#and assess my understanding of the conditions

[gumy-shark]

girl who loves analyzing fighting styles and characters power levels vs mob psycho 100, an anime which doesn’t focus on the mechanics of its power system at all

[barrymccaulkinem]

I think Im actually going to stop seeing this therapist bc she has taken it upon herself to diagnose me, which I've never had a therapist feel it is their responsibility to do, and the process of diagnosing me is going to involve being patronized and doubted the same way I would at the hands of a psychiatrist but without any of the potential upsides (should one ever succeed in getting through to them; a task made sisyphean by the very idea that they can have more insight into my own mind than I can directly provide)

[indulgentdaydream]

Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

[twoyara]

About how men rape women with “consent”

This post is not mine, but one radfem woman from our community. She works as a sexologist and shared her experience in her work. If you too are a sexologist, or even better, have some statistics on this topic, please share your experiences or links. ---------------------------------------------------------- "When I first started working, I discovered that many men had never experienced the need to refuse intimacy with a regular partner. That is, a man in counseling complains that his partner often refuses him, he attributes her refusals to personal dislike and faded feelings, and when he tries to turn the situation around and remember when he himself had to refuse her, he does not understand what we are talking about. Because he has never had to - he responds to the initiative of his partner every time and considers it a sign of love and attraction on his part.

I heard this very often, I couldn't catch the lie and at the same time I couldn't interpret it. They are not robots, after all, to be available 24/7 at all hours of the day and night?

One day a client in a session literally opened my eyes with one phrase.

She said: “I CAN SEE WHEN HE'S NOT UP TO IT.”

That's the secret. The notorious emotional service. Subsequently, and many other women have confirmed this in a targeted survey: when the desire for intimacy arises, a woman assesses her partner's condition BEFORE taking the initiative. If she sees that her partner is tired, sick, in a bad mood, or preoccupied with something, she does not consider it appropriate to offer sex. I have also heard from many women that in a situation when she can not clearly assess the state of the partner, she prefers to flirt, as if casually get naked, as if accidentally do something that usually arouses the partner. If there is no reaction to this, the woman usually refuses to take the initiative and solves her problems on her own, without forcing the partner to conflict and feel guilty.

Men don't want their partners all the time - it's just that no one gets in their underwear when it's inappropriate. No one forces them to think about sex when they don't want to think about it.

Men themselves don't usually check against anything but their own erections.

They don't care when to offer sex to a woman(the following is a real and far from complete list):

Who is asleep (well, seriously, I don't know any woman who would ever think of waking up a sleeping partner to satisfy her sexually);

who's back from her 24-hour shift;

who just finished cooking a holiday dinner for ten people;

who has a high fever;

who's been vomiting all day;

who is eight months pregnant with a complicated pregnancy;

who has undergone a termination of pregnancy that day;

who is in the terminal stages of cancer;

who's just had a pet die;

returning from the funeral of a beloved grandmother;

waiting for a call from the NICU where their (mutual!) child is (“Let's get a little loose while we wait”) - and so on and so forth.

It may seem like it's a matter of cognitive distortion, that they just don't get it….. But they do. I asked one of them once: does he really think that a person in such a state can want sex? Yes, it is clear that they don't want to, he replied, but I'm just in case - maybe it will work out. I asked him how he would react if it didn't work out, and he admitted that he would be hurt and angry. And that's another “secret” - why it does burn out. Because refusal will inevitably lead to conflict, and a woman often does not have the strength not only for sex, but also for an argument. When he offered sex, she basically can not get out of the situation without damage - either to be raped, or to deal with his tantrums and offenses. And unfortunately, sometimes the first one turns out to be the lesser harm."

[ms-demeanor]

fully understand and agree about reiki and prayer and herbs and the rest of that bullshit, but i'm a little confused as to how chiropractic care got lumped in with those

Chiropractors are quacks, full stop.

There is nothing that a chiropractor can do for you that a physical therapist couldn't do better or that a massage therapist wouldn't be able to assist with.

There are specific conditions that can cause joint subluxation, but unless you have one of them, your joints are probably perfectly fine where they are and if they are not that is something that would be better (and more safely) assessed by someone who is actually qualified to provide some variety of medical care (which chiropractors are not, they are licensed to provide chiropractic care, which is pseudoscience on your spine, which is a bad place to do pseudoscience). And if you do have those conditions you shouldn't let a chiropractor touch you with a ten foot pole because you are at even *more* risk of harm from spinal manipulation than the general population is.

When I was in college and didn't have health insurance and was working at a coffee shop I couldn't afford $150 out of pocket to go see a doctor, but I could afford $45 to see a chiropractor.

What the chiropractor didn't know - because she wasn't a doctor and didn't have the diagnostic tools for this kind of thing - was that I didn't have back pain because my spine was out of place, I had back pain because I had a bone tumor in my spine, and her adjustment fractured one of my lumbar vertebrae.

When I did get insurance I finally figured out what was wrong (after using a cane and dealing with excruciating back pain from my cracked spine I had to quit my job at the coffee shop because I couldn't reliable stand on shift) when I got an MRI. The pain was treated with muscle relaxants, oral steroids, and physical therapy, none of which would have broken my fucking back.

Chiropractic, even when practiced "competently" by an expert with the most modern and most rigorous scientific training available, is still more dangerous and less effective than other interventions. All of which is aside from the fact that there are a shitload of chiropractors out there who will claim to treat asthma and autism, which they can't do and are shitty for claiming to be able to do.

Top to bottom, all through its history, chiropractic is a scam that hurts more people than it helps and because of our fucked up medical care in the US specifically has been largely predatory on people who can't afford real treatment for their illnesses and injuries.

Also, if you are ever going to see a chiropractor - though i wish you wouldn't - never, ever, ever, EVER let them manipulate your neck. Chiropractic spinal manipulation of the neck can lead to severing the arteries in your neck, causing a stroke. This HAS killed people, and as long as chiropractors keep doing it, it will kill more people.

Fuck - and I cannot emphasize this enough - chiropractic.

[grison-in-space]

Listening to Artificial Condition again, it strikes me how much Murderbot uses empathy reflexively as a survival skill. Look at this bit.

Upon meeting it, ART allows it on board and then announces that it knows that Murderbot is rogue. Then ART threatens to destroy it if it hacks ART's own systems. Murderbot is immediately terrified and shuts down all inputs, gives serious thought to spending the entire three month journey unconscious, and then considers the potential avenues of damage from ART's drones. ART, not realizing why Murderbot had suddenly gone silent, tells it to quit sulking, which understandably pisses off the still-terrified Murderbot. It dumps a bunch of memories of coercive treatment into ART's feed, and ART goes silent.

Then this happens:

Then it said, I’m sorry I frightened you. Okay, well. If you think I trusted that apology, you don’t know Murderbot. Most likely it was playing a game with me. I said, “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to ride to your next destination.” I’d explained that earlier, before it opened the hatch for me, but it was worth repeating. I felt it withdraw back behind its wall. I waited, and let my circulatory system purge the fear-generated chemicals. More time crawled by, and I started to get bored. Sitting here like this was too much like waiting in a cubicle after I’d been activated, waiting for the new clients to take delivery, for the next boring contract. If it was going to destroy me, at least I could get some media in before that happened. I started the new show again, but I was still too upset to enjoy it, so I stopped it and started rewatching an old episode of Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. After three episodes, I was calmer and reluctantly beginning to see the transport’s perspective. A SecUnit could cause it a lot of internal damage if it wasn’t careful, and rogue SecUnits were not exactly known for lying low and avoiding trouble. I hadn’t hurt the last transport I had taken a ride on, but it didn’t know that. I didn’t understand why it had let me aboard, if it really didn’t want to hurt me. I wouldn’t have trusted me, if I was a transport. Maybe it was like me, and it had taken an opportunity because it was there, not because it knew what it wanted.

The thing about Murderbot's survival is that it clearly involves quite a bit of negotiating with other constructs and bots. That's how it talks its way onto cargo hauler bots in the first place. It uses empathy--envisioning the emotional and cognitive context of the individuals it encounters--to work out what different kinds of people want, so that it can offer them fair trades. It also uses empathy to consider what humans might be looking for, so it can practice blending in and hide.

Murderbot would never have survived so long if it wasn't capable of assessing the individual desires of the people--human, bot, and construct--around it. It thinks about ART's probable fears and motivations so that it can consider whether ART is inherently an ongoing threat or a potential ally.

When your survival depends on evading detection, you get really good at assessing perceptual biases so that you can shape yourself to fit into them. People talk about murderbot being radically empathetic as a choice it makes, or as a feature of its personality that makes it a good person. But I think murderbot would be the the first person to tell you that this empathy is part of its threat assessment suite, a skill that was developed out of necessity in order to allow you to survive.

It is also a trait that makes murderbot a good person, of course: it chooses very carefully to try to survive by doing as little harm as possible and by offering things, like media, that buy it access to things it needs. But it started as a survival skill. It's part of hypervigilance.

I think one of the strengths of this series is that so many of the things we love about SecUnit are traits developed for survival in an inherently threatening world. The shape of its mind and heart have been changed by the trauma of its origin--but they don't make murderbot less good for being altered, even if that skill was developed in a traumatic context.

I like that.

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room. 

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand. 

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly. 

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table. 

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?" 

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body. 

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?” 

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?” 

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed. 

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile. 

"A table for two?" 

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...” 

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.” 

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.

[moondirti]

JIGSAWS [ surgeon! simon riley x f! reader ] — masterlist / each part can be read separately : dealing with cruelty is hard when stress has a crippling effect. simon gives you a place to find comfort, however unconventional

dom/sub. dubcon (power dynamics). adjustment disorder. sexual harassment and battery. dacryphilia. hurt/comfort. biting. marking. brief fluff. medical settings. 2.8k

"Fuck aff, ya useless pillock."

At 0600 hours, a belligerent intake is the last thing you need.

Fatigue works her wily fingers into you, kneading staunchly into your shoulders to add resistance for every step forward. The sun hasn't yet peeked over the horizon, pellucid blue sky outside somehow consolidating every misery from the past week. If your exhaustion felt impregnable during the bright stretch of summer, autumn encroaches vindictive, dreary winds intent on teaching you to count your blessings, next time.

"Good morning, Mr. Cook. I'm one of the daytime neurosurgical residents, here to see how you’re doing since your admission last night at... 2100, is that right?" The script, if not plainly artificial, is a cornerstone for when you cannot muster your own words. Too often, you opt to lean into its guidance – a habit you picked up the hard way during intern year. Control all variables. That way, if things go sour, you can be almost sure that the error did not lie with you.

But perfunctoriness doesn't always bode over well. Mr. Cook's face twists into something foul, sunken eyes assessing you spitefully from his cot. You should have known to affect a different approach. He called you useless after all, for what you assume is frustrated reason. No one likes spending their time here without answers.

Try cutting to the chase, then.

"I see from your chart that you came in complaining about headaches, fever, and nausea. I understand how tired you must be. If it's alright with you, I’d like to perform a quick exam to get to the bottom of things."

"Ye'd be wasting my damn time, girl. Jus' lookin' at ya, I can tell the only thing ye're good for s'wetting my cock."

You sip a startled breath, consoling the erratic stutter of your heart with oxygen and four fingernails curled into your palm. It's not a serious threat – that much is evident by the slurred cadence, the unfocused hands he waves accusatorially in your direction. The overnight resident hadn't noted any aggression on his chart, either; which suggests this is new. Exacerbated by his condition, else the pain has loosened his tongue.

(And Kyle knows better than to schedule you with the tough ones. It's noted especially in your file, documented as a corrective action plan in prim, red ink.)

Though the smile has long since slipped off your lips, you amass what sympathy you can, nodding like it'll do anything to dissuade his suffering. Useless. "A little civility would help things run a lot smoother, Mr. Cook. It's just a few questions that will give me insight to your malaise. I'll even forward those to a senior physician, if you would prefer more qualified care."

Just one face refines itself in your mind's eye. Deep-set brown eyes, prying behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Sentiment that teeters the tightrope between indifference and affection. The days have buried their thumbs into your obsession, urging it deeper, beyond professionalism. Nudging your lungs, finding place amidst life-sustaining organs to become one of its own. Now, veins wire through, supplying blood to what should not be encouraged, should not be sustained–

You think of him, anyway.

"A'll tell y'what." A blurry shape swipes for your face. You flinch, neck snapping back, before finding that the rest of your body can't follow suit, arm held in a vice grip by a set of gnarled fingers. Mr. Cook's hold curls into bone, urging a whole world of pain to match the terror storming through your head. Your blood pressure skyrockets. Stress whistles sirens behind your ears. "How 'bout you call a proper doctor in now, and put on a li'l show for me in th'meanwhile, eh?"

A multitude of scenes, each more harrowing than the last, unfurl at his implication. If you cannot wrench yourself from him, what's to say you can fight back should he decide to pull you closer? Oh god. Your wrist struggles, thrashing wildly, disregarding its wellbeing for the opportunity to screw out of his grasp. The clipboard clatters to the floor. Your heart palpitates arrhythmically, unsteady palpitations battering war drums on your ribs. Though you've been trained for this, you cannot regulate your response to adrenaline. The exercises given to you by your therapist scatter at the first sign of real turmoil. Your body shuts down. Things spiral out of your control.

But your assailant's condition is not usual. Where a healthy man would only grow more determined in your struggle, he lets his aggression get the best of him. Roaring, his legs kick from beneath tight-fitted sheets, arm shuddering with the force it takes to keep you tethered in place. Eventually, your panic grows too much for him to subdue. With a final push of your heel off the floor, you free yourself, stumble three steps back, and fall flat on your ass. Hurt, but safe.

Mr. Cook grumbles, moving on too quickly for someone who had been so passionate just moments ago.

Safe, safe, safe.

You force yourself to repeat only that as you straighten yourself out. Hone in the truth of the matter, and not what your body tries desperately to have you believe. Safe. It's just another patient with neurological deficits. Safe. You have reason to hand his check-ups to someone else.

Safe. There's a place you can go to sap this off your chest.

"I'll order a CT scan for later this afternoon. We will do our best to help you once the results come in. Have a good day, Mr. Cook."

Still, as you scuttle out into the white-lit hall, you feel anything but.

"Come in."

Dr. Riley's office is comparatively dark to the fluorescent rest of the hospital, brightened only by the warm light of his desk lamp. Though his curtains are drawn shut, beams of pink from the vibrant dusk outside sneak their way through, casting everything in a rich glow. The day has been long, leagues more taxing than usual. Stepping into the space offers brief respite, then, like sinking into bed to reach for better dreams.

He looks up at you, impassive. There's never any indication to how he truly feels – whether creeping adoration curls around his heart at the very sight of you, or if he reserves it for after hours – but you've found that the puzzle attracts you more than it pushes you away. You like feeling pinned under his scrutiny, a little lab mouse tested for its wit. Even now, with a whole host of real matters to discuss, you can't help but pick apart the minutia in his expression.

"Dr. Riley," You whisper, careful not to disturb the tranquillity.

"Yes?"

"Um, I'm so sorry to bother you–"

"No need for that." He clips, the liquid of his eyes shifting as they coast back to assess his screen. The monitor projects stark shadows onto his face, harsher than usual. Despite your... relationship, it's hard not to feel discouraged. He wouldn't look away if he were interested in what you had to say. "We're alone."

"Right." Clearing your throat, you shuffle through the glossy prints in your arms. Cross-sectional imaging from Mr. Cook's CT scans, annotated in your illegible hand. The aftershocks of your stress are evident in the writing; loopy letters boasting sharp corners, a liberal use of shorthand where it wouldn't be allowed. When you place them on his desk, you pray he doesn't take heed of it. "A patient who was admitted last night. Though the tomographs are nonspecific, I have reason to believe it might be a brain abscess. If that is the case, I'd like to schedule him for surgery as soon as possible, and I know you're in the OR tomorrow, so..."

He doesn't look up at you while you speak, opting instead to skim the analysis you've left for him in the margins. Only after a long moment's silence do his lashes quiver, a voiceless acknowledgement to your request. The details come later. Tomorrow morning, likely, assigned by Kyle upon clocking in.

"You'll serve as my resident."

Your lips part. Seeing Mr. Cook again, even while under the effects of anaesthesia, brings a queasy ache to your stomach. It's about the most unprofessional thing you could voice, however – more so than any nasty promise Dr. Riley whispers to you in private – so you settle on keeping it to yourself.

"Okay."

But he doesn't miss a thing. The warble in your tone catches his attention like steaming gore to a predator, jaw ticking as salivate floods his mouth. You should have schooled your emotions better, should have given it a good, long mourn before coming to see him – because if you know anything, you know that there's nothing he loves more than seeing you cry.

And now–

Now, it's too late to renege. You're on a fixed path, the only variable being a matter of time until when. The rush of it already devastates your throat, stone lodged in a white river rapid of sentiment. Warmth fogs your eyes. Prelude to collapse, tremors buried deep beneath the earth's crust come to light.

"Out with it." He says.

And your body serves him, better than it could ever serve you.

A sob breaks the dam, first – snarling, ugly thing, face screwing up in a vain effort to tamp the subsequent flow of tears. Your head feels heavy, weighed down by briny devastation and the culmination of your pressures. Yet catharsis never fails; immediately, you feel it unravelling, hiccups picking the presumably impossible knots in your chest until they are nothing more than strings, meant to eventually tie back up again.

So it goes.

But it doesn't matter here. Can't. Not when Dr. Riley scoots his seat back, clearing a space by his legs. Parting heaven's gates, a little sanctuary for the desperate. You run to it, crumpling to the floor to bury your wet face in his trousers, hugging the wide breadth of his calves. It is as though your troubles melt off your skin, wax held close to a flame. No cologne or scented-soap veils the true essence of him; him, who's able to pacify you with little word. Musk, traces of sweat, a sage and cedar-wood body wash that still clings to him, despite the day and several layers. You suck in a chest-straining whiff of it all, stitching your eyes shut to etch the smell into your memory.

"H-He was awful. Said I was... was good for n-nothing but bei-ing a whore." You sniff, curling tighter around him. A lab mouse indeed, basking in the hand that feeds it. His own – large, dry, warm – pets your nape, tugging a little at the baby hairs below your ear. Idly playing, as though your grief does not necessitate his full notice.

"Comes with the job, little thing." You know that. You know that – have heard it many a time from your parents, your therapists, your peers and higher-ups. Anyone who has ever been privy to your condition has warned you that the medical field is never stressless, that you'll spend years miserable until it grows to be too much. And he must feel your bristling, the discomfort his advice affords, for he moves on sooner than you can state your case. "Did he touch you?"

You doubt it's meant as more than a simple inquiry. Still, you fumble for the right answer. Though the one you tend to is yes, yes he did – a childish grasp for some cosseting – you wonder if he'll take your minor wounds seriously at all. Does it count if what you have to show for it are surface-level contusions? Or will it only warrant mention if you can match the fissures of his flesh?

Tucking your arm between your legs, you shake your head no. Dr. Riley's forehead creases, brows knitting together reflexively. The move must not have been subtle enough, because he extends an expectant hand, impatience igniting his tail. Bones work under the scarred skin of his knuckles, muscles rippling in the quarter-length of an exposed forearm. He doesn't need to say anything. Just sits there and waits, the ire emanating off him enough to urge you into lift your bruised wrist.

(Splitting to his will like brain matter to the knife.)

Anyone would look delicate when set against him, yet you marvel at the contrast nonetheless. It resembles porcelain, fine china in his grip. His thick fingers twist to inspect the splotchy discolouration, set there by Mr. Cook's hold.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only when– ah," You huff. His thumb presses into the tender flesh, recalling the pain you've worked all day to ignore. "you do that."

"Hm."

The words tumble from your tongue before you can catch them.

"Are you mad?" You ask, softly, then cringe as the question finds its place in the lull. It's an awkward echo, like the ocean gnawing desperately on shore, trying to make its mark in the sand. No matter how hard the spume and saltwater crashes, no matter the devastation it wreaks, it will always be pulled back, away from what it hardly affected.

(You used to liken him to choppy waters, feeling drowned in all his callousness. Yet as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand, your passions warring with each other within a vessel that cannot contain it, it has never been more clear that he is the earth. The ground. Unfixed, unmoved. It is an impossible endeavour for you, whose impact is as thin as the tides.)

More than anything, you covet an admission of his concern. Warmth to feel him in your corner, eternally there, even as your sight’s set on other horizons. With it, you'd be able to stand it all, you think.

"No." He says. "Brain abscesses can exacerbate aggressive behaviour. I don't fault him for that."

It needles right over where it hurts, mangling the softened muscle of your heart.

"Oh."

"But," Dr. Riley adds, guiding you to a wobbly stand. If he didn't plan on transferring you to his lap, you would have fallen right back down. As it is, though, he uses your fawn-like strength to nestle you across his thighs, brushing the flyaways from your temple. "Don't like seein' the marks on you."

Your cheeks heat. Pressing them into his collarbone, you speak against his pulse. It flutters, tandem to your breath. "I'll put a warm compress on it tonight."

"Better. Should only be mine you carry, pet." His voice vibrates through you, sound waves absorbing to become one with your body. Never did you think it could feel so good, yet as he continues to speak, you find yourself wishing that he’ll do so forever, eternal, so that you may weld together eventually.

"Sir…"

"Lift your head f'me." He whispers, nipping your jaw when you follow his instruction. Thin lips scratch your neck, chapped from the tight constraints of his mask and the dry hospital air. You dizzy to think of wetting them with your tongue, running the muscle along his cupids bow, sharp canines, dunking to map the inside of his cheeks. But that isn’t what this is; he’s made sure to clarify that, of all things.

So, you dip your head, neck arching to widen the canvas to his onslaught.

His groan is hot, ticklish as it fans over the area. You wriggle in his firm lap, coming to expect something much more permanent once he latches to your sweet spot. Practiced, trained to the hollow of your throat. Blood rushes to the capillaries sitting just under the skin there, bursting when it grows to be too much. Building pressure that takes away from your brain, your numbing extremities. Your cunt throbs, balmy and slick. He keeps a large hand anchored between your thighs as if he’s aware of what you’ll try to do without direction.

As a high whine pitches from your chest, and you darken to the shape of his maw, Dr. Riley doesn’t budge. He pushes further, rather. Digging his teeth into you, laving over the iron that surfaces. It hurts something terrible. If it weren’t so late into the night, you would doubtlessly be interrupted as a louder wail splits the sheltered office space, carrying through the labyrinth halls. Pain eclipses any internal worry, though. And perhaps that was the intention, mind buzzing with white noise once he pulls away.

Blinking, you clear the gossamer webs of delirium off your eyes. His mouth comes into view, first; swollen, tinted with a diluted wash of ichor, purpling with a bruise that no doubt mirror yours. You can only imagine what a mess he’s made of you, if the evidence of his own undoing is so stark.

The dual marks brings a dumb smile to your face.

“There.” He resolves, at last. It sounds like pride and feels a lot like damnation. “Good.”

You can’t help but agree.

(Even the earth will eventually erode away. Even the earth.)

[honeytonedhottie]

how to stop being toxic⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⭐️

the point of this post in general is a reminder to be self aware so that then u can become an individual that u are proud of ✨

SELF AWARENESS ;

everyone has traits in themselves that they aren't necessarily proud of and thats okay. its only natural bcuz we are humans. whats important is that u are able to acknowledge it and work on it.

toxic traits and behaviors stem from things like our own insecurities, conditioning, our egos and a multitude of other things. when we aren't toxic we free ourselves up for better people and experiences.

SELF ASSESSMENT ACTIVITY ;

do some shadow work, dig deeper and do some journalling to rly assess some of ur personality traits whether u classify them as a negative or a positive trait. some examples of traits include

having trouble taking accountability (shifting blame)

once you've classified that trait, write a sentence that explains why that particular trait is/isnt toxic. so for this particular trait ur sentence could look something like

trouble with taking accountability for myself and my actions is a toxic trait because it displays my inability to be responsible for myself/admit fault. this can jeopardize relationships and opportunities for me, it can also hinder my growth as an individual.

just because you notice toxic behaviors within yourself, it doesn't mean that u are a bad person. in fact, since u can acknowledge it and wanna improve it, that shows that u are a good person.

HOW TO ACTUALLY STOP ;

look for the source of toxic behaviors that u display. some ways that can help u to identify what makes u act in that way is by seeing a therapist who can help u to dissect and understand urself, intentional journalling etc.

when u find urself in situations in which u think that ur being toxic, u can practice mindfulness and nip it in the bud. the more that u practice doing this the easier and more natural it'll feel.

be a good listener

show urself compassion

start journalling/going to therapy

listen to feedback

listen to feedback from others from an impartial view. dont take criticism or negative feedback personally. take the feedback that u get and apply it cuz thats one of the many ways u can grow.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

May I get head canons of Kaveh, Bennett, and Freminet getting hit with some sorta sex pollen so reader blows their backs out to save their lives? Big Fuck-or-Die Vibes

You sure can! Reader is a dom/top male as usual~

All characters are depicted as 20+ as well~

-

Kaveh

Just my luck, he thinks as a blast of pollen hits him directly in the face. Nothing good ever comes from touching strange plants...

The effects come on quickly, sending tingles throughout his entire body, the feeling is especially noticeable in the area between his legs

Kaveh calls out your name, stumbling towards you and clinging onto your arms for stability. You're understandably worried and reach out to cup his face when he suddenly drops to his knees, humping at your leg desperately

You stare at him wide-eyed, watching him whimper as he clutches your pants tightly, begging for you to fuck him

Kaveh cries until you finally do just that, not even bothering to fully remove either of your articles of clothing. Instead, you simply pull his pants down so that you have access to his hole, and pull your own down far enough to shove your cock into him

His legs tremble as you ram into him relentlessly, overtaken by some unfathomable pleasure coursing through his veins

The only thoughts floating around in that pretty little head are “need cock” and “needtocumneedtocumneedtocum!! ”

You end up fucking him for a while as the effects of the mysterious pollen persist for hours. Just pounding his wet hole over and over, making his pretty back arch so far off of the ground, cumming again and again as he cries and moans loud enough to lose his voice that night

Kaveh is so incredibly embarrassed about it the next day...he doesn't fully understand what came over him and apologizes profusely 😞

Bennett

He doesn't think much of it at first. After all, he's used to things like this happening, well aware of his terrible luck

But he quickly realizes that something is wrong. A little bit of pollen shouldn't cause him to think of being railed by your thick cock out of nowhere...

Bennett tries to hold it together, not wanting to bother you with something so lewd all of a sudden, but he soon gives in and tells you about his thoughts

You're a bit concerned about why this happened and what kind of plant could do such a thing, but you save those thoughts for later, swiftly pinning Bennett to the wall of some ruins and removing his shorts

If you don't want to get caught by some poor adventurer passing by, you'll have to cover Bennett's mouth or create a makeshift gag because he is LOUD

He's wet literally everywhere. Drool running down his chin, cum dripping down his dick from multiple orgasms, his ass is wet and messy because you've been drilling into him for over an hour now, tears are probably running down his pretty cheeks as he's so overstimulated too

But he insists that you don't stop, clawing at the back of your shirt and screaming “yesyesyesyesyes—!! ” as you pound into him harder

Also embarrassed about it when he finally comes back to his senses. Your reassuring smile does ease his mind a little though 🧡

Freminet

You swam away for only a second, taking a picture of some pretty seashells before returning to your diving partner...only to find him swatting away some sort of goo? Spores? You weren't really sure, more concerned with helping Freminet to the surface

Quickly ascending to the surface world, the two of you found a secluded place to sit so that you could assess his condition

By that time though, the substance had already begun to work its magic. Freminet breathed heavily as his dick brushed against the fabric of his pants

You reached out a hand with the intent to feel his forehead, seeing as his cheeks were a deep crimson, but Freminet grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand down to his bulge. Immediately moaning and humping against your hand

Apologies spilled from his lips, simultaneously begging you to fuck him in the same breath. You were concerned, but quickly connected the dots

After finding a soft spot in the grass, you removed his clothing, slipping your pants off and pushing your cock into his ass

Freminet's hands dig into your arms as you force your length deeper inside of him, broken moans falling out of him as tears spill down his cheeks

He begs for you to go faster, fuck him harder, cum in him again, please? Just don't stop or he'll cry harder

His small body bounces with every thrust, surely there will be dark purple bruises covering his waist due to the vice grip you have on him

He'll be incredibly sore for the rest of the day, walking with a limp because of how hard you fucked him, probably still apologizing for asking you to do that so suddenly...

Freminet will also need tons of aftercare and reassurance, just be extra gentle with him for a few days 💙

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

[prettieinpink]

Being that girl once again- back to school!

It’s back to school season everyone, and my favourite times of the year. In this post im going to give you stuff to do for back to school + advice in specific areas of your school life! I hope everyone can take away something from this post <3 

THINGS TO DO BEFORE BACK TO SCHOOL <3

Revise your past term content in your core subjects, ensure there’s nothing you do not understand(it’s better to understand now than have to understand later)

Review what you are going to be learning for this current term in your core subject, you don’t have to study it, just familiarise yourself. 

Catch up with your friends- hang out, call or text before the new school term. My favourite thing is to create predictions of drama, couples etc in the upcoming term w my girlies!

Create SMART goals for you to achieve that term, in any aspect you want. I say; 1 goal for academics, 1 goal for social and 1 goal for extracurriculars/sports. 

Clean your room !! do a deep clean and declutter. E.g wipe down all surfaces, hover pillows, vacuum floor, clean mirrors, take out any clothes you dislike

Do an everything shower + face masks!!

ACADEMICALLY

Everyday afterschool, revise everything that you’ve learnt today + the things that you struggle on

Anytime you get homework, complete it as soon as possible. Most of the time, it’s easy and non time consuming. 

Create study guides for exams/tests while actually learning instead of when the assessments are actually coming up. It saves you a lot of time, which you can use for studying effectively.

If you don’t already, have a specific learning/studying style that works for you. E.g flashcards, blurting, mind map, spaced repetition, the feynman technique. (ofc you can have multiple). Just know the pros and cons of each studying technique. 

Or, what I do is that I assign specific studying techniques to different subjects e.g science - blurting, HASS - flashcards, maths - the feynman technique. This may be different to what you have the most success learning.

Have a place, time every day or at least most days, where you can study without distractions. I like to study at the library afterschool, it’s chill and literally void of any distractions.

The only advice in which i’ll say is not optional– do practise questions under the said test conditions. Stop using websites, listening to music, being on your phone etc. Get in the zone and transfer the environment. 

SOCIALLY

Make an effort to say hi or goodbye to some people, even if you do not know them that well. If you’re up for it, ask them how they are going or how their day has been.

Start remembering names and birthdays. This will literally make people like you so much more, it’s so simple but people swoon over this. Process names in your mind and write down birthdays in your calendar. 

Don’t be afraid to talk to others. Most people do not care if you talk to them, and some are glad that you talk to them. This is how people become well-known or well-liked. 

Watch videos on how to converse with people you do not know well effectively and become close with them. TED x has a lot of videos on this, and are usually helpful. 

Don’t try to fit in with the crowd. It’s so draining, and even if you think they do, they most likely dislike you(sorry!) . Instead, find/be with your people. 

Join a club/extracurricular. You meet so many like-minded people this way, while still developing your own skills. I say everyone should at least have one solid extracurricular. 

If you are in a talking stage, three weeks is enough time for him or you to decide if you’re willing to date them. It’s not the 1920s anymore, we have imessages, facetime, skype and others to communicate and get to know each other without contact

Call out your friends if you notice them doing something toxic or generally anything they shouldn’t do. E.g gossiping, getting mad at others, bullying someone. If they continue, it will influence you in the long run.

MENTALLY 

Reframe your mindset. I know most of us do not favour school, but do not dwell on negativity and find ways to be positive/neutral about your circumstances. You’ll feel so much better.

Detach. Detachment is literally essential in highschool, there’s so much drama and most likely you will somehow get tied up in it. Stop absorbing what happens and let it influence you, observe what happens and learn from it. I have a post on this here. 

Start saying affirmations everyday. I know affs are usually viewed as a manifestation thing, but it doesn’t have to be. It can be a simple one minute way to cultivate a neutral/positive perspective of yourself. 

Journal. Things will happen, so journaling is a great way to discuss your circumstances, feelings, trauma, relationships etc and develop a sense of identity at the same time. I have a post on this here. 

Meditate. It can be go-go-go constantly, but just take a break and gain some mental clarity and see how much better you feel decluttering your mind. 

Embrace a change and growth mindset, especially in an environment where we are constantly required to adapt. 

PHYSICALLY

Start stretching.. seriously. You sit at a desk for like 5 hours a day excluding lunch and recess, everyday, which is of course going to do a number on your body. It can relieve pain in many different areas.

Have at least 1 form of exercise you do everyday. I know being students, we have to sit at a desk constantly. But, do not give up on practising good exercise habits. Not only can it help with results, it’s good for you.

Get the recommended sleep of 6-8 hours per night, which is good quality sleep without disruptions. It helps with long term memory and you’ll feel better. 

Start packing healthy but tasty lunches to school instead of buying. You’ll save so much money in the long run, and it’s better for your body. 

BEAUTY 

Get your uniforms tailored just a bit. Not too noticeable, but enough that it fits better on your body. Especially for button formal shirts, as they make you look 10 times as bulky than what you actually are. 

Buy new jewellery, earrings, necklaces or whatever you’re allowed. Subtle but noticeable jewellery makes girls look so pretty.

Learn new hairstyles!! Don’t just wear the same hair everyday, mix it up, it’s fun and makes you look attractive. 

Get a good eyebrow gel + clear mascara. Legit life changer, I look so much better everyday because I look put together without make up.

apply  vaseline on areas you would apply highlight, but avoid your eye area. 

Have a good skincare regime!! Being a student is stressful, getting pimples is a sign of stress. 

Okay that's it. Happy back to school everyone! Here’s an affirmation for you <3

I am intelligent and capable. I am skilled and confident in my abilities. I am perceived well by others. I am healthy. I am wealthy. I am looking for this term to be full of good grades, vibes, friends, growth and fun. 

[megalony]

Make It Stop- Part 2

Here is the follow up for my Eddie Diaz imagine, I'm so pleased you all liked the first part and I hope you will like this one too. Any feedback is always lovely.

I have been having a slow day with writing today, wanting to write but not feeling the mood for any particular idea. But all the requests keep me going and make me excited so keep them coming.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @gillybear17 @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: Eddie is married to Bobby's daughter, and things take a bad turn when they have to take her to the hospital in the middle of the night. And the doctors can't find out why.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A smile graced Eddie's lips as he walked round the front of the jeep over to where Bobby and Athena were stood. He bounced his youngest on his hip, feeling Mavis scrunch her hand up in his shirt as she clung to him and began drooling on his shoulder.

"Hey cutie," Bobby held his hands out expectingly until his granddaughter was carefully eased into his arms. He lifted her up so he could kiss her cheek before he settled her down on his chest and pressed his lips against the top of her head.

Eddie stuffed his hands into his pockets and watched fondly as Mavis cuddled into Bobby's chest and showed off a toothy smile when Athena kissed the back of her hand.

It felt strange just having one of the kids with him. But both Chris and Iris were in school and Eddie didn't want to part with Mavis and ask Carla to look after her. He wanted Mavis to be with him and he knew it would cheer (Y/n) up to have one of the kids here to see her.

"You brought visitors." Eddie managed a smile when he looked behind Bobby and noticed Hen and Evan stood to the side.

All the team had been nervous for the last three days. It had been so strange for them to be at work with Hen as active captain while Bobby and Eddie both took the rest of the week off. They needed to be with (Y/n), especially when they didn't know what was causing her illnesses and her sudden bouts of agony and pain.

They were all taking turns watching the kids and being at the hospital with (Y/n). She didn't like being in the hospital, especially not alone and if they left her, they had a feeling she would try and discharge herself.

The five of them slowly walked through the main entrance and headed down the hall towards the stairs. Eddie wasn't sure if the staff would be happy to find (Y/n)'s room cramped with all these visitors, but it would only be for a few hours and they wouldn't be any trouble.

"How is she?" Hen weaved behind Athena and moved over to stand on Eddie's other side. They were both medics, they had a bit more understanding of health conditions and complications than Evan or either of (Y/n)'s parents.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders high as she assessed Eddie.

He had one hand tangled in his hair, loosening the knots that gathered between his fingers. Dark purple ringlets hung beneath his crackling, brown orbs and his skin looked very pale, verging on grey. He looked like he hadn't eaten anything during the last three days since she had seen him at his house with (Y/n).

"Random granulomas in her lungs and liver, and then a haemorrhage in her bladder, and they don't know why. But the meds are working, she's so much better today."

Seeing (Y/n) more like herself didn't do anything to calm Eddie down, if anything, it put him more on edge. He didn't understand why she had the granulomas in her lungs to begin with, or why they moved into her liver. And the bleed in her bladder was so sudden and unexpected, and there was no reason for it. The doctors couldn't explain any of it.

But yesterday, (Y/n) had seemed much more like herself. She was eating and drinking, she was sitting up and talking and she could breathe properly without gasping or feeling a tightening in her chest.

Eddie knew the doctors were thinking about sending her home soon, but he didn't want her home until they knew why she was ill and could ensure it didn't happen again.

"And there's nothing wrong with her blood?" Hen pondered as they advanced up to the second floor.

"Not that they can find."

"I'm sure they'll come up with something." Hen didn't voice it, but she knew the doctors were likely to come up with an explanation soon. They had Eddie breathing down their necks and the whole fire department waiting for answers, they weren't likely to rest until they got the answers they needed.

Athena moved ahead and pushed open the stairwell door, keeping it open for everyone to filter through. But her eyes lingered on Evan who was leaning over Bobby's shoulder to try and interact with Mavis.

"You never said Eddie was related to you. Why didn't you say you had grandkids?" Evan looked between Bobby and Athena while he smiled at the little girl who was drooling and making small noises into Bobby's shirt.

He had never once heard Bobby talk about having a daughter. He scarcely opened up about losing his wife and son in the apartment fire back in Minnesota.

Learning Bobby did indeed have a daughter and three grandkids was a big surprise to the team. It was even more of a surprise to learn Eddie was his son in law and was in fact very close to him. They had been more than professional at work. Neither of them had given away this little fact or let on that they were closer than just Captain and teammate.

"It never came up," Bobby shrugged and turned to the right when Athena held out her hands and gently took their youngest grandchild from his arms and into her own.

"I'm pretty sure it should have when we talked about bringing families to the summer party. You could have mentioned Eddie's practically your son."

Evan wouldn't voice it, but he felt a little irritated at not learning this sooner. He felt close to Bobby, he often thought of Bobby and Athena as his surrogate parents. It hurt to realise they were more like Eddie's parents and were in fact related to him than Evan.

"And have you go in a mood or say I'm getting preferential treatment? No thanks." It wasn't so much Evan or Hen, as the rest of the team that Eddie had been wary of.

He didn't want anyone saying Bobby went easy on him or was soft or let him get away with things because they were related. If no one knew, no one made a fuss and they all remained friends but with professional boundaries in place. It was easier not to ay anything. Not that it mattered now, anyway.

"Alright, here we-" Eddie bit down on his lip and held back a sigh when he opened the door to (Y/n)'s room and looked inside. "What on Earth are you doing?"

He felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder as he leaned around his son in law to look into the room and see what he was referring to. Evan and Hen crowded behind as Athena and Mavis stood on Eddie's right and leaned gently on his arm to see what (Y/n) was doing. None of them could gather any words when they looked around and locked their eyes on her.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and tried to bite back a sheepish smile when she looked over at the door.

Her arms moved to coil around her waist and she looked down at herself before she glanced back up at her family crowded in the doorway.

She was fed up of wearing the scratchy, uncomfortable hospital gown they had provided her with when she was admitted. And when (Y/n) noticed the bag Athena had dropped off for Eddie with clothes, deodorant and a few essentials from home, she couldn't resist. (Y/n) wanted to feel comfortable and move about.

It had been a little harder than she first thought. She went to the bathroom, dragging the IV pole along with her and stripped from the nuisance gown. She changed into a pair of Eddie's jogging bottoms and the bra she had worn when she was admitted, but the IV was harder to fathom.

(Y/n) couldn't undo the clip properly or remove the wire so she could slip on Eddie's hoodie. The effort, along with a sudden bout of dizziness had landed (Y/n) on the floor.

She was sat in the doorway to the bathroom, hoodie resting over her lap, IV pole behind her and her legs curled beneath her as she sat wearing jogging bottoms and her bra.

"I was sick of wearing that stupid gown." (Y/n) mumbled quietly but when she tilted her head back to look up at them, she could feel the blood draining down to her toes. And her head lolled backwards as her hand planted down on the floor to keep herself sitting upright.

Eddie shook his head, tutting under his breath as he marched into the room and bent down in front of her.

"Then you wait for me to help you. You don't go doing everything yourself."

"Sorry,"

Eddie held his breath when (Y/n) flopped her head to one side and looked at him with those big doe eyes and a lopsided smile that had his heart fluttering like a bird in a cage.

He moved down onto his knees, tutting at her quietly but when (Y/n) leaned over and let her head drop onto his chest, he felt himself deflating. He wasn't angry at her, but he wished she would just wait for help and let them look after her. She always thought she had to do everything herself when all Eddie wanted to do was look after her and make sure she was okay.

He cradled the back of her neck and pressed his lips against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo that was starting to fade. His other arm secured around her waist and he gently shuffled her to the side so she was propped up against the bathroom door.

For a brief moment, he let his eyes wander down to (Y/n)'s exposed stomach. The fading, slashed line across her abdomen beneath her belly button caught his attention; her scar from the C-section she had with Iris. And an inch below that was a fresh incision in her skin with four neat, navy blue stitches sewing the skin back together.

He hated that (Y/n) had needed to go for minor surgery to repair the bleed in her bladder. And Eddie hated that they couldn't find a reason or explanation.

"Come here," He whispered softly and reached out for her right hand so he could drape it across his thigh.

His fingers glided across the back of her hand and he made sure the canula was still inserted in her vein before his touch moved up along the fluid tube. a few centimeters up, Eddie found the cap and the two cut off sections where injections and doses could be administered into the IV line.

He capped off the tube so no more fluids could get in and unscrewed the green plastic, removing the wire free from the canula in her hand.

"Alright, let's get this on you, mi amor."

Eddie reached out for the hoodie on her thighs and he grinned when he realised it was one of his.

A quiet 'oof' left his lips when (Y/n) let him pull the hoodie over her head and then slumped forward into his chest again. She closed her eyes and smiled into Eddie's shirt, breathing in his scent and went floppy like jelly so Eddie could carefully ease her arms through the sleeves. He was particularly careful not to nudge or pull out her canula and he rolled the sleeve up to her elbow to make sure it was in tact.

Once the IV line was reconnected, Eddie patted (Y/n)'s hip and held her waist so he could move around and crouch between her parted thighs.

He looped her legs around his hips and effortlessly lifted her up so she was sat low on his hips with her arms around his neck and her face smothered against his collar bone.

Bobby silently walked over and followed behind them with the IV pole as Eddie went over to the bed and eased (Y/n) down so she was sat in bed again where he expected her to be when they came in.

"Better?" Bobby asked gently and leaned down to kiss her temple while Eddie perched on the side of the bed and Athena moved to sit down in the chair beside the bed.

"Much better."

As soon as Mavis looked around, her arms stretched out and she began whimpering and gurgling until Athena carefully sat her down on the bed.

(Y/n) held her arms out and lifted Mavis up just before she had the chance to flop onto her stomach and hurt her stitches. The whole of (Y/n)'s abdomen was sore and tender and her chest was still aching every now and then, especially when she took deep breaths.

She settled Mavis down tucked under her right arm and let her lean on her upper chest. Three days without the kids felt like a lifetime and (Y/n) couldn't wait until this afternoon when Eddie would bring Chris and Iris down to see her. When she got her arms around them, she wasn't sure she would be able to let them go.

Hopefully in a day or two, she could go home.

***

"Mr Diaz, your wife has reacted well to the medication for the last five days-"

"You think two days without a symptom means she's cured? You can't even find the problem. You're not sending her home."

Eddie clamped his hand down on his hip while his other hand rubbed across his jaw. He leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath to try and calm himself down. The last thing he needed was to lose his temper here and now, but he couldn't help himself.

"I think your wife is sick of being in observation and all our tests are negative. Unless she has another symptom or relapse, we can send her home and continue tests and routine checks every week."

"No." Eddie pushed off the wall when he noticed his father in law walking down the corridor. He waved his hand out and beckoned him over. "This is her dad. You can explain to the Captain of the 118 firehouse why you want to send his sick daughter home without a diagnosis or anymore treatment."

"You're doing what?"

As soon as Bobby clamped his hands down on his hips and stood tall and stern in front of the doctor, Eddie could feel the man's resolve melting away. He watched with glee in his eyes as Bobby intimidated the other man who had to be about his age.

Bobby wasn't having this. He wasn't letting them discharge (Y/n) when they still didn't know what was wrong with her. What if it happened again? What if she got another unconnected symptom? What if they took her home and she suddenly deteriorated fast and out of nowhere?

As soon as the words "Let's talk in my office," hit Eddie's ears, he turned his back and moved towards (Y/n)'s room. He wasn't going for an argument in this man's office. Bobby was the one he needed to deal with now or else Eddie was going to lose his temper. At least with Bobby they could talk things through calmly and try to come up with a solution.

Whatever was wrong with (Y/n), it wasn't going to just go away and Eddie knew that for a fact. He knew the granulomas hadn't caused the bleeding in (Y/n)'s bladder. There had to be some underlying cause somewhere causing these problems.

"Daddy!"

Eddie spun on his heels and plastered the calmest smile he could manage on his face. His eyes set on all three of his kids and the sight made his heart swell and sent his lungs tightening in his chest.

They would simmer his temper down and make him smile. They would make (Y/n) feel better too. They didn't want to leave her the past two days they had been down to see her. Eddie wanted (Y/n) to come home, he wanted his wife home safe and well with them, but she couldn't come home now when she might still be unwell. It was too risky.

"Hi baby girl, come here." He leaned down and scooped Iris up in his right arm as his left arm secured around Chris who pummelled into him and almost knocked him down. "Are you okay, how was school?"

He looked up and nodded at Athena who was bouncing Mavis on her hip with a tender smile. Athena had barely put Mavis down this last week since she and Bobby had been helping out with the kids.

"Good, can we see mum?" Chris leaned his head back to look up at Eddie while Iris looped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. They had been switching between staying home with Eddie on a night and staying with their grandparents. And although they understood why, it had still been a daunting week for them all.

Everyone wanted things to go back to normal and for (Y/n) to get better.

"Yeah, let's go surprise her." He sat Iris on his hip and kept his other hand on Chris's back, waiting for Athena to walk alongside them before they walked down the corridor.

"Was that the doctor Bobby wandered off with?"

"Yeah." A silent exchange passed between them and Athena pursed her lips, humming and nodding to herself. She could sense in Eddie's silence and the fury in his eyes that her husband was about to be having an argument rather than a civil conversation.

"Eddie! Oh God, Eddie!"

An ungodly tremor surged down Eddie's spine and fizzled his blood down to his toes when (Y/n)'s voice caught his attention.

He turned to look at Athena who went rigid beside him. Something was happening. When Eddie left her room less than twenty minutes ago to go to the toilet and subsequently talk to the doctor, she had been perfectly fine. She looked a little tired and languid but other than that, she had been sat up reading a book.

"Stay with nana." Eddie slumped Iris down to her feet and pushed her and Chris towards athena, stopping his son from trying to rush ahead with him.

He couldn't have any of the kids going into (Y/n)'s room, he didn't know what the problem was or what he would be walking into.

"Eddie!"

(Y/n)'s cry had Eddie's heart hammering away against his chest and each beat made him feel like his heart had become impaled on his ribs. He bolted to the right and barged into the room, slamming the door shut behind him so none of the kids could see or properly hear what was going on in here. He already knew Athena would be on her way to find a doctor and get some help.

"Baby, baby what's wrong?"

Eddie stumbled over to the bed, holding his breath deep in his lungs as he looked around and tried to see what was going on.

She was laid in the middle of the bed, both arms seemingly bound around her stomach and her feet were pressed down into the mattress with her knees pulled up near her stomach. (Y/n) had her shoulders pulled inwards and her body was leant forwards with her head almost touching her knees.

Pressing his knees into the edge of the bed, Eddie carefully wrapped his arms around (Y/n) and tried to be gentle when he reeled her up.

"Baby-"

"I-it hurts… oh it kills! Make it stop! Eddie m-make it stop, please." The words spluttered through gritted teeth and her tone was volatile and high in pitch.

This felt so much worse than the blockage in her liver. It hurt more than the needle Eddie punctured into her lung to relieve the pressure. This was more than painful discomfort in her bladder. And the pain wasn't in any of those places like it had been before.

(Y/n) wasn't sure where the pain was coming from or what the problem was, all she knew was it felt like someone had taken to stabbing her repeatedly. Each heartbeat sent her blood pounding and she could feel her heartbeat vibrating and pulsing off her like heatwaves.

Reaching her hands out, (Y/n) curled her hands around Eddie's bicep, digging her nails into his skin like tallons sinking through to the bone. Her eyes snapped closed and her head pressed into his shoulder. She wanted to double over and see if it would ease the pain, but Eddie wouldn't let her.

His left arm secured around her chest and his right arm looped around her back, keeping her sitting up and imbedding her shoulder into his chest. He pressed his lips against the back of her head and started to shush her as he carefully leaned her back so she sank down into the pillow.

"Okay baby, shh I've got you it's okay."

When she tried to push forward again with a cry resembling a howl, Eddie pushed her back again. "Baby you have to let me look. Shh, let me see what's wrong."

He could feel her tears soaking into his shirt and her frame began to tremble as she sobbed in absolute agony. But if Eddie didn't examine her, he wasn't going to know what the problem was. It was either him or a doctor examining her to find out what was wrong.

Once (Y/n) was laid back, Eddie pushed her knees down to her legs were on the bed and not coiled up near her stomach. He lifted her shirt up towards her bra so he could see her skin and try and find the issue. His hands instantly moved towards her bladder and where her stitches were, thinking she might have an infection or another bleed.

But when Eddie pressed down near her bladder, (Y/n) shook her head. That wasn't where her pain was situated, her bladder was seemingly fine. And he could tell by her voice and her cries that her lungs weren't a problem.

Eddie looked into his wife's eyes and pulled her eyelid back. The whites of her eyes weren't yellow or discoloured, her liver was still in working order too.

Moving his hands around, Eddie pressed down on various areas of (Y/n)'s chest and torso until (Y/n) suddenly jumped beneath him like he had brought her back to life. A scream bounced off her teeth and clawed past her lips as she latched her fingers around his wrist again to either make him stop or get him to do something about the pain.

"It's your spleen, it might have burst." Eddie reached out and hit the emergency button before he sat down and let (Y/n) sit up and burrow into him.

"No… oh no," (Y/n) choked as she pushed herself further into Eddie like his comfort would do something, anything, to make her feel better and relieve her pain. Her cries shivered through to his chest and her tears soaked into his shirt as she cried and gasped.

Why was she now having problems in her spleen? What was happening to affect so many different organs in her body like this without connection?

"Alright baby, I'm here. We'll get this sorted, I promise."

***

(Y/n) slowly peeled her eyes open, taking her time to try and get her vision to focus and adjust so she could find out where she was and what was going on.

She felt battered and bruised.

Her body had been used as a pin cushion, needles punctured into her chest, dozens more into her bladder to infuse medication and remove the bleed. Needles into her liver to take bloods and check function and that it was back working again. Her chest was still swollen and bruised from her respiratory arrest. And now another part of her abdomen was aching and felt like it had been torn apart.

Before her eyes adjusted, (Y/n) reached a shaking hand up and grabbed the oxygen tube that was pushed under her nose. She yanked it out and tossed it off her ears; she didn't want that.

"Hm…"

"Hey mi amor, how do you feel?"

Her lips formed a languid, lazy smile and she flopped her hand around until she found Eddie's wrist that was resting near her thigh. She limply tugged on his hand until he started to chuckle and got the hint.

Eddie leaned over her chest and pressed his lips to her temple while his hand brushed across her jaw and neck. He couldn't stop his heart from hammering away in his chest when he tried to lean back but (Y/n) tilted her head and caught his lips in a kiss.

He kissed her lips once, then twice, then a third time until he had to pull back and let (Y/n) catch her breath before she passed out on him. His nose brushed hers and he rested his temple on hers, smiling as her eyes finally seemed to come into focus.

"Hi,"

A grin formed on Eddie's lips and he laughed. "Hi, baby." He kissed her one last time before he slowly sat up. He shuffled his hips back until they touched (Y/n)'s thigh and let her look around her crowded room.

Her dad was sat on the chair on her right with Chris perched on his lap, smiling intently when (Y/n) realised Chris was holding her right hand captive in both of his. And Athena was sat to her left with Mavis and Iris both sat on her knees.

"What happened?" (Y/n) squeezed Chris's hand and kept hold of Eddie's wrist while she felt his fingertips feathering up and down her wrist and arm.

"It was your spleen, it ruptured so they had to remove it."

He watched the way (Y/n)'s smile dampened and her eyes glanced down to her chest as if she could see through the scratchy hospital gown to look at her skin. She didn't dare think what her abdomen and torso would now look like. Puncture wounds from needles, her old C-section scar, the new line of stitches from her bladder surgery. And now another small scar or two to remove her spleen. What would be next?

"Good news though, we can take you home in two days."

(Y/n) tilted her head to the side and looked across at her dad with furrowed brows. Why would they take her home so soon? She had just had her spleen removed for no apparent reason. Surely she would have to stay longer now and wait for another organ to fail or another rupture or blood loss to take effect? What if this happened when she went home, what would she do?

She didn't realise tears were falling down her face until Chris let go of her hand and reached out to brush them away.

"Let's go get your mum a drink, she'll be parched by now." Athena got to her feet and held her hand out to Chris while Mavis settled on her hip and Iris stayed dutifully by her side. She waited for Chris to kiss (Y/n)'s cheek and whisper 'love you mum' in her ear before he took Athena's hand and followed along. Telling her exactly what drink he knew (Y/n) would want to make her feel better.

"Home?" (Y/n) moved both her hands to hold Eddie's arm and tugged until he obliged and held her hips. He carefully sat her up while Bobby moved the pillows behind her so she was upright rather than lying down. "I c- I… if it happens again?"

"Baby it won't-"

"What's next?"

Eddie didn't understand what she meant until one of her hands moved to her chest and she started patting up and down her chest and abdomen. She felt like someone had a map of her body and was ticking off each organ and part of her that they were injuring. Lungs, liver, bladder, spleen, there wasn't a lot left before everything was hit and then where would she be? She would end up dying.

Was she dying? Was that why they were sending her home? Had they finally found out the problem, but it was bad news? Was she going home to die?

It was as if Eddie could see every horrid thought running rapid in her mind because his hands smothered her face in an instant. His thumbs brushed beneath her eyes, his fingers danced across her cheeks and he kissed her lips as his temple pressed against hers.

He felt (Y/n)'s hands shakily grab his wrists and hold tight until her nails were cutting through his skin and she was cutting off his circulation.

"Nothing's next, mi amor, I swear. You're gonna be just fine now, they've found the problem."

(Y/n) tried to catch her breaths that were running away without her and she turned her head to the right to look at her dad. He smiled, doing his best to hide the tears in his eyes and he moved to perch on the bed next to her.

Bobby kissed the side of (Y/n)'s head and wrapped an arm around her middle while his other hand fumbled in his pocket. He found the small plastic container he had been holding onto for the last three hours since (Y/n) came out of surgery. The small vile no bigger than a blood sample tube, which had captured the Captain's attention for the last few hours.

When he held it out for (Y/n) to see, her eyes narrowed and her lips curled. She didn't know what she was looking at.

Her hands stayed bound around Eddie's wrists to keep his hands close even as he dropped them from her face and moved to hold her waist instead.

"W-what is it?"

"It's the splinter they found in your spleen."

She didn't understand. How could she have a splinter in her spleen? How could a splinter have caused all this damage? Her eyes narrowed and she leaned closer to look in the vile. A thin- very thin, almost miniscule piece of wood about the length of her fingernail. Her eyes danced back across to her husband, wanting some sort of explanation.

"It must have been near your intestine, you moved during the night and it moved to your chest and caused the respiratory problems. Then it moved to your liver, causing the granulomas, and then down to your bladder. You were lucky it ruptured your spleen, or they might not have found it."

No one could say for sure where it started or got into (Y/n)'s body, but they knew the route it had taken. It had punctured a lung and caused respiratory arrest which then caused the granulomas, and when it moved to her liver it caused the same problem. The medication cleared up both those issues, but the splinter moved along and went down to her bladder and poked through the lining which caused the bleed.

Travelling to her spleen was a lucky escape. It caused enough damage to rupture the organ and surgery to remove it left the splinter stuck in her spleen and effectively took away the problem.

"How?"

"The doctor said you either ingested it, or if you've had a fall, it could have punctured into your system."

Either it was in any food (Y/n) had been eating or chewing and got ingested into her system. Or when she had been in the garden or playing with the kids or taking them to the woods and had a small accident, it punctured right through her skin. It was so small and sharp that it could have felt like a pin prick, a small discomforting pain like a scratch rather than a horrid pain like the agony it had caused throughout her system.

None of them would have ever thought up this explanation. None of the team were going to believe it when Eddie and Bobby told them what had happened.

If they didn't find it, Eddie wouldn't believe it, and there was no wonder it hadn't shown up in any of the scans (Y/n) had. Wood absorbs water, it would have absorbed the fluids in her body and changed the density so the MRI hadn't picked up its presence.

Turning her head to the right, (Y/n) kissed her dad's cheek before she pushed forward and wrapped both arms tightly around Eddie's neck. She shuffled until she was practically sat on his lap with her face buried in his neck, breathing in his scent as he kissed her temple.

"You're gonna be just fine now, mi amor. I promise."

[unabashegirl]

entangled 2 | one shot

Y/N, punished by her gang leader for a failed mission, meets Harry, a rival gang member, at a club. Their encounter turns intense and passionate.

Author's note: Hello everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful weekend. Here is the second part of entangled as promised. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

warnings: violence, smut, cursing and more

check out my patreon and get full access to more ONE SHOTS and much more :) thank you beforehand!

if you would like to leave or summit your request for the next one shot. do it here :)

word count: 4K

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The men winced as Y/N stood in the middle of the room with Victor. She grunted as she was thrown to the floor.

“Get up!” he yelled, watching her clutch her abdomen in pain. They had just returned from the failed mission Victor had assigned them, and he had heard of her defeat. His fury was palpable.

Victor's eyes blazed with fury as he glared down at Y/N. "You think you can just fail me and walk away unscathed?" he snarled, his voice echoing through the room. The other gang members watched in tense silence, understanding the gravity of the situation.

Y/N gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stand despite the pain radiating through her body. She met Victor's gaze with a steely resolve, refusing to show any further weakness.

Victor advanced on her, his expression cold and unrelenting. "You made us look weak, Y/N. You have jeopardized everything we've built." He grabbed her by the collar, lifting her slightly off the ground. "You need to understand the consequences of failure."

With a swift motion, he threw her back to the floor. "Watch closely, all of you!" he shouted to the gathered men and women. "This is what happens when you fail me. When you fail us."

Y/N struggled to her feet once more, the taste of blood in her mouth. She knew Victor was making an example out of her, but she also knew she had to endure it. For her sister, for her people. She wouldn't let this break her.

Victor stepped back, his glare sweeping over the room. "Remember this moment," he warned. "Next time, it could be one of you."

He turned his attention back to Y/N, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "Prove to me that you still belong here, or you'll wish you hadn't survived tonight."

Y/N nodded, her resolve hardening. She wouldn't let Victor's brutal lesson go unheeded. She would prove herself again, no matter the cost. The fire of determination burned within her, stronger than ever.

“Let’s get you some help,” Xavier, Y/N’s close friend, said as he helped her to her feet. He had feared for her life; it wouldn’t have been the first time Victor had killed someone using these brutal humiliation tactics.

“That’s the last thing I need,” Y/N muttered, wincing in pain. “I need a drink and a smoke.”

Xavier laughed, despite his worry, and guided her to the medic at the warehouse. Her arm was drenched in blood, the wound gaping and worsening with every movement. “First, let’s get you stitched up,” he said firmly. “Then you can have all the drinks and smokes you want.”

As they reached the small, makeshift infirmary in the corner of the warehouse, the medic looked up from his supplies and quickly assessed Y/N's condition. "Get her on the table," he instructed, already reaching for his tools.

Xavier helped Y/N onto the metal table, his grip gentle but firm. "Just hang in there," he said quietly. "You’ll be patched up in no time."

Y/N gritted her teeth against the pain as the medic began to clean the wound. The sting of the antiseptic was sharp, but she welcomed it, letting the physical pain ground her against the emotional turmoil of the night. She glanced at Xavier, who hovered nearby, his concern evident.

"You worry too much," she said, trying to force a smile through the pain.

Xavier shook his head. "Someone has to. Victor’s gone too far this time. He needs to see that you're valuable, not disposable."

The medic worked quickly, his practiced hands stitching the gash with precision. "She’ll be fine," he said gruffly. "But she needs rest. And try to keep her out of fights for a few days, if that’s possible. She has quite a few broken ribs and that eye and eyebrow need desperate help. Another punch could do some serious damage to her optical nerve”.

Y/N snorted at that. “Not likely,” she muttered.

Xavier frowned but didn’t argue. He knew Y/N too well; once her mind was set, there was no changing it. "Just promise me you’ll be more careful," he said.

Y/N nodded, her expression hardening. “I’ll try my best”

The medic finished the last stitch and wrapped her arm in a clean bandage. "All done. Now get out of here and try not to tear any of those stitches.”

Xavier helped her off the table, his arm steadying her. "Come on, let’s get that drink and smoke you wanted."

Y/N wasn’t sure how they ended up at a club, but there they were.

The club was a sensory overload, a stark contrast to the grim reality of the warehouse. Neon lights pulsed in time with the throbbing bass of the music, casting vibrant hues of pink and blue across the packed room. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and perfume, mingling with the sharp tang of alcohol.

The dance floor was a sea of bodies moving in sync with the rhythm, a chaotic yet rhythmic ballet of movement and sound. People shouted to be heard over the pounding beats, their voices blending into a cacophony that filled every corner of the space. The flashing strobe lights cut through the darkness intermittently, illuminating faces twisted in ecstasy and exhaustion.

Y/N and Xavier navigated their way through the crowd, the press of bodies making it difficult to move. The noise was almost overwhelming, but it provided a welcome distraction from the pain and tension of the night. They finally reached the bar, where Xavier signaled for drinks. The bartender, a harried figure behind a cluttered counter, quickly poured their orders.

As Y/N took a deep breath, she allowed herself a moment of respite. The pulsating energy of the club was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating environment of Victor’s warehouse. Here, amid the flashing lights and relentless music, she could temporarily forget the pressures of the gang war.

Xavier handed her a drink, his expression a mix of relief and concern. “You’ve earned this,” he said, raising his glass in a half-hearted toast.

Y/N nodded, taking a long sip of her drink. The alcohol burned pleasantly as it slid down her throat, warming her from the inside. She looked around at the throngs of people, their carefree revelry a reminder of a world that seemed almost foreign to her now.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to be swept up in the rhythm of the night, embracing the fleeting sense of normalcy and freedom.

“Come on!” Xavier called to Y/N, snapping her out of her trance as he grabbed her arm. The sudden jolt brought her back to the present, the music and lights of the club crashing over her senses once more. “A few of my friends are upstairs,” he added, nodding toward the VIP area, which was clearly off-limits to most.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes widening in surprise. “Are you kidding? I don’t have that kind of money!” she shouted over the deafening music, dodging dancers who seemed oblivious to the world outside their own revelry.

Xavier laughed, his grip on her arm firm but reassuring. “Am I asking you for money?” he yelled back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I’m friends with the security!”

He led her through the throng of people, expertly weaving through the chaotic dance floor. The crowd parted briefly, giving Y/N a glimpse of the VIP area: plush seating, subdued lighting, and an air of exclusivity that seemed worlds away from the frenetic energy below. She could see well-dressed patrons lounging with an air of nonchalance, their laughter and conversation barely audible over the pulsating music.

As they approached the velvet rope, a burly security guard stepped forward, his expression stern. But as soon as he saw Xavier, his face broke into a friendly smile. “Hey, Xavier! Long time no see,” he said, unclipping the rope and waving them through.

Y/N followed Xavier up the narrow staircase to the VIP section, her curiosity piqued. The change in atmosphere was immediate. The pounding bass was still present, but it was muted, allowing for easier conversation. The decor was upscale, with sleek furniture and soft, ambient lighting creating an intimate setting.

Xavier led her to a secluded booth where a few of his friends were already gathered, chatting and laughing. They greeted Xavier warmly, their eyes flickering with curiosity as they took in Y/N.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Xavier introduced her with a casual wave. “She’s with me.”

One of Xavier’s friends, a stylish woman with striking features, extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Emily.”

Y/N shook Emily’s hand, feeling a bit out of place but grateful for the warmth of the reception. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Emily said, gesturing to the plush seats. “What can I get you to drink?”

As Y/N settled into the luxurious booth, she scanned the faces of Xavier's friends. Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized one of them: Harry. He lounged comfortably, his sharp eyes locking onto hers the moment she saw him. The air between them seemed to crackle with unresolved tension.

“Harry,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the muted music.

Xavier, noticing her shock, chuckled. “Yeah, I probably should have mentioned that. Harry and I go way back. Long before all this gang nonsense.”

Y/N’s mind raced, struggling to reconcile this unexpected revelation. How could Xavier, her close friend and ally, be friends with her sworn enemy? The man who had nearly killed her not long ago?

Harry leaned forward, a smug smile playing on his lips. “Surprised to see me here, Y/N?”

Xavier, sensing the rising tension, quickly intervened. “Look, I know this is weird. But we try to keep the whole gang thing outside of here. We’re just here to unwind”.

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes remained cold. “A temporary truce, if you will.”

Y/N’s mind was still reeling, but she knew she had to play along for now. She couldn’t afford to cause a scene, not in this setting, and certainly not with Xavier’s connections potentially at risk.

Y/N nodded, a gesture that caught Harry off guard. He had always seen her as a strict rule follower, someone who never defied orders or went against Victor's commands. This unexpected side of her piqued his interest and made him reassess his assumptions.

Emily, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood. “What’s your poison?”

Y/N tore her gaze away from Harry, focusing on Emily with a forced smile. “Whiskey, neat.”

As Emily signaled the waiter, Y/N couldn’t help but glance back at Harry. The look in his eyes was a mixture of amusement and challenge. She knew this night had just become far more complicated than she had anticipated.

As the drinks arrived, Xavier leaned in, his voice low. “Just try to relax. We are just people here, trying to forget all the shit we do outside for a few hours.”

The club's music thumped steadily in the background, creating a heavy rhythm that seemed to sync with Y/N's racing heartbeat. Neon lights flashed in sync with the beat, casting alternating shadows and bursts of color across the dance floor. Feeling the need to escape the intensity of her thoughts, Y/N made her way to the center of the crowd and began to dance. Her movements were fluid, confident, and for a moment, she allowed herself to get lost in the music, the energy of the club enveloping her.

From his vantage point, Harry watched her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. He had never seen this side of her before, and it intrigued him. As she moved, completely absorbed in the rhythm, Harry felt an irresistible pull. He made his way through the throng of people, closing the distance between them.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” Harry murmured as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her ear.

Y/N smirked, not giving him the satisfaction of a straightforward answer. “You don’t know half of it,” she replied, her eyes glittering with challenge.

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Care to enlighten me?”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “And give you more ammunition? I don’t think so, Styles.”

He leaned in even closer, their faces just inches apart. “I don’t need ammunition, Y/N. I know what makes you tick.”

She felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of annoyance and undeniable attraction. “Nice try,” she said, her voice steady despite the proximity. “But you’ll have to work harder than that.”

Harry’s lips curved into a sly smile. “I like a challenge.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “You’ve got your work cut out for you then.”

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate in her ear. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They sipped their drinks, the moment stretching between them, charged with a tension that was as much about attraction as it was about rivalry. Y/N could feel the heat of Harry’s gaze on her, a weight that was hard to ignore.

“So, tell me,” she said, turning the tables. “What’s it like being the big bad boss now? Enjoying the power trip?”

Harry’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened slightly. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Too many people to keep in line, too many responsibilities.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, leaning closer to him. “Having second thoughts?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance. Just stating the facts.”

Y/N leaned even closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Admit it, Styles. You love the control.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh. You have no idea” he smirked. “I bet you enjoy it too”

She laughed, the sound almost lost in the thumping music. “Oh, I don’t need power to make an impression. I can do that just fine without it.”

Harry’s smile widened, a hint of admiration in his gaze. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes locked on his. “How are you keeping everyone in line?”

Harry shrugged, his expression nonchalant. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Care to share any of those tricks?” she teased, her fingers lightly brushing against his arm.

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate. “why would I give away my secrets to the enemy?”

“Maybe because the enemy is more fun than you expected,” she shot back, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Harry’s gaze softened, the intensity between them growing. “Then I’d rather show you than tell you”.

Harry grabbed Y/N’s hand. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she followed him as he navigated through the dense crowd, leading her toward the back of the club where the bathrooms were located.

The music grew slightly muffled as they moved away from the main floor. Harry glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression unreadable, but his grip on her hand was firm and urgent. They reached the bathroom, and without hesitation, he pushed the door open and dragged her inside.

The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting an unflattering glow over the white tiles. The hum of the club was still audible but muted, providing a strange, almost surreal backdrop. Before Y/N could react, he pushed her into one of the stalls and followed, locking the door behind them. The cramped space forced them into close proximity, their breaths mingling in the confined air.

“What the hell, Harry?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart.

Without a word, Harry cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, the motion filled with urgency and hunger. His lips moved against hers with a passion that took her breath away, the heat of the moment overwhelming her senses.

For a moment, Y/N was too stunned to respond, but then she gave in, kissing him back with equal fervor. Her hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if she couldn’t get enough. The kiss was a clash of dominance and desire, both of them battling for control even in this moment of vulnerability.

Harry’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her against him as the kiss deepened. The intensity of their connection was undeniable, a force that neither of them could resist. They broke apart only when the need for air became too great.

She pushed Harry back, catching him off guard. He stumbled slightly, and she guided him to sit on the toilet cover. The starkness of the environment made the moment even more intense.

Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, she straddled him, her knees pressing into the hard plastic seat on either side of his thighs. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling as the heat between them became almost unbearable.

Harry’s hands found her waist, gripping tightly as he looked up at her, a mixture of surprise and desire in his eyes. “Keep those eyes on me” His voice was low, almost a growl.

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she leaned in, capturing his lips in a fierce, urgent kiss. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she moved against him, their bodies fitting together in a way that felt both foreign and inevitable.

Harry responded with equal intensity, his hands roaming over her back, pulling her even closer. The kiss was a clash of tongues and teeth, a battle for dominance that neither was willing to concede. The small confines of the stall faded away, leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection between them.

Y/N pulled away from the kiss, gasping for breath as Harry's hands moved with a newfound urgency. His fingers worked deftly to pull her t-shirt over her head and unclasp her bra. With the dim light from the flickering bathroom bulb now illuminating her body, Harry’s gaze fell upon the injuries she had tried so hard to hide.

Her torso was marred with bruises, deep and angry against her pale skin, and the fresh stitches were starkly visible against the bruised flesh. The sight of her injuries made Harry’s breath catch in his throat, his expression shifting from intense desire to concern and anger.

He gently placed his hands on her sides, his touch light but filled with an undeniable sense of worry.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. His eyes searched hers, hoping to see something that would reassure him, but all he found was a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

Y/N shook her head, a smirk playing at her lips. “You talk too much. How about we put that mouth of yours to better use?”

Harry’s eyes flared with renewed intensity, a spark of desire reigniting within him. He was acutely aware that he hadn't caused the severe injuries she bore—he’d wounded her, but never touched her face or broken any ribs. Despite the lingering concerns, he pushed them aside, driven by an urgent need. He had to have her, and nothing else mattered at that moment.

Harry's lips roamed over her jawline and neck, pressing rough, demanding kisses that left no room for gentleness. Y/N took Harry’s hand and guided it firmly to her throat, her eyes locking onto his with a mix of challenge and submission. She arched her neck slightly, giving him full access, her breath coming in shallow, anticipatory gasps.

Harry leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered, “You look even better with my hands around your neck.” He then shifted, pulling himself free and beginning to touch himself, preparing herself for her.

Harry slipped her underwear to the side, exposing her wet self to him that made his mouth water. He didn’t have the time to fulfill all his fantasies, but he vowed this wouldn’t be their first and last encounter. He was determined to have her again.

Harry slammed her down on him. His hand still gripping her throat whilst his right tightened on her hip, anchoring her in place. Y/N hand grabbed the top of the stall, helping her to lift herself off his cock. Harry grunted into her ear, the sensation was too intense.

“Y’are squeezin’ me. S’tight” Harry groaned, pushing her down on him harder. The stall creaked as the rhythm grew faster and more intense. Harry’s grip on her throat tightened, briefly cutting off her air supply.

“Don’t stop. Even if I beg you to” Y/N moaned as Harry’s hand came off her throat and tangled with her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, and sweat slicked her hair and back, making her even more irresistible in Harry’s eyes.

“Come on. Cum f’me” Harry grunted feeling himself nearing his orgasm He speed up, pounding into her. Y/N shut down her eyes as her back arched and her hips met with his. Her orgasm sent a wave of great pleasure through her. “Just a good girl” he said to her just as she felt him release himself inside of her.

Y/N allowed herself to rest her shaking body on his as they both recovered. As Harry’s hand caressed her back, he reflected on everything that had just transpired. Y/N sat up slowly, her movements deliberate as she began to dress herself again. Harry watched her intently, his gaze fixed on her every motion. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken words and lingering tension.

Harry’s eyes followed Y/N as she dressed, his expression serious and unyielding. “Tell me again,” he said, his tone firm, “who hurt you?”

His gaze was intense, demanding an answer as he awaited her response.

Y/N paused, her fingers hesitating on the buttons of her shirt. The weight of Harry's question hung heavily in the air, mingling with the aftereffects of their encounter. She met his gaze, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes despite the hardened exterior.

“It’s not of your concern” She said quietly, her voice steady but edge with defiance. “I can handle it”.

Harry’s expression didn’t soften. “You are now my concern”.

She finished fastening her shirt, her movements deliberate, and then looked back at him. “You’re not going to get anything out of me,” she said, her tone resolute. “I deal with my own problems.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, frustration evident in his features. “You think I’m going to let this go?” Harry’s eyes narrowed as he watched Y/N silently prepare to leave. “Is it Victor?” he asked, his tone sharp and demanding.

Y/N’s silence was her answer, and Harry’s frustration flared. “If I can’t do anything else,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “then tell him that the next time he touches you, I’ll cut his fucking arm off.”

Before she could respond, Harry pulled her into a bruising kiss, his lips fierce and possessive. The kiss was filled with a raw intensity, leaving no room for doubt about his feelings. He broke away abruptly, his gaze intense and unwavering. “We do terrible things for the people we love”. he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

With that, he turned on his heel and left, the door slamming behind him as Y/N stood there, her heart pounding and her mind reeling from the confrontation.

Part 1

[lttleghost]

okay I'm like complaining again but I wanna hear other ppls thoughts on this because I'm too impatient to wait until I've gone through all the commentary for BrBa and BCS in search of answers to confirm or deny my suspicions but GOD A FEW THINGS ARE DRIVING ME INSANE and I apologize for this ramble being maybe a lil disjointed in advance

so like, first, this scene-

if I look at this realistically it reads as Jake misinterpreting his and Jesse's parents talking about how Jesse's actions reflect back on them as genuine care, he's young, and I can imagine him having some insecurity in his parents care for him since we do know it is conditional, just Jake is currently meeting those conditions, but sensing that instability could've maybe influenced how he understood his parents talk of his older sibling.

but I just am having a hard time convincing myself that was intended when it was written... and this assessment from me could be unfair because - while I'm not quite sure at what point Jesse was no longer planned to be killed at the end of the first season - this does come from that first season, and I've heard there was a change in how Jesse was written after the first season and throughout the rest of the show there is NO evidence that Jesse's parents like, actually give a fuck about him, they actively make his life worse like when they kicked him out of his own goddamn house, and that all seems like those things have to be intended to make you think "wow Jesse's parents are awful!!!"

but then, not for me to complain about these two scenes in El Camino again but I'm gonna complain about these two scenes in El Camino again -

followed by this not too long after

because while if this movies thing of having blame being squared on Jesse's shoulders was just him talking to his parents it'd be easier to say "oh this is just a kid who was abused in a socially acceptable way not recognizing the abuse he went through and how that really did have a major effect on his life trajectory" but when these two scenes are put so close together it makes it really hard for me to not think that it's TRYING to say that Jesse is responsible for where he ended up even if they don't necessarily want bad things to happen to him

cause like I know, I know the writers are sympathetic towards Jesse but I don't think being sympathetic towards a character like him makes you immune to having harmful beliefs about addicts and criminals when they're so prevalent in wider society, like especially the idea that changing actions taken by individual people is the main problem that needs to be dealt with wrt addiction and crime instead of changing the structural problems that result in addiction and crime, like I've seen this mindset present in the fandom as well

I mean I know I have some evidence that at least Vince's ideas on justice aren't great with this bit from an interview about El Camino (also him having Jesse specifically say "I'm no cop killer" when Jesse would definitely know how cops are just another violent gang, like he could've just said "I don't want to kill anyone" instead of having cops on some higher level of innocence)

like I dunno believing at all that there's a good way to end with Jesse in prison (and not as a way to show how awful prison is either, since he talked about the idea of Jesse finally finding some sort of peace in prison sleeping) is kinda fucked up!!! I do want to fight him for this alone!!! even if like glad he changed it but I dunno the fact that he believes this just makes it easy to believe that he really would!! blame Jesse to at least some extent for what he got into, like I think that he understands Walt manipulated Jesse but I just, I dunno!!! things in BCS kinda bother me too irt just general ideas of crime and drug use ect... but I'm much less familiar with that show in comparison to BrBa so I don't feel as comfortable pointing specific things in it

like... do Vince Gilligan and the writers of Breaking Bad see Jesse’s parents as shit parents who were abusive in a socially acceptable way? or do they really think that they really did their best? is it somewhere in-between? like "they were abusive but they still didn't know any better"? or maybe is it as bad as believing Jesse's parents tried their best and them being rich is supposed to show that he had all he needed to succeed and was just a fuckup (instead of it showing that his parents had all the resources they needed to help him and... didn't) am I just overreacting because I am protective of my girl and the people that I know exist like him and am suspicious of those writing about them if I don't know all their politics behind the subject? I know I've talked to some ppl who have vindicated me w/ some of this but please share ur opinions I want to know the wider ideas on this since I feel like I just don't see it discussed that often

[iouinotes]

Drunken Love | Five Hargreeves (Part 2)

summary: Five shows you what he always wanted to do with you...

pairing: Five Hargreeves x female!reader

word count: 1,5k

warnings: SMUT (Five is 18 in this fan fic)

author‘s note: here is the second part, a little longer this time :))

part one here

As we make our way out of the room, he reaches in vain for a wine bottle, but I reach out and take his hand so that our hands are joined. My heart quickens, his gaze becomes more fixed. As soon as we are out of the room, out of reach of the liquor, I let go of his hand. He says nothing, I do the same.

A silence spreads, only the beeping at the elevator can be heard. The only thing he addresses to me is the floor he has to go to and his room number, I nod even though I already know that. And then he squints his eyes at the bright light in the elevator, slumps against the wall. I look at him, press the button and notice the tormented expression on Five's face as the speed increases.

"Feel sick-" Luckily for me, the elevator stops the next second and the doors open. It takes a while to reach his room, but suddenly he stops. ,, K-key. Pants." Shit. Although he tries to reach into his pocket, it is no use. "I-" my voice fails. " Do you want me to?" I ask hesitantly.

His tired eyes look at me, his gaze glides over my face. Then he nods. With shaky hands, my hand wanders to his jeans, I swallow and avoid his gaze. Fortunately (unfortunately) for me, he seems to be slowly sobering up a bit. "You're shaking." I get the slight impression that he is trying to keep his tone monotone, but he can't quite hide his curiosity.

However, I remain silent and try to ignore his statement so that I can quickly get him into his bed, at least so that he can sleep in it. Despite my attempt not to say anything to his words, he does not give in. "Are you... nervous?" His assessment is rude, even if he guesses exactly right.

"No." I murmur, but his eyebrows rise lazily. "I feel so light, unconcerned. Why are you with me?" His change of subject confuses me. "You weren't in any condition to get up here yourself, or to your own bed." My gaze wanders to his face, surprisingly he is already looking at me. But different than usual, more like he hates me less than normal. I am even more confused.

"Yours?" He asks, without me understanding the context. "What?" I almost forget why we're even standing here, I'm not used to being questioned by him like this. Usually he only talks to me when it's necessary. "You could have taken me to your bed." My eyes widen, because what did he just say? I look at him puzzled.

"Why do you always want the things you can't have?" Now he babbles, the alcohol showing its effect. "You tried everything to save the world, don't blame yourself for that." He shakes his head.

"I want you."

I drop the keys I just obtained. I don't think I can move. "Every dream I have is plagued by you. Your eyes, your mouth. Your voice, I'm addicted to it. I want to hear you speak again and again, it's a punishment not to."

"You're drunk." My voice trembles, now I'm the one who feels sick. "That's true. But I'm also in love with you." He laughs, so loud that it echoes throughout the hallway. "I feel so liberated to finally be able to say it. I thought I was going to die with this burden. God, I can finally admire you for as long as I want."

My head hurts, I think I'm going to cry. "You don't know what you're saying." I want to run away, I must be dreaming. It seems to be the most beautiful dream, but in a moment he will roll his eyes and tell me how naive and stupid I am to believe that. That he could never be in love with me. But none of that happens, he just looks at me with a drunken smile on his face and bright eyes reddened by alcohol.

"I thought you hated me." My whisper is fragile, my eyes are fixed on the floor in front of me.

"Pretending to hate you was easier than pretending not to love you."

The first tear escapes my eyes.

My breathing is heavy and I don't know what to do. "I hate seeing you cry, even more when I'm the one who's causing it." I want to disagree with him, but my voice seems to have run away.

As I unlock his door, I feel two arms around my waist. I almost collapse. His lips are so close to my ear, I can smell the alcohol coming from him. "There's so much I want to do to you that I shouldn't." I am not able to answer, my knees are weak.

"I want to kiss you, hold you, hug you, talk to you. Spread your legs apart to be in between myself, do things to you that make your eyes roll back and your hands tug at my hair. Just the idea of seeing you like that in front of me could drive me crazy. I probably already am. Because you're making me stand so close to you and I don't want to be three feet away from you."

I feel so dizzy, I can't think. Slowly, he leads us into the room, letting the door fall shut and his hand slide to my hip. His lips approach my cheek, fluttering lightly over my skin and moving to my neck. My breathing becomes heavy, my eyes fall closed and when he starts talking again, I have to pull myself together not to crumble.

"Do you want me the same way? Because if you don't, run out of this room now and spare my heart. I can't wait to love you."

My teeth chew on my bottom lip, trying to make sense of his drunken words. I whisper, "Yes, I want to be with you," feeling my skin burn at the touch. "Good," he murmurs.

His hand moves down my side at a slow pace, slides over my skirt, under the fabric and lingers there. "Is that what you want? My hand? My lips?" I nod, trying to formulate words, but I'm too caught up in his way that I didn't imagine dreaming.

“Come on, dear. Talk to me, otherwise my hands will stay right there and do nothing. I need to hear you say it." My next breath is heard even by him. "I-I want you." I feel his grin, against my flushed cheek. "What exactly? Tell me and I'll do it, I'll do anything for you." My back presses into his chest, my legs tighten and are brought apart by his hand with a sinister giggle.

"So eager, huh? Make an effort, darling. I know this mouth can do more than what you're revealing. ,,Your hands." My voice trembles. "Where do you want my hands? Here?"

His hands slide down my thighs, leaving the place where I want them. I shake my head. "Here?" They skim over the plaid fabric, his fingers hooking at the top waistband. ,,Do you want this off? Or do you want to keep it on?"

His mouth slides to my neck, brushes away my hair. "On." It just escapes me, feeling like I'm in a fever dream. And then I feel his hands going under my skirt again, this time higher up. Until it comes back to me. "No underwear?"

My knees go wobbly as a finger strokes the throbbing spot. ,,You're wet, are you feeling turned on already? I haven't even really started yet." I feel weak, I've never had sensations like this before.

"I love you" it escapes me.

When he replies without hesitation, I'm sure that even if the world ends now, I'll be by the side of the person who means everything to me.

"Do you want more?" I nod. "Can't you speak anymore, so caught up in what I'm doing to you?" I nod again. "God, this turns me on. If you only knew what you were doing to me." His fingers stroke my folds, slowly, but so decisively that I have to remind myself to breathe.

"That's right, hold on to me, I've got you." My hands try to hold on to him, his breath brushes over my pulse, leaving a kiss in that exact spot. "You are beautiful." A sound leaves my mouth that almost sounds like a whimper, but it's cut short as his hand grips my chin and I hear his voice again.

"Open your mouth, darling." I listen to him, almost as if I am under a spell. His fingers slide slowly into my mouth, pressing gently on my tongue, making me breathe through my nose.

"That's it, you're doing great." My eyebrows draw together and a warm feeling spreads through my chest. As his fingers leave my mouth, they slide to my hips again, but this time a little more precisely underneath. "Still okay? May I?" Nodding, I wait.

And then I feel his wet fingers and have to hold back a moan. "Let me hear you, you can be as loud as you want." My mouth opens and with each movement of his fingers that roam over me, sounds escape me.

"You sound so beautiful. Do you want more?" My mouth moves "yes" and as his other hand turns my head to kiss him, his working hand slides inside me with tentativeness.

It feels good, even if it is unfamiliar. "You okay?" I nod. "That's good, it would be a shame to stop now." Without realizing it, my eyes have fallen shut, and now when I open them again, I see our reflection in the window.

I groan at the sight of him and the fingers that have disappeared under my skirt. "Looking at you is like having the sun in front of me. You are magnificent." His movements become faster, my knees more tender, his voice softer and my sounds louder. As I feel something building inside me, I feel his smile.

,,You are so good for me, come pretty girl."

At his words, I feel my release. As soon as my breathing synchronizes, I feel his soft kisses. I have to smile, even though I am exhausted. He turns me around in his arms so I can look at him. His eyes are clearer, his smile genuine.

As he walks me to the bed so I can sit, he puts an arm around me. I lean against him. "I'm sorry for my behavior over the last few years. I'm glad to be able to show you how I really feel."

I still have to smile.

"Yes. Me too."

[thevoidinyourstomach]

Ok, I just got journal 3

And I found a lot of interesting things, but because I need something to focus on, I'm gonna go with my main man Mcgucket!

Journal 3 spoilers under the cut, probably some book of bill, I can't always remember from where I got the information

Also sorry if it's just a mess, I tried my best

Ok, it's often talked about how Ford wasn't there during Fidd's descent into madness, they had fought and went on their separate ways.

And then, we all think his first impression or point of reference about Fidd is during weirdmagedon

Which is sad and a bit of a relief, since he didn't see him at his worst, in the book of bill we even learn that after all of this was over ford went to visit him in the dumpster and felt so sad about the condition he was in, and he couldn't understand why Fiddleford seemed somewhat happy there.

Yeah, all of that is great, but going back to my point after handing the context.

When he comes back he takes the journal back into his possession, he even remarks in the journal about how dipper probably ruined the studies because he was using the journal and a diary, and that once he had time he would sit down to "assess the damages". Which means at some point between tales of two Stan's and DD&MD he read the journal... Finding this

Imagine Ford's heart dropping, hoping that this is incorrect, trying to think it has to be another guy named Mcgucket... But no, there is only one genius called that, and it's not until he finally sets eyes on him that he finally accepts all the damage he has done