#and hopefully I feel better in the morning

[daydreamgoddess14]

Lunch

Did someone say accidental mini series? 🙈

You all liked Breakfast so much, I thought I'd make you some Lunch too. Hope you're hungry!

Word Count: about 1.5k

Thunderbolts* (platonic for now) x F!Reader, no warnings, just some domestic sweetness. Bucky x F!Reader if you squint. It's still brewing.

They were never really around for lunch. It was your prep time, organising. Quiet. You couldn't decide if you liked it better that way. You made meals to reheat and they helped themselves. It was getting to the stage where, with a fully stocked kitchen and batch cooking, you had more and more downtime. Valentina had requested your exclusivity, so taking on other clients was out of the question. You peered through the glass door of the oven and willed yourself to wait a little longer. Not quite yet.

“What's cooking?”

“Pie.”

“Smells done.”

“Uhuh, not yet it's not.”

“Sure? I think I can smell burning -”

“It's not burning.”

“What's burning?”

“The pie.”

“Nothing is burning, John. Bucky just thinks he's the next Top Chef.”

The timer dinged and you checked through the glass again.

“You gonna take that out?”

“Patience, Barnes.” You counted to 20 and opened the oven, pulling out a beautiful, golden topped pie.

“That looks…”

“Perfect.” You smiled happily.

“Amazing,” John grinned. After everyone’s initial trepidation, it became very clear that the way to a Thunderbolt’s heart was very much through their stomach. You’d been given limited information on their backgrounds - some were more infamous than others - but you could tell immediately that hot, homemade meals had been in very short supply for all of them.

They all seemed to have their favourite times of day to pay you a visit. Bob was usually up first and watching you make stacks of pancakes for breakfast, Ava came hunting for snacks mid-morning. By lunchtime, John was always starving and vocal about it. Yelena liked something sweet in the afternoons, and Alexei began hovering anytime after 5pm, heavily anticipating what was on the menu for dinner.

Bucky seemed to have no specific time.

Some days he wandered through just as you were packing things away. Other times he showed up before anything had even made it into the oven. He never asked for anything, not like the others - just leaned against the counter and observed. Quiet. Watchful. Not unfriendly, but unreadable.

At first, you thought he was just keeping an eye on things. Habit. Distrust. You didn’t blame him - it was clear none of them were used to softness.

But then you started noticing the patterns. How he always lingered just a little longer than he needed to. How his eyes flicked toward your hands when you were kneading dough or slicing fruit, like he was cataloguing the motion.

How, every once in a while, he’d pass you a fresh towel without being asked. Or wordlessly refill your water glass. Or sit with a cup of coffee, hours old and probably cold - just to stay in the kitchen a little longer while you worked.

You hadn’t expected that.

You weren’t sure what to do with it.

“You, uhh, cutting that now?” John asked hopefully.

“Don't you want lunch first?” You asked, looking at the pile of bagels you'd already prepared.

“Oh yeah. Didn't see those,” he said sheepishly, “what's in the pie?”

“Plums,” you told him, holding up your purple stained fingers.

Bucky looked up at you, at the deep purple that had seeped into your skin, then back at the pie.

“Tell you what,” you continued talking to John. “Have lunch while this cools a little and I'll whip up some cream and a sauce.”

Like a kid, he fist pumped the air and darted off to find the others.

You could feel that Bucky wanted to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he watched you take out the tupperware of chopped plums from the fridge and tip them into a pan. You poured sugar over them and stirred the sticky, sweet mixture. Across the counter, he inhaled. The scent of sugar cooking and plums filled the kitchen.

The others started wandering in, taking plates and arguing over bagel fillings. Yelena came around to you at the stovetop and wrapped her arms around you.

“Thank you,” she murmured, squeezing so hard you thought she was trying to practice her heimlich manoeuvre. She peered into the pan. “Plums?”

“To go with the pie.”

“Bucky's favourite, again,” she grumbled.

“And I'll make your favourite next.”

“The cake? With the -”

“Chocolate in the middle. Yep, I know.”

She nudged you gently with her shoulder.

“Favouritism,” she warned, shooting a glance at Bucky.

“Not from me there isn't.” You challenged.

“Sure, sure,” she smirked and rolled her eyes, moving around to where Bucky was sitting. “Cookies, that pizza with the really thin crust… Not your favourites at all, right, Barnes?”

“Pretty sure everyone likes those, Lena.” He shrugged.

She looked at you, then back at him.

“Hmm. I'm watching you.” She warned. Then, “Alexei, no! That one's mine!”

“Snooze you lose!” He laughed loudly, leaving Yelena chasing after him for the last Swiss cheese bagel.

Bucky put the last two on plates, and pushed one in your direction.

Like vultures, they started circling. Bringing their plates to the dishwasher and hovering while you whipped cream in a glass bowl. Bucky came around the counter, reloaded the dishwasher correctly, and then took the bowl and whisk from your hands.

“I can do that,” you insisted. He flexed his hand, the dark vibranium catching the light.

“I can do it faster.”

“I'm quickly discovering that patience is a virtue you don't possess,” you laughed, taking out a huge knife from the drawer.

“Watch what you're doing with that thing.”

“You watch what you're doing. Don't over whip that.”

“Yes ma'am,” he grinned.

“I watch this show all day,” Alexei beamed, looking between you both.

You tore your eyes from Bucky and focused on the pie, cutting neatly through the centre, then turning the stand and cutting again, and again, into equal slices. Ava passed you the first plate and you used the flat of the knife to lift the slice from the rest of the pie.

It was glorious. Deep purple, filled to the brim and covered with golden sponge and surrounded by rich, crumbly pastry. You placed it gently on the plate.

John sighed, “goddamn that looks -”

“So good. Shotgun first slice!”

“Lena! I should get first slice!” Alexei complained.

You leaned over to look at the cream Bucky was still whisking, “you can stop now. Thank you.” You swapped the plate for the bowl and dolloped a spoon of cream on top of the pie, followed by a drizzle of the jammy, sweet sauce.

You looked at the assembled group, at lovely Bob who hadn't once argued over who was first, who was better, and you handed him the plate.

“Thanks!”

“Not fair.”

“He's literally the only one who never argues about food. Except Bucky, I guess, but then that would be favouritism, wouldn't it, Yelena?” You arched your eyebrow.

They stopped complaining once they all had a plate in hand.

“I marry the pie.”

“This is heaven.”

“I can marry you?”

“No thanks, Alexei. I'm taken.”

“I'll convince you. You'll see.”

No one else was listening to Alexei. All eyes had turned to Bucky who didn't look up from his plate.

Yelena clicked her tongue, “s'good pie,” she said slowly, as if waiting for someone, anyone to make eye contact with her. Eventually, Ava did. She tilted her head marginally in your direction and then flicked her eyes to Bucky. Ava shrugged.

They finished the pie and filtered away to enjoy what remained of their day off.

You grabbed your tote bag and keys, calling out, “I’m running to the store - text me if you need anything.”

“You have her number?” Bucky asked no one in particular.

“You don't?” Ava asked, surprised. He didn't answer. Only the low hum of the dishwasher and the quiet clink of dishes settling as they cooled filled the kitchen. The tower felt still, peaceful, for once.

You were gone for over an hour.

The store turned into the producers market turned into the bodega that somehow imported your favourite olives.

He swallowed, slowly. “Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

When you pushed the door open, he was there. Bucky, fork in one hand, pie plate in the other, standing barefoot in the kitchen like a man caught red-handed. He froze, mouth full, guilty as hell.

You stopped in the doorway, raised an eyebrow. “Second slice?”

You walked over, set your bag on the counter. “That was my slice.”

He looked guiltily at the pie. “You didn’t have one?”

“I was waiting.”

He hesitated, then held out the plate like a peace offering. “We could share?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “Only if I get the bigger half.”

He sighed. “Deal.”

You leaned side by side at the counter, passing the fork back and forth, the pie disappearing in easy silence.

He cleared his throat, voice low. “What you said to Alexei earlier… was that real?”

“What, when he proposed to me over pie?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Well -” You paused, then shrugged. “Well no, actually. Saying no is still taking some getting used to. It's… recent.”

“Oh.” He looked down. “Sorry.”

You took the plate from his hand and stole the last bite. “I'm not.”

Tagging on request: @doilooklikeagiveafrack @althea-tavalas @tellybearryyyy

[bridgetlynn]

For the drabble game, Frank and Dana and, because I like pain, number 69 :)

Okay, so thanks for the kick to get something written. #69 was Annoyance. And I'm not sure if this is what you were thinking about - but I think there's a general overall feel of that emotion throughout. I just kind of wrote and wound up in an interesting place. And Robby showed up to play as well. Hope that's okay. Five sentences went out the window around 1pm. It actually clocks in at 4290 words. It's still untitled. Hope you enjoy it - even if it went in a different direction then I necessarily expected it to. So here are Dana dealing with Frank and Robby and Annoyance.

The start of a shift cycle, following the two day break, always came around too soon in Dana Evans’ opinion. This one, following the roughest shift she’d had in her entire career when not counting a global pandemic, had seemed to come a little sooner than usual. It also happened to be, on top of everything, a Monday. 

And now, something had been blown up that couldn’t be put back into its box; and according to her computer, it might not have needed to have such a large blast radius.

Needless to say she’s had better mornings.

“Hi!”

Dana looked up from where she was reviewing the status of the patients currently inhabiting her emergency room, as she had been off for four days, and met the bluest eyes she had ever seen in person. It would be a lovely sight if those eyes weren’t currently in the skull of a puppy turned human. A puppy wearing black scrubs which meant it was going to probably be her problem eventually.

“Who are you and why are you bouncing in front of my desk an hour before you should be?”

“Frank Langdon. Intern,” he introduced himself and then to her horror brought a hand up and proceeded to drain a can of Red Bull at six o’clock in the morning. “Nice to meet you,” he added once he was done. 

Dana just groaned, loudly, and held a hand out as she saw him start looking around for, hopefully, a garbage, “Give me.” He frowned slightly but passed the can over. “Sit,” she added, pointing at the chair directly next to her. “If I let you wander you’ll get lost or stolen and I don’t have the time to make flyers today.”

“Yes ma’am?” he questioned more then replied and slowly sat in the chair while Dana got back to reviewing the computer charts.  

Two minutes later the puppy’s feet started tapping and shortly thereafter the chair she had put him on started swinging back and forth. She glanced to the side and watched as the swinging slowly became spinning and let him have four rotations before her own hand snapped out and grabbed the arm of the chair, “Bad puppy. Q-word time. Shhh.”

“Q-word? You mean quiet?”

“Fuck,” Dana groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Bad puppy. No more talking.”

“I thought you were quitting?” 

Dana rolled her eyes, and gritted her teeth, before looking up and replying, in a very serious tone, to Robby’s overly sarcastic question, “I’ve quit at least once a year since long before you strolled through those doors as a cocky fellow, barely out of his twenties, ready to blow through all the young and pretty nurses,” she said very pointedly.

“Well, that’s not true at all,” Robby replied, laughing slightly and missing the way Dana’s eyes hardened somewhat.

“No. It is,” she assured him. “Back then you were absolutely what my daughter would refer to as a Grade C Fuckboy with your floppy hair and ‘fix me’ energy.” She smirked, kind of meanly, at his widened eyes and added, “Oh! But don’t worry; by now you’ve reached at least an A. And you still need to be fixed. I’ve been told it’s your most attractive trait. Until those women actually date you.”

Robby opened his mouth and paused; then he examined Dana’s face and seemed to finally register that she wasn’t remotely amused at the moment, “Okay? What’s wrong? You’re pissed at me.”

She quietly gathered up the stack of papers she had just finished printing shortly before Robby arrived, the reason she had been here two hours before shift, and slid the folder across the counter to him. 

“Is this the thing?” he asked, dropping his voice to a nearly incomprehensible volume and Dana rolled her eyes again.

“Yes; that’s the pharmacy audit you had me run against Langdon’s hospital ID. I’d have done it quietly - like you originally asked - but I figured that was blown to hell after you started screaming about it for all and sundry to hear in the ambulance bay,” she responded at a normal level since as she pointed out - everyone knew even if they didn’t officially yet. “Stop fidgeting Francis James Langdon. God didn’t bless me with sons for reasons. Please stop doing things to remind of some of those reasons,” Dana stated without looking away from where she was double checking the inventory in Trauma Two’s cabinets and med-carts for various medications and supplies. 

As it was, normally, she wouldn’t even be doing the inventory in the trauma rooms; however, they had six fairly major trauma’s roll through one after the other in the course of an hour and a half, three for each room, and hadn’t had time before now to fully flip the rooms for much more than cleanliness. Which meant that her LPNs who had acted as Scribes for the traumas also hadn’t had time to get their notes into the computer; and therefore, Dana had no final inventory numbers of what was used and two very bare trauma rooms. It was definitely a case of doing for oneself when you need it done quickly and correctly - and she needed to get an order to Central Supply within the next hour. 

On any other day Dana wouldn’t mind him letting off a little energy while it was on the calmer side in the department; but she was on a time crunch and Frank had already dropped one box each of tubing, gauze and gloves in the last ten minutes and they were getting to the more breakable items shortly.  Easily distracted and over-caffeinated residents still in their puppy stages bouncing on her last shred of patience was not a great combination at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon eight days into a July heatwave. She was half convinced they weren’t packed, beyond the traumas, because no one had the energy to leave their houses and get here unless they were ready to bleed out. Unfortunately, that could flip in a moment with no notice so, fidgeting wasn’t going to fly right now.

It was also her own fault for asking the hyperactive R2 to help her. The gangly boy was useful for high places and bulky crates. 

“I think I’m meant to be insulted by that,” Frank muttered while pushing the cart she pointed at over to the other side of the room. “But I’m awesome. So I won’t be.”

“Don’t think sweetie,” Dana replied. “Know. Know that you are to be insulted by that.”

“Oh come on Dana,” Frank grumbled, shuffling back over to her looking for all the world like Tanner and not for the first time Dana wondered if Abby hadn’t just cloned and shrunk her husband. “What’d I do now?”

“Knocked up your wife while she’s trying to finish her Master’s degree when you already have a two year old ,” Dana said decisively. “This is why I don’t have sons. My girl’s know not to let any nasty penis’ near them until after they finish their degrees. Boys would need to be tied up in their bedrooms through puberty. Too much work.”

She saw Frank smirk and shake his head before responding with a laugh, “No boy of yours would dare. Also, Kate’s married with a kid, Julia’s a lesbian and Rose is fourteen. I think you’re…okay?” She watched as he suddenly stopped moving the next cart and slowly turned to face the Charge Nurse before sputtering out a denial, “What did you say first? Because…no I didn’t!”

Dana blinked, because that was genuine confusion, “Oops?”

“What oops?!”

“I mean, Congratulations?”

Frank scowled and pulled his phone out of his pocket, glaring at the older woman, he snapped, “Excuse me. I have to go make a phone call right now.”

“I said oops!” Dana called after the resident. “Sorry puppy,” she mumbled and grabbed her tablet to keep marking down what needed to be restocked within the next hour. 

When Robby walked in a few minutes later she just raised an eyebrow at him, not in the mood to deal with the older version of the resident had just stalked away. He merely raised his hands up and, despite a clear warning on her face, asked, “Why did Langdon just ask me how to ask his wife why she told you something before him?”

Dana froze for a second and then burst out laughing, “He asked you for advice on talking to a wife?”

“I think I’m supposed to be insulted by that,” Robby mumbled and left the room while Dana continued to laugh. Robby scowled and Dana held up a hand before he could say anything else, loudly or otherwise, and continued speaking, “I do not appreciate it when orderlies whose names I do not even know start asking me if a senior resident is in jail for shooting up fentanyl or something. And when I ask what the hell they are talking about the response is, apparently, Dr. Robby was screaming about him being arrested for stealing medication and being high at work.”

Robby visibly winced at that and scrubbed a hand over his face, “I wasn’t thinking. He just got me so mad. I sent him home and he wouldn’t leave. And yes, I should have handled it a little better; I can admit that. He did approach me calmly and I am the one who blew it up into…loud.”

“Yes,” she snapped and then immediately lowered her voice. “Into “loud” is one way to put it. I mean, seriously, Robby? It was a bad day there is no doubt about it; but you’ve been spiraling for over a year and you crossed a line Friday. There is no excuse for Frank’s shit to be aired all over the fucking hospital,” she hissed at him. 

“And what about what he said to me?” 

Dana raised an eyebrow at that and then pointedly looked around the ER, where no one was even looking in their direction, before replying, “You’re Chief. Remember what I said to you when you asked what people were saying? No one sees anything or says anything where you are concerned. A fourth year resident in a competitive program who is more talented than most of the other residents put together? Hmm, I wonder how fast they want that star to fall?”

Robby nodded and fiddled with the stack of papers and rather than respond to what she had said he simply asked, “How bad is it?” She shrugged, “Well in thirty-three years I’ve seen worse. Hell, there was an anesthesiologist here in the early aughts, before your time here, who probably could have given Escobar a run for his money.”

“Dana,” Robby admonished. “Seriously.”

“I am,” she responded with a shrug. “What Langdon did isn’t good. But, when I tell you I’ve seen worse I mean it. And don’t tell me you dare tell me you can’t say the same.” Robby frowned deeper and tapped the folder with a pointed look to which she, again, rolled her eyes at the stubborn man. “Okay. Fine. I went back three days like you asked and the only somewhat questionable thing other than Louie’s meds was a, technical, pedes case on Wednesday.” “Pedes!?” Robby practically shrieked and Dana held up a hand, glaring at him. “Before you immediately jump to the worst case scenario, I remember that patient and the mother was so high strung that I jumped on as Frank’s nurse for it. You know he doesn’t deal well with mother’s that are clones of his own.” “Dana. Point please?” Robby implored, though he at least visibly paled at the comparison the nurse made. None of them liked thinking back on the one time they had met Louse Langdon in person.

“I’m getting there,” she muttered, resisting the urge to throttle him as she had been since early that morning. “Kid was almost seventeen, a wrestler and couldn’t stand up straight after practice. Back was totally frozen from the shoulder to hips. He admitted his partner screwed up some hold they were not supposed to be doing and he felt like he just got stuck. Scans showed no skeletal damage or tears, exam indicated that he probably just, essentially, pulled everything. Langdon called in a neuro consult and Janson came down.”

Robby winced again, “He should retire. Or be retired.”

“Yep,” Dana agreed, exhaling through her nose tiredly. “Janson prescribed valium and percocet. And Frank argued with him over here by the desk; pointing out, ironically, how bad of an idea it is to give a kid access to that kind of medication. Janson disagreed; but like you said - he’s old. So, Janson sent the script. Frank delivered the meds…and the mother winged them back at his face. The bottles landed halfway to the trauma rooms,” Dana explained, pointing behind her. “I don’t know what happened to them after that,” she admitted with a tight smile. “But Langdon changed the prescription to what he originally wanted.”

“Which was?” “Prescription strength ibuprofen and a week-long course of metaxalone. The mother was a bit more receptive to that after Frank explained that it was non-narcotic but that she should still disperse the meds to him herself at the correct times.”

“Skeletal muscle relaxer? Yea, I guess that’s a little better for that injury at that age,” Robby admitted quietly.

“Right,” she replied, nodding slightly. “So, then I went back to April, around when he got injured, and he only prescribed lorazepam ten times in that six month period and he never actually accessed the Pyxis himself for any of them before Friday. So take that how you will. Sometimes it is just a shitty vial or maybe he did something to that one. No way to really prove it.”

“OH Jesus what happened?!” Dana almost screamed and hurried across the room to her bouncing baby R3 who was currently walking through the ambulance bay doors alone, despite having the weekend off, and bleeding profusely; looking like someone had taken a bat to the side of his head.

“Baseball bat,” he mumbled, more than slightly dazed, as she steered him towards an exam room reminding herself that head wounds bleed a lot, and his white t-shirt being half red was probably not a big deal. 

“Robby!” Dana called, waving him down and pointing. She saw his eyes widen and he then proceeded to shove the tablet he was holding into the hands of Dr. Scott, one of the other A shift Attendings, who he had been speaking with before tearing across the department, tugging Heather Collin’s sleeve as he passed her to get her to follow him.

“What happened?!” he asked as both doctors came into the room while Jesse and Dana helped Frank up onto a gurney, ignoring his protests that he was fine. “You are not fine,” Robby calmly replied before Dana could do it herself. 

Which was probably a good thing as she was currently more likely to scream at him out of sheer terror then do anything calmly.  “Frank baby,” Dana said, trying to keep herself calm and stepping aside to allow Jesse to begin hooking the resident up to monitor’s at Robby’s quiet directions. “What happened? Did someone hit you with a baseball bat?” she asked carefully. “Do we need to get the police?”

Frank stared back at her, with thankfully even pupils even if he did look like he wasn’t fully aware of what was going on, and then burst out laughing. The fact that Jesse and Heather were both snickering a little and staring back at her and Robby while they did so was swiftly making her terror be replaced by aggravation. 

“It is not funny,” Robby snapped. “Look at him,” he added, and started listing off a barrage of lab tests, a full body CT, a chest x-ray and, after peering into Frank’s ear on the side of his head that was hit, an ENT consult, since his ear was bleeding. 

“It’s a little funny,” Collins disagreed. “No one hit him on purpose with a baseball bat. Don’t you remember he said his family was in town this weekend? Look how he’s dressed,” she added, pointing to Frank’s dirty clothes that Dana just realized consisted of baseball pants, a t-shirt and cleats. 

“Oh,” Dana mumbled and then froze again when Frank interjected something that she was sure she misunderstood in a spacey tone. “I’m sorry sweetheart what was that?” she asked.“Heather’s wrong. Henry absolutely hit me on purpose.”

“Henry?” Dana croaked out the question and felt somewhat justified in the pointed eyebrow she shot at Heather who looked horrified herself now.

“My older brother,” Frank explained, shrugging and then wincing. “Ow.”

“What ow?” Robby asked, looking exhausted. 

“Shoulder.”

“Did he hit you there too?” Jesse asked, since all four of them were a little flummoxed by the situation they were in; as were the various people who had been popping their heads into the exam room for the last ten minutes. “No, I wrenched it” Frank disagreed and then turned a pout in Dana’s direction. “I left my fidget.”

“Frank,” Robby redirected the younger doctor’s attention. “How’d you also wrench your shoulder?”

“Ginny,” he replied, still sounding distracted. “Heather? Can I have your clicky pen please?” he asked, pointing at the pen hanging on her shirt collar. “I won’t click it. Much.”

An hour later Dana was praying for her strength and her blood pressure. 

“Mrs. Langdon, your son has a grade two concussion because your other son hit him in the head with a baseball bat,” she explained slowly, glaring at the woman and not bothering to hide it. 

“Oh dear, honestly though boys will be boys. Henry didn’t do it on purpose. Frank caught out Henry’s home run. He wasn’t actually going to hit him; but Frank stepped the wrong way. He stepped into the swing instead of away from it. Henry would never want to hurt his baby brother. Henry’s my good boy. Always has been,” Louise Langdon explained, as though that made everything better. “Besides, Frank’s had that type of concussion before and he was fine. The last time it was his fault too. He was always getting hurt as a child. He just never pays attention to things; even now as an adult and it’s still happening. Are you sure I really can’t see him yet? Frankie can not make decisions about things like this. He’s very distractible,” the older woman was almost rambling at Dana by the end of her explanation, sounding like she was trying to justify it all in her own mind as much as to Dana. 

“Right,” Dana muttered. “And his shoulder? He said that Ginny wrenched it?” she asked, as that was the one thing that they couldn’t figure out; none of it made sense but at least most of it had a clear cause and effect.

“Oh, well, yes, Ginny. Henry’s wife. She might have had a few too many cocktails last night; it was a family bar-be-que,” she began explaining with a laugh and a shrug. “Well, she almost dropped Ellie.” Dana blanched and leaned back on the desk behind her as this woman casually explained that her son’s wife had almost dropped her five month old granddaughter because she was drunk. “Frank lunged, but since we were standing at the top of the back porch stairs he had to grab the railing to keep from falling when he overreacted.”

“Right,” Dana mumbled. “Well thanks for letting us know so we can treat him properly,” she added and hurried away before she got fired for murder. Suddenly everything Abby had ever said to Dana about never seeing her in-laws despite them living a half hour away and Frank avoiding all mention of his parents except in the most serious circumstances made a lot more sense. “Oh,” Robby mumbled and began quietly flipping through the papers in the folder, skimming through the information for himself. “These are Hagan’s records too?” he asked in surprise.

Dana nodded as she slipped on the cardigan she had worn that morning, “Sure are. He was prescribing the same dose of medication to Frank from when he got hurt up until last week. Right about the time he went on vacation. Or, more accurately, according to Lisa Jacobs, the charge nurse for the day shift on Five, otherwise known as the ortho floor, he has been encouraged to retire quietly due to inconsistencies in his prescribing. So yes, those are Hagan’s records. I thought they might help when you pull your head out of your ass and make sure he can keep his job.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Robby admitted. “I told him what needs to be done and he’s not answering his phone now.” “Yea, well I took care of that for you too,” she responded. “His cell phone is currently off and in the bottom of Abby’s purse. As of an hour ago Frank himself has been checked in across town at Presby to detox for the next week to ten days. They might pull some strings to keep him there; but Abby didn’t like that because that would mean keeping him in the psych ward since they don’t have an inpatient facility for just rehab.”

“So what you’re saying is I have a week to figure out where to send him that is covered by insurance?”

“I’m saying you have a week to pull a few favors out of your ass because insurance will stick that boy in a hell hole that’ll be overcrowded and understaffed and he’ll twiddle his thumbs for a month and bullshit his way past whatever first year psych resident he gets assigned to. This isn’t the 80s anymore Robby. Insurance doesn’t actually want people to get clean. They make less money that way.”

“I hear you,” he agreed and then noticed something. “Why are you wearing jeans?”

“Cause for the next two weeks I am on medical leave,” she explained, gesturing at her own face. “I mean, I’m fine. But, hey, free extra vacation days? I’ll take ‘em. Better than pizza. And I’m serious Robby. Figure out something. Because even if you’re pissed at him as your friend, you’re a damned doctor and Hagan fucked a lot of people up it looks like. I know he’s an adult; but there is a reason I mentioned the Grade C Fuckboy.” “Oh?”

“Yea; you made Frank Langdon look like the most responsible boring straight laced by the book rule following residents to ever walk through those doors. And you were two years older then than he is now. See you in two weeks.”

“Abby shouldn’t have called you. Not after last night,” Frank whispered as Dana took a seat next to him on the couch in the basement den of the Langdon’s small house three in the morning mere hours after they got off the worst shift of his career. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Dana disagreed and squeezed his clammy hand. “Here’s what is going to happen,” she began, taking on her best no bullshit tone. “You are going to take this pill,” Dana explained, slipping a librium into Frank’s hand and gestured at the bottle of water sitting on the table in front of him. “Abby has six more upstairs that she will give you, in halves if necessary, you will use these pills to keep from going into DTs.”

Frank shifted on the couch looking uncomfortable and avoiding her eyes so she just squeezed his hand tighter and continued explaining the plan she had started coming up with the moment he had left the break room that night, “No later than Tuesday you will get a call to go to Presby. My sister-in-law is a Nurse Manager in behavioral health over there and she said she can get you in as soon as a bed opens up in their detox program. She said the absolute latest should be Tuesday morning.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he replied softly, finally looking at her with tear filled eyes. Dana simply shook her head and wiped away the one tear that fell. “Sure I did,” she disagreed. “I’ve told you for years; I just don’t have time to put up flyers. Also, you’re finally housebroken,” she joked and then frowned when he had no reaction other then to still look like he was minutes away from a total breakdown. “Listen to me Frank, for as much as I’m very angry with you right now? I still love you and I will not lose you to this.” Dana leaned back into the couch and stretched a kink out of her neck before continuing, “Also you owe your wife a vacation, Robby an apology and that overly cocky brat who caught you at least one month’s rent coverage.”

“Dana,” Frank groaned in protest and she smirked even as she reached over and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll let you send it anonymously because lord if she doesn’t make Intern-you look cool, calm and collected. It’s got to be karma of some sort. She’s the universe’s gift to you for the headache inducer you were to every senior resident you had.”

“And what is she to you?” Frank joked back, even as he started looking like he was falling asleep, where he was sitting, from her repeatedly running her hand through his hair. 

“A reminder that boys aren’t so bad afterall,” Dana replied a few minutes later after he had finally fallen asleep. “See you in two weeks kid.”

[tsukiimonster]

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

♬♪♫♩: if i didn't know better - Mac Lorén

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Letting another person wash your hair can be such a beautifully intimate act. It started with just that, but then transformed into more.

𝐚/𝐧: I'm so sad I missed out on Misty Invasion. Hopefully, one day, there'll be a rerun. Until then, I will continue to daydream about sensual shower sex with Sylus...

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5K

[𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐨𝟑]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: NSFW, smut, Sylus x afab!reader/mc/you, shower sex, established relationship, oral sex (fem recieving), cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, P in V sex, biting, plot what plot/porn without plot, aftercare, growling/vocalization, body worship

The sound of rushing water fills the bathroom. Steam and heat envelop you, shielding you away from anything beyond the bathroom door.

He lathers the shampoo into your hair, watching as your eyes close and your eyebrows relaxing. The tension bleeds from your face; your shoulders fall. His fingers press into your scalp, massaging, careful not to pull your hair, gently scraping with his nails. Suds push between his fingers, and the scent wafts up, mingling with the steam until the space fills with soft lavender. You release a long, slow breath. His eyes catch on your lips, watching as they part with relief. He gently guides your head back under the stream of water. His eyes follow the path of suds from your hair, over your shoulders, down your sternum, to where they sluice through the apex of your thighs.

Something sharp and needy sparks low in his stomach. He gathers your hair in his hand, tilting your head to the side with a firm pull, exposing your neck. The warm water rushes down your body in rivulets. He leans in, mouth closing over your pulse, teeth sinking into skin while the water pours down his face. He’s met with a soft gasp as his other hand rests at the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, trailing kisses up your neck, along your jawline and finally meeting your lips.

The kiss is possessive and consuming, it always is with him, but there's no urgency. No desperation. Just an unspoken declaration. A silent promise like something exchanged between two souls in the earliest hours of the morning.

It's not something you have to reciprocate, this contract of his devotion that he is sealing with his lips. There's no quid pro quo. He offers it to you freely like a knight in service of his queen. Unyielding.

He pulls back, eyes meeting yours, his thumb brushes over the flush of your cheeks, admiring how the water droplets cling to your eyelashes. He grabs a washcloth and soap, then begins gently scrubbing over your heated skin. His hand leaves a trail of suds as he washes you with the reverence of an artist observing his muse. Taking his time; slow, thorough sweeps over soft skin.

He pauses when he reaches your stomach. Again, there's a twist of something within him. A compulsion. A need for you to feel the abyss-like depths of his adoration. How it burns within him hotter than the fires that dragons are born from.

He carefully lowers himself, knees pressing into the tile. Your pulse quickens at the sight. Dampened silver hair fallen over his forehead. Garnet eyes gleaming through thick lashes.

His hands slide around your thigh pulling your leg forward, then continues. The heat of the water, the warmth of his palms through the soapy cloth as he brushes it over your sensitive skin, it’s enough to make you lightheaded. You place one hand on the tiled wall, steadying yourself.

With every pass of his hands over you, you feel yourself becoming more exposed. Before, you were marble. Solid, yet soft. Now, you're slowly being chipped away. Details beneath revealed with each moment spent in his presence. Each time your eyes hold a moment too long. Each gentle brush of his hands against your face. You were being molded by the shape of his affection.

He finishes washing every inch of you with the gentle care of something that is precious. Invaluable. When he looks up at you, your heart squeezes at the hunger in his eyes. He catches every sharp intake of breath past your lips.

His bare fingers trace the skin of your legs and your free hand threads into his wet hair, the strands soft and thick with water. He slides his palms up your thighs, parting them. Baring you to him.

“Let me take care of you.” His voice barely audible over the rush of the water. A prayer sent up to the goddess that is you.

Your throat bobs, pupils blown wide, and you nod.

Leaning in, he lifts you so your legs rest over his shoulder, and nuzzles into you. Heated lips trail kisses along the inside of your knee, traveling higher and higher. You tremble slightly with each kiss as he inches closer and closer to where you want him most.

His nose brushes against your center followed by the press of lips. Torturously slow, he opens his mouth, and just when you are about to plead for more, your gazes meet and his tongue swipes through your folds. Your hips buck at the contact, and he moans as the taste of you invades his senses. Your gasps set his blood on fire. His already half-hard length beginning to swell further with an ache he's not sure will ever be satisfied.

He breaks you apart. Every stroke of his fiendish tongue is another crack in your composure. Every greedy pull of his lips against your damp heat hits you like a brick shattering glass. When he starts flicking his tongue, you can't hold back the sounds of desperation trapped in your throat. Your shoulders press back into the glass, your body heaving, the added sensation of the water caressing your breasts heightening the pleasure.

It's maddening, the way you coat his tongue like the sweetest honey made from moonflowers. He's never craved anything more in his life.

Now ravenous, he starts moving his head up and down, keeping the pressure firm as he laps at your center. When your hips start to roll into him, chasing your release, he groans in approval.

His hands shift to cup the plush of your ass for added support.

“That's it, kitten. Use me.” he rasps before pulling you between his lips and sucking with fervor.

A wrecked sob bubbles out of you, fingers digging into his scalp, trying to stay grounded to this moment. You're so close already. Breathing heavy, quick pants expanding your lungs before exhaling on a whine.

When he eases a single finger into you, your hips buck against him. He pushes in and out of you slowly. Once. Twice. Then he adds a second finger.

You cry out, back arching, desperate and keening, “Sylus…”

He growls in response as you quiver around him. He continues stroking you, fingers curling inside you while his tongue flicks furiously over your swollen sex.

The pleasure crests steadily, blossoming beneath his ministrations, before everything seems to slow down. Without warning you come. It's loud and chaotic. Urgent and reckless. You feel yourself becoming untethered as you're swept up in the storm of him.

As he continues working you through each tremor that wrecks your body, the song of your ecstasy bounces off the tile walls like a concert hall. Your voice is like a sonata that was composed just for him. He'll hear it in his dreams until the end of time.

Your body continues to spasm, thighs clenching around his ears, “Fuck…”

A whimpering cry escapes you as he removes his slick covered fingers and places a final kiss against your soaked skin before standing. He lowers you, and your still trembling legs wrap around his waist. The warmth of the water rushing over you as you trap his hard length between your bodies sends a lick of heat down his spine.

In a blissful haze, your lips seek his. Your patience long eroded and washed down the drain. He groans, turning to press your back against the tile. Grinding his hips into yours, the thick head of him sliding easily through your folds sends aftershocks rippling through you. Your tongues mingle and every inch of your skin touching his stokes the fire, becoming more frenzied.

Your hands grip his shoulders with an intensity that surprises him. The rough press of your fingers into his skin proof of how you are just as ravenous for him.

Breaking the kiss, he lowers his head down to your breasts, immediately drawing one peaked nipple into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue lathing over you sends goosebumps across your skin.

He runs his hands over you, up your thighs to rest at your hips. His fingers press firmly, and his head rests against your shoulder, grounding himself as he tries to catch his breath.

You gasp at the sensation of his warm slick skin against you. His skin is hot and you can feel him at your center heavy and throbbing with need.

“Sylus. I-” your words die on your tongue as his hips continue to push you into the shower wall.

He groans as he feels himself sliding through the remnants of your release, “So goddamned perfect…”

His breath is husky against your ear as he pulls an earlobe between his teeth, “Tell me what you need, sweetie.”

You can't even rouse the focus to play coy. Sylus always makes you speak your desires, no matter how long it takes, or how much you try to hide behind shyness.

Plush lips press against the spot below your ear. “You. I need to feel you… inside me.” you respond on a shuddering breath.

He looks down to where he is rutting against you, and he can't help closing his eyes at the sight of him sliding through your glistening sex, his length covered in your arousal.

You reach down and grip him. His eyes fly open as he lets out a huff. The molten heat that gathered at the base of his spine threatening to boil over. He was struggling not to come right there while you pump his flushed length from root to tip.

Your voice is a soft whisper, “I want you to fuck me, Sylus.”

With effort, he tears his eyes away, back to your face, as you guide him to your entrance. He wants to watch as you feel every thick inch of him filling you.

Your back arches when the head of him breaches just inside your center. He had stretched you out so beautifully, and you're so wet, so slick- there is almost no resistance. Your body is completely, irrevocably ready for him. As if you were made for him.

There is still an exquisite tightness as he slowly pushes in, giving you more and more. He feels you pulsing around him, impatience prickling just under your skin as you exhale on a moan.

He slides in further, the delicious burn of him inside you blotting out everything but him. All of your thoughts, gone except for one name.

When he's fully seated within you, you both sigh. His thighs begin to tremble with the need to move.

Sensing his fraying restraint, you whimper, “Please… Sylus-” your nails bite into his shoulders.

He exhales on a huff as pulls his hips back, then his voice drops low, “Oh, how I love when you're greedy.”

He rolls into you with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. Your mouth stays open, eyebrows pinched in ecstasy, the sensations overwhelming you in the best way. Your hands snake behind his neck, fingers gripping the wet strands there as he sets a relentless pace.

His labored groans against your ear only drives the pleasure higher. Knowing you are making him feel this good. Knowing with every muscle pulled taut with need, every desperate shuddering breath from his lips, and every rumble vibrating from his chest is a testament to his helplessness when it comes to you. He gives you everything, shamelessly.

He has never tried to hide the intensity of his reverence for you. You've never had to question what you mean to him. For all of his mystery, when those ever expressive eyes meet yours, they always show you exactly what he feels. People think he is hard to read, but you quickly learned it was merely a matter of looking in the right places.

Sylus was written in a language that only you understood. Etched into your very soul like ancient hieroglyphics. It had been there from your first draw of breath, and would remain long after your last.

Your back squeaks against the tile, and the steam of the shower is thick in your throat, covering you in its own warm caress. Your eyes are heavy, and as they meet his, you see the inevitably of your path, plain as day.

He must see it in your eyes as well, because he growls low in the back of his throat and places a hand between your bodies. His thumb rubs against your sensitive bud, sending a flash of fire throughout you. Your eyes squeeze shut, as the build up of all of the sensations come to a head.

White heat explodes behind your eyes, and your head falls to his shoulder. You press your lips against him, then bite down on the thick muscle. He lets out a roar as you feel his rhythm stutter before he is suddenly pulsing inside of you. His own release erupts from him on a string of curses, drawing out your own climax.

You feel as if you have become atomized. The very fabric of your being separating and entangling seamlessly with his as if it were meant to be. As if it had always been that way.

Wave after wave of ecstasy ripples through you until his hips slow, then stop. He stays inside you for a moment as he tries to catch his breath. His forehead falls to your shoulder as an aftershock pushes his hips against you one final time, causing a shiver to roll through you. Your mingling breaths blend into the sounds of the water as it continues to cascade over your joined bodies.

Once you've both recovered enough, he rinses you then guides you out of the shower, wrapping a towel around you before picking you up and carrying you into the bedroom. He lays you out against the sheets, before crawling over you and pulling open the towel.

Your still flushed skin blossoms with goosebumps. Covering every inch of exposed skin as your nipples pebble against the chilled air.

He lays beside you, arms encircling you, pulling your soft curves against him. A satisfied hum vibrates from his chest, as his fingers trail lazily down your side.

You smile, breathing deeply, nuzzling into his warmth. The smell of the soap you used mixing with his natural dark scent fills your lungs. A sense of deep satisfaction settles into your bones. Your energy is not depleted, but your body is ready for rest.

He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering for several seconds before you feel him relax further. His head rests against the pillows as he brushes your hair back. His hand finds yours, threading your fingers together. You fit against him like a puzzle piece he had been missing for a long time.

Early dawn light barely creeps from under drawn curtains. Slowly, you drift off like that. Skin pressed against skin, limbs entangled together. Your heartbeats falling into a matching rhythm, and your breathing continues to deepen until the last vestiges of consciousness evaporate like fog from the bathroom mirror.

[what-if-i-just-did]

New Beginnings

Bit of a short chapter, but I didn't have a lot of time and I really wanted to get this done today. Yay!

Fern soon realised that a three-hour car ride with a massive, sentient, humanoid bird could end up being… so, so awkward.

“So. Uh”, they tried to start.

Emphasis on tried, because Fern noticed the way Quill tensed up any time they spoke. Maybe silence was better.

…

Silence was not better. With the way that Fern had had to fold down the car seats, Quill was directly in their line of sight any time they looked into the rearview mirror. And he was… distracting. This probably counted as a road hazard.

The light reflected off of Quill’s feathers beautifully, revealing tints and shades of even more extraordinary colours. 

Every time Fern looked over- which was more often than not, because he was really distracting- they felt the awkwardness in the air. Quill seemed…

Scared.

“Hey, um. Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m sorry?” Quill said, startled.

“Tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?”

It was surprising how twenty-odd minutes of awkward glances made Fern see the bird as, well, human. For a lack of a better word.

“I, uh. I sit pretty. Like a good bird.”

Okay, a bit weird. If Quill really was as human as Fern was starting to see, then obviously being kept as a pet couldn’t have been good for their mental health. This kind of felt like.. there might be more to it, though. 

Pushing that thought aside for now, Fern put on a smile.

“Okay.. what about other things? Hobbies?”

Quill stared at them.

Or, well, they thought he did. They were trying to keep their eyes on the road, so they couldn’t be sure. 

…

Getting out of the car seemed to be just as nerve wracking as getting into it had been for Quill, but he didn’t ask for help or reassurance, and Fern was more than happy to let him figure it out on his own.

They walked up the narrow stairs behind Quill, silently watching him struggle not to drag his wings along the walls. They would have tried to help, but… well.

For one, they wouldn’t know how. And secondly, Fern was busy thinking of how this was gonna work. They did not, in fact, have a spare bedroom. 

Alas, they were also too tired to think about it. They didn’t really have a sofa, either. They could share and figure it out in the morning.

Fern was exhausted. They’d taken the early shift at work, but it was still 2pm when they finally left. Three hours’ drive each way, plus collecting weird bird stuff, and Fern was just about ready to get undressed and fall asleep. Hopefully they wouldn’t wake up with a mouthful of feathers or something.

“Welcome to my humble abode”, they joked, opening the door with a flourish and a bow. “I’m just about ready to fall the fuck asleep, so… Right, uh, I don’t really have anywhere for you to sleep. Do you mind sharing my bed for the night? We can figure it out in the morning.”

Quill’s eyes slightly widened. “You would let me share your bed?”

“Yeah?  Unless you don’t wanna.”

“No!” Quill seemed to flinch at his own sudden outburst, “Sorry, I- I mean, no. Please, let me- I, I would be very grateful to share your bed.”

He looked at the floor, adding softly, “It’s been.. a while, since I’ve slept on a bed.”

These concerning comments seemed to be coming every time Quill spoke, but Fern was too tired to address it right then and there. It could wait for tomorrow.

“Okay… I’m going to take a quick shower. Feel free to look around, make yourself at home or something. We can go to bed in like half an hour, yeah? Does that.. work for you?”

They were actively suppressing a yawn, and not quite managing.

Quill nodded, shortly. 

Fern smiled. “Great. See ya in a sec, roomie.”

TAGLIST

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question 

@whumpsday 

@melpomenelamusa

[herawell]

.

[ahhrenata]

Steve tries to stay quiet while he gets ready for work, but Eddie hears him. He keeps his eyes closed and just listens- to Steve grumbling to himself when his hair doesn’t sit quite right, who starts to hum and whisper some catchy song. Eddie turns his sleepy gaze onto Steve as he shuffles around their room- watching quietly as he slips on his clothes, his shoes, a simple chain with Eddie’s ring around his neck. A warm, affectionate smile breaks across his face. Before he leaves, Steve glances at what he expects to be a sleeping Eddie, but instead, he’s met with a rasped, ‘Hey.’ Eddie sits himself up, stretches his arm across Steve’s side of the bed, and reaches, fingers wiggling. Steve crosses the room to cradle his face.

Their foreheads press, noses bump, and Steve brushes his fingers across scars and dimples.

He breathes a quiet,

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’

Eddie huffs a tired laugh,

‘You know I never mind.’

Because, yeah.

Every morning Steve tries to stay quiet while he gets ready for work, but Eddie always hears him.

( another one from the poll | WIP )

[inutiliacapra]

worm and salmon woodburning :))) 🪱

eerrrm .. finally woodburning this piece... that i had sitting in my closet for 2 years... also uhhhmmm *dies* i almost died when i didnt take my meds for the last 3 days never fucking do that it was HORRIBLE but im glad to be back on them things feel better

[tj-crochets]

I either found a new allergy or had some food cross contaminated with something I'm allergic to yesterday, but either way I did not get any crafting done yesterday and it's doubtful I'll get anything done today that requires standing because my blood pressure is too low. Crafting updates will resume eventually

[oatflatwhite]

being tired sucks. being sick sucks. being sick AND tired propels you forth into a divine state of being that sucks.

[psittacined]

Feeling really frustrated with rhubarb today/ this week.

[crabsnpersimmons]

Hi, how are you dear?

:)

awww thanks for asking

honestly

sore 😅

had a busy day at work today and it involved cleaning some stubborn marks, so now my arms are super sore 😂

but hey

i got a job done so now i'm getting paid 😍 i'm saving up for the new 8 inch Sun and Moon Youtooz figure! cuz it's so cool and i missed out on the original. can't wait 🥰

how about you? how are you doing?

[zevrra]

sorry for lack of posts,,, i’ve been sick with the worst cold of my life,,,,,,hopefully by the end of the week i’ll feel better and have commune viktor up 😭

[rexscanonwife]

Fuuuuuckkkk if I'm getting sick again I'M GONNA START KILLING HOSTAGES I SWEAR TO GOD

[phantaloon]

oh my god i am aidkf i have so many thoughts so many feelings idek where to begin but god nora 😭 you really did it again, god i loved this book so so so much goddd

15/10 would recommend and a 100% will read again

[snzluv3r]

my gf is so selfless she has lost so much sleep while i’ve been sick because she knows my nightmares get really bad when i have a fever and every time i wake up upset she’s there to get me back to sleep even though we’re thousands of miles apart :( she’s the most loving person ever i am so lucky to have her

[capn-twitchery]

got to next dogsit house and the wifi is broke.... my joints are killing me and i'm on a sofa bed......and it is cold and i'm tired and very much not feeling it. augh. wish me luck