harder. Obi had met more than a few men like that in his time, but none of them so friendly. “I gotta admit though, Big Guy, you got me curious. What’s the other way?”

Big lungs heave big sighs, and oh, this one feels like it could take a few trees with it before he settles back against the headboard. “Tire you out. Quick guys typically don’t have a lot of stamina when things drag on, so—”

“All right, all right, don’t let the ladies hear that one.” Or most of the men while he’s at it, even if Obi’s personal tastes tend more toward the techs tending the tin cans than the bodies they throw in them. “Don’t want anyone to get the idea that I can’t keep up off the mat either.”

That won’t be much of a problem. It’s rare to hear advice from that corner of his mind, but Buma’s habit always was to watch first and speak too late. Not with all the training you’ve done outside—

That’s Need To Know only. Obi casts a long glance over where giant feet nearly hang off the mattress. And I don’t think the Major needs to know.

“Anyways,” he huffs, the sort of quiet career boys get when they’re shy. “Sorry.”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Guy. I asked you to bring me a fight and you did! I’m hardly gonna blame you for that.” He turns his head, grinning at him across the poor excuse for a bedside table. “Besides, now I know what it’s like.”

Those puppy eyes blink, too innocent for a guy who could break him in half by breathing. “Hm? Do you mean—?”

His eyebrows lift —well, one of them tries to— enticingly. The wince probably doesn’t do him any favors. “Kissing your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.”

Oh, it’s a real treat to see a lantern jaw drop so hard it nearly shatters. Too bad Princess isn’t here to enjoy it. “What?”

“You know…” His fingers weave through some hazy dips and lazy dives. “I can see what was good between you and High Highness, or whatever. The way you’d could compensate for each other in the drift. But you and me” — his hand flicks between them— “we don’t fit.”

“Oh.” It’s a pleasure to watch his mouth wrap around that noise, to see him really wrangle with the meat of what his meaning. “Yeah. I get it. I think.”

“I mean, for one thing,” Obi says, so casual. “We’re both bottoms.”

“Come again?”

“Kidding, kidding.” Kind of, Sonisay hums, and oh, he could swear he feels that forked tongue flickering where she coils in his mind. I doubt he’d complain if that blonde woman took it into her head to—

Hey. Maybe if he had a mirror, he could give himself a warning look, the kind Doc was always giving him right before he took a joke too far. But instead he had to settle for just thinking louder, like trying to shout over a crowded bar. I still gotta talk to this guy with a straight face for the next twenty-four hours.

Sounds like, that too-familiar voice hums, a real personal problem.

It’s too bad Major Do-Right over there can’t hear the speculation of the peanut gallery; then he might no be so quick to let relief bring those shoulders relax, to settle back into those pillows with a sigh that speaks of a light conscience. What did Yuzuri say? If Obi doesn’t want to behave, he’ll drag you down with him…?

Well, he hates to disappoint.

“Or am I?” The cot nearly cracks down the middle from how fast the Big Guy turns on it, sputtering. Obi just tosses him a wink. “Don’t worry, Big Guy. I’m not the kind of girl who likes to kiss and tell.”

For all that their lovely nurse devotedly frets over the potential stupors they could slip into with even the slightest bit of shut eye, or sometimes even something like getting up too fast or breathing too easy, she’s sure eager to encourage them to piss all by their lonesomes one she’s sure they can make the walk.

“What, this doesn’t get you going?” Obi asks, peeking around the door. “I hear some people really get into—”

“I hear some people really don’t get jello at dinner,” she replies, shoving him bodily through the crack. “Wanna see if you’re one of them?”

“What if the stream’s too strong and I get vertigo?” He winces, hearing all those words echo in so small a space, but it’s worth it for the noise she makes outside the door. “What if I crack my head on the floor and get a double concussion?”

“Then at least you’ll be quiet.”

There’s a slam— a door. Not this one, the particle board so paper thin Big Guy could probably sneeze it off its hinges; but the heavier infirmary door, one meant to withstand a mortar shell, maybe even nuclear blast— but Obi doesn’t bother to bite back his grin. Maybe if he’s lucky, she’s run into Suzu on the way to the commissary and give him a full run down of all the ways she could make Obi’s death look like an accident. Some real romantic talk to keep a nerd warm at night.

With shake and a wriggle— how Big Guy managed to move around in here when his elbows keep cracking into the tile, Obi’ll never know— he wraps up his business, sauntering straight out onto the infirmary floor. With no kaiju to keep the place hopping, it’s dark, the only light coming from the lamp angled over Yuzuri’s desk, and from behind their ring of curtains. A nice way to find his way back; or at least it would be if he didn’t already count two shadows there: one hitched up on the bed, shoulder big enough to overflow the outline of the pillows, and the other—

The other’s standing, tall enough to make Big Guy seem normal sized, and radiating authority the same way the sirens do danger.

Ah, fuck. It’s the Marshal. Hide, a cacophony of whispers hiss, which— he’d love to, if there was a single goddamn place to do it.

“I take it this isn’t a social call.” Big Guy doesn’t have a deep voice, not the way the circumference of his chest would suggest, but he’s pitched it low now. Still too much to be contained by a curtain, though.

The Marshal cocks his head, wry. “Would you believe me if I said, ‘yes?’”

There’s a hesitation, a huff that might be something like humor. “No.”

“Then let’s not waste time pretending.” It might be a trick of the acoustics in this room, a little reverb on that tinny echo, but Obi could swear His Majesty sounds amused. “I’ve heard you’ve quite the rapport with our new ranger.”

Oh, hell. As if this isn’t the cherry on top of his shit sundae: not only is he stuck, standing right out in the open as the top brass talks Top Secret, he’s the topic they’re having tea over.

“News travels fast.”

“Danger of living in one of these little warrens.” The Marshal shrugs. “Rats like to chatter.”

Air hisses between Big Guy’s teeth, the way it did right before he threw his haymaker. “Not a lot of people eager to be on the wrong side of the mat from him. Not after the way he and Zen went at it the last time.”

“So you…what?” It’s uncanny how even the Marshal can make his voice; no inflection, no judgment, no answers. “Thought you’d help him keep his edge?”

“He asked.” There’s a rustle, a creak, and even though he can’t see it, he knows mountains are moving to make that shrug. “Not like I’ve got much to be afraid of.”

If one half of his face didn’t feel as ginger as the oldest wicker chair on some grandma’s patio, Obi might take some offense to that. That’s what you get for being so scrawny, a gruff voice scrapes over his ear, everyone underestimates you.

That, hums another, too pleased, is kind of the point.

“Good.” There’s something final in the way the Marshal says it, less like an observation, and more like an assessment. A test passed with much anticipated flying colors. “Keep doing that.”

Obi could cut the consternation in this room with a knife. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Was I not clear?” His Majesty’s tone conveys his confidence that he was. Maybe even too much so. “I’d like you to pursue this…relationship with our new colleague. Foster this tentative trust you have managed to build.”

Ha. Obi’s heart stutter hard enough— loud enough— that even the peanut gallery keeps their opinions to themselves. He should have known something like this would happen; sure, all the paperwork calls Hachimaru a failure, one that should have never flopped its way out of dry dock, but to someone like Izana Wisteria, well—

He’s got a reputation for ruthlessness for a reason. Enough of one that it escaped containment, slipping past the PDPC’s iron curtain of silence to spread around the streets of Sitka. Buildin’ a wall to keep the monsters out, one of the wallmen had chuckled over his pint, but no matter how high we do it, that one will still be in here.

Obi might have called that unfair, once. Sure, His Majesty wasn’t exactly a friendly guy, at least not with the rank and file, though there were magazines enough that showed him being chummy with the higher ups, but, well— pedigree might have put him in a pod, but it wouldn’t have pulled him a position so high above it. No, that only went to the corps' top minds, the ones who knew what it took out there to take your lumps and drag your metal coffin home. The ones who understood what they were asking when they dumped two men out into the Pacific and asked them to stop a natural disaster or die trying.

But if that guy is gonna meddle in his business like this, well, maybe once they finish building that wall, they can dump him over it. Lets the monsters sort it out between themselves. Knowing the Marshal, he’d still find a way to come out on—

“No.”

“No?” The way the Marshal wraps his mouth around the word sends shivers up his arms.

“I can’t do that. I mean, I won’t.” Big Guy snorts, like there’s a stench in the air he can’t quite get rid of. “I’d do a lot for you, sir, I would. Take a bullet. Die for the cause. But I’m not going to…to manipulate that man back into a jaeger for you. Not like this.”

A breath catches in Obi’s throat, nearly choking him. Big Guy’s got a heart of gold, but he can’t possibly be stupid enough to— to—

“Well well.” To his utter surprise, the Marshal laughs. “Good thing that’s not what I’m asking.”

Big Guy grunts. “Isn’t it?”

“If you couldn’t manage to convince my brother into the cockpit, I doubt you’ll have much luck with a man you barely know.” For how casually it’s said, there’s a bite to it, each word honed to sting. “I only meant that he’s not responding to the typically recommended course of therapy.”

Right. Because after that one session with Doc post-drift, all his peanut gallery clamoring to have their turn now that cat had clawed its way out of the bag, he hadn’t been able to drag himself back. And with all the dinners and hallway-run ins they’ve had since, Doc didn’t seem eager to sit him back down on her couch any time soon either.

“But he seems responsive to you, Major Lowen.” Or at least responsive to getting his shit kicked in, whatever that said about him. “Rangers are typically taciturn about their issues. I thought this route might be worth encouraging, since he seems amenable. Sometimes it’s easier for military men to discuss their problems with someone who has gone through the same ones. Especially” —Obi doesn’t need to see his smirk to know it’s there— “if they’re with the same person.”

Obi might not have stuck around under his dome once the dust settled, but he knew all about guys like Lowen. The regulation haircut, the closet full of BDUs, the fondness for field rations and boiled chicken— just a thin veneer of muscle and bravado over a reflex to ‘sir, yes, sir’ his way out of any problem more complex than picking which socks to put on in the morning. He might have stuck his neck out for something that twinged the weather vane that was his moral compass, but now that someone with stars and bars has explained to him that black is white, he’ll—

“That all?” Big Guy’s too nice to spit out the “sir?” but that little hitch before it, that small hesitation— well, sky writing would have been more subtle.

“Yes.” There’s no tone to that one either, no flavor. Just the implacable bite of subzero. “Unless, of course, there’s something you’d like to discuss?”

There shouldn’t be, his tone conveys, clear enough it could be heard in the hangar. Obi could swear he hears Big Guy’s teeth grind from here.

There’s a long stretch of silence, the kind that makes his skin itch.

“Just one thing, actually. Sir.” The bed creaks, and his shadow shifts, pulling straight. “Been noticing there’s a lot of hopefuls hanging around the past few months. Thought they might be clearing out now that all this business with Tyrannis is done.”

The Marshal hums, distant. “There’s hardly any rush, Major. A few sets of extra hands is always welcome.”

“Even when they don’t come with their own ride?”

For once, His Majesty hesitates. “Even then.”

“Even” —Big Guy almost savors his next words— “if they’re Hisame Lugis?”

“Dangerous times makes strange bedfellows.” The Marshal laughs, sour. “Especially ones like Hisame Lugis. Now if you don’t mind” — the curtain pulls aside— “I think our friend might like to use his bed. Isn't that right, Major?”

Ha, a voice tingles in his ear, busted.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #ans #there is something about this arc in this fic where i keep thinking i'll never have enough words #and then I get there and I have to move like at least one or two major scenes to another chapter #and POV!#but this one was less of a surprised because all of the peanut gallery was added in on the second draft #which changed a LOT of Obi's narration #and made him more introspective than I usually keep him #I think next chap is a Shirayuki chap #and is possibly more shippy. BUT WE WILL SEE

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nettheworldonfire · 2 months ago

Text

Life is Like a Box of...Pills. It's a pillbox.

It’s been quite awhile since my last update. It’s hard to keep up with this because I never quite feel like I have processed things enough to write about it clearly. And then after a little while, it becomes the new norm for me, and I don’t feel like it’s update worthy.

The last two weeks have been busy. In addition to our HVAC breaking and spending a few days freezing our booties off, I’ve had lots of appointments. Generally speaking, it was time for my scans…but due to a horrible week-long headache that wouldn’t go away, even with all the meds, Dr. Teitelbaum suggested that I get an MRI of my head/brain. Well, at first it was a suggestion, then a “let’s move all your scans up a week and add this one.” And then, I was getting a phone call at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday asking if I could come into the city for an MRI at Penn by noon that day. So things seemed a little more… concerning. Since I wasn’t able to just leave work midday and get into the city in that timeframe anyway, the MRI was scheduled for the following Friday evening at Chester County hospital, giving me a fun-filled Friday night.

Here is what my calendar looked like:

11/22/24 - MRI of head/brain

11/25/24 - A1C blood work (for endocrinologist)

11/26/24 - CT scan chest/abdomen

11/26/24 - Endocrinology appt. With new endocrinologist

11/27/24 - Lab Work for Dr. T.

11/27/24 - Oncology Appointment w/ Dr. Teitelbaum

11/27/24 - Lanreotide injection

12/2/24 - Dentist appointment (random, but still necessary)

12/4/24 - Pharmacist phone appt. To review meds and delivery/pick up options

12/4/24 - Educator appt. To explain plan and side effects of new meds

12/6/24 - New meds delivered (check out this awesome eco-friendly ice pack!)

It’s been pretty consuming.

In order to make sense of the last two weeks, I probably need to back track a bit. Over the last year or so, Dr. Teitlebaum has been questioning when is the “right time” to move onto next steps in my treatment. Unfortunately, there is no way of knowing how fast my tumors will grow, how long it will take for them to start having a negative impact on my liver function (or even metastasize elsewhere), or how my body will respond to different medications or treatment options.

And boy did I have anxiety about it. The waiting, the unknown, the what ifs…they are all really hard for me. I have the normal “scanxiety” before all of my CT scans, MRIs and Gallium PT scans. I have the anxiety caused by fear of the unknown; how much time do I have left? How will my death impact my children and their development? How will the loss of my salary impact Owen and my family’s lifestyle? And my least favorite - How much am I going to miss out on? But, at the last few appointments, the anxiety has been different, because even with the good news of, “no substantial growth” there still is minimal growth. And minimal growth plus minimal growth plus minimal growth eventually equals substantial growth, right? My team has been meeting more frequently, my name is on the docket for the “tumor board” meetings every few months, and the question of when is the “right time” continues to come up. While I completely trust in my team, and I know they wouldn’t intentionally steer me wrong, there isn’t a clear correct choice.

So then the medical professionals, who are trying hard to evaluate all options and do the right thing, turn to me, the patient and say – what do YOU want to do?

I have been carrying this weight on my shoulders for some time. I have this horrible fear of playing God and making the wrong choice. And then feeling guilty. Am I avoiding making a decision because of the side effects and the inconvenience of it all? Part of me hates the idea of moving forward because we can only do that so many times and admitting we need to start the next thing means that I am moving closer to the end of this parth. The other part of me is terrified that I wait too long to go on to the next step - and one day my family looks back and thinks, “why didn’t she do this a month sooner?” – which riddles me with (pre)guilt. And a small bit of me thinks, maybe if we just ignore it all I can avoid making any decisions…right? Up until recently, the way my appointments would end was generally the same. There is growth, but not a ton of growth. We could keep doing what we are doing, or we could start a liver directed therapy. And since neither the doctors, or I, had a significant opinion one way or the other, we just decided to stick with the current treatment and reassess in three months. Every time. It meant an endless cycle of “wait and see.”

But this time was different. Dr. Teitelbaum wanted to see me in person. Owen came along for the first time in a few years, and while the doctor said this was the best 30 minutes of her day, it was a little more stressful for us. We are starting the next phase, which is chemotherapy. The drug combination, known as captem, is a combination of Capecitabine and Temozolomide. It’s 14 days of Capecitabine (twice a day), combined with 5 days of Temozolomide (once a day) on days 10-14, and then 14 days off from both, to allow my body to recover and my immune system to rebuild. This will happen for three months in tandem with the lanreotide, as long as my body can tolerate it, and then there will be another CT scan. Dr. Teitelbaum will meet with me monthly, and I’ll have bloodwork done each month too. If after three months, the tumors have necrosis or have shrunk, they will pair this treatment with liver directed therapy. Dr. T. says that if the captem is effective, it typically has a synergy with the LDT and can really have a positive impact. Dr. Soulen and his team would perform the Radioembolization, which involves injecting microscopic radioactive seeds into the bloodstream to the liver. In order to undergo this treatment, they will do a test run (to make sure the little seeds don’t head to my lungs). If that works, then there will be two more treatments (one for each lobe of the liver). I am hopeful these will be relatively easy on my body and that they will buy me some more time.

Side effects are likely to include fatigue, nausea, hair-thinning, dry skin and dry mouth, diarrhea, constipation, and general crappiness. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before - just really not looking forward to feeling worse than I already do as an almost 42 year old mom of young kids who works full time and loves naps.

I am pretty sure the chemo meds are something I could be on for up to a year. The radioembolization could also happen again, not right away, but down the road if needed. Best case scenario, both of these aren’t needed again for a few years and I can go back to just the lanreotide in between (which I’ll stay on for the foreseeable forever, at this point).

After my appointment that day, I still had my lanreotide injection that night. Believe it or not, I think it was my 62nd injection!

My new medicine regime is a tricky one. We had to order one of those 28 day pill boxes. I have pills to take in the morning, pills to take after breakfast, pills to take before certain pills, pills after dinner, and pills at bedtime. I have a variety pack of anti nausea medicine, as well as something for anxiety at bedtime. Those are at least as-needed, so they don’t need to be in the box of doom. Which is good, because right now, on days 10-14, I am taking 17 pills a day.

In other (related) news, I still have Type 2 diabetes from the Lanreotide (taking Metformin for that) and Type 1 diabetes from the Whipple (taking insulin for that) and back to wearing a glucose monitor all the time. My A1C hasn’t been consistently under 7, so I need to do better.

All of this is going to be a huge learning curve for me since I am terrible at remembering to take pills, but I have an angry nurse (Owen), who says he can keep me in line. I’m not looking forward to a whole new level of “which medicine or ailment is causing me this issue,” but I’m pretty grateful that I am still here and have the miracle of modern medicine on my side.

#nettheworldonfire #cancer #survivor #medicaljourney

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heyitsme1040 · 1 year ago

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Headspace [s.r]

summary : Getting a call from the hospital telling you your boyfriend was there made you worry. Finding out his severe headaches were back worried you even more, because he hadn’t told you about them. Finally, he opens up about them and you learn they happen after hard cases. Spencer reassures you that he’s okay, and the two of you go back to your apartment.

pairings : Spencer Reid x Reader

warnings : Hospital setting (no serious description), migraines, mention of weapons (if I missed anything let me know!)

word count : 1,150

AO3 (x)

a/n : Day nine of Comfortember is here! The prompt was ‘aftermath’. Chronic migraines suck. Especially when stress and lack of sleep can cause them to happen more frequently. I imagine a high stress job like the BAU can make them worse.

You pace outside the hospital room, repeating the events of today in your head again. You tried to get Spencer to talk to you, let you know what was going on, but he was persistent in saying it was nothing. He’d been wearing his sunglasses more again, and you knew his headaches were back. He didn’t say anything last time, but you had just joined the team then. You didn’t feel like you could say anything then, but now things were different.

It’s been a little over a year since he last had a headache, and since you joined the BAU. The two of you have gotten closer in that time, became partners in the field, and started dating. With the amount of trust between the two of you, both inside and out of the office, you couldn’t help but feel hurt that he didn't talk to you. The only reason you knew now was that the hospital called you to inform you that he was in the hospital and would need someone to drive once he was discharged. You had rushed here, beyond worried, and now had to wait patiently for the doctor to step out of his room.

When the door finally opened, you noticed the lights inside were very dim. Spencer was sitting on the bed as you stepped inside. You were surprised that he held his arms open, wanting a hug. Stepping into his hold, you loosely wrapped your arms behind his neck while he lent into you. You lightly scratched the long hair at the nape of his neck, swaying slightly.

“Are you okay?” You quietly spoke.

“Yeah,” Spencer promised, “doctors didn’t see anything on the MRIs again.”

“How long have the headaches been back?” You lightly pried.

Spencer’s long sigh was defeated, “About a month now. It’s only been really bad again these past couple of days. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Spence,” you groaned, “I want to worry about you. How would you feel if something serious was happening and I didn’t tell you?”

“I know, I know. It’s just that, I don’t want to worry people. It’s just headaches and there’s nothing else happening. The doctor thinks it could just be chronic migraines at this point. I didn’t want to say anything until the doctors ran their final tests to determine what’s happening.”

You sighed, understanding why he hadn’t said anything. If the rest of the team found out about it, then they would all be worrying over Spencer to some degree during a case. The team needed to be as focused as possible in the field, but you still didn’t understand why he didn’t tell you.

“You could have told me, you know. I wouldn’t have told Hotch or Rossi. But Spence, when you start to see spots from your headaches you can’t ignore it. Especially when it can cause you to collapse like it did today,” you fussed over him.

Spencer nodded against you. You felt the knot of worry in your chest start to loosen. You stepped away to give him some space, looking at the papers on the bed next to him. You pick them up, skimming over the discharge paperwork. Your eyes caught on the chronic migraine diagnosis, followed by what he can take to help them. You made a note to buy a bottle of migraine relief to keep in your go bag, and folded the paper before pocketing it. Spencer carefully stood up and grabbed his messenger bag from beside his feet.

“Migraines can be caused by stress and lack of sleep, you know. With everything we just dealt with from this last unsub, it’s not surprising I had a migraine,” Spencer tried to reassure you.

You nodded, walking next to him. You knew he was right, and from everything the team worried about constantly you were surprised his migraines hadn’t been worse. You still didn’t like that they were happening and affecting him, but you were grateful he wasn’t in constant pain from them. You continued to rationalize everything to yourself as the two of you walked to your car.

You thought of how much Spencer handled during the past case. He’d finally determined where the unsub was likely taking his victims. He’d been the first to rush to the SUVs while calling Hotch, rushing to explain the details of where the unsub was. You’d all arrived moments between each other, Hotch taking the lead. As you all broke off in pairs to search the property, it was you and Spencer that found the unsub in the basement. Spencer was the first to try convincing the unsub to put the knife down. You kept your gun trained on the man, and Spencer put his own gun away. He managed to slowly approach the unsub while talking, reaching out to take the knife away as the unsub’s hold on the knife weakened. When the man was disarmed, you were relieved that Spencer got the young boy away from his captor while you swiftly began to take the unsub into custody. The adrenaline still rushing through you didn’t stop. It wasn’t until everyone was back on the jet that you began to feel the effects of what you’d put your body through the last thirty six hours.

You couldn’t imagine how the effects of everything felt for Spencer. The stress of finding the boy, lack of sleep, and pressure of getting the boy away from the unsub weighed on him. All of that building up to a migraine while he was working on reports in the bullpen. It hadn’t been until Spencer was walking outside of Quantico that it apparently became too much for him, causing him to collapse. Somebody had called an ambulance, and it wasn’t until paramedics had gotten him in the hospital that you’d been called.

“Can I stay at your apartment?” Spencer asks as you buckle.

“Yeah,” you can hear the relief in your voice.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I understand why you didn’t. With everything we deal with, it takes its toll on everyone differently.”

Spencer reaches out and takes your hand. The warmth of his fingers between yours is reassuring. He’s here right now, and everything is out in the open now. You can’t blame him for not wanting to worry you. Dealing with everything the two of you go through is hard, and sometimes you don’t want to talk to him about how you feel after difficult cases. You don’t want to worry him with it. And you understand that he felt the same way toward you, not wanting to worry you with his migraines after dealing with an unsub.

“I promise I won’t keep it from you any more,” Spencer squeezes your hand. “Thank you for caring about me.”

“I’ll always care about you,” you lean over and kiss his cheek. “Now, let’s go home.”

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.

©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.

#fanfiction #fanfiction writer #fanfic blog #comfortember #comfortember 2023 #comfort fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #sickfic #caretaking #sick fic

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quotesfrommyreading · 2 years ago

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During a practice just three months into that initial semester, though, a teammate fell on Hardrick's right leg, eliciting a pop loud enough for the whole gymnasium to hear. He felt like he'd been struck with a sledgehammer and collapsed on the hardwood floor in pain.

Team doctors said X-rays didn't show a tear. They estimated Hardrick would only miss the first few games. But he didn't end up playing once the whole season. Or at the start of the next season. During practices, Hardrick felt shooting pains whenever he tried to run or jump. He says when he told his coaches about the discomfort, they said he wasn't trying hard enough. "I was in pain," Hardrick says. "I had to fight just to get though warm-ups."

That January, a year and four months after the injury, the phone rang at Valerie Hardrick's house. It was a woman from a medical clinic, saying the family owed money for an MRI their son had undergone the previous fall. Valerie said they must be mistaken—her son had never gone for an MRI. And she would know if he had. The administrator persisted, going on to say that the film showed a torn meniscus.

The family says that when they confronted the school, the staff disputed the results of the MRI and continued to maintain Hardrick had only pulled a groin muscle. Meanwhile, Hardrick says, officials began pushing him out. He recalls that the athletic director told him to start thinking about other options, saying maybe this wasn't the best place for him. He was no longer told about team meetings, he says, and then one day when Hardrick went to the gym, he discovered his keycard had been deactivated.

Spring break of his sophomore year, Hardrick used his dad's military insurance to get surgery on his own. The surgeon who did the operation told him the tear was so severe he had to remove 10 percent of the tissue, which had been flapped behind the knee, making it painful to bend or run on. When Hardrick, still determined to get back on the court, asked Oklahoma for a medical redshirt waiver, which gives injured players an extra year of eligibility, the family said the athletic director continued to deny the injury and, therefore, the waiver request. By summer, Hardrick resigned himself to transferring, and signed up for one last set of summer-school classes. Then in July, he received a bill for $3,500 and a letter informing him that the university had canceled his scholarship—effective at the close of the previous semester.

Since Hardrick had a decent grade-point average, many other Division I schools were interested. All he needed was for Oklahoma to give him a medical hardship waiver (NCAA rules say players must sit out a year if they transfer, unless they didn't play the previous year because of an injury). Although Capel was no longer coaching at Oklahoma when Hardrick lobbied for the needed paperwork, he wrote a letter to the conference officials supporting his claims that he was unable to play because of his injury. The athletic director, though, would only grant a medical hardship waiver if the Hardricks signed a release saying there was never an injury and they would never sue (records of the correspondence confirm this). The family declined.

So the 20-year-old ended up transferring to a junior college. He's since had two more surgeries on his knee and has moved up to a Division II college, Southern Nazarene University, where he hopes to continue his recovery and finish his education (Southern Nazarene is paying for his rehab). Hardrick still believes that if his injury had been addressed immediately, he might be playing in the NBA right now. "I don't love basketball anymore," Hardrick says. "Not after everything that's happened."

— 'I Trusted 'Em': When NCAA Schools Abandon Their Injured Athletes

#meghan walsh #'i trusted 'em': when ncaa schools abandon their injured athletes #sports #ncaa #amateurism #basketball #education #employment #healthcare #exploitation #usa #kyle hardrick

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xjoonchildx · 4 years ago

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greedy | myg x reader | chapter five: do we look like recruiters to you?

summary: being a loner has never bothered yoongi until now. until you.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 6.7K

notes: thank you all so much for rolling with the changes to my posting schedule. it’s been a while since i posted an update and i really wanted to give you guys a chapter. plus it makes more sense, in my mind to break it out like this. in this chapter, you’ll notice that ko starts calling OC “jagiya.” thank you to the korean reader who brought to my attention that my previous nickname for her didn’t fit as well as this one!

anyway, you guys make me endlessly happy with your feedback on this story. i’d love to hear what you think of this chapter. beta read by @hobi-gif because i would wither away without her analysis. also beta’d by the awesome @btsarmy9593 who has been so awesome to give me her feedback. thank you to @augustbutwinter for the words of encouragement. and of course, the boos @ladyartemesia and @untaemedqueen pitched in to help me in this journey as well.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*************************

Min Yoongi wakes up with a problem. Well a few problems, actually.

The first is that he has to pee.

The second is the head-to-toe pain that starts to register the moment his sluggish brain kicks into gear. He starts from the bottom -- gingerly wiggling his toes, carefully stretching his legs -- and slowly works his way up, taking mental inventory of what hurts and what doesn’t.

A lot of shit is landing on the hurts list right now.

The third problem -- and perhaps the most pressing -- is the problem pressing into his side right now.

Your hair is still damp.

Yoongi noses into it and lies in the quiet for a while, breathing you in while you sleep. You smell like his shampoo and his soap. You’re wearing his t-shirt and basketball shorts. You are covered in him; fitted to him. Solid and warm and real.

Which brings him to his next problem.

This is the kind of feeling that’s way too easy to become addicted to. The kind of feeling that makes you do stupid shit. Take away the mangled body and the looming safety concerns and this is easily the best morning of his life.

That’s why when you stir and burrow a bit deeper into his side, Yoongi ignores the pain radiating from his sore ribs. He ignores the way his arm has fallen asleep under you, ignores the intermittent buzzing of his phone from the nightstand warning of missed texts.

He ignores the tiny voice in his head that says don’t get attached to this feeling.

Yoongi ignores everything but you and this because right now, it’s the only thing he wants to think about.

And then he’s drifting off again.

***************************

This time, Yoongi wakes up alone.

The deep steadying breath he takes while he’s trying to work up the nerve to get out of bed hurts like hell.

Everything hurts like hell, actually -- the back of his head where he can feel scrapes left behind by the brick wall, his jaw from where he took that driller to the face. His knee from where he jammed it into that fucking goon’s stomach.

But his shoulder is what’s really fucking everything up right now.

He can’t remember telling you where to find the sling or how you got it on. Can’t remember you positioning his pillows around his injured arm or slipping into bed beside him. He’d been so fucked up by the pain and the adrenaline withdrawal that he’s pretty sure he blacked out at some point.

So Yoongi lies there for a minute, trying to piece together what he can remember of last night.

The memories come back to him blurred and disjointed, out of order.

He remembers feeling like he might vomit when you shoved his shoulder back into place. Awkwardly accepting your help taking off his jeans so he could shower. Nearly falling to his knees under the hot water. Pulling himself together long enough to stash his gun in a drawer when you’d stepped away.

And it’s that last memory that makes his chest go tight.

Last night, hiding his gun seemed like the right thing to do. A way to keep you separate from the ugliness he normalized a long time ago. But this morning the half-assed lie of omission makes him feel guilty as hell. A pathetic attempt to delay the inevitable. Chewing gum jammed into the crack of a dam.

He has to tell you about that gun.

So he gets to work on dragging his ass out of bed. It takes him way too damned long to sit upright, way too damned long to slide himself off the edge of the mattress. Longer than that to slowly limp his way into the bathroom where he pees for what feels like a solid ten minutes.

He’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he spots the bright red toothbrush sitting in the cup on his sink.

It’s just some cheap throwaway he brought home after his last visit to the dentist -- a long-forgotten backup that’s been stashed in the cabinet under the bathroom counter for months. But now it’s sitting out in the open, in that cup. Right next to his own blue one.

Yoongi stares at it and scrubs a hand over his face.

And that tiny voice in his head gets a bit louder.

************************

He finds you seated at his piano, bare-faced and hair tousled. Fingers tracing light patterns across the keys of his custom instrument, gaze taking in all of the tiny details he paid a small fortune for.

He could have stayed there for a while, just appreciating the view had you not caught him staring.

Your dark eyes flick up to find his and Yoongi’s pulse quickens at the warmth in them. At the soft, shy smile that comes over you just before you clear your throat and lower your eyes back to the keys.

“Beautiful,” you sigh.

No kidding, Yoongi thinks.

He crosses the room slowly. Tries his hardest not to limp but the throb in his knee makes that nearly impossible. Sadness flashes across your face as you watch him sink heavily onto the bench beside you.

“I can help you, you know,” you admonish softly.

Yoongi shrugs, motioning to the sling. “You already have.”

He stills when you reach one hand out to brush your fingertips across the redness on his jaw. You stroke your thumb across his aching cheek and Yoongi leans into the touch, savoring the feeling of your skin against his.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, “I’m so sorry you’re hurt, and -- ” you pause to shake your head sadly, “-- and I’m so sorry it’s because I put you in this position.”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath.

He can’t bring himself to tell you that he can’t think straight when he imagines what could have happened if that fucking goon had gotten you alone. Can’t bring himself to admit out loud that he could have pulled his gun and ended that piece of shit without losing a second of sleep.

Would have, had you not been there.

“Better me than you, Doc,” he says thickly. “You made the right call.”

You press a gentle kiss to his throbbing jaw.

“You still mad at me?”

You whisper the words into the shell of Yoongi’s ear and a slow heat builds in his gut.

“Yeah,” he lies, dropping a kiss on the delicate skin below your jaw. He ghosts the tip of his nose against the curve of your neck and you shudder under his touch. He’s forced to check himself, leaning back for a few inches of badly-needed space.

On the bright side, at least his dick isn’t broken, too.

He clears his throat. “If that guy had brought backup -- ”

“ -- If that guy had brought backup, he’d have been out of the car long before you left his buddy in a pile on the floor,” you interrupt gently.

Yoongi chuckles. “Just admit you’re terrible at following directions.”

“You happen to have your MRI results around here anywhere? I’d be interested to see what they say about that shoulder.”

You raise one brow when Yoongi narrows his eyes at you in response. “No? Well, then I guess I’m not the only one who’s bad at following directions.”

“Guess not,” Yoongi admits with a smile.

Your turn your attention back to his piano, touch reverent as you slide one hand across the rich black lacquer.

“When you first walked in, I was going to say something really dumb like do you play?” you admit with a laugh. “But no one owns something this magnificent unless they have a passion for it.”

“Yeah, I play,” Yoongi murmurs. “When I have two functioning arms.”

He’d intended to earn a laugh with that tease, but the joke falls flat. Sadness creeps back into your features.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, gaze dropping into your lap. “I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me last night without you. And all I can think about this morning is why? Why did you do this for me?”

Fuck, that’s a loaded question.

If Yoongi had the balls, he’d tell you straight up that he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you at Songdo . That you feel like his chance at something more. But Yoongi doesn’t say any of that.

Instead, he coughs up a weak white lie.

“We’re both out here flying solo Doc. We have to look out for each other. Besides -- ” he tips your chin up with a gentle press of his fingers and finds your dark eyes glassy with unshed tears. “ -- I have a thing for that smart mouth of yours.”

He earns a tiny smile from you then, just the slightest curve of your lips. And he’s this close to kissing the soft, sad expression right off your face when that voice in his mind fucks everything up again.

Tell her about the gun.

The thought is like a bucket of cold water over his head, jarring him from the intimacy of this moment. Yoongi swallows thickly before opening his mouth to tell you the truth. But before he can speak, you do.

“I have something of yours,” you say, reaching into the pocket of your borrowed basketball shorts. Yoongi watches you produce a worn handmade bracelet and holds his palm open to accept it. “It fell out of your jacket last night,” you explain.

He rubs his thumb over the smooth metal corners of the cross that dangles from aged leather. It brings back the memory of his baptism -- of the day Mrs. Bak proudly gifted it to him while he was still damp from the ceremony. It also brings back the memory of last night -- when he’d clutched it between his fingers and sent a silent plea for protection skyward.

It’s been a long time since he’s prayed. It’s been a long time since he had anything to pray for.

“Are you religious?” you ask softly.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Honestly? I don’t know.” A self-conscious heat creeps up his neck. “Just makes me feel better, I guess. Is that dumb?”

“No,” you reassure quietly, bringing one warm hand up to cup his cheek. Yoongi covers your hand with his, laces his fingers in between yours. “Not dumb at all.”

Tell her about the gun.

“Doc,” Yoongi whispers thickly, “We need to talk about something.”

Your hand falls away from his face and your spine goes stiff with tension and Yoongi almost loses his nerve.

Almost.

“Okay, so I was, uh -- carrying a gun last night,” he starts, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, “I carry a gun all the time, actually. I hid it because I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You say nothing, expression unreadable. And Yoongi keeps talking.

“But I don’t want to keep things from you,” he says quietly. “I want you to know exactly who I am. No half-truths.”

Your eyes drop back down to the piano. You pluck at one of the keys and a somber note rings out, lingers in the air between you before you speak.

“You have a gunshot wound in your back, Yoongi,” you murmur. “It’s not exactly a leap of logic. Besides, I already saw your gun. It was in your drawer last night when I got you a change of clothes.”

Yoongi nods slowly, processing the fact that you’d discovered the gleaming silver piece and hadn’t written him off right away. You’d still slept in the crook of his arm last night. You’re still here right now.

“And yeah, maybe it does freak me out a bit,” you admit. “But after what I saw last night, maybe I can understand a bit, too.”

Yoongi lets go of the breath he’s been holding and takes your hand in his. Maybe is as good as he could have hoped for at this point. Maybe is not a dead end.

“I have something to tell you, too,” you admit after a moment. “I’m due at the hospital in a few hours.”

“Doc,” Yoongi groans, hand tightening reflexively around yours. “You can’t go back there.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you insist, pulling away. “This isn’t just some job I fell into, Yoongi. This is years of my life.”

Yoongi is quiet for a few seconds, willing his rising agitation to subside. He’s careful to check his tone before he speaks.

“You’re not safe there.”

“I have to go back. I don’t have a choice,” you repeat. “I can’t afford to get blacklisted and Lee is still my boss. And if he’s already got wind of what happened last night, he’s going to be gunning for me even harder than he already has been. I have to tread carefully.”

Yoongi shoves a hand through his hair.

“You have to meet me in the middle here, Doc,” he exhales. “There’s got to be something halfway between you walking right back into that hellhole and you losing your job. Take a couple of sick days. Give me some time to figure out who your boss is working with and what I can do about it. Can you do that?”

You’re quiet for a moment as you consider his proposal.

“Yeah,” you concede softly. “I can do that.”

You lift a hand to brush a lock of hair out of his face and press your mouth to his.

Every cell in Yoongi’s body stands at attention. He cards his fingers into the soft mass of your hair and kisses you slowly -- carefully -- all too aware of the way he’d manhandled you last night.

Not even the pain in his jaw could take away from how good it feels to touch you like this. Not even the ache in his ribs could stop him from leaning into you. He slips his tongue past your lips and you whimper, fingers curling into his sore knee.

He could not give a shit.

Yoongi leaves your mouth to trail kisses down your jaw, and you tip your head back, offering him the soft expanse of your neck. He accepts it gladly, mouth hot and open on your skin, savoring your scent and taste -- enjoying the way he can feel your pulse fluttering wildly under his lips.

He’s enjoying it all so much that he gets careless. The elbow of his injured arm connects with the sharp edge of the piano and he recoils instantly.

“Dammit,” he groans. “Fuck.”

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

The pain is so potent it seems to radiate all the way from his arm to his temples. Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the ringing in his ears to subside.

“Yoongi, your shoulder, it's -- it’s really bad,” you admonish quietly. “If you keep going like this, the damage is going to be permanent.”

“Trust me, I know,” he sighs. “I’m going to get this looked at, I just haven’t.”

“I want you to see a friend of mine at Asan today,” you urge. “He’s a good doctor. He can get you some pain relief. Get you back to working condition.”

Yoongi nods weakly, pain still ebbing from his arm.

“But it’s not a substitute for an MRI and it’s not a substitute for surgery,” you warn. “This is just a temporary fix. You have to be careful. Whatever you’re planning, just please be careful.”

Yoongi skates the pad of his thumb over your lips before kissing you just one more time.

“Don’t worry about me, Doc,” he murmurs. “I’m going to have some help.”

**************************

It’s amazing what a pair of high-powered steroid shots and a bottle of industrial-strength painkillers can do for a guy.

Yoongi pulls into the parking lot at Maekju feeling almost human again.

If the text messages that have been blowing up his phone all afternoon are any indication, everyone is here tonight. Everyone with the exception of Namjoon, of course. He doesn’t drink anymore and even when he did, he always preferred to drink alone.

Jungkook is the first person Yoongi spots, leaned up against a pool table, beer in hand. He’s watching Jimin and Taehyung face off at billiards while Seokjin and Hoseok sit side-by-side at the bar, deep in conversation.

The maknae’s eyes go a bit wide when he takes in Yoongi’s unusual gait and immobilized arm.

“Holy shit, hyung,” he breathes as Yoongi approaches. “What the hell happened to you?”

Seokjin whips around in his barstool at the sound of Jungkook’s greeting, but Hoseok doesn’t take the bait. He stiffens in his seat but refuses to turn around. Stubborn bastard.

“Yoga accident,” Yoongi mutters, stepping up to the bar next to Seokjin. The older man smirks as he takes a long pull of his beer.

“How’d you drive with that thing on?” Seokjin asks, motioning to Yoongi’s sling.

“Carefully,” Yoongi says dryly. “Listen, can you give me a minute with Jung here?”

Seokjin’s critical gaze bounces back and forth between Yoongi and Hoseok, who is still resolutely pretending not to notice the conversation taking place just inches from his face. He stares into a television mounted high above the bar and sips his whiskey with feigned indifference.

“You two need couple’s counseling, I swear,” Seokjin groans, rolling his eyes. He stands to his feet to relinquish his barstool and claps a hand over Yoongi’s good shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Hoseok, the fucking infant, grabs a newspaper abandoned on the bartop and proceeds to pretend to read it. Yoongi slides into the stool next to him anyway.

“Miss me?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer.

“You’re not gonna say hello? Not gonna ask me why it looks like I spent all night falling off a cliff?”

“Nope.”

Yoongi waves off the bartender who starts walking in his direction. The last thing he needs is a drink. He’s got so many painkillers in his system right now that one sip of booze would probably have him under the bar in seconds.

“Come on Hoseok,” Yoongi sighs. “Don’t be a dick. I’ve literally never seen you read a newspaper.”

“I like to stay informed,” Hoseok shrugs.

“Well, I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Oh, so you talk to me now?” Hoseok snickers. “That’s new.”

Hoseok’s probably earned the right to his petulance, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. Yoongi starts to reconsider that drink.

“Jung,” he groans. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“So apologize then.”

“Fine,” Yoongi mutters. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole lately. I’ve been twisted up over some shit that has nothing to do with you or family business.”

Hoseok grabs his whiskey off the bar and finally -- finally -- pivots to face him.

“A giant asshole,” he corrects dryly.

“Yes. A giant asshole,” Yoongi repeats. “We good now?”

Hoseok sips his whiskey slowly, eyes narrowed at Yoongi over the lip of his glass.

“Buy me a drink.”

“Fine,” Yoongi hisses, flagging the bartender.

Hoseok leans back in his barstool, looking a bit smug.

“Now this shit you’ve been twisted up about,” he starts, brow cocked. “Would this have anything to do with your secret doctor friend?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi admits, scratching at the back of his neck. His injured shoulder is tired from carrying the extra weight of the sling. He rolls it gingerly as Hoseok looks on.

“Would this have anything to do with why you look like you got jumped on your way in here tonight?”

Yoongi’s cheeks warm at his partner’s blunt observation. “Maybe.”

Hoseok drains his whiskey just as the bartender arrives with a fresh one. He takes a long drink before setting his glass back down on the bar. His lips purse thoughtfully as he levels Yoongi with a long, assessing look.

“Okay,” he says calmly. “So who do we have to go fuck up?”

**************************

Dr. Lee Geon just looks like a fucking weasel.

Yoongi glares at the man as he strolls into the coffee shop a few blocks from Songdo with just minutes to spare to his shift.

Lee bears little resemblance to his photos on the hospital website.

He’s thin -- just this side of gaunt -- hollow cheeks prominent below dark under eyes beneath a sparse dusting of greasy hair. Were he not dressed in a rumpled lab coat and equally creased scrubs, Yoongi might have missed him entirely.

Across the room, Hoseok peers at Yoongi over the top of yet another borrowed newspaper -- is this the guy? -- and Yoongi answers with a furtive nod.

He goes over the plan they’d worked out in the car in his head. They’d find the guy -- make sure he was the guy -- and then follow him out of the shop. Catch him just before he got into his car. Shake him up a bit before shaking him down for information.

There’s one thing Yoongi still hasn’t worked out, though.

Just how much he’s going to allow himself to hurt this asshole before sending him on his way. Lee slowly shuffles his way to the front of the line as Yoongi imagines jamming his fist into the man’s stupid fucking face. Imagines doing it over and over again until the piece of shit is unrecognizable.

Yoongi watches Lee order his drink as he kneads at the tender muscles of his shoulder.

Ditching the sling was probably a bad idea -- definitely against doctor’s orders -- but it was a risk he was more than willing to take. He’d downed a couple of painkillers and shoved his shoulder into a brace and decided he could deal with the dull throb just for the night.

No way in hell he was going to confront this scumbag looking like some kid who just fell off his skateboard.

It doesn’t take long for the barista to put together Lee’s drink. He grabs his coffee and Yoongi tenses in anticipation of his next move. But instead of heading for the exit, Lee heads for the bathroom instead.

Yoongi locks eyes with Hoseok across the room and Hoseok raises one brow.

Change of plans?

Yoongi nods.

*****************************

Lee’s coffee sits abandoned atop the sink ledge.

Yoongi and Hoseok slip silently into the bathroom and get right to work. Hoseok blocks the door as Yoongi quietly creeps past the stalls, ducking his head to peer beneath each one. Lee’s scuffed sneakers are the only pair of shoes he spots.

His ears pick up on a faint sound coming from inside the locked stall.

It’s a kind of soft, intermittent rasping. Yoongi concentrates on the noise, isolates it until he comes to the realization that it’s sniffling he’s hearing. He turns to Hoseok and taps his finger against the side of his nose and Hoseok nods his agreement.

Yoongi shakes his head in disgust. Is there a single substance this idiot isn’t addicted to?

It takes a moment for the sniffling to subside. It’s followed by a few seconds of quiet rustling in which Yoongi can picture Lee carefully pocketing whatever’s left of his coke. The noises from behind the brushed steel barrier finally stop and the next thing Yoongi hears is the distinct clink of the latch coming apart.

Lee swings the door wide -- gets one look at what’s waiting for him on the other side -- and nearly jumps out of his skin.

He startles so hard that he almost falls backward into the toilet. But he catches himself, regaining his balance and staring back at Yoongi with wide, worried eyes.

Yoongi stands there and says nothing.

“Excuse me,” Lee mumbles, eyeing him wearily as he tries to slide past. He takes two steps forward then stops in his tracks when he spots Hoseok. Lee swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth between both men.

“Is there a problem gentlemen?” he croaks.

Yoongi takes a step towards Lee. He shrinks back when Yoongi reaches for his badge, yanking the retractable cord as he pulls it close to examine it. Yoongi runs his thumb over the raised lettering on the laminated card, letting the taut silence linger for dramatic effect.

Then he lets go of the badge without warning, fighting a smile when Lee flinches as it snaps back into place.

“Yes, we have a problem,” Yoongi confirms pleasantly. “And yes, it’s you.”

The little color left in Lee’s face immediately drains out.

“Look, I don’t know who you guys are, but you don’t w-want to mess with me,” he stammers, voice cracking comically halfway through his flimsy threat. “I know people.”

“Oh shit,” Yoongi’s eyes go wide with feigned concern, “You hear that, Jung? This guy knows people.”

“Sounds scary,” Hoseok chuckles.

Lee starts to breathe harder, chest rising and falling faster. Pupils blown with fear and coke.

“Now, here’s the difference between you and us, Dr. Lee,” Yoongi explains calmly. “You know people. But we -- ” he motions to himself and then to Hoseok, “ -- are people . Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”

Yoongi punctuates his point by brushing the edge of his open leather jacket aside, allowing his pistol to peek out from underneath. Lee’s eyes lock on it as he nods slowly, pulling deep, noisy breaths through his nose.

“Great. Now we don’t have to play the game where you pretend not to know about the bullshit you’ve been pulling over at the hospital, right?”

Lee shakes his head slowly.

“So that means we also don’t have to play the game where you pretend you didn’t send some fucking street goon to rough up a little old lady, either. Right?”

The man’s mouth drops open like his first instinct is to deny that accusation. But he steals another look at Hoseok and shuts it instead.

“And then -- ” Yoongi jabs Lee in the chest with one finger and the man jumps back, “-- you tried to send that same goon after your own resident. But here’s the thing, Doctor Lee. She knows people, too.”

Lee’s body goes rigid. Yoongi watches him process the information with his drug-addled brain, a flare of recognition finally sparking in his dull eyes.

“I saw you at the hospital,” Lee whispers. “You know her.”

“Don’t worry about who I know,” Yoongi shrugs. “Worry about what you’re going to say in your resignation letter.”

He advances on the man again, closing the space between them. Lee tries to back away, but he runs out of room. He tilts against the stall door.

“Resignation letter?” he echoes weakly.

“The one you’re turning in tonight,” Yoongi explains coolly. “Before you get the fuck out of Songdo and then get the fuck out of Seoul.”

Lee sputters for a moment, grasping for his next words.

“Well, where am I supposed to go?” he bleats.

“Do we look like recruiters to you, man?” Hoseok cuts in sharply. “We don’t give a shit where you go -- you just have to go. You sure this guy is a doctor, Min? He seems way too dumb to be a doctor.”

“Nah. This guy’s a junkie pretending to be a doctor,” Yoongi accuses, dropping any pretense of good humor. “Pretending to be a tough guy, too. But all of that ends tonight.”

Yoongi grabs Lee by the chin, jerking his head into place and forcing the trembling man to look him in the eye.

“In ten minutes, you’re going to walk your ass into that hospital. You’re going to tell them you are leaving. You are going to take that piece of shit pharmacist and anyone else who’s involved with you. And then you are never going to step foot in this city again.”

He pauses to enjoy the way Lee’s pupils dilate even wider with fear.

“You’re not too high to understand what I’m saying to you right now, right?”

Lee shakes his head weakly, jaw still pinned in Yoongi’s vice grip.

“Great. Now just one more thing before you go on your merry way,” Yoongi says, voice low with menace. “Give us the name of your street guys.”

Lee panics. “I can’t,” he whines from between compressed cheeks. “They’ll kill me.”

Yoongi grips his face tighter, crushing the man’s jaw and using it to push his body flush against the stall. His fingers and knuckles turn white with the force of his grasp and Lee groans weakly at the pain.

“I will kill you,” Yoongi seethes. “Me. Right fucking now with my bare fucking hands if you don’t give me that name.”

Lee is sweating so profusely that Yoongi wonders briefly if he’s having a heart attack. He’s probably got enough coke in his system for that to be an actual concern. But the pathetic little shit manages to pull himself together long enough to follow directions.

“Kkangpae,” he wheezes.

Yoongi’s iron grip stays in place, even as he turns to Hoseok, even as both men exchange a look. That is something he did not see coming. Perhaps his recent personal issues are family business, after all.

He finally releases Lee’s jaw and the man rears back, breathing hard.

“You have exactly one day to get the fuck out of this city,” Yoongi instructs quietly. “And that is not an offer I’m prepared to make twice.”

Lee licks his dry lips, nodding his head slowly like he’s just come out of a trance. “Okay.”

“Great chat,” Yoongi smiles, patting Lee’s cheek.

Hoseok leaves his post at the door to cross the cramped bathroom and reach for the coffee Lee abandoned minutes ago. Both men watch in silence as he turns it up over the sink, pours it out, and then tosses it in the trash.

He heads back to the door and holds it open.

“Damn Hoseok,” Yoongi murmurs as he brushes past. “That was cold.”

*********************************

YOU

There’s buzzing. Of that, you’re sure.

But in those first few moments that you’re rousing, you can’t be sure if you’re hearing it or dreaming it. You’re disoriented. It’s the second time in as many days you’ve woken up in an unfamiliar bed.

Shafts of sunlight pour through the blinds and you squint at them, trying to get a sense of the time of day. If the amber tinge is any indication, it’s late into the afternoon.

The buzzing sounds again.

You roll to your side to grab your cell phone off the nightstand and blink at a long list of waiting texts.

ko: wake up sleeping beauty [ 11:36 AM ]

ko: i have news [ 11:45 AM ]

ko: big news [ 12:22 PM ]

ko: and gaeran tost-u [ 1:02 PM ]

ko: ready for you to wake up now [ 1:43 PM ]

ko: don’t mind me just gonna bang a few pots and pans [ 2:11 PM ]

Any curiosity over Ko’s big news is overshadowed by the way your heart drops when none of those messages is from Yoongi.

Before you’d left his apartment, he’d asked you to stay. He’d cleared his throat and looked down at his hands and explained that he’d feel better if you weren’t alone until this entire mess was settled. But the way he looked at you in those last few minutes together made you feel like his proposition was about much more than just your protection.

It made you want to say yes.

Never mind that it’s insane to feel so at home in his personal space -- or that coming to that realization might have sent you into a mild panic. In the end, you’d had to say no because you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Ko on her own while this madness played out.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and fire off two quick texts.

you: i hope you’re okay. please be careful [ 2:33 PM ]

you: up now. be down in five [ 2:34 PM ]

**************************

Ko makes good on her promise of gaeran tost-u.

You’re greeted by the pleasant smell of the sugared egg dish as you walk down the stairs. Ko sits at her kitchen table, eyes shining with excitement, and pushes a plate at you when you slide into the chair across from hers.

“Eat,” she orders sweetly. Your stomach rumbles on cue and you waste no time digging in.

“This is really good,” you declare around a mouthful of bread and eggs. “I might have to live with you forever.”

Ko smiles wide and the expression makes you feel warm from the inside out. The bruising on her face is barely visible now, easily hidden with a little makeup. Her eyes crinkle with happiness as she watches you eat without saying a word.

“Alright,” you sigh, loathe to stop eating even for as long as it takes to speak. “Spill it. You look fit to burst.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she complains cheerfully. “Dr. Lee is gone. Walked into Songdo last night and walked out forever.”

You gasp halfway through your next bite, sputtering as you try to catch your breath around a mouthful of toasted bread. Ko stands to grab you a glass of water which you gratefully accept.

“Well, don’t die on me now,” she teases, “Because there’s more. Nang left, too. And Tuan and Beom from pathology. All four of them quit without even so much as a notice, Jagi. Isn’t that wild?”

You sip your water slowly and Ko’s eyes flash as she watches you.

“Yoo called me early this morning and said the entire hospital is talking about it. There’s a bunch of crazy theories going around. And here I am, drinking my tea. Thinking about how you took a few sick days and showed up here. Thinking about how healthy and rested you look right now. Isn’t that interesting?”

You nod, jamming the sandwich back in your mouth for an obnoxiously large bite.

“And I can’t help but wonder if there’s some connection between this very convenient development and my very sweet, secretive friend.”

Ko’s mouth twists into a teasing smile as you chew your food absurdly slow.

“That sandwich isn’t going to last forever, Jagi,” she says dryly. She lifts her teacup to her mouth and takes a dainty sip. “And trust me, I have nothing but time.”

She leans back, cup in hand.

“Okay, so I might know something about it,” you admit after a while. “But there’s still a lot I don’t know. And I’m not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

Ko tuts under her breath.

“I want to hear it all. I’ve got quite a few years on you and trust me, very little shocks me anymore. So now you spill it.”

You take another sip of water and clear your throat.

“Okay,” you exhale. “So there’s this guy -- ”

“ -- Oh, I love it when stories start like this,” Ko interrupts. She props her chin up with her hands like you’re telling a bedtime story and you shake your head with a wry smile.

“He’s been kind of… helping me, I guess.”

“Helping you,” Ko echoes. “As in helping you out of your clothes?”

“No,” you deny hotly, cheeks warming. “He’s a friend.”

Ko doesn’t bother to call you out on the weak lie. But her face says what her mouth doesn’t when one skeptical brow raises high.

“Go on.”

“I told him about what was going on at the hospital and he said he could help me,” you explain slowly. “So I’m pretty sure he figured out a way to run off Lee and Nang.”

Ko taps her finger against the side of her teacup.

“So let me see if I have this right,” she muses. “You tell this friend -- who you’ve never once mentioned, by the way -- that you’ve been having this very dangerous trouble at work. And then your friend somehow manages to convince two grown men who’ve worked at Songdo for years to give up their high-paying jobs and up-front access to IV drugs overnight.”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“And just like that -- ” Ko snaps her fingers for emphasis, “ -- they’re gone without so much as a fuss.”

You nod weakly.

“Jagi,” Ko’s voice drops low. “I take it your friend’s not a mailman, is he?”

“No,” you mumble. “Definitely not.”

Ko hums under her breath. She carefully lifts her teacup to drink, eyes trained on you over the rim. Her quiet scrutiny makes you anxious.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks after a long pause.

“If I said no would that stop you?”

“Not a chance,” Ko laughs. “Would this friend happen to be the mysterious, handsome man who asked for you in the ER a few weeks back?”

Mind like a steel trap, this woman. You should have known Ko would make that connection and fast. There’s no point in denying it, so you don’t.

“Yes,” you whisper thickly. “He is.”

It’s hard to get a read on Ko’s reaction. Over the years, you’ve come to rely on her sweetness and wisdom and warmth. But now, as you stare into her dark eyes and try to interpret her careful expression, you realize there’s something else you need from her.

Her approval.

“Ko, I think I -- ” you pause to choose your words carefully, “ -- I think I might be in really deep with this guy.”

Ko snorts.

“Oh, I think you might be right about that, Jagiya . And if he’s helping you with something like this? Chances are, you’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” you exhale, wringing your hands together beneath the table. “Thing is -- I need you to tell me I’m not making a mistake here.”

The corners of Ko’s mouth lift into a soft expression of surprise.

“Oh, Jagi,” she chides sweetly. “You know I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything about this man.” She reaches across the table to cover your hand with her own. “But you do. You’re the only one who knows how you feel about him. And you’re the only one who knows if he’s a good man underneath it all.”

Ko squeezes your hand and you turn your head before she can see the tears that threaten in your eyes. The amber sunlight outside her kitchen window is shifting orange now, flares of light reflecting off the glass.

You stare at them and think about Yoongi.

Until now, it’s like you’ve been splitting him into two different men -- the bruised, bloody con artist from the exam room and the quiet, teasing flirt from the coffee shop. Until now, it’s been the only way to reconcile your complicated feelings.

But it's well past time you accepted the truth.

The same Yoongi whose cheeks had pinked when he’d asked you to stay is the same Yoongi you watched beat the shit out of a hired thug. The Yoongi who carries a cross is the Yoongi who carries a gun. They’re two halves of one whole.

And you can’t pine for one and reject the other.

Your cell phone buzzes from the pocket of your pajama pants. You reach for it, relief coursing through you when you spot Yoongi’s name on the screen.

yoongi: one more thing to do before we can talk [ 3:01 PM ]

yoongi: it’s cold outside, be sure to bundle up [ 3:01 PM ]

Yoongi’s random mention of the weather confuses you. You stare at the texts and Ko stares at you, concerned by the baffled expression on your face.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” you insist, shaking your head. “Just, um -- ”

Bundle up. A tingle runs up the length of your spine as realization slowly creeps over you.

“Excuse me for a moment,” you murmur, slipping out of your seat.

Ko watches you dash up the stairs, slack-jawed.

You make a beeline for your borrowed room, throwing open the closet doors to find the coat you’d left hanging there on arrival. The coat you’d worn to and from Yoongi’s. You hurriedly dig into the pockets, fingers immediately making contact with something hard and jagged.

You pull it out.

The shiny silver key in your palm looks like it’s never been used, sharp edges gleaming in the waning sunlight streaming into this room.

You don’t have to guess what it’s for.

You just close your fingers around it and hold it tight.

*****************

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#yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective

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chibinightowl · 3 years ago

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Someone reblogged the pumpkin Tim fight I wrote earlier (see HERE) and left some tags with a comment about some aftercare. Why not? Here’s some hurt/comfort from Jason’s POV. I’d tag them, but Tumblr is being Tumblr.

Breaking into the Pretender’s apartment is never an easy feat, but it’s one that Jason has managed multiple times--ostensibly in the name of seeking out the weak spots. In reality, it’s for the periodic itch that needs to be scratched and for some fucking reason, Timmy is the one he goes to for exactly that.

This time though, he’s got a concussed Red Robin sprawled across his back in a fireman’s carry, slipping and sliding thanks to the pumpkin guts all over him.

Why the hell did he sign up for this?

Right. Alfred. Jason isn’t sure how the old man knows about the arrangement between him and Tim, but he does. And Bruce apparently doesn’t, which is just fucking fine with him. What they do behind closed doors is none of his business.

Okay, so maybe it didn’t exactly start behind closed doors, but that’s beside the point.

The last trap is finally disarmed and Jason makes his way into the Pretender’s home. It’s just as messy as the last time he was here a couple of weeks ago, but he knows Tim--there’s a method to the madness. In that big head of his, everything is in its place and he can zero in on it in moments.

Which is why moving shit around before leaving is so much fun.

But Jason isn’t here for that. Not this time.

Tim moans softly as he’s sat on the floor in the large bathroom, propped against one wall. His head sags forward and Jason remembers what he’d said earlier, about his vision blacking out.

“Shit, Pretender,” he says quietly, removing his gloves to gently probe the back of Tim’s head. “Why the hell were you even out tonight?”

Three days without sleep, that’s what Alfred had said when he called Jason to find Tim and bring him home. All jokes aside, a Red Robin on a full day of sleep would have kicked the Great Gourd--heh, that was a good one--into next week. Hell, even a Red Robin on two days without sleep could have.

Jason frowns as his fingers find a damp spot. “Please be pumpkin guts,” he mutters, drawing back his hand to look.

No luck. The tips of his fingers were red.

That means only one thing--someone needs a CT scan or maybe even an MRI, immediately.

Tim stirs. “Wha--Where am I?”

“Your bathroom, Timmers,” Jason answers, using his clean hand to remove the domino from Tim’s face. Big blue eyes blink owlishly at him as neither pupil responds to the light around them. “You able to see me?”

“There’s two of you. No...three?” Tim’s head flops to the side and his bangs conceal those beautiful eyes. “I don’t think I can take three of you at once.”

Jason can’t help as his mind goes right to the gutter. “Two, maybe. One at each end. It would take a lot of prep to get you ready for three.”

Tim laughs weakly, then winces. “Ow, that hurts.”

“Yeah, your head is banged up pretty good. I hate saying this, but I think we need to get you back to the Cave for Alfie to patch you up.”

“No.” Tim tries to bat Jason’s hands away. A newborn kitten has more strength, sheesh.

“Sorry, no can do. You’re bleeding.”

Still, Tim is more coherent than he’d expected, so that’s a win.

“No, I don’t wanna go. Call Kon.”

Jason blinks because what? “Call the Superman-wannabe? Why?”

Tim might be concussed, but the expression on his face is 1000% the one he wears when he thinks someone is being an idiot. “Cuz he has x-ray vision. He can see if there’s something wrong. He’s done it enough times for me.”

“Oh, really?”

Shit, when Tim’s feeling better--hell, maybe even a bit before so his wily ass can’t escape--they’re gonna have a few words about just how often Tim gets hurt and doesn’t tell anyone in the family.

“I think we’re gonna have a little chat about that later,” Jason continues as he starts to remove pieces of the Red Robin uniform. It’s a bitch as he tries not to jostle Tim too much, but once he’s got the main catch released, the rest comes off easy.

He carefully doesn’t think about how much practice he’s had doing that under much more rushed and darker circumstances.

“Do we have to?” Tim asks. His voice is starting to slide back into the slur that seems to precede him passing out.

Jason takes hold of his chin and gently raises it so that their eyes meet. There are streaks of drying pumpkin across one cheek. “Yeah, Timbers. I think we do.”

Tim sighs as his eyes close again. “Fine,” he whispers, so soft that if Jason weren’t right there, he’d have missed it.

He slumps forward into Jason’s arms as he falls back into unconsciousness.

Well, fuck. So much for asking what the super-clone’s number is. Still, he does have one advantage most people don’t.

Assuming the super is even listening.

“Hey, Kon-El! The other half of your World’s Finest 2.0 team is askin’ for your help! Or was asking... He’s passed out.”

Now all he has to do is wait. Idly, Jason pulls Tim into a more comfortable position in his lap and strokes at the fine black hair on his replacement’s head. His fingers catch on a clump of pumpkin and he frowns, eyeing it crossly.

He’ll give Kon five minutes before calling Babs, Tim’s preferences be damned.

They’re still sitting there together a few minutes later when Kon arrives, with Jason carefully picking pumpkin guts from Tim’s hair.

#chibinightowl writes #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #JayTim #i think i got the hurt/comfort right for once!#but i might have introduced some angst #oops?

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muppetmilf · 2 years ago

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i know i dropped off the face of the earth but past all the shit i outlined in my last post that has gone wrong, i also got very sick with covid over christmas and racked up some medical expenses (nothing serious i can cover those) and on christmas day i found out that my apartment had pipes burst in the ceiling. we are the top apartment and it caused MAJOR damage to not only our apartment but the two apartments below us, and my roommate left the heat off when he left (accidentally) so we’re entirely liable. i’ve got to go back to school soon and currently we’re still on the lease but it won’t be habitable until at least mid-feb, i have to find alternative housing until then and i’m in a mid-sized city so options are slim on short notice AND expensive where they do exist, if we stay on the lease we still have to pay full rent and if we terminate i’ll have to find somewhere else to live in a place where housing is ridiculously expensive (i really don’t want to terminate the lease but my roommates do atp, trying to talk them out of it but i don’t want to force anything either). we also have to pay for the housing accommodations of the people below us and whatever our insurance doesn’t cover from damages. we’ve also been informed that they might dispute and try not to pay, so on top of ALL of this other shit we’ve been contacting lawyers so we don’t get absolutely fucked over. i am so immensely stressed about my living situation, my finances, and now my physical health even more so than i usually am because the stress has caused a flare and i’m having new symptoms, i went to my rheumatologist today and he’s concerned and i have to get another mri (but realistically i’m just going to have to skip it because i don’t have the money) and he recommended physical therapy which i also cannot afford. my family is solidly middle class but this has completely gone over what we can afford.

this is a fucking novel but if you got to the end thanks for reading, and if anyone knows where i can ask for financial aid i would REALLY appreciate it because i am so lost (other than tumblr i don’t do social media and i haven’t been on here lately bc i’ve just been trying to stay afloat since like november). i doubt many ppl on tumblr could help bc i don’t think most of us have much money so anything from anywhere is appreciated, i’ll make accounts if i need to. i might make a formal post here anyways and see what comes of it, i am absolutely desperate, i had to get an airbnb for the first two weeks of the semester and it was almost 900 dollars (!!!) which i had to put on a credit card :( and my monthly rent is 700 and because we are considered liable we still have to pay that if we keep the apartment. i feel sick to my stomach constantly omg

#i can’t edit this for rambling very sorry for the way this is formatted #i truly and sincerely hope you guys have had better luck than me these past few months #personal

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mandana-the-service-pup · 2 years ago

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Mandana just lost her access to freedom walks until further notice.

She NEEDS decompression time but things are just really bad right now.

She’s very well behaved on leash and has been doing so well overcoming the gear shyness that flared up when she was sick. I wanted to give her some time to explore on harness this morning because I haven’t been able to do much for her since I’ve been at my physical worst. She was so happy to be out and things were really good.

I just had to drop off her potty bag at the dog pen and then we could walk home. We had been in the area for a while and no dogs were around but I still wasn’t going to let her into the dog pen today and she was totally fine with that. She was about 10 feet away from me as we were walking away from the pen when I saw her stop and look behind me.

There was a young woman with two large bully mixes. They were pulling her across the parking lot towards the dog pen/us. There was no way they didn’t see us near the entrance but neither of us noticed them until they were way too close. Mandana was on a flexi so I asked her to “wait” and left my rollator behind so I could grab her collar. She waited patiently for me to get to her but less than a second from grabbing her collar I hear the largest bully lunge in my direction and Mandana charged forward. (To be clear. She wasn’t barking or growling. Her tail wasn’t wagging in over arousal. She was just posturing towards the dog that was lunging at my turned back).

I was smart enough to wear gloves today so I gripped the handle with one hand and grabbed the tape with the other. Even so, I was so weak from my recent medical episode that it took a few steps to get her stopped. The woman who was also struggling to control her excited dogs was able to shove them into the dog pen but for some reason immediately let them off lead. So with Mandana’s collar in one hand and my rollator in the other I dragged us away from the pen and collapsed in the field as the bully mixes ran up and down the fence barking at us. At that point, Mandana was an angel and held a down stay while I tried to recover.

I have plenty of excuses. My health is at an all-time low. I’m hoping to get some answers from the MRI on Monday but in the meantime I can’t meet my needs and I haven’t been meeting her needs. Combine that with all the off-leash dogs that have been charging at us lately and it’s just a recipe for disaster. All three of us are in need of some decompression time, but at the end of the day I can’t control what other people do with their dogs so I have to be able to have complete trust in Mandanas’ actions.

I hate it so much. I don’t know what would compel that lady to allow her dogs to rush up to an obviously disabled girl and a Malinois with their backs turned (both of us were even wearing neon signs that say TRAINING GIVE US SPACE) I don’t blame Mandana at all. I know her heart was in the right place but I can’t risk a dog fight and that would have been inevitable when you have multiple dogs that are excited like that. There’s no way two small girls would have been able to pull apart 3 70+lb dogs and I have no doubt Mandana would have come out with the worst injuries.

So as much as it pangs me to keep her locked up. There’s just no possible way I can safely take her on freedom walks until some of my strength returns and we can do some more training. We can probably manage it on the weekends when Hubbins is home and able to hold the leash but that’s going to be limited too because he is maxed out just taking care of us right now.

#belgian malinois #2 years #service dog in training #dog reactivity #bad health day #health flare #irresponsible dog owners

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boldlyvoid · 3 years ago

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Only Time Will Tell | Part 2

18+

Summary: Fifteen years after a horrible breakup, Y/N and spencer figure out that time can heal almost everything.

Content Warnings: angst, parental death, mentions of cancer and suicide. Bi reader, bi spencer, recounting childhood relationships, slight angst, spencer's headaches, abusive relationships (not spencer and reader) blood tests, spencer's addiction issues, getting together, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, switch spencer, sub reader, smut (not super graphic)

Word Count: 6.5K

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

When she wakes up she’s incredibly confused. She stares up at the bumpy stucco ceiling and Spencer laying on her chest and it feels like she’s gone back in time. He’s so snuggled into her, but her body is different than when she was 15, a lot different. He has a handful of one boob and his face on the other and she just shakes her head at the sight.

She kisses his forehead and strokes his hair and she lets it happen, because this is how she’s wanted to wake up every single day for the past 15 years. She’s spent just as long away from him as she’s spent loving him and she never realized how much it would hurt to think about it when she got him back.

She expected all the pain to go away, and while she’s a doctor and she knows way too much about the human brain, she still expected him to make her instantly happy. It wasn’t going to happen like that. Yes the hormones and endorphins were going to help, hugs and kisses and cuddles, sleeping beside him and hopefully sex… all those would contribute to making her feel happy, but at the end of the day her depression was always going to sit in the corner and attack when she was the most vulnerable.

Even with her last crush, it was good until she was alone. She’d cuddle with her all night with her lips pressed to her shoulder, wishing more than anything that she could feel that good forever… and it faded away when she realized she’d never have her. Unlike how she feels with Spencer right now.

He starts to wake up, also confused she guesses because he pulls away and sits right up with wide eyes and a horrified look on his face that just makes her laugh. “It’s fine, lay back down,” she pulls him back in and he settles, but the hand that was on her boob is now on her arm and he doesn’t say a word.

“How was your sleep?” She eventually asks, it’s the slightest whisper as she runs her fingers over his back the way he liked when he was younger.

“Really good,” he whispers back, “I haven’t slept this long in probably 15 years.”

“That makes one of us,” she smirks, “I sleep so much, it’s never refreshing but I sleep a lot.”

“I have really bad headaches, and no one can give me answers for them, I want to sleep but normally I can't.”

“What do you mean no one has answers?” She feels a little defensive, “have you had a brain scan or done blood work?”

“I’ve done it all,” he sighs, and she lifts him off of her.

“Do you have them here? Can I look?” She starts to worry for him, wanting to see everything she can and help him.

“Yeah,” he gets out of bed and rummages through his things, pulling out a few manila folders.

She grabs her phone and turns the flash on, laying it face down on the bed and shining up towards the ceiling, she takes out his MRI, a CT scan and holds them over the light one by one. “Your gray matter is so thick…”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You’re a genius, tell me what gray matter does,” she teases, remembering how she used to use him as a google before Google was even invented.

“It's found throughout the central nervous system and controls movement, memory and emotions…”

“You’re a genius, I’ve always wondered how it would look,” she is fascinated with these normally, but Spencer’s is her favourite so far. “Your brain looks good, there’s nothing alarming, nothing out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t mean it’s all working right.”

He just hums along, she places them all back in their folders and opens his folder of paperwork, reading all his blog tests, “this is just basic stuff?”

He nods, “they won't test anything without reason.”

“Come to my lab? I’ll run every test in the book, you’re technically a schizophrenia research candidate so no one will care.”

“Really?” He looks almost excited, “I can take the morning off?”

“Okay,” she smiles, “let’s get ready then.”

She makes a phone call in Spencer’s kitchen, he’s still in the shower but Y/N’s completely dressed and ready for the day with the little supplies she brought in her bag. But she needs help.

“What?” The man answers first.

“It’s just me, put her on.”

“I’ve got this—Hello,” her best friend snatches the phone from him and answers with a smile she can hear, “how are you, bestie?”

“Hi Maeve,” she whispers with a smile.

“Why are we whispering?” She teases, “are you at someone’s house?”

“Yes,” she smiles, “I’m at Spencer’s.”

“No fucking way…” she whispers, “why didn’t you call me after your coffee date on Tuesday? I was so excited to hear about it.”

“I tried, but Bobby picked up and said you weren’t available,” she replied with a deep sigh, not hiding the fact that she hates Maeve’s fiancé.

“Oh,” she sounds ashamed and it makes Y/N feel bad for her, “well, how’d it go?”

“Good, we had a very PG13 sleep over the way we used to, It was nice waking up with him again, but I’m taking him into work today to do some blood work, I was wondering if I could send you some of his results? He’s getting headaches that he says are pretty debilitating?”

“Hmm, I’m free this morning once Bobby leaves for work, has he had any prior tests? I can come by and meet my best friend's best friend?” Maeve all but begs, that same pleading tone in her voice that Y/N loves.

“Of course, I’d never turn down a visit from you, I’ve missed you a lot,” she smiles at the floor, “and you’re really going to like Spencer.”

“I’m sure I will, do you think everything’s going to work out between you two?”

“I’m not sure yet,” her smile fades at the admission, “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but given the fact he texted me worried for my well-being and he’s been so adamant about hanging out… I’d like to say things are going back to normal.”

“Awe,” she swoons, “I love stories like this, you know that. I’m so glad you’re finally talking to him again, I thought I was going to have to bring you into my marriage, sister-wife style, in order to make you happier.”

“You could still leave Bobby for me,” she teases. “If this doesn’t work out, I still need a wife?” She teases and Maeve laughs and it makes her smile wide and toothy.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” she whispers, “I’ll see you at work? In like an hour?”

“Do you want a coffee? We’re probably going to stop on the way,” Y/N offers, finally looking up from the pattern in the kitchen tile to see Spencer standing in the doorway.

“Just my usual,” she can hear Maeve’s smile, “but I’ll see you then, bye, love you.”

“Love you too,” she hangs up and stutters as she looks at Spencer, “I didn’t hear the water turn off?”

He’s standing there in a dark purple towel, one around his waist and one tightly wrapping his hair, he looks silly but she loves it. “Who was that?”

“My best friend,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, “she’s a geneticist, and if you have a deficiency causing these headaches she’s the best one to figure it out.”

“Thank you for caring this much,” it sounds so sad, she can tell he’s not used to this kind of effort being put in for him anymore.

“I’m very used to protecting you, it’s not something I can drop, even after fifteen years,” she reminds him, “I hate to think that you’ve had to do it alone for so long.”

“It’s been hard,” he agrees. “How is this going to work?”

“What?”

“Being best friends? Because as much as everyone on my team says they’re my best friend, I don’t feel close enough to anyone to give them that title anymore, not since I stopped talking to you,” it’s a lot to take in at a quarter to 8 in the morning.

Her eyes just go wide and she feels so bad for him, but at the same time, he did that to himself. He could have reached out, he could have stayed. There are lots of things he could do, and now the only thing she wants to do is let it go.

“Maeve means a lot to me, you’ll like her,” she steps into his space and pokes his wet chest, “she’s the only woman in her field, I’m the only woman in mine, we met at a talk a few years back and she’s been my person for so long.”

“Why couldn’t she go to get the time capsule with you?”

“She can’t leave the state,” Y/N admits, “she has a stalker and she won't tell me much, she doesn’t want me involved, she’s a little scared. And Bobby won't even let her answer the phone anymore, she’s why I reached out. She believes in fairytales and happy endings and after everything I’ve told her she said this love story has all the makings of a romantic comedy.”

Spencer laughs, “she’s not wrong.”

“She’s always going to be my best friend, but I can have two,” Y/N suggests, looking up at him and raising a brow.

“I don’t mind sharing,” he whispers.

It looks like he wants to kiss her and she desperately wants to lean in and let him, but he backs up. “I’m just going to change and then I’ll meet you back out here.”

“Yeah, course,” she lets him walk away and her heartbeat is audible in her ears.

She’ll always love Spencer, and yet a part of her wonders what would’ve happened if she had actually asked Maeve out that week before she met Bobby. Then she’d be able to go to the cops about the stalker, then she’d keep her safe all the time, and then again maybe she wouldn’t be here with Spencer trying to make it work if she was with Maeve.

It’s a lot to deal with at 8 in the morning.

She walks down to the building's garage with Spencer, he’s all dressed and ready for the day and he looks great. He dresses better than when he was a teenager, everything matches, it’s pressed and clean and he honestly could walk the runway like this.

And then she sees it.

“You still have it?”

“Shit,” Spencer whispers, “we can take the subway or a cab or something if this is triggering at all?”

“No,” she assures him, “I’m not triggered, just shocked that Amy still runs?”

“I’m an engineer, remember? I know how to keep her going.”

She runs her hand along with the blue paint of Diana’s old Volvo Amazon, who they appropriately named Amy when they were kids. She looks in at the backseat, the tear in the seat is still there from when the button on her jeans got stuck, the light in the radio is still burned out, unable to tell the time. The seats are just as comfortable, she turns on just as loud as before, and she never thought she’d say she missed the smell.

They stop at a coffee shop by the university, Spencer orders first and then it’s up to her, “can I get an iced coffee and—“

“A white hot chocolate with a blueberry tea bag in it? Absolutely,” the barista smiles, “anything else today, Y/N?”

“Not today, Katie,” she smiles, taking out the normal amount and a decent tip, “how’s school going?”

“Good, thank you for that study guide, I got a 92 on my last Bio test,” she’s unbelievably giddy and it makes Y/N’s day.

“that’s amazing,” Y/N makes the most basic small talk before joining Spencer by the counter.

“How do you know everyone?” Spencer whispers and nudges her shoulder with his own.

“I talk to people,” she nudges him back, “you’d be amazed by what happens when you let people in.”

Spencer hums, they watch Katie make their drinks carefully and quickly, putting them in a tray and handing them to Y/N with a smile. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too!” Y/N calls back and waits for Spencer to get the door for them.

And then he opens the passenger door for her too. “So, I have to ask…” Spencer says as they finally get back in the car. He places his coffee in the cup holder, “were you and Maeve together at some point?”

“No…”

“Oh,” he drops it when he realizes it’s not a question she wants to be asked.

The rest of the drive is quiet, she sips her coffee and looks out the window and he taps the steering wheel the way he always used to do. “Have you dated anyone in the last 15 years?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, “I have been on dates but nothing’s really worked out.”

“Hmm,” she says before she drops it.

Pulling into her work, he parks in her spot and the two of them get out and begin their walk to the elevators and then he asks another question.

“So you haven’t dated or been with anyone since we broke up?” He looks a little shocked.

“Not really,” she shakes her head, “I don’t feel the need to? I’m not lonely, I’m busy.”

“Oh.”

The elevator dings and she walks out first, through the main hall and towards the lab. She puts on her coat and hands Spencer a blank one, “these are my Ph.D. candidates.”

Inside she has 4 students all dressed up and doing their work and Spencer waves awkwardly as they look up at him. “Good morning guys.”

“Morning doctor,” they reply in unison.

“My friend Spencer here has a genetic predisposition for schizophrenia so I’m just going to run the basic tests but he’s not going to be in any of the trials.”

“Sounds good,” one of them smiles.

“We’ll be in here if you need me,” she points at her office and Spencer follows her inside. “Oh, and Maeve is coming in as well, tell her to come right in.”

“Why? How many people have you slept with?” She suddenly closes the door, resuming their conversation immediately.

“Including you,” he does the calculations on his fingers, letting out a deep breath he was keeping in. “Elle, Ethan, and a handful of one-night stands…”

“That’s not too bad,” she shrugs and then she can’t help but laugh, “but Ethan? Really?”

Spencer nods with a smirk, “I told you I would one day.”

She laughs, remembering how much they hated each other. Ethan was a pain in the ass, flirting with both of them to piss the other off, especially when they were all on opposite mathlete teams… but Spencer did have a crush and she was secure enough in their relationship back then to just laugh it off, like she is now.

“How did it even happen?” She asks, taking out all the supplies from the cupboard, and returning to him with an elastic band.

“I went to see him in New Orleans because I was addicted to drugs and he’s an alcoholic and I wanted him to tell me not to waste my life away because no one else was going to do it.”

“Wait, addicted? I thought it was just the one case?” Her whole body reacts, her heart drops and her breathing changes and she worries for him in a way she hasn’t felt in years. “Do you want me to do this in your hand so you don’t get triggered?”

He shakes his head, “no, it’s fine,” and then he takes a chip out of his pocket, “it was nice to not feel anything for a while.”

He hands it to her, it’s a 5-year chip and it makes her smile. “I’m always going to be proud of you.”

“I know.”

She hands it back to him and he puts it back where it belongs and the conversation dies there as she takes his blood and he looks away. She has a few vials, she puts his name on them and turns back to him. “Can I ask who Elle is?”

“She was on my team,” he presses his lips together and she knows there’s more in there.

“And?”

“She was shot and had terrible PTSD after, I checked on her one night and she was drinking and we got to talking about her feelings and she didn’t want to be alone… the next night she killed a serial rapist and claimed self-defence but I know she killed him because we couldn’t get justice for his victims. She put justice into her own hands, and then she left.”

“Do you live in a soap opera?” She teases, “damn, okay. I mean good for her, she probably thought if she was going to prison at least she could get some dick first.”

“That’s what I thought for a while too,” Spencer nods along, only slightly sad. “But then I thought about what I did to you, and I figured she didn’t need a reason to sleep with me and leave me, sometimes it just happens and there isn’t a good reason.”

“It’s different for boys,” she combats. “And you weren’t a virgin then, you were what? 24? You were almost a full-brained man.”

“I know.”

She needs to let it go, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “sorry.”

“You’re not wrong. The damage I must have caused isn’t something that heals fast,” he explains and it starts to feel like a profile. “You haven’t just not slept with anyone because you don’t want to. It’s because you’re scared. We were really young, we were stupid, and I hurt you to the point where you can’t let in anyone who will leave you. I’m going to keep saying I’m sorry even though I know I can’t remove the scars, they’re always going to be there.”

“I hate you sometimes,” she whispers, turning away from him and gripping the counter. “You didn’t have to read me like that. Not everything is your fault you know, I’ve tried. I’ve wanted to and none of the people I’ve dated were good enough and the person I wanted to sleep with the most found someone else before I had the courage to do anything about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turns back to him with a straight face, “I wanted to feel loved more than I wanted to be fucked. You damaged my heart, not my vagina.”

He tries not to laugh, biting his lips and yet the air that leaves his nose sounds like a laugh, she turns her attention back to him, playfully outraged that he would laugh. “You’re a dick.”

“I missed you a lot,” he smiles, “and I’m really glad you reached out.”

—

When Maeve comes in, Y/N wraps herself around her so tight that Maeve laughs. “Hello lovely,” she whispers against her and Y/N’s heart flutters just a bit.

“Were you safe?” Y/N worries and brushes her hands along her arms as she looks her over. “You weren’t followed or anything?”

“No,” Maeve assures her and hugs her once more, “you look so good, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” she rocks her back and forth slightly and then turns to introduce her to Spencer, who’s now standing.

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid, Spencer this is Doctor Maeve Donovan, my best friend,” Y/N turns to him and Spencer looks at her like he knows her from somewhere.

“wait—

“Journal of Behavioural Psych… I’ve already seen your brain,” Maeve fills in the blanks. “I didn’t reply to your email because I knew you were Y/N’s Spencer.”

“Oh…” Spencer can’t really believe it.

“And I had no idea you have schizophrenia in your family either…” she stares at Y/N with her brows raised.

“Stop,” she whispers under her breath. “I told you.”

“It was between Alzheimer's in Texas and Schizophrenia here,” Spencer repeats. “I always thought I’d be the one to cure it for my mom, but I’m glad it’s you.”

Maeve just smiles at him and Y/N can’t stop smiling at her, it’s surreal to have her best friends meet.

They all catch up with their drinks in her office. Sitting at Y/N’s desk and sharing their stories, Spencer’s medical issues, Y/N’s flight anxiety and Maeve’s stalker.

“I actually got this yesterday…” she takes a letter out of her purse and hands it to them. “I think I’m going to dye my hair brown and move out of Bobby’s apartment. And I might hide for a bit.”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, “we can get Penelope and the rest of Spencer’s friends to look into this, please? Please you can’t hide anymore this is too serious.”

“This is classic stalker behaviour,” Spencer says as he reads over the letter a few times. “They want to murder you and then kill themselves… do they bring this up often?”

“Yeah,” Maeve agrees. “He has a thing with suicide he’s said I should just kill myself and spare everyone the stress…”

“Wait,” Y/N stands and flicks through all her paperwork, “that girl who you turned down for a Ph.D. handed in the same thesis to me about cell deterioration in people with suicidal ideation.”

“That sounds like it matches up,” Spencer agrees. “I think I can have Penelope email you some information on the student so you can take it to the police?”

“Thank you, Spencer,” she smiles at him and Y/N can’t help but feel like a third wheel somehow.

Because of course her straight best friend, who she’s been in love with for 2 years, would meet her ex-boyfriend and be instantly attracted to him. It’s her luck. And by the way, Spencer is smiling at her, she knows he thinks she’s pretty. She’s known him long enough to remember when he looked at her like that… she clears her throat and gets them to stop making googly eyes at each other.

“We have a flight to catch soon too,” she reminds him. “I’m going to go work with my students if you two want to stay here and talk to Spencer’s co-workers.”

“Yeah,” Maeve agrees quickly. “That sounds good.”

“Can I talk to you first?” Spencer asks, pulling her into the other room and closing the door.

“What’s up?”

“You’re jealous,” he reads her just as well as she reads him.

“And you think she’s pretty,” she bites back. “I’m not jealous, I’m envois. I wished for a very long time that she would love me back and all it takes is a single smile from you and she’s probably willing to leave bobby.”

“But she’s not you,” Spencer replies. “It’s not that easy for me to fall in love, you know that. It took us years to fall as in love with each other as we were and it never went away. Meeting her can’t replace how I feel about you.”

“We can’t do this now,” she stops him. “Sit on it, tell me tomorrow when we open the time capsule. Mean it when you say it, don’t just try and calm me down with your words.”

She leaves the room, walking right past Maeve and into the lab. Helping the first student to call her attention and leaving her best friends to mingle.

—

She has a nap on the plane, Spencer did too, their heads resting against each other as they slept through the turbulence and the crying babies, waking up for the landing and departure. They get a car for the weekend, and the drive to her parent's house is so, so, so quiet.

“I’m not ready for how weird this is going to be” She whispers.

“It’s not going to be weird.”

“Yes, it is,” she’s adamant.

Her bed is still there for them to spend the night in, so are her parent's and brothers' beds if he doesn’t want to sleep beside her. And the couches and the fridge and anything big that she couldn’t move out alone yet.

“Why? Because we have to sleep in the same bed again, because it’s the house with all our memories or because the time capsule has letters addressed to our kids?”

“Yes.”

They both laugh at her bluntness, “we were so hopeful back then.”

“We had no reason not to be,” he says. “Your parents were very good at reminding me that our dreams can come true if we work hard enough.”

“They were great parents,” she agrees. “I miss them so much…”

“Would it be weird if I went to the grave?”

“No,” she lets out a deep breath, “they loved you.”

He pulls onto their old street and her heart is in her stomach. She can’t believe they’re actually doing this, they’re actually together again at her parent's house. He pulls into her driveway, her dad's truck is still parked out front and it looks exactly the same as it used to.

They grab their bags, she opens the door and then they’re alone in her old house. “See,” she teases, “it feels fuckin weird.”

“It’s so cold,” Spencer whispers. “Not like freezing, it just doesn’t feel right in here.”

“I know,” she agrees, taking her things and heading up the stairs towards her old bedroom.

“It’s grey…” Spencer whispers as he enters the room. “What happened to the purple?”

“My mom was bored when she was recovering from the chemo and she wanted to paint, so we did it,” she shrugs, “it was a fun weekend.”

Spencer puts his things in the corner and somehow it feels like they’re 15 again. He used to put his backpack there, he’d kick off his shoes and dive into her bed, waiting for afternoon cuddles and a nap before dinner and then they’d do homework until her curfew when he’d walk back to his house and wave to her from his window.

He kicks off his shoes again and she just sits on the edge of her bed, watching him. He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it on the hook behind her door, another thing he remembered to do almost by instinct.

“It’s like you never left,” she whispers.

He nods, “can I tell you now that I feel the same way, that I miss being loved too.”

It’s way too early in the weekend to be here already. “No,” she whispers. “Don’t do this to me again, please? Don’t offer to love me if you’re not certain that you’ll stay.”

“No one can be?” He reminds her as he sits beside her on her bed.

“You dying and you breaking my heart are two very different things,” she replies. “It would be easier if you died.”

“How?” He looks offended.

“Because then no one else can have you,” she can’t look at him and the tears come back. It fucking sucks. It hurts and she’s embarrassed.

“It’s killed me thinking about you all these years, wondering if you ever replaced me. I spent my whole childhood dreaming about being your wife and then I had to just imagine you with someone else for the last 15 years and it sucked.”

He doesn’t reply.

She shakes the tears away, clearing her throat slightly, “we’re either together or we’re not. Pick one. I can’t be stuck in limbo anymore.”

“No, I can’t just agree to go back to how it was before,” he shakes his head, “I’m not going to live up to your expectations. We are two completely different people now, we can’t just pick up where we left off without us fighting about it. I’m never going to be the same to you as I was when we were kids because I don’t know who that Spencer is anymore. I haven’t been him for a long time and this Spencer is really bad at pretending.”

He’s more assertive now, he was never this confident to fight with her when they were kids and then again he didn’t have a reason to.

They were happy back then.

“Would you like to date again and get to know each other as we are now?” She compromises.

“What if you don’t like who I am now? What if I let you down?”

“You can’t,” she can’t help but smile. “Because even after everything that’s happened, just looking at you fills me with the same feeling it did when we were kids. You’re always going to be my best friend, no matter what, even if we don’t have the same interests anymore or if you’re a bit more annoying…”

It makes him giggle and that’s what she wanted, “see? Look at us? We can do this, we just have to talk about it. I’m open to the fact that you’re a different man now from your trauma and you’re accepting of the fact I’m incredibly damaged from mine, and that we might always be, but one day we’ll laugh about it.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be laughing,” he teases and it feels like it did back then.

“No? I’m going to bring it up to tease you then,” she warns him, “because you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“You’re also more annoying than I remember,” he teases her right back and moves in to tickle her the way he used to.

She’s still ticklish. And he still remembers where. He tackles her back against the bed and she tries to push him off but she’s already giggling too hard, eyes closed as she tries to squirm out of his reach. But his arms are somehow longer than before? He wraps around her and digs into her sides with a hearty laugh and then it becomes a hug.

She settles again and he’s still on top of her and her arms wrap around him. His face is in the crook of her neck and she rests her cheek on his head, brushing her jaw along his hair and breathing deeply. She’s missed this so much in the last 15 years.

“I still love you,” he’s the one to say it first and all the tension in her body drops.

“Thank god,” she sighs and holds him a bit tighter. “I still love you.”

There’s a weird feeling in the air, one she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Not since they were sitting in that field, in Spencer’s mom's car, trying to figure out how they were going to have sex in the back seat.

She kisses the top of his head gently and he kisses the side of her neck in return and her breathing hitches. So he kisses her again, this time on the pulse point and up towards her Jaw and her eyes close as she leans into the contact.

It’s been a very long time since he’s seen most of her body, and yet as he strips her clothes off and covers her with his lips, it’s like nothings changed. He did this the first time too, carefully kissing everywhere but with a lot more nerves.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this,” she reminds him, “so please don’t stop.”

He laughs, kissing her cheek and looking down at her. “We’re doing this?”

She nods, “there’s no one here to stop us.”

“And no reason to stay quiet,” he teases back, looking around her room quickly, “it’s strange being back here.”

“We never actually had sex in here,” she whispers, pecking his lips softly and then realizing that’s the first real kiss they’ve shared in 15 years.

He lunges in and kisses her again, hand on her cheek as she rests back against the pillow, he slides a leg in-between her own, grinding against her softly as he kisses her, swiping a tongue along her bottom lip, he used to love making out with her.

They could make out for hours on end, hot and heavy, grinding together but never taking it anywhere. It was just as fun to them as anything else, up until they had sex for the first time. Then it was all they wanted to do, only back then they were both more scared of being caught than actually doing it, and it’s not like they hadn’t been experimenting with each other their whole lives.

They had baths together as kids, they spent a lot of time alone as children and they hit puberty at the same time… she’ll never forget the day they learned what masturbating was, they went home and tried it alone and reported right back to each other the next day.

It was always meant to happen, he was the only person she wanted to take her virginity back then. And she wasn’t mad at him for taking it and then leaving, she was mad at him for having sex with her a million more times before he left.

But he was always so delicate with her and she was just as soft with him, they loved each other and respected each other like it was second nature to them, and it was so easy to slip back into that. She knew everything he liked, he remembered what spots elicited the best responses from her. It was like they never missed a beat.

His clothes come off just as quickly as hers, she’s missed him so much over the years. Remembering their first time for far too long, thinking about him at the worst moments, typically right as pleasure overtook her. She’s been saying his name when she cums for so long it’s the only thing she knows how to do.

“Spencer please?” She whines as they grind together, her lips just as swollen as his.

She sits up and takes him with her, he kneels in front of her and she uses the free space to get off the bed and search through her suitcase. “I brought condoms for a reason,” she laughs as she hands them to him. “I figured this would happen at some point.”

“I did too,” he smirks, “but I also saw tonight that you’re on the pill?”

She nods and laughs, “you’re kidding?” She climbs back into her bed and suddenly she’s nervous, “I mean, yeah, we could? But how do I know you’re clean? You’ve slept with a lot of people since we were together.”

“6 isn’t a lot,” he retorts, “but I just thought I’d ask, I still want you to be the first person I do that with.”

“You’re asking and you can’t even say it?” She teases him, shoving him lightly and taking the condoms from him.

His whole demeanour changes then, “you’d let me fuck you raw?”

She forgets how to breathe then, simply nodding with her jaw dropped, mouth breathing, deeply, she’s shocked. She finally swallows, returning the moisture to her mouth, “yeah…”

“What else would you let me do?” He whispers, drawing her in closer until she’s sitting in his lap and running her hands down his bare chest.

“Anything,” she whispers back, “I’ve missed your touch.”

He hums, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her softly. “Do you think about me still?”

Of course he remembered when she told him that.

There was one day where he never came over, she was waiting and waiting and he wasn’t showing up so she eventually went over to get him. Finding him having an anxiety attack in his room, admitting to her and apologizing profusely for thinking about her when he masturbated the night before. He was afraid she would think he was gross and then hate him. When in reality she was thinking about him too.

She nods, “it’s hard not to when you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“I’m all you’ve ever had,” he reminds her. Or at least so he thinks.

“No,” she shakes her head, “there was another guy in high school.”

“What?” He furrows his brows, “I thought you said you didn’t?”

“I didn’t really want to, but, I had sex with Kyle VanNuss? Do you remember him?” She asks carefully, scared that this is ruining absolutely everything when she was just so close to having him again.

“I hated him,” Spencer replies. “I’m sorry it wasn’t good.”

“it’s fine it was 12 years ago,” she laughs, “I really wanted to sleep with people, I would have loved to have been able to, but I need this first. I need to feel totally and completely safe and loved and appreciated, the way you make me feel.”

“Demisexuality is defined by—

“Don’t quote textbook definitions at me, I love you and only you and no one compares. Now if there’s a spencer-sexual term, that’s me, and that’s how I’d like to keep it,” she tries to keep a straight face but she ends up laughing and dragging him down with her.

He rests his forehead on her shoulder, arms around her waist, they’re so close and completely naked and it feels right, “this is all I want.”

She sits up a bit, reaching between them and gripping his cock at the base and he moans. He’s bigger than she remembers, he still makes such beautiful sounds as she strokes him and then she runs the head of his cock along her folds and he tosses his head back with another delicious moan.

“Put it in,” he requests.

She sinks down onto him with more ease than she thought she would, always so turned on by him, it’s easy. She bottoms out and rests back against his legs, sitting in his lap, holding him incredibly close. It feels like every single part of him is touching her and she still wants more. Reconnecting their lips, his hands move down to her hips to help her move, grinding and bouncing they make a rhythm that is completely theirs, it works and she’s so lost in him.

Moaning into his mouth, feeling his hands on her body, his chest against hers and his tongue in her mouth. It’s all she’s wanted for a very long time, and it’s overwhelming. She tries to hold herself together but it feels so good, she’s on the edge of every single emotion in the book as she rides him there.

She breaks the kiss to hold him tighter, kissing his shoulder before he picks her up and lays her back against the bed, crawling between her legs and sliding back in. It’s easier at this angle, he slides in and out so easy, his thumb is on her clit and his mouth on her breasts as she lays there, blissed out and moaning, a tear slips down her face and she quickly wipes it away.

It’s all a lot and according to him, he’s staying forever. This isn’t the last time it’ll happen, it’s actually the first of many, the first of forever, and only time will tell how long that forever lasts.

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