#and itchy hospital clothes

[pokelec]

Getting MRIs is hell for autistic people

[traveler-at-heart]

The Doctor's In - Part 2

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

Summary: After Billy's accident, you go back to the Maximoff house to babysitt the twins.

Time works differently when you’re inside a hospital. That’s true, whether you’re a patient or a doctor.

You measure it in shifts that can extend up to 36 hours. Sometimes you go inside when the sky is dark; by the time you're done it looks exactly the same, and you wonder if the day passed at all.

What’s certain is that you will always run late. Racing around your house, you take your bag, keys and pour coffee on a thermos, carrying a pop tart in your mouth.

You’re so worried with making sure you have everything, you don’t even notice Wanda is at the door until you crash against her.

“I’m so sorry!” you say, the coffee spilling all over your scrubs.

“Oh, my Gosh, is it hot? Are you ok?”

“It’s cold, no worries. Let me get changed, wanna come in?”

You walk back, finding some clean scrubs on a basket near the stairs. Thank God you did your laundry yesterday.

“What’s up, Wands?” you say, changing in the same room. You’re extremely late and can’t afford to go upstairs.

Wanda looks at your smooth skin and toned muscles and blushes, looking away.

“Oh… I… wanted to give you this. Billy drew it the other day. It’s supposed to be you in the hospital”

“That’s so cute” you walk up to her, looking at the drawing over her shoulder. “How’s the arm?”

“It’s good, he’s just itchy”

“Yeah, that happens. Can I keep it?” you ask and she hands you the paper. You put in on the fridge door, a magnet securing the drawing in its place. “I’d love to chat but I gotta run”

Wanda glares when you pick another pop-tart.

“Is that what you call breakfast?”

“I’m late!” you protest with a laugh, taking a bite on your way out.

“Well, come by anytime if you want to have some real food” she offers and you nod, smiling as you get into the car. “Oh, shoot! I forgot to ask. I need a baking tray to put some extra cookies, you wouldn’t happen to have one?”

“It’s your lucky day, my mom gave me one I never use. It’s supposed to be somewhere in the cupboard. There’s a spare key in that ceramic turtle”

“Oh, are you sure? I could come back later”

“No, it’s ok. As a matter of fact, keep it, in case you need anything else” you smile, groaning when your pager goes off again. “Ugh, gotta run! Say thanks to Billy for me”

“Will do” she waves, smiling as you practically put the entire pop-tart in your mouth.

Wanda ignores the regret she feels over not asking for what she really wanted. It wasn’t a baking tray, but some time with you.

—

“Is that your pager or mine?” you say, moaning when Carol’s lips travel lower, pulling your pants down.

“It can wait” she says, leaving open mouthed kisses as you part your legs, your fingers threading through her locks.

“The word emergency is in my job description” you say, reaching out and sighing with relief. “It’s yours”

“Is it 911?”

“Nope”

“Good. Now shut up and let me eat your pussy” Carol says, her tongue darting out to taste you, your hips canting up to move against her mouth.

“Fuck” you say, breathless as you ride Carol’s face. She leaves her place between your legs and you’re about to protest when you feel two fingers stretching you.

“Shhh” she says against your mouth, letting you taste yourself in her lips. “Be quiet for me”

You try to stay quiet, but almost let out a moan when someone knocks on the door of the on call room.

“Doctor Danvers?”

“In a minute” she says, a hand over your mouth. Her fingers pump in and out of you faster and the idea of someone waiting on the other side adds to the thrill. You reach your orgasm with a muffled cry.

“You good?” Carol says with a smile, standing up to get her clothes.

All you can do is nod, waiting for your breathing to go back to normal.

“See you later, pretty girl” she kisses your cheek, going out to meet the resident that was looking for her.

It was cliche, hooking up with someone at the hospital, but of course you had needs and no time to fulfill them outside of this building.

The fact that Carol wasn’t looking for anything serious helped too.

No feelings, no complications.

The rest of your shift goes surprisingly quiet, but you’re still urged to go home when Chief Fury comes across you in the hallway.

Since you leave on time and very well rested, you decide to go for a run as soon as you get home. You enjoy the physical exertion and being outdoors, appreciating the beautiful sunset as you jog around the neighbourhood.

It’s barely getting dark when you reach home, Wanda outside talking on the phone. You wave, but the tense smile she gives back makes you walk to her house instead of yours.

“Everything ok?” you ask as soon as she hangs up.

“Yeah, I had this thing but the nanny cancelled last minute”

“Oh, that sucks, I’m sorry” you look back to your place, and then your eyes meet hers. “Why don’t I take care of the twins for you?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to… you just got back from work, you’re probably tired”

“It was an easy shift, for once. Plus, I gather they don’t stay up too late, right?”

“No, it would only be two hours, three tops” she promises and you nod.

“It’s settled then, let me just take a shower real quick”

Wanda nods, her eyes raking over your body. She suddenly wished you’d go for runs more often, as you tend to wear really short shorts that show your toned legs.

“I can’t thank you enough” she says, going back to reality.

“Pancakes are always a good call” you wink, going across the street to your place. “Be right back!”

As you shower and change into more comfortable clothes, a part of you gets nervous over babysitting Billy and Tommy. Sure, you were good when you did your rounds in Peeds, but that didn’t mean anything compared to spending an evening making sure they were entertained enough.

Either way, you can’t back out now, so you cross the street, knocking on Wanda’s door. You’re taken aback by how beautiful she looks with a red skirt and red turtleneck sweater, knee high boots completing the outfit.

“You look amazing” you say, forcing yourself to look at her eyes, but it’s not any better, the make up enhancing her features and those striking green eyes.

“Thank you” she says shyly and you nod, not trusting yourself with your words. Wanda moves aside to let you in and you find Billy and Tommy in the living room.

“Hey, kiddos” you greet and they look at you excitedly.

“Hey, Y/N. Are you gonna hang with us?”

“Yeah, of course! We’ll have some fun” you ruffle Tommy’s hair, and inspect Billy’s cast. “Woah, someone has a lot of stickers”

“All of my classmates gave me one! I still have some space here, wanna pick one out?” the boy says, and you smile. Yeah, he moved on from the scared stage to being the cool kid with the broken arm at school.

“Of course, I’ll have to find some cool sticker in my collection” you promise.

Wanda leads you to the kitchen, showing you around. Your mouth waters at the smell of the pasta she made.

“I won’t be gone for long. They’re supposed to be in bed at 9 but I know they’ll get excited because you’re here so I’ll leave it up to you to decide”

“Alright. I’ll try my best to be the adult in the room”

“And remember…”

“No candy after 8” you repeat and Wanda chuckles.

“I can’t thank you enough, seriously” she says, walking towards the door.

“Not a problem”

The boys go say goodbye to their mom, and you think it’s adorable how they hug her and each give her a kiss on the cheek.

Wanda waves goodbye and you close the door, blushing as you appreciate one last time how amazing she looks in that outfit.

“So, what do the Maximoffs do for fun around here?”

“We watch movies or play videogames”

“Oh, like what? Crash, Spyro?” you say excitedly, because you love videogames and it’s been ages since you’ve played.

“What’s a Spyro?” Billy says, confused.

“What? Dude!”

“Dude!” the twins turn to each other, speaking at the same time. Oh, no.

“Damn it” you curse and they repeat that too. You cover your mouth with your hands, afraid of letting out another word that is way worse. “Alright, don’t speak like that. Only adults can say certain words”

“But Mom doesn’t speak that way either”

“That’s because she’s a very mature person. Come on, I’ll show you the best videogame ever”

While you wait for the game to download on their console, Tommy shows you around the house, Billy close behind.

“Can we have dinner before playing?”

“Sure” you nod, going back to the kitchen where you take plates, serving pasta and juice for the twins while you settle on a can of soda.

“Your mom is the best cook, I swear” you say with your mouth full, making the kids laugh. It’s been forever since you’ve had a homemade meal.

“Do you cook?”

“God, no. My talents are limited to medicine, Billy”

“So, do you eat hospital food?” Tommy says, grossed out and you laugh.

“We have a cafeteria and the food is ok, plus I forget to eat most of the time anyway. But seriously, your mom’s food is to die for. That’s just an expression, obviously”

“She made cookies. Can we have some?”

You look at the clock, and it’s almost 8.

“Alright, one for each”

The twins cheer, eating their pasta and asking you questions, most of them innocent, until…

“Why don’t you have kids?”

You choke on your drink, the boy blissfully unaware of how awkward you feel.

“Oh, well, Tommy… being a surgeon takes a long time. You have to go to school for a lot of years and then work at a hospital. So, there’s not a lot of time left to do other stuff”

Please don’t ask me how babies are made.

Thankfully, the questions stop once you give them a cookie, and they munch on them as you set up the game.

“He’s a dragon!” Billy says, amazed at the little purple creature prancing around the screen. They laugh when Sparks eats the butterflies and you can’t help the grin that’s on your face, remembering your childhood and how you used to spend your days playing.

“Your turn” you hand the control to Tommy, showing him the basic commands. Billy leans against you, asking some questions about the game.

You hold the control on the right side so he can push the buttons on the left once it’s his turn, enjoying the way they celebrate each time they get a chest full of diamonds.

The music of the game is very soothing, and after an hour playing, they’re both struggling to keep their eyes open. One glance at the clock tells you it’s 9:30, so the timing is perfect.

“Anyone tired?”

“No” Tommy lies.

“Really? I was thinking of trying out how strong I am, carrying both of you upstairs”

That makes them giddy and before they can run away, you carry them over your shoulders. The twins kick and scream, laughing as you go up the stairs.

“I’m so strong” you say as you reach the final step, trying to hide how out of breath you are.

“Now go down the stairs!"

“Uh, pass. Brush your teeth, come on” you say.

“Can we wait for mommy to be back?” Billy says before going inside the bathroom.

“Sure thing. Change into your PJs and we’ll read a story while we wait for her”

Of course, by the time they’re tucked in and you’re reading from the book Tommy choose, both boys are struggling to stay awake.

By 9:45 you leave their room quietly, closing the door behind you and going back to the first floor.

Your body is finally catching up to the exhaustion of the day, but you clean the kitchen and scroll through your phone, reading updates for patients and a text from Carol asking about your next shift.

Just when you’re about to answer her, the front door opens. At first, Wanda makes some noise, but upon seeing the quiet in the house, she closes the door softly, removing her boots.

“Hey” you say, leaning against the wall, hands on your pockets. “Had fun?”

“Uh, sorta” Wanda makes a face and you raise an eyebrow. “It was a blind date that went horribly wrong”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be” she walks up to you, and you appreciate how short she is, without the heels she’s always wearing. “The restaurant was awful, he was an ass, and I am never ever letting my coworkers set me up with someone again”

You laugh at that, shrugging your shoulders.

“That sucks, especially the part about the food”

“Yeah. I’ll just grab whatever from the fridge”

“Ok. The kids are asleep. We had dinner, played some games and they wanted to wait up for you but it was almost 10. I’ll... uh, leave you to it” you get distracted by the way Wanda bites on a strawberry, your eyes going to her lips.

“Oh, yeah, of course. You must be tired” she says and your mind must be playing you tricks because she sounds disappointed.

You make a face, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Sorry, I just… would you stay while I eat? It would be nice to have pleasant company while I pretend this date never happened”

“Sure. I can definitely have more of your pasta”

This time, Wanda pulls out a bottle of red wine, and you enjoy the taste of it along with the food she made. It feels like the fanciest meal you’ve had in ages, even if it’s just at your neighbours kitchen.

“What about you?” Wanda says between bites.

“What about me?”

“Do you date?” she says with a smile, sipping from her glass.

“No, not really. It’s hard to do it with my crazy work hours. And I’m not sure I’d date another surgeon”

“Why not?”

“Some of them are batshit crazy” you say, making Wanda laugh.

“Oh, this is the first time I’ve laughed this evening”

“Happy to be of service" you raise your glass. "I’m gonna be a doctor for a second and feed my curiosity. Who else has twins in your family?”

“Me”

“What?”

You’ve met her for two years and somehow, you never knew this?

“Yeah, I have a twin brother. He lives across the country” Wanda says.

“That sounds nice. Not the living away part, but having someone to grow up with” you say, thinking about your own childhood. Wanda waits for you to look up, and you explain yourself. “I was an only child, but then my mom remarried when I was eleven. She and her husband had more children but, I don’t know, I never felt part of it”

“Was it something they did?” Wanda says with a soft voice, her hand coming closer to yours.

“Uh, no. My mom’s really nice, and I’m sure she didn’t do anything on purpose… but of course you’ll turn your focus to your youngest children, that’s how it works. I try to be around but it doesn’t feel like I belong. So I’m better at the hospital, working the days away”

“I’m sorry”

“It’s fine, really. Maybe I’ll return her calls one of these days”

“Wow, now I feel special because you answer my texts” she jokes and you nod.

“You are special, Wanda”

The woman blushes, you biting your lip at the beautiful shade of red tinting her cheeks.

In spite of yourself, the alcohol relaxes you and you let out a yawn.

“Someone’s past their bed time”

“Yeah, yeah” you rub your eyes, standing up to wash the dishes.

“Let me” Wanda says, standing between you and the sink. For a moment, you consider pulling her closer and kissing her, but it’s probably the sleep depravation, or the alcohol making you delusional.

“Thanks, Wanda” you stay close, your eyes never leaving her face.

“Thank you, for taking care of them”

“Anytime” you nod, taking a step back before you act on your feelings.

“Text me when you’re home?” Wanda asks and you laugh.

“I live across the street”

“Yeah, but you had wine and you’re tired, one never knows in these cases”

“Fine” you linger on the threshold of the door, smiling as she looks at you. “Night, Wanda”

You wait until you’re home to pull out your phone, smiling as you type.

Y/N: Just got home. Traffic was horrible!

Wanda: Very funny.

Y/N: :)

Wanda: Night, Y/N

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One TwentyOne

The wig isn’t right, not really. More than a few seconds of close inspection gives it away, but in a small photograph, Steve figures they will get away with it. Joyce had wet it and then twisted it up into carefully pinned swirls that, in theory, means when they unravel it later it’ll be at least a little curly.

Eddie wears his hat to the hospital appointment, the wig resting on the back seat, “hops-itle,” he says, frowning.

“Hos,” Steve says slowly, “pital,” while driving them to his appointment. He’d given Eddie the option of waiting at home, knowing full well that Eddie wasn’t going to go for it. He didn’t, very insistent that they go together. At least today he let Steve choose his clothes; a belt was needed to hold the jeans up, but Eddie was happy enough in a polo and sweatshirt. He’s wearing Steve’s old parka in deference to the cold weather.

“Hostiple?”

Steve turns into the car lot, putting the car in park he points at the sign, “hos-pit-al.”

“Hos-pit-al.”

“That’s it baby.”

“Stee love, it won’t hurt?” He asks carefully.

“No,” they make it up to the front door, “but you can’t call me love here, okay?”

Eddie frowns spectacularly, “why?”

“I’ll explain later,” Steve says, he probably should have explained the they can’t be a public thing but it had genuinely only just occurred to him; Eddie was a fish before he was a man, after all, and that wasn’t much of a concern.

Steve talks to the lady at the front desk, going where he’s told to wait, taking a clipboard of paperwork to fill in, Eddie trailing along behind him.

Eddie nudges Steve when they sit, wrinkling his nose, “hos-pit-al nose hear bad.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “yeah, that’s hospitals for you. And it’s smell, noses smell, ears hear.”

Steve’s foot feels kind of itchy where the stitches were, but otherwise he feels pretty good. He has two small raised pink scars, and some funny tiny little holes from the stitches, but otherwise he’s good to go. He has continued instructions to keep it clean and watch for signs of infection. When he comes out from the appointment, Eddie is flicking through a magazine, so it gave Steve a moment to just look at him. Just a normal dude, sitting in a waiting room. It puts Steve’s heart in his throat a little, and he wonders vaguely if he will ever get used to it. Just Eddie, being a normal dude out in the world.

And then Eddie looks up, and he sees Steve, and he grins so big. So genuinely happy to see him, “good? Stitches out?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Lets go and get groceries.”

Steve parks in a corner away from the store, Eddie taking off his hat and letting Steve fix the wig as best he can. He thinks he lines it up pretty good, and then he undoes all the ties Joyce put in, fluffing the false curls up.

“Photo of Eddidie?”

“That’s right.”

“Same photo of kids?”

“Yeah, you got it.”

It’s nothing like Eddie’s real hair, but it’ll do for this.

Eddie sits in the booth, Steve lining him up and making sure his wig looks okay before he closes the curtain. They wait together after, the photos dropping out of the slot, Eddie looks at them, taking them and carefully putting them in his pocket for safekeeping.

Eddie’s head is on swivel in the store. Steve guesses everything is brightly colored, and there’s just so much of it if you’re not used to it. Steve chose this store because there’s a photo booth near the registers, but that means it’s also the biggest one nearby.

Steve wanders the aisles, getting all their usual things. Eddie still wants some pears, so he chooses a few loose ones for himself. He also chooses a can of soup for himself, clearly thrilled by all the variety, “Eddidie try?”

Eddie’s also keen to help unloading the groceries, and then carefully loads up the bags with Steve. He’s quiet in the store, Steve doesn’t know if he’s shy with all the strangers, or just a little overwhelmed.

“Stee, many dollars,” Eddie eyes their haul speculatively as Steve pays, “many work?”

Steve bags up their things, waiting until they’re leaving the store to tell Eddie, “I get three dollars an hour at work,” it’s a little more than that, but they haven’t covered cents yet, “less tax.”

Eddie trails after him, “Stee work four hours, grocery money today?”

Steve turns to look at Eddie, shocked that he’s worked that out, “yeah, yeah that’s exactly right! Well done!” Eddie beams.

“Called tax?”

“Oh boy,” Steve sighs, instantly regretting mentioning that, they get into the car while Steve thinks about how the hell to answer that one, watching as Eddie carefully clips on his belt. “Okay, so I get paid a wage and then-” Steve starts to say government but stalls out, no way is he opening that can of worms, “Hawkins. Hawkins the town,” Steve gestures widely, “takes a little bit of money to pay Hopper. Hopper keeps us all safe, so we all pay a little bit each. And it pays for...the trash guys. To come and take away the trash. It pays for...the roads, so we can drive cars. It pays for that stuff, yeah?” Steve has absolutely no clue how accurate he’s being, but it seems the simplest way to explain things.

Eddie nods, “yeah.”

There’s a gang of reprobates waiting at Steve’s door when he pulls into the drive, “kids,” Eddie informs him stoically.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “the peace and quiet couldn’t last forever,” the blow is softened slightly by the fact that Robin’s with them.

“Called forever?”

“All tomorrows,” Steve answers absently, putting the car in park.

Dustin’s got a massive book tucked under his arm, so Steve already knows whatevers about to happen isn’t going to be enjoyable. Steve grabs two bags of groceries off the back seat, Eddie grabs the other and his discarded wig.

“Here,” Steve cocks a hip out to Robin, “house keys in the pocket,” Robin grabs them, getting the door open for everyone to go in.

They all pile into the kitchen, the kids throwing themselves down on chairs at the kitchen table while Robin gets a coffee going and Steve and Eddie work together to pack away the groceries.

“We didn’t want to leave you to pick a name-”

Steve opens his mouth to protest, but doesn’t get far before Robin cuts him off, “you can’t have Harrington. It’s too suspicious. What are you going to say, that he’s a secret love child? A long lost cousin? Believe it or not but some sort of exchange student is way more believable.”

“Fine,” Steve sighs. He guesses it does make sense, “Eddie likes his sweet and milky.”

“On it.”

“So do you have any ideas?” Dustin asks, opening his book.

“Something not shit,” Mike adds.

“Really fucking helpful there Mike, thank you,” Steve snips, “I was trying to stay, you know, on theme. He’s named after Eddie Fisher, you know, the singer.”

Robin hums, “you want to stay on the mermaid bandwagon?”

“Well I’m certainly not letting you call him Eddie Smith or Jones or some shit like that, right baby?”

Eddie perches at the breakfast bar, a safe distance from the kids, “Eddidie called Eddidie.”

“Yeah, but you need another name. I’m Steve Harrington, Birdie is Robin Buckley, understand?”

Eddie nods.

“So what, you want to name him like, Eddie Waves, or Eddie Beach, or Eddie...Fishscales, or something?” Max asks, “because just so you know, they’re all shit.”

“Yeap, yeah thanks for that Max. But yeah...something...something good, you know? Something to do with water...like...tides or...rain or storms or something, something cool?”

“Eddie Hurricane,” Lucas snickers.

“I mean...no, but it is kind of cool,” Steve replies, “What do you think, Eddie Hurricane?”

Eddie frowns a little, shaking his head, “Eddidie Madison?”

Steve can’t help his smile, “yeah?”

“Madison?” Robin asks.

“It’s the name of the mermaid from ‘Splash,’” Steve explains.

Robin snorts a laugh, “what about Monsoon?”

“Not really a name though, right?”

“You could drop an ‘o’,” Dustin suggests, finally pulling his nose out of the book long enough to pipe up, “lots of names end in ‘son’.”

“Monson? Really?” Steve pulls a face.

“Hang on, I’ll look it up,” Dustin flicks through his book, and Steve suddenly understands what it is and why he has it. Of course there’s a book of names, and of course Dustin has it. He probably got it from the library, itching to do this. The giant nerd. “The surname Monson is derived from the Scandinavian personal name Magnus-” he reads

Robin cuts him off, “amazing, fits with the exchange student story.”

Dustin scowls at her before carrying on, “this name was bourne by several kings of Norway, the first of whom was Magnus the good...He was named after Charlemagne, whose name was rendered Carolus Magnus in Latin. Okay, that’s kind of cool. He’d kind of be named after Charlemagne.”

“That is kind of cool Steve.”

Steve doesn’t want to ask who the fuck Charlemagne is, simply because he knows they’ll explain it to him and he really doesn’t care, “Monson? You really think Eddie Monson?”

“Eddidie Monson,” Eddie says, nodding, “hear small tell different Madison.”

“Eddie! That was so good!”

“You like that baby?” He’s interrupted by Mike making gagging noises, which Steve chooses to ignore, “it does sound kind of like Madison.” Eddie nods in answer, sipping his coffee.

“Steve, I can’t believe how quick he’s picking this up that was like...a full sentence.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles at Eddie, and Eddie smiles back, “he’s really, really smart.”

“Really smart,” Eddie parrots back.

Later, when they’re saying good bye at the door, Nancy waiting to pick them all up, Robin is the last to leave, “I can’t sell him on the family emergency much longer Steve. As it is he thinks you are pulling a fast one and you just wanted to take the week off over Christmas.”

Steve sighs, “yeah, yeah that’s fair, I-I’ll call in tomorrow, come back to work.”

“I promise I’ll get us on the same shifts, at least some times. I’ll tell him you’re fragile and I’m your emotional support.”

Steve sorts, “sure. That’ll absolutely work.”

Steve sighs in the silence left behind when he closes the door. Maybe having all those days alone by the pool have eroded his ability to put up with people. Or maybe it’s just the kids. Or maybe he just want to be alone with Eddie, who knows.

Almost like they sensed his peace and quiet, the phone starts to ring.

Steve huffs, then turns in time to see Eddie creeping closer to the phone, he picks it up cautiously as Steve watches, saying, “hello,” into the receiver. Eddie smiles after a moment, “hello Joyce.”

Oh good, Steve thinks, letting it go, they can talk, that’s fine, he doesn’t need to intervene. He watches Eddie frowning, and then he says, “yes. Will go out in car. Nancy drive. Little before.” He listens for a little while longer then visibly perks up, the bobble on his hat rocking, and says, “dinner food? Eddidie and Stee?”

Steve slides closer, leaning against the wall, as Eddie says, “wait there,” to Joyce and turns to Steve, “Joyce in-vite,” he says carefully, “Stee and Eddidie to dinner. Food. New. Years. Day. First January. Five and half,” Eddie relays everything carefully.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, “yeah we can go.”

Eddie grins, “Joyce, Stee tell yeah, we can go. Thank you Joyce.” He’s frowning again then, “pie?” obviously parsing what Joyce is saying to him, and then he finally says, “pear. Banana.”

Eddie had recently tried a banana and quite enjoyed it, Steve smiles at the thought of Joyce letting Eddie choose the desserts. They say goodbye and then Eddie informs Steve, “food same Christmas food. After, dessert, banana cream pie and pear pecan tart,” Eddie tells Steve, slow but sure as he sounds out the new words.

“That sounds great, make sure you put it on your calendar,” Steve had taken down a picture in the hall, using the hook to hang Eddie’s calendar from a bit of string, and Steve stands and spells out the words while Eddie carefully writes in their dinner invitation.

Party TwentyThree

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 35

Part 1 Part 34

The shower Eddie finally takes, after over a week of rotting in Steve’s clothes, should be a relief. His head is no longer itchy. He washes the ash out of his eyes, and Steve’s blood out from beneath his nails. Replaces grime with the smell of the clinical nothingness that is the toiletries the hospital provided.

His breath no longer feels like it’s wilting the air around him after he brushes his teeth. The scrubs he changes into are stiff, but clean and dry.

It should be a relief. But, Steve is out of his sight, quiet and small in his hospital bed.

Wayne will keep him safe, he knows. But who will hold his hand if he wakes up again, delirious? Who will sooth him back to sleep?

He hurries the whole process, bangs plastered to his forehead, hair dripping down the back of his borrowed scrub top.

When he rushes out of the bathroom and into Steve’s hospital room, Wayne’s closer to Steve’s bed then he was when he left him, hand clasping Steve’s own, and staring down at him with a look on his face that Eddie’s only ever seen directed at him before. 

It’s just like when Eddie’d kicked the hole in the plaster of the trailer. Or when Wayne had been called in by Hopper after one infraction or another. Or when he comes home after a session of Hellfire, and regales his uncle with the beat-by-beat replay of the action. 

Like fondness and exasperation are warring for space in the purse of his mouth.

“What happened?” Eddie asks. The linolium is cold on his bare feet as he walks over to retake his own seat at Wayne’s side. 

“Your boy woke up just long enough to ask how you were and then pass back out,” he says, glancing at Eddie, eyes twinkling.

“Did he seem–” Eddie starts, looking down at Steve’s relaxed face. “Is he okay?”

The doctors won’t tell them anything. They’re not his emergency contacts, not family. No one seems to care that no one’s been able to contact the Harrington’s for the two days Steve’s been rotting away in the hospital, alone, save for them. Eddie’s mind drifts back to the way Steve had hid so instinctually in his closet, like he needed a safe place in what should have already been safe, and wants to wring their skinny necks. 

Wayne gently maneuvers his hand out from beneath Steve’s own. Steve’s fingers curl into a loose fist, grasping at air, like he’s seeking the warmth of Wayne’s skin even in his sleep. Wayne sits back in his seat, crossing his ankles as he settles with a sigh.

“He’ll be just fine,” Wayne says, turning in his chair to try to catch Eddie’s eyes. “That boy cares about you.”

He says it like it’s a revelation, but Eddie’s not surprised. He can feel it in the tug at his sternum. The way Steve’s eyes had looked through Eddie’s tears as he’d pressed his forehead to his. Like recognizes like.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “He does.”

The Eddie of two weeks ago would’ve been standing on a table top about it. Saying jocks are a monolith, and Steve is the most jock of them all. He would’ve rioted about King Steve Harrington and his corrupt court of lackeys trying to buy his way into Eddie’s good books. For drugs. Or clout. Or something fucking stupid. Eddie would’ve raged against the machine, a riot in the making. 

But that’s not his Steve. Maybe it was never Steve at all. Things look different from up close, and their lunch tables were always so far away. 

Will Steve sit with him at lunch? He doesn’t look much like Steve the Hair Harrington anymore. His hairs been shaved down to the quick. They’d had to, just to get to the wound trailing up Steve’s forehead and into his hair. He can’t imagine this Steve, hurt and small, sitting with the jocks, throwing fries at Tommy Hagan. 

The thought of school after all of this is like hives crawling up his spine. They’d died, risen back up again to end up back at fucking high school. 

“I want to go home,” Eddie says. But he means his trailer a week and a half ago, before he was split into thirds. Before Steve Harrington and Will Byers. Before.

“You can,” Wayne says, scooting over in his chair so he can wrap his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, dragging him uncomfortably over the arm rest for a pseudo hug.

Eddie looks down at Steve’s sleeping face, wonders when home stopped just being a trailer and Uncle Wayne. Things change so fast when you’re running.

It’s a long night.

Eddie sleeps uncomfortably, propped up in his chair. Wayne drapes a scratchy blanket over him on his way out the door, off to work. 

His dreams are full of shadows spilling out of the ground. Chasing him, and he’s always running but never getting anywhere. Of Steve’s back and Steve’s blood and Steve’s vacant eyes. 

He wakes up to fingers combing through his hair, head pillowed on Steve’s hospital bed, blanket slipped off and onto the floor. It’s dark. One of the nurses must have turned off the lights.

The first day Eddie’d refused to leave, they’d given him his own oxygen mask and deluge of tests, propped up in his seat with Will similarly chained to his side. The second day, they’d tried to get him to go home, get out of the way. 

They’d stopped trying to kick him out the day before. 

The fingers move through his hair, pulling at the knots Eddie hadn’t bothered to comb out. Uncle Wayne must be back from his shift. Or maybe, it’s Mama Byers again, checking up on him again, as if she owes him anything at all.

“Hey.”

His heart ba-thump, ba-thump, tugs. He turns his head, smooshing it into the rough sheets to look up at the head of the bed. Steve’s eyes are open. He smiles hazily down at Eddie, uncoordinatedly petting at his head.

Eddie’s lungs heave, trying to vacate his body all together with the pressure of their seizing. He sobs, raising his hand to trail up across Steve’s cheek, impossibly soft after everything. “You’re such a fucking prick,” he says, heat lost in the way he’s blubbering into the sheets.

Steve smiles, like he’s never seen anything as great as Eddie Munson making a mess of himself at his bedside. It’s probably the morphine. “I know.”

“I dared you to stay alive,” Eddie says. “And then you just–”

He’s choking, too much to finish, like Steve’s not breathing in front of him again, or bleeding out in front of him. Steve’s always dying, and Eddie’s always crying about it. 

“I did,” Steve says, still petting his head. It hurts a little. Eddie’s hair’s a mess of tangled curls atop his head. He never wants Steve to stop touching him. “I said I’d come home.”

Eddie cries. He’s not a cryer, but something’s flipped in him, making him weepy. Like the expectation of grief unrealized keeps bubbling up his throat and bleeding out his eyes. Steve Harrington, his own living ghost, smiles down at him. 

“I’m so tired,” Eddie says. It’s a whine, the consonants drawn out and wet at the edges. 

Steve’s still smiling, dopey and tired and perfect. He pats the spot next to him. “Come here.”

It’s a bad idea. Steve’s hurt. But Eddie’s so weak. The thing in his ribs tugs. Eddie follows it.

He crawls under Steve’s shitty hospital bedding, tucking his wet face into Steve’s neck, arm slung carefully over his chest. “You’ll still be alive when I wake up?” Eddie asks, trying to make it a joke. As if Steve’s lifeless eyes aren’t still looking at him from dreamland.

“Promise,” Steve says.

It feels like Steve’s lips on his forehead, quick and fleeting. In the wee hours of the morning, Eddie and Steve fall asleep.

Part 36

[azzibuckets]

For the Love of the Game [Pazzi | Part 9/10]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: reconciliation isn’t as easy as it seems

word count: 1.9k

masterlist w/ all parts

1 WEEK LATER

When Paige woke up, her first thought was Azzi. Not about the fight, or the fact that they haven’t spoken to each other since.

Instead, the first image that popped into her mind was when they’d first touched intimately, when their dynamic had become for themselves instead of for the public. Paige had been complaining about something stupid, rambling on and on, missing how Azzi was fondly looking at her. She’d flopped down on the couch in exasperation, aiming for her head to hit the pillow next to Azzi’s leg, but had ended up falling on her lap. Paige had laughed and gotten up to move, but Azzi had stopped her, had gently held her chin in her hand. They’d looked at each other, and Azzi had gently, hesitantly, snaked her hand in Paige’s hair, lightly running her fingers through her soft strands. They stared wordlessly at each other, Azzi’s eyes holding a silent question of Is this okay? In response, Paige had nestled her chin into Azzi’s shirt and her eyes had fluttered close. And that was Paige and Azzi started to feel like Paige and Azzi.

Paige relived the memory in her head, and she swore that she could almost feel the sensation of Azzi’s soothing touch grazing her hair. But when she opened her eyes, Azzi wasn’t there, and her heart broke into a million pieces yet again.

Paige didn’t know why she’d let her hopes up. Despite having told Azzi herself not to bother coming to her surgery, some small part of her had hoped and prayed that Azzi had actually loved her, loved her enough to disregard her words and come running as soon as Paige woke up. That she’d be here, with a bouquet of silly little flowers with her silly little stuffed animals, begging for forgiveness and asking Paige to be her girlfriend, for real this time.

But she wasn’t, and Paige bitterly thought about how ironic it was that she’d just gotten surgery but still felt so broken.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” Seemingly out of nowhere, a very excited KK came sprinting in through the door.

Paige pressed her hand to her head. “What? What are you doing here?”

“To visit you, duh,” KK beamed.

“You do know I just woke up?”

“And we just got here! Perfect timing. The rest of the team is on their way, but I got way too excited so I ran up the stairs.” Paige took a hard look at KK, just now observing how hard the girl was panting and the light sheen of sweat gleaming on her skin. Despite the ache in her heart, she couldn’t help but laugh at how sweet KK was.

“You didn’t have to run all the way here,” Paige sat up, pulling the younger girl in for a hug. “I’m not going anywhere, if you couldn’t already tell.”

The rest of the girls came filing in, all holding get well cards and bright pink balloons. Paige looked among the faces, trying not to make it obvious that she was searching for a specific one, but the disappointment from not seeing the one person she wanted most must’ve shown clear on her face, because Nika nudged her and said, “Relax, lover girl. She said she’s running a bit late, but she’s coming.”

At that, Paige’s heart rate increased by ten fold. Her mind raced - what would Azzi say? What would she say? There was no way the other girls wouldn’t be able to pick up on the tension between them. But before she could figure something out, Azzi came walking in the door, chatting and laughing with Geno.

“Paige!” Geno walked over to her, thumping her on the shoulder. “How’s your leg feeling?”

“It’s alright. I just woke up, so I’m still feeling the painkillers,” Paige responded. She was looking at Geno, but every cell in her body buzzed as she felt Azzi’s eyes burning into the side of her face.

“Hey, P, we heard the hospital gowns are kinda uncomfy, so we brought you a change of clothes.” Aaliyah raised up a duffel bag.

Paige sent them an appreciative smile. Her gown had been getting kind of itchy. “You guys are two sweet. Can one of you come help me change?” She said without thinking, starting to get off the bed. When the room fell silent, her heart sunk when she looked up and saw everyone staring at Azzi. She kicked herself. Of course everyone would expect Azzi to help her; after all, they were technically still “dating.” She should’ve just waited to change until they’d all left.

Azzi, who’d been purposefully looking at everything and everyone except Paige, startled. “Oh yeah,” she muttered. She rushed over to Paige, grabbing her elbow.

Once inside the bathroom, the tension between them was palpable, pricking them like a knife. They stared at each other for a moment, before Paige gestured to the duffel bag. “I should probably…”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Azzi stammered, turning around to give Paige some privacy. She heard shuffling as Paige changed, until there was a pause.

“I need help with my pants.”

Azzi exhaled shakily. During her past few weeks of visiting Paige almost every day they’d made out and cuddled, but they’d never gone further. She’d imagined seeing Paige naked before, and something in her throbbed at the idea, but this was not the way she wanted it to happen. Sitting in a stark hospital bathroom that smelled like bleach, with Paige staring daggers into her.

She turned around, and the blonde was sitting on the chair, in a sports bra and in her underwear. Seriously? She couldn’t have put on a shirt? Azzi thought. But when Paige leaned forward and her abs flexed, she realized she didn’t mind that much after all.

Azzi bent down, grabbing the sweatpants and slowly sliding them over Paige’s feet, up her calves. She tried to ignore how good Paige looked, sitting there, her legs all long and tan and slightly spread apart. Azzi made sure to be extra gentle around the bandaged part of Paige’s left knee. But when her hand brushed Paige’s thigh, momentarily feeling the smooth muscle, the blonde let out a little breath, and Azzi looked up. Paige’s eyes were hooded, and her tongue slowly ran over her bottom lip. Azzi flushed.

“Up.” Paige lifted herself at Azzi’s command, and the younger girl brought the sweatpants up over Paige’s hips. She immediately went to tie the drawstrings, despite knowing that Paige’s hands worked perfectly fine.

“Paige.” The blonde stiffened at hearing her name come out of Azzi’s mouth, but Azzi continued working on the drawstrings without looking up.

“Can we talk?”

“Our whole team is outside, waiting for us. I don’t think now’s a good time,” Paige replied bluntly, but her tone implied that there would never be a good time.

“Last week, you misunderstood me-”

“Azzi.” Paige’s voice was sharp, and she inwardly winced at how harsh she sounded. “I said I don’t wanna talk about it.” She pushed Azzi’s hands away from her pants and undid the knot the younger girl had just tied. “It’s too tight.”

Azzi’s hands retreated to her side. She bit her lip. “I know you’re hurting, but-,”

“I just got out of my ACL surgery and you won’t stop fucking nagging me,” Paige sniped. “Besides, you don’t have to come here and pretend like you care about me.” She looked away. “I know Geno made all of you come.”

“I’m not pretending.” Paige could almost cry at how soft Azzi’s voice came out. “I do care about you.”

Paige tried to move past Azzi to the door, but Azzi shifted. The blonde huffed, anger clawing at her throat. “Please just move, Fudd.”

“No.” Azzi crossed her arms. “You wanna hear the truth, Paige?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “You’re trapping me in here, so I don’t really have a choice.”

Ignoring her comment, Azzi forged on. “It’s so unfair for you to say that I don’t care about you. I took your stupid grocery lists and went to Target almost every goddamn day just so I could come by your apartment and see you again. I made you cookies and hot chocolate on days you were struggling especially hard. I took notes on my phone during practice so I could give you as detailed updates about the team as possible, because I knew you felt left out and that was the closest thing that you would get to feeling normal again. I did all of that for you, and you have the audacity to assume that this was all for show?” With every word she’d said, Azzi had stepped closer to Paige, until their chests touched and they’d stood, eye to eye, snarls on both of their faces.

“You said you were straight.” Paige jabbed a finger in her chest. “You. Said. You. Were. Straight.” Azzi finally took a hesitant step back, but Paige followed. “Do you know how confusing it is for me for you to say we’re fake dating, and for you to say you’re straight, but for you to come in my apartment every day and kiss me until my head spun?”

“You’re acting like you didn’t kiss me back. You’re acting like you didn’t kiss me first half the time!” Azzi accused.

“That doesn’t fucking matter!” Paige whisper yelled, hoping the team wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation from outside. The pain inside her head was piercing now, and she felt like her skull was splitting. “Are you straight or are you not? Because right now it feels like you’re leading me on, and you coming in here and telling me that you care about me isn’t helping me try and get my hopes down.”

Azzi’s arms fell to her side in defeat. “I don’t know, Paige. It’s as confusing for me as it is for you. I’ve been trying to figure myself out lately, but it’s not as easy as you’re making it sound like.”

Paige’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, so you’re fighting with me to try and make me see that you care about me. But you don’t even know if you actually like me?”

“No!” Azzi stuttered, trying to find the right words to say. “I do like being around you, Paige. You’re funny and you’re sweet and even though I try not to, I think about you all the time. But you have to understand that my whole life I’ve thought I’ve been into men, and suddenly you come along. We weren’t even supposed to actually start liking each other, for god’s sake. We were supposed to stay enemies.”

But Paige was too hurt. All she could understand was that Azzi couldn’t say that she wanted her in the same way she wanted Azzi, and if her heart ached before, it was shattered now. “I’m not your play toy for figuring out your sexuality,” she said, her voice broken. “I don’t get it. It’s simple. You want to actually date me, or you don’t. Why can’t you just listen to what your feelings are telling you?”

“I’m not like you, Paige.” Azzi’s eyes flared, fire burning in her pupils. “I can’t just disregard everything else and focus on my emotions. I’m logical. I’m a thinker.”

“Okay, wow.” Paige’s eyes flashed with hurt. “So now I’m emotional and immature.”

Azzi closed her eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You know what?” Paige quickly wiped her eyes, praying that they would stay dry. “I think we were better off before. When we never agreed to this stupid thing.”

“Paige, what are you saying?” Azzi’s bottom lip trembled, and it took everything in Paige not to take back everything she said and just reach over and hold her.

“Once Leo’s assignment is done, it’s over. And in the meantime, everything we do is only in public. So you won’t be needing my keys any more.” Every word Paige said hurtled through her mind, piercing her chest and violently digging into her heart, calling her a traitor, because god, she didn’t mean any of it. It felt like a hazy blur, Azzi reaching into her pocket and dropping a single key into Paige’s open palm. Paige wrapped her fingers around the cold metal, wishing things wouldn’t have to be so complicated. That Azzi could just see what they had and give all of herself to Paige like Paige was willing to do for Azzi.

Paige stuffed the key into her pocket and sidestepped Azzi. In her eagerness to leave the increasingly claustrophobic bathroom, she stumbled, forgetting that she couldn’t put weight on her left leg. Azzi reached for her but Paige recoiled. “I don’t need your help,” she snapped. “Not now, not ever.”

The injured look in Azzi’s eyes after would haunt her dreams for weeks.

[ferrstappen]

world champion/twins dad l Max Verstappen x reader

love note: HELLO LOVIESSSS! How are you all? it's been such a long time and for that I am so deeply sorry. To be honest it's not that I don't want to write because I've been dying to but for some reason inspiration just doesn't seem to come, but this request made me weak and awakened my mind a bit so I hope you enjoy it <3

i do feel up for little blurbs or scenarios if you want to come to my ask box and we can daydream endlessly <3

summary: the tragic chains of events before Luca Verstappen started feeling terrible. (dad!Max)

Mila & Luca Verstappen, age 6. Zandvoort.

Max warned Luca about the incoming rain the moment he noticed him shrugging off the official Red Bull rain jacket, favoring the tailored track jacket from the Dutch GP collection with his last name and dad’s number on the back, but of course his carbon copy complained, retaliating with things he learned in school, usually when it rains there’s clouds and it’s cold, and right now Luca Verstappen was seeing with his own two blue eyes the sun shining outside.

He repeated the same explanation when you told him he needed to wear his jacket.

“Your dad lived here, he knows the weather. Listen to him and out on the jacket,” you dictated before fixing Mila’s hair under her special Dutch GP cap.

Max shrugged before facing Luca, “You listened to mama, jacket it is! And I can’t be late so hurry up,” Luca huffed while grabbing and putting on the Red Bull jacket.

It seemed as if everyone was waiting for Max’s arrival to the track because the flashes were blinding, the tens listening to their papa when he told them to cover their faces. Knowing you wouldn’t be seeing much of Max today and taking advantage on the twins covered eyes you decided to leave a kiss on his lips, whispering congratulations on his full lips.

You grabbed the twins hands as Max made sure the cap covered most of Mila’s face and only showed part of her curls, but of course Luca still wasn’t convinced with the jacket.

“Papa, it itches,” Luca complained and you could still listen to the flashes and screams of your family surname.

“It’s a rain jacket, Luca. It’s not it itchy, and I am not requesting you to put it on, I am telling you to do it or I am going to do it,” Max never needed to change his voice or posture when reprimanding the kids, but usually his choice of words were enough to command the twins to comply.

That’s how you ended up in the Red Bull hospitality, with Luca running his hands through his hair after taking off the infamous jacket and letting the smell of caramel fill his nostrils.

Soon enough, stroopwafels were being served to the attendees, and especially everyone offering one to the Verstappen twins walking hand in hand, always supervised by you, or their grandmother, or their great grandmother.

"Mila, you can't say no to a stroopwafel," Luca told his sister showing off his dutch, especially since their Oma and super Oma were limiting English while in Holland.

"I am full so I am not accepting more food, Luca," Mila informed his brother as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"If you don't want them, give them to me,"

That was the first thing that went wrong.

The second one was when everybody was focused on the final laps before the red flag, your eyes glued to the screen and ears fully focused on Max’s radio. The perfect moment for Luca to take off the obnoxious jacket.

Thats when everything went wrong.

Max and you were woken up at the same time; head pounding from the celebrations and clothes thrown somewhere on the floor, but it didn't stop you from hearing your son crying while throwing up, waking his sister up in the process.

"Sweetheart, get dressed oh my God," Max said throwing you one of his shirts as he put on his discarded boxers before making your way to the twins bathroom.

You stayed with Mila, calming her down and assuring her nothing was wrong and his brother probably ate something and his body was reacting, while closely listening to Max comforting Luca trying to assure him he was going to feel better eventually.

You thought that was it, but of course it wasn't, because now neither you nor Max were sure of the headache was because of the adrenaline, the drinks or the lack of sleep from Luca's constant vomiting.

Gross.

But that was how you learned that it wasn't just the stroopwafels. The small version of Max Verstappen had a severe case of sweet tooth and didn't deny himself the flavors from his country with fresh poffertjes, a couple of pannenkoeken with sweet toppings, were on the top of Mila's head as you tried to understand how a six year old managed to fit so much food on his stomach.

Then came the fever and the dull pain in his ears.

The first thing you managed was to go back to Monte Carlo, at least that way he’d be sick on his own room and own place, where the older and more tired Jim and Sass would fall asleep on the feet of his bed.

For some miracle, the twins had managed to fall asleep during the short flight, allowing you to snuggle into Max’s side, who pulled a thick blanket on top to cover both your bodies, resting his head on top of yours while he enjoyed the relaxed motion of your fingertips drawing shapes on his shoulder.

“Max?” You softly pronounced his name, he softly groaned in acknowledgement. “When did we decide to have children?” You asked and Max laughed with his eyes closed.

He opened his blue eyes and left a kiss on you lips before he started falling asleep again, mumbling that maybe you two weren’t the best with decision making.

“Do you think we should leave M with the sitter and bring Luca to the ER?” Max questioned, this time it wasn’t your playful husband, it was the worried dad, the one who decided to leave his home celebrations, enjoying being the home hero with his entire family, the well deserved late nights partying after equaling Sebastian’s record.

“I’ll call the doctor but don’t worry, you have a couple of days to rest before Monza, and we weren’t even supposed to come back home so just enjoy the quiet days,” you kissed his temple. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to Holland? You know I’ll manage with the kids,”

“Don’t even say that again, i’m sorry I didn’t keep an eye on him, he didn’t listen to me and didn’t use the fucking jacket and then ate his entire weight on sugar,” Max sounded truly disappointed in himself.

“Are you going to make me tell you that you were working and barely had a moment to take a breath? Don’t be stupid, honey,” you said and Max smiled.

“I love it when you tell me off but call me honey,” He dedicated you his best sleepy smile.

A car was waiting for you in Nice to take you home, Max getting ahead of you and calling the twins doctor, and of course as soon as he saw the pale looks of the usually flushed Luca, his droopy eyes and constant shivering, he gave him some medication and gave the very stern order: no flying for Luca Verstappen until his ear infection was gone, meaning the plans for your family to go to Monza were postponed until further notice.

Little did you know that Mila was already plotting the tears to attend Monza, regardless of his brother’s illness.

[willowworkswithwords]

Eddie looks at the empty fridge. Then his laundry. Back to the fridge.

Eddie’s brain’s been swimming in fog all night. The bites have been itchy, the nightmares had kept him up until he’d not bothered trying to sleep at all, and he feels like he’s gonna cry and for what. Just a basket of laundry and a near empty fridge.

It dawns on him that Wayne hasn’t left the factory yet, that Eddie could call him and ask him to get groceries on his way home. But Wayne’ been working longer shifts for a couple months now, to make up for the time he spent with Eddie in the hospital those first two weeks when no one was sure what was going to happen. Eddie’s been trying to do things on his own when Wayne isn’t there, to let him help when he is, to balance physical recovery and mental trauma and school and the bills sitting on the kitchen table.

Eddie won’t call Wayne.

He looks at the phone on the wall, weighs the pros and cons, tries to imagine himself getting into his van and driving all the way to the laundromat and then the grocery store by himself and already feels tired by it.

“Hello?”

“Hey Steve, it’s me.”

“Eddie, you ok?”

Eddie wraps the phone cord around his finger, grimacing at the worry he can practically see emanating from Steve.

“Yeah man, I’m uh, I’m like, fine? But could you help me do some, some errands?”

Eddie holds his breath, pulls the cord tight around his pinky finger.

“I’m on my way, Eddie. See you soon.”

And that’s that. Eddie hangs up, sliding his fingers from the cord and sits down on the couch, knee bouncing, until he hears the Beemer roll up onto the gravel drive. Steve let’s himself in and Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat when he realizes he’s left the door open this whole time and anything could have happened and—

“Hey Eddie,” Steve says, sliding onto the couch right next to Eddie, knee bumping bouncing knee.

“Hey.”

Steve presses his hand, just for a second, to Eddie’s knee. Eddie stills his knees but pulls a lock of hair into his mouth, can’t stop himself from doing it even as the voice that’s always in his head tells him to just stop.

Steve squeezes, then lets go. He stares at Eddie for a second more, then smiles softly and grabs the basket of laundry.

“Ok man, let’s go.”

“Can we, uh, run to the grocery store too?”

“Sure. Anywhere else?”

“No,” Eddie starts to lever himself up off the couch. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve is already at the door, holding it open for Eddie as he props the basket up against his hip.

“No problem, man.”

His smile is soft, and Eddie feels his own lips curl up and knows Steve can see his eyes crinkle.

The early dawn of the morning is beautiful, promising. Eddie feels the anxiety of the night still gripping onto him, but it’s moved from his chest to his legs, which is better but still not best. Steve doesn’t try to make conversation as he sets the Beemer in motion, letting Eddie watch the passing trees to the tune of Tears for Fears. Maybe it’s because Eddie doesn’t even reach for the dial that Steve keeps quiet, or maybe it’s the gentle morning still making its way over the horizon, still burning off the last dredges of sleep.

Glancing at Steve, Eddie doesn’t think he got much sleep either.

The laundromat is on Eddie’s side of town, close enough to downtown that they’ll probably just walk to get groceries once the clothes are in the dryer. There’s no one else there, though a machine is running in the corner. Steve starts setting up the machine immediately, and Eddie suppresses his surprise behind a lock of hair. He wouldn’t have thought that Steve would know how to work the machine but wonders never cease. It lets Eddie sit down gingerly on chair by the window.

The restlessness in his legs has turned into an ache. Steve glances at him as he put the clothes in, separating lights and darks into two different machines. Eddie starts to push his hand into his pocket for change, but Steve, facing away from him, not even realizing, takes nickels and dime from his own pocket and pops them into both machines, setting them running.

“Here, I grabbed this for you,” Steve says, book in hand. It’s an old, tattered copy of a collection of science fiction Wayne had given him. It’d been sitting next to him on the couch, Eddie realized, and he takes it from Steve’s outstretched hand with a grin he can’t help.

“Thanks, Steve-o.”

Steve’s own grin breaks out. He pulls out his own book, which was in his back pocket, for whatever reason, and Eddie tries (and fails) to hold back the look of utter confusion that crosses his face. He swears Steve did that on purpose.

“Anytime, Ed.”

They sit in the loud-quiet, the clunking machine and soft sound of each other’s breaths, and for a little while, they just are.

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 4/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader (18+)

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3.

You're a reluctant psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Welcome to the point of no return.)

Word count: 4147

NOTE: I have made an executive decision. The reader has a vagina. In other news, this chapter is explicit.

The fic is now 18+ (but why are you reading a saw fic if you're under 18...?) If you don't like smut uhhh idk skip through this one, I guess. Sorry!

WARNINGS: Explicit sex, degradation (minor), manipulation, corruption, stockholm syndrome, general saw levels of horror.

When you wake up again, you do so suddenly, with a gasp. It's like you're taking your first deep breath of fresh air after being trapped underwater.

"You're awake!" Kerry says with a gasp of her own, the sound of her voice coming from the right of where you're lying. Cushioned in blankets and bandages, you feel a little restrained, and have to fight the desire to rip yourself out of bed.

It takes another moment for your awareness to fully kick in. The world remains dark. Your ability to see is simply gone, snuffed out like a candle.

Instead, you can feel. You can tell Kerry is there, to your right, but also that Mark Hoffman is sitting somewhere off to your left. You feel his presence like a beacon- roiling aggression under a composed front, with a deep sense of pride. His concern is sharper than a knife point.

But is it concern for you, or concern for what you might say, now that you've woken up?

Stretching out from your point of origin, you can feel pinpricks of presence, almost overwhelming in number. Fleeting emotions of loss, panic, sorrow, hope, and anger flit past you, but you're able to keep your distance from them, without getting sucked in to the whirlpool of other people's feelings.

That's new.

"Hey Ally," you croak, your voice hoarse, "How about that, huh? Looks like I made it onto Jigsaw's radar."

You feel Kerry's guilt before she speaks, pouring out of her. Gently, she reaches forward and takes your right hand into hers. My fault, my only friend, first Eric and now this. And I wasn't even the first to notice-

"Um, where's Prawn?" You ask, touching your wrist gingerly with your free hand. It's itchy, and you can feel thick gauze wrapped around your wounds. By the smell of disinfectant and the sound of distant beeping, you're fairly certain you're in a hospital bed.

"He's fine," Kerry says, her voice wavering and watery, "I've been watching him. He's been worried sick, you know."

"I guess that makes three people, at least," you say, nodding your head over toward you guess Mark Hoffman is sitting. Off in that direction, you hear the rustle of clothing, like someone is sitting up.

"You can see me?" You hear him ask, groggy and confused.

"No," You reply softly, "Lucky guess."

"There was no tape left behind," Kerry murmurs, brushing her thumb over your knuckles, "We don't know why you were taken. Usually, there's a tape. Were there any instructions left for you? Any clues that you can remember?"

"Christ Kerry, they've just woken up," Mark mutters. With a creek of his chair, you hear him stand, and then a slow sound of heavy footsteps indicate to you that he's walking over to your bedside.

He's been sleeping by your bed, you note. Probably because he's worried you're going to break down and tell Kerry- Mark Hoffman is working with Jigsaw and he burned out my fucking eyes!

"You know how he likes to play with the detectives hunting him, Ally," You say instead, dodging the question about the tape. You have no idea how to answer that. "I'm your best friend. And..."

You pause, mid-sentence. Frustrated, angry, and more than a little hysterical, it's dawning on you now that you're never going to see again. It's at least partially the fault of the man to your left.

But when Mark reaches out and takes your other hand into his, turning it over to trace a spiral shape into your palm, your stomach still flips. The mounting attraction and sexual tension between you hasn't vanished just because you're pissed off and hurt.

Unfortunately.

"And we're seeing each other," Mark adds, simply, "Makes sense he'd go after you."

"Sorry?" Kerry sputters. She actually lets go of your hand, she's so shocked, "What the hell happened to not interested?"

"I knew you'd make a big deal about it," you mumble, going with the lie as your cheeks burn. You hate lying to Kerry, and not just because you hate lying in general.

"You told her you weren't interested?" Mark asks, and you think you can hear a hint of real amusement in his tone.

"Well, I could tell it was a lie," Kerry replies, "but-"

"HELLO?" You raise your voice, cutting her off, "Jigsaw victim? Serial killer targeted me? Deep, deep trauma? Not allowed to make fun of me right now!"

Kerry laughs, and you think you can hear a note of relief in it.

"This is why I love you," She says fondly. "Jigsaw would never be able to kill you. You're the most resilient motherfucker I've ever met. Who jokes at a time like this?"

"Yes, rub in how weird I am right now," You reply, wrinkling your nose. You let go of Mark's hand and push yourself up to a seated position, and then throw off your blankets. Sliding over to the right side of the bed, you sit on the edge of the mattress, suddenly unsure of yourself.

The entire world is still out there.

"Hey, that was a compliment," Kerry says, "You might want to take it easy, though. For real, you've been through a lot."

Heavy footsteps walk around to the edge of the bed you're sitting on, and you can feel Mark Hoffman, standing in front of you. As you reach out, you feel an arm to steady you, and you grab hold of it as you pull yourself up. Beside you, you hear Kerry stand as well.

"Why are two of the three lead detectives on the Jigsaw-Investigations-Unit hanging out by my hospital bed, anyway?" You ask, brushing her worry off, "Shouldn't you be out there casing the s- wherever I was found?"

"Consider it cased," Kerry replies with a sigh, missing your slip-up, "You're our main lead right now. We're going to need to take your statement at the station, once you feel well enough to go."

Mark Hoffman is a stable anchor to lean on. Looping your hand through the crook of his arm, you consider the endless, vast sea of darkness surrounding you. In the far-off distance, various abstractions graze against your awareness, different from the more localized flares of feeling.

You focus and reach out to one of them, with a slight tilt of your head.

A flash, in your mind, of a man and a woman you've never seen before, side-by-side. Her, with dark tightly curled hair, full lips, and decisiveness like an arrow. Him, with a strong jaw, dark eyes, and a barely contained mania that threatens to leak out from the seams. He knows the water just as you do. Neither of you will drown.

You don't know who they are, but you know they will be important.

"Did you... sense anything?" Kerry asks hesitatingly, as though worried asking the question will offend you, "When Jigsaw took you, or when you were in the trap?"

"Too much," You answer cagily, "But I didn't have time to make sense of it. I was a little distracted by the looming threat of death, in my defence."

"Fair enough," Kerry replies wearily. Something beeps, off by where she's standing, and she curses.

"I have to run," She says, "Our tech guy just got in and I have to brief him on the investigation. Hoffman, are you able to take them to the police station for the statement?"

"Sure thing," He responds, "I was hoping we could talk, anyway."

"Right," Kerry remarks. There's a long pause, and she adds with a grumble, "So weird. I don't know how to feel about this."

You fake a grin, and wave her off. As soon as you sense her presence fading, along with the sound of her footsteps clicking down the hall, you turn to Mark Hoffman, let go of his arm, and whack him on his broad chest.

"You son of a bitch," you hiss, whacking him again.

"Hey, hey-" He snaps back, grabbing your hands and holding them firmly in place before you can hit him again, "Stop it."

"I should tell everyone," you whisper angrily, "You took my fucking eyes, Mark."

"John Kramer took your eyes. You think I wanted to put you in that thing?" You try to break free of his grip on your wrists, without success.

"And you just do everything he says, is that right? Two hundred and fifty pounds between him and Amanda both, and you were helpless?" You say, yanking your arms free. Your brain buzzes with the desire to hurt him the way he's hurt you, and you conclude that it's not by hitting him again.

"You think Angela would approve of that?" You whisper to him, "Do you think she-"

Strong hands reach out and shove you backward. You hit the wall, hard. It's disorienting, and with no way to anticipate it or brace yourself, pain blossoms across your back. You feel Hoffman press you against the wall, one of his hands grabbing you by the jaw.

"Watch your fucking mouth," he snarls, keeping his voice low. It's a dangerous tone, and you can't help but feel satisfied, knowing that you're managed to get under his skin. Once again, you've caught a glimpse of the predator hiding under his cool exterior.

Pressing in so close to you, you can smell him, a light scent of amber and cedar cologne. Trying to catch the breath that's been knocked out of you, you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, panting, so close that it's brushing against yours.

A different sensation floods you, your anger melting into molten arousal. The tension between you feels wound to a snapping point, your blood flushing to your cheeks and causing your skin to tingle. His grip on your jaw is tight, almost painful, but you tilt up your chin ever-so-slightly, baring your neck.

You feel like you're going a little bit insane, frankly. Who could blame you, after what you've been through recently? Your body shouldn't be reacting like this, not when you should be furious with him.

But fuck it.

"Or what?" You whisper, "You going to teach me a lesson, Detective?"

Your taunt seem to hang in the air, and although you can't see Mark's reaction, you hear a noise of frustration escape from him. The hand holding your jaw moves to tilt your chin up.

"You've got a smart mouth," He mutters angrily, the pad of his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. Mark leans his face in close, and you can feel his breath on your neck. One of his thighs presses forward, between your legs. Pinned against the wall, you couldn't wiggle out of this if you wanted to- and you don't want to.

"You really sure you want to test me?" He murmurs in your ear, both a threat and a promise. With your heart beating so wildly that you're sure he can hear it, you try to shift, but his weight against yours keeps you pressed firmly in place. The friction from his thigh, and the heat of his breath on your ear, causes you to let out an embarrassing little groan of pleasure.

"Mark-"

"Not your smartest idea," Mark lets out an irritated huff of breath, and another beat passes between you before he continues, voice rough. "You know, I've wanted to fuck you since the moment I met you, sweetheart."

Fuck. Heat and need crawl up your spine.

"When you were threatening me in your car?" You ask a little too breathlessly, with a raise of your eyebrow. Gathering your bearings, you slip your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him.

"Yeah," Mark answers, lips and teeth grazing your neck, and you shiver. You need more of his mouth on you, now.

Mark freezes, seeming to be momentarily distracted by something.

"Door's open," He mutters to you.

"It is?" You whisper back in worry, grabbing the fabric of his jacket and squirming in his hold, "Can you...close it?"

"You don't want anyone else to see you like this?" He asks with a smirk in his voice, pulling back. You can almost feel his eyes running over you, looking you up and down, "Only me, huh?"

He pulls back not a moment too soon. You can feel another presence approaching your room, and you tap his shoulder hurriedly.

"Someone's coming." Regrettably, and with a grunt of annoyance, Mark lets go of you, taking a step back. You miss the warmth of his body immediately, but you hear someone enter the room not long after.

"Oh, you're up!" A male voice calls out, alarmed, "Detective, please save your questions for later," Footsteps walk over to where the two of you stand, and the voice adds, "I need to check your eyes. Assuming everything looks...stable, there will be some paperwork to go through, and then you should be cleared for discharge."

You hear Mark sigh. An alarm rings out- from his phone, if you had to guess- and he quickly turns it off. Something about the noise nags at your awareness, like you know innately that something is off about it.

"We can do the statement at the station tomorrow. But let me know when you get home," Mark remarks, before adding, "I'll see you later."

And then he's gone too, leaving you with the doctor in a darkened world.

"There's a lot we should go over," The doctor tells you sheepishly, "Things are going to be very different for you, now."

You have a feeling he's right.

---

You are supposed to have a long, cold shower when you get home. You are supposed to come to your senses, re-evaluate your choices, and examine what the hell you thought you were doing earlier.

After thinking it over, you are supposed to realize you're acting rashly, being ridiculous, and playing with fire- you can't want Detective Mark Hoffman, knowing what you know about him. What he does to people, and what he did you.

That... does not happen.

By the time you've fumbled your way through your apartment door, cane in hand and sunglasses on, your desire for him has increased tenfold. It only increases further when you realize you're alone in the apartment, with not even your cat to greet you- Kerry must still have Prawn at her place.

It all seems horribly lonely, all of a sudden. You'll never again see your cat's sleepy expression, or the soft fur on his belly when he rolls over. You won't get to look at the art pieces hung up on your walls, or curl up on your couch to watch a movie in the same way as before. As you stand in your entryway, it dawns on you that you're not even sure how you'll make dinner tonight.

Right now you're feeling helpless.

Hmm. Had you thought those words before?

You may be Kerry's only real friend. But she is also yours. And you could use someone to help you adapt to your new circumstances. You could call her, and she would come over to help you. Make you dinner, clean up your place.

But if you're being honest with yourself, Kerry isn't the person you want in your apartment right now, and you don't want to work on adjusting your life. You want Mark here, to fuck you within an inch of your life and make you forget, paradoxical as it is.

Carefully, you make your way over to your couch. It takes a couple of tries with your cell phone, but with the accessibility features turned on, you eventually find Mark's number.

You hesitate.

If you sleep with Mark Hoffman tonight, that's crossing a line that you're not going to be able to uncross. What would Kerry think, to know that all along, not only have you known who the secret Jigsaw accomplice is, but that you chose to fuck him after you found out?

It's not the heat of the moment, anymore. You are here, alone, with a clear head and the time to reconsider and back out of this. You can even just visit Kerry, grab your cat, and skip town. If you keep messing around, you're going to end up actually helping a serial killer- if you're not already.

The notion doesn't bother you. Not as much as it should.

"Hey. I'm at home," You say into the phone, trying and failing to sound casual, "You remember my address, right? I could... use some help. If you're free." You pause, and add in for good measure, "It's the least you can do. You know, considering."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there soon," Mark Hoffman replies curtly, before he hangs up the phone.

You try to tidy up before he arrives, kicking the clothes you can find into your closet and gently putting away some dishes. What use are psychic powers if you keep nailing yourself on your kitchen island every time you walk past?

It isn't long before you feel Mark's presence entering the edge of your awareness. You can sense him, and the electric feeling up pent up energy as he approaches. What's the radius on that? You'll need to experiment, later. The thought of him approaching makes you nervous, your heart fluttering in anticipation and early arousal.

You open the door for him just before he goes to knock on it.

"Hey," You say, "I know, the glasses are a new look, I-"

He is shoving you back into the apartment, mouth pressing against you before you can react. Walking you backward, he is kissing you insistently, aggressively. A hand on your waist squeezes, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Heat seems to radiate from everywhere he touches, sending a heady need coursing through your body.

Mark leaves you momentarily. You hear your apartment door closing and latching shut, and the click of a lock. Then he's back, his mouth on yours again, hard, unrelenting kisses leaving you dizzy.

Every movement is dominant, unyielding. Mark Hoffman leaves no quarter as he groans into your mouth, a low and hungry noise.

"You want me to take care of you?" He groans, low and rough against your mouth, "You need me to fuck you until you go dumb, baby?"

You let out a needy whine in the affirmative, nodding your head as you clench your thighs together. His hands grip your hips, holding you tight in a way that makes your entire body tremble. You know that your face is burning, and it's embarrassing, how quickly you're falling apart under his attention- and he's barely even touched you yet.

Suddenly his hands have left your hips, and you feel a palm flat on your chest, pushing you back. Your lower back stings as it smacks against the kitchen island, and once again, you're pinned. Exactly where he wants you.

"Mark," you gasp out. You can feel the warmth of his body, so close to yours, but he doesn't touch you yet. You reach out your hands to touch his broad chest, running them across the fabric of his shirt, but he doesn't reciprocate.

"What do you want? Use your words," He murmurs into your ear, condescending and teasing. Shame makes your cunt clench.

"Touch me, please-"

"That it? You just want me to touch you?" He mocks. You can hear the wolfish grin in his voice. His hands trail up your body and under your shirt, sliding across your smooth skin. Surprisingly deft fingers pinch one of your nipples, rolling it in a way that makes you cry out and grind your hips forward, frustratingly, against nothing.

"Jesus, Mark," You snap, desperation straining your voice, "You're a dick. I want you to fuck me until I forget my name, is that better?"

He actually laughs, before sliding a hand down the front of your pants. Another gasp falls from your lips, followed by a ragged moan as his fingers slip past your underwear to find you soaked. Calloused fingers tease you as you lean forward, your forehead resting on his shoulder.

Bliss electrifies your body, and you can't stop the whimpers and gasps that escape from you as you as Mark harshly encircles your clit. The pace is merciless, and you squirm under his touch, the pleasure mounting quickly.

God, but you can't even think. You hold onto his arm and moan his name, a sound broken by lust.

"Fuck," He hisses with a groan of his own, "Can't wait any longer."

With a yank, your pants and underwear are around your ankles. You barely have time to step out of them before Mark has flipped you around, bending your body over the kitchen island. His movements are forceful, almost brutal in their execution.

Mark's body leans over yours, and you can feel the press of his hard cock through his pants as he lays his body over yours to speak in your ear.

"You're so fucking needy. You're going to take me so well, aren't you sweetheart?"

It only takes a moment for him to pull back and undo his pants. A jagged, filthy moan is torn from you as he presses his cock inside of you, and with a snap of his hips, he fills you completely. His hands grip your hips so tightly that you're sure they're going to leave bruises across your skin.

His cock feels perfect inside of you, so thick and full that you're sure it's going to drive you insane. It's going to ruin you.

Gripping onto the edges of the kitchen island for purchase, you whimper as he begins to move.

His weight bears down on you, the hard edge of the counter nearly cutting into your stomach. You can't find it in you to care, not with the way that Mark starts to thrust into you, setting a ruthless pace.

He fucks you hard.

"Mark," you eke out, barely able to hold onto the counter. Your entire body jolts with each snap of his hips, slammed again and again against the surface. Heat is building in your stomach, burning through your core.

"Come on baby," He says, voice almost hoarse with lust, "You're making me feel so good. Come on, come on, come on my cock."

A hand reaches around your body, and his fingers find your clit again. They rub harsh, hot circles into your skin. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure taking you to the edge of your release and then kicking you over it. You feel utterly helpless, utterly undone.

You writhe under Mark Hoffman, coming with a cry.

And your reality seems to crack apart. A million futures narrow to a thousand, and as you breathe, you feel the world breathe with you. You feel Mark behind you, inside of you, his cruelty and his oppression, the hunter, the killer, the lover, the sinner-

It's going to rain blood down upon him. Upon you both.

With a few more brutal thrusts inside of you, Mark grunts as he reaches his own climax, slowing to hard, deliberate strokes as he spills inside of you. You moan weakly, already sore, as he continues to move until he's fully spent. Eventually, his movements stop, and you can feel as his cock finishes pulsing inside of you.

Slowly, Mark's hands let go of your waist. He pulls back, off of you, and steps away.

You peel yourself off of the counter and stumble over to your couch, laying down as you catch your breath. After a few minutes, you hear Mark sit down beside you. A hand grazes your leg, touching it almost affectionately.

"We should have used a condom," you mumble.

"Yeah," He agrees, "Doubt you regret it, though," and you have to admit, he's right about that.

You sit in a comfortable silence together for a while. His hand strokes your calf, his fingers running up and down the bare skin of your shin in a soothing motion. It feels good. Calm, after the ferocity of the sex you just experienced.

"I think... I've got to go to the bathroom," you say suddenly, sitting up and surprising yourself with your words.

"I'm not stopping you," Mark replies, and you shake your head.

"No- no, the underground one. The Jigsaw one," You shuffle on the couch, turning fully to him, "I think... I don't know why, but I think I'll be able to find answers there. About the third apprentice."

Mark hums in thought.

"John doesn't know that you know about that," he says, "He and Amanda will be gone pretty soon. And I sure as hell want to know about any secrets waiting for us."

"Then we'll go," You say decisively. You think of your vision of the two other mysterious figures later, and the rainfall of blood. Suddenly, you feel exhausted. And hungry.

"...We'll go tomorrow."

---

A/N- I'm thinking there are one, maybe two more parts left in this story. I had a tricky time writing this chapter, so please leave a comment if you enjoyed! <3

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff

---

NEXT CHAPTER

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 2

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Canon typical violence and the usual vampire stuff

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 2346

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 2

The cell was cold and sterile and lit far too brightly for Rose’s taste but lacked any natural light sources; under the circumstances, she was grateful for that.  She could feel dawn’s arrival nearing.  The urge to go to ground was clawing through her, making her skin itch and her teeth hurt.  Despite the fact she should be safe here, her body didn’t like being so far above ground without being encased with soil or a coffin.

When Captain America had caught her, she’d pleaded to be put somewhere dark.  The spinal injury had kept her incapacitated for hours, yet even still when he came close to her to help put her on a gurney, she’d tried to compel him to let her go.  There had been some device blocking her will, and she’d realized that the Avengers must have developed some technology to block psychic attacks.  Likely due to the witch in their company.   Not only had Steve Rogers been unaffected by her powers, but he’d been aware that she’d been using them and warned the crew that brought her to the Tower that she would attempt to use them.

They had unnecessarily treated her injuries and placed her in this metal cell lying flat out on a hospital bed.  When the feeling came back to her feet she’d gotten up and looked for a way out, and now that dawn was approaching she knew if she wasn’t able to compel anyone to let her go soon, she’d be unconscious and helpless in the midst of superheroes.

For a while she crouched by the door, hoping to ambush anyone that might come to check on her.  They might be impervious to compulsion, but they weren’t to being turned.  When it was clear that no one was coming, she tore the mattress and the blankets from the gurney and pushed the mattress under the metal bench that ran along the side of the room.  She hung the blankets over the side of the bench and crawled in.  It wasn’t ideal, but it stopped the itchy feeling from bothering her as she fell into unconsciousness.

Rose didn’t fall asleep or wake up like humans did.  She was awake and then she wasn’t.  It wasn’t even sleep in the way a human would experience it.  To any layman, the lack of heartbeat, brain activity, or breathing would indicate she was dead.  She didn’t react to external stimuli in any way.  If someone chose to take that moment to stake her through the heart, she would jerk up as the stake entered her, and then crumble into dust.

When she regained consciousness, it wasn’t slow or gradual.  She didn’t feel tired.  She was just awake where before she was not.

It took her a second to realize that she was no longer under the bench she’d hidden in, but now in a metal box.  She was much colder than normal, but it didn’t bother her.  What bothered her was that she was locked in a mortuary fridge.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened, once she’d hidden in one herself, but she knew they were nigh on impossible to break out of once you were in one.  It was strange though, despite her predicament, she was relieved.  She was relieved they hadn’t tried to do an autopsy on her.  She was relieved that whatever path they’d taken from her cell to the morgue, she hadn’t passed through sunlight.  She also seemed to be in most of her clothes.  Her shoes and socks were gone, as were her sunglasses and jacket, but she still wore the palazzo pants and turtleneck she’d been wearing last night.  It could definitely be worse.

She began to kick at the door beneath her feet, hoping to any god that might care about her, that she’d be able to break the hinge off the door.

After two kicks the door swung open and the drawer was pulled out, and she was face to face with Steve Rogers once more.  “Why did you lock me in there!” she shouted, pushing herself up and jumping down from the drawer.  She didn’t try to run.  Not yet anyway.  She knew if he had been waiting here with her, he must know what she was, so if she attempted to escape there would be something to take her out.  It was better to bide her time and look for the best exit.

“You were dead,” he said.  “That’s where we put dead people.”

“And you just hang out in morgues for fun, do you?” she hissed.

“I had my suspicions,” he answered.  “They found you dead, but you’d managed to pull a gurney apart despite having a spinal injury that left you paralyzed the last time I saw you.  There was footage from the security tapes of things being tossed around, but you were nowhere to be seen.  When I went in to speak with you, you were under a bench in what looked like a fort, and there were no signs of life.  They wanted to do an autopsy.  I told them to wait until tomorrow.  So tell me - what are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

“See that’s the thing,” Steve said, taking a seat on one of the tall metal stools at the autopsy table.  “I thought vampires were fictional.”

“I thought Norse gods were fictional, and then there were two smashing up my city,” she said. “The universe is big.  Maybe all fiction has a piece of reality in it.”

“Still,” he said.  “Thor was living on another planet.  I’ve been on this one for quite a while now, you’d think I would have come across one of you before.”

She stalked toward him.  Her bare feet padded along the cool steel floor.  “What do you want me to do?  Prove it to you?”

She moved lightning fast, one hand going to his hair and the other to his neck as she shoved him up against the table.  She yanked his head back and bared her fangs.  “I wonder what a supersoldier’s blood tastes like.  Do you think that serum will make me even stronger?  Maybe I’ll turn you.  That might get me out of here safely, Captain.” 

She didn’t mean anything she said.  It was all for show.  She’d never turned anyone, and she didn’t want to start now.  But he obviously wanted something from her and she wanted to see what he’d do.  She leaned in pressing her fangs against his skin, just above the carotid artery.  She could feel the blood pulsing through it under her teeth.  She could smell it.  There was something slightly different to the scent.  Something akin to ozone or smoke.  She didn’t have time to study it, as Steve reached up and pressed something to her collarbone, and it felt like her skin caught fire.  She scrambled back, hissing in pain, and moving as far away from him as possible.

Steve held up the crucifix he’d pressed against her skin.  To double down on the old mythos, it seemed to be made of silver.  “So it is true.”

“I told you it was,” she said.

“Those children, they said you saved them,” he said, putting the crucifix back into his pocket.

“I told you that too,” she said.

“I’m just trying to understand it,” he said.  “Why would you save those children when you’re … well -” he waved his hand at her, gesturing up and down her body.

“A bloodthirsty monster?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Steve agreed.

She sighed and leaned against the wall.  “I was human once.  I drink blood because I have to to survive.  That doesn’t mean I want to see children used as a human shield.”

Steve’s blue eyes moved up and down her body, assessing her, looking for any sign she was lying to him.  She folded her arms around her middle.  It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel this vulnerable.  Not since she’d been turned.

“Can I go?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.  “You still killed a man.”

“Oh, like you haven’t,” she spat.

“Of course I have,” he said.  “But never like that.  I try not to kill whenever possible.”

“Well, we can’t all be a perfect little golden boy,” she snarked.  “Can we at least not have this conversation in the goddamn morgue?”

“Sure,” Steve said.  “Follow me.”

He opened the door and she followed him back through the building to the elevator.  Her eyes darted around the space, trying to work out if there was a means of escape.  Steve was fast.  Fast enough to keep up with her if she ran.  Plus he was strong enough to match her hand-to-hand.  Then there was everyone else in the building.  If Thor was alerted, she didn’t think there would be anything she could do to survive an assault from him.  So she followed along placidly, hoping he’d show some mercy on her.

They caught the elevator up, Steve leaned against the wall and looked at her.  “You barely look eighteen,” Steve said.  “How old are you?”

“You barely look twenty-five, how old are you?” she asked.

Steve laughed.  “Touché.”

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “I have never had to consider what to do in this situation.  You helped.  But the way you helped.  How many other people have you killed?  Are you going to kill again?”

“You can’t hold me for imagined future crimes,” Rose argued.  “And you can’t hold me without evidence of any past ones.  I thought you of all people should know that.”

He frowned and looked down at his hands.  She had gotten to him.  Not enough for him to let her go.  This wasn’t a case of a hypothetical danger to the world.  She was a monster and setting her free meant setting free a being that fed on humans.

The elevator opened and he gestured for her to go through.  Still, the perfect gentleman he was raised.  She walked through and he led her to his office, pulling out a chair at his desk for her to sit at.  When she was sitting he went to his chair and sat facing her.  The office was much more modern than she expected.  The desk was black formica and extremely polished, to the point that if she gave off a reflection she would have seen it on the surface.  It attached directly to cabinets that ran down the side of the room under the frosted windows that acted as a wall to his office.  There was a panel that, if activated, would create the holographic screen of his computer on the desk, as well as a keyboard and a landline phone.  The only personal objects in the room were a series of papers stuck to the glass above the shelves.  Among them were some pencil sketches on aged notebook paper, and what appeared to be his 4F forms.

“I fought in World War II, you know?” Rose said as she turned her attention back to Steve.

“On which side,” he asked suspiciously.

She laughed.  “It really bothers you to think I might not be evil, doesn’t it?  The Ally’s side.  I was there before you started fighting.  The US had a monster division.  Did you know that?”

He shook his head.  “I don’t even know if I can believe that,” he said.

“It’s true.  There were monsters on the other side too.  The monster hunters were sent after them, and we were told to take care of Hitler’s obsession with the mystic world,” she explained.

Steve sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.  It was hard when your whole worldview had come into question.

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” he said, opening up the holographic screen on his computer.  “What’s your name?”

“Rose.  Rose Astor.  Of the Manhattan Astors,” she said.

Steve raised an eyebrow and began to type something into the computer.  “I’ve heard of you.  The Astor’s daughter went missing around the time I was born.  My mom would always bring it up when I would go out to play and dad…” he trailed off.  “It doesn’t matter.  What happened to you?”

“This happened to me,” she said.  “It was the start of prohibition and I had reached the legal drinking age the year they banned drinking.  I went out to a speakeasy and a vampire got me.  He kept me with him for a while.  I got free and he returned to Europe.  I was glad to see the back of him.”

“So you’re from my time?��� he asked. 

She smiled.  “A little older, but yes.  We were in the same city when you were growing up.  I’m sure we have a lot in common, Captain Rogers.  Possibly more than you do with your friends.  Well - aside from that one little thing.”

“It’s not that little,” he said.

“Ahh, yes,” she agreed.  “You signed up to have a foreign substance injected into you that made you superhuman.  I had it forced on me.  You get to go out in the sun.  I don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.  “I’m sorry that happened to you.  And I’m sorry you’ve had to live like this.  But I don’t know if I can just let you go.  If you kill again, that blood will be on my hands.”

“So what?  You’re just going to hold me here forever as your prisoner?  You’re as bad as he is,” she said.

Steve shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “Maybe you could join the team.  Prove to us you aren’t a danger to the rest of the world.”

Rose sank back into her chair.  She hated this.  She was going to be a prisoner all over again being forced to do things she didn’t want to do.  There didn’t seem to be any choice.  She believed Steve Rogers was a good man.  Hopefully, he could prove that to her too.

// NEXT

[moons-cozy-corner]

Rescued Pt. 8

Lots of switching POV in this one

TW: Burning, previous torture mention, kidnapping mention, gore/blood, murder, gun

Part 1 Part 7

Hero screamed as he ran across the parking lot, flames licking at his skin. There was no protection, his clothes had many holes from the fire already. His lungs burned from his frantic sprinting, and in the few breaths he was able to take in he could smell the mix of his own burning flesh and gasoline. 

When he reached the grass he fell, rolling around like an itchy dog, desperate for relief. He could hear the sirens, and suddenly he knew how criminals felt when they were being chased down. He couldn’t let them find him, couldn’t let them take him to the hospital. Not when Villain was in danger. 

So, with his charred clothes hanging like rags from his melting skin, he continued on. The bag over his shoulder rubbed relentlessly against his quickly blistering skin, causing him immense pain, but he wouldn’t stop. He still had his phone, and though it was cracked and charred and almost dead, he still had the tracker app open. His face held something between a grimace and a smile. 

At this rate, it would take hours. It was the dead of night, he was covered in first and second degree burns, his lungs were screaming at him, and he was sure people were searching for him. His only hope was that Supervillain wouldn’t kill Villain, and that hope remained strong-if they haven’t killed them during those four years, they likely wouldn’t now. Especially after all the work - and fire - it took to steal them back.

-

He wasn’t supposed to wake up. 

His eyes opened to the near pitch black, swollen from crying. It wasn’t the most swollen part of him, not from the beating he endured yesterday. Yesterday? It could be the dead of night, it could be noon, he couldn’t tell. It could be two days later. 

He pushed his head into his arm with a groan, the sound gurgling in his throat, barely reaching the air. It sounded pathetic. He wasn’t bleeding any more, at least. What a fucking relief. 

His mouth hurt, too. His tongue was swollen where he bit off a piece. It wouldn’t affect his speech, but it would hurt like a bitch for a long while. He wouldn’t be able to talk. To sing. 

Tears fell from his eyes at the thought. It was like being recaptured brought back everything - the feelings of the first time he’d been locked away, clinging to the memory of Hero, the hope he would come to his rescue. But the before was still so fuzzy, and the more he tried to remember the more his head hurt. 

The door didn’t open for hours. He let his brain go fuzzy. Of course Master wouldn’t feed him after all this, why would he? Not that Villain deserved it. Or did he? Hero’s face was everywhere, and nowhere, and it was confusing. 

He wished he could be Pet again, but that… didn’t feel right anymore.

And it was all Hero’s fault! And now he was dead, a charred body beneath the debris, all that hope quite literally crushed under tons of metal. And there was nothing, nothing, he could do about it.

He screamed.

It was raspy, it was gross and wet and blood dribbled down his chin, but he did it anyway. His head was pointed directly towards the top of the stairs, just so Whumper could hear him. 

He would see Hero again, one way or another.

-

It was a house. 

The gated community looked nice, but paled in comparison to Supervillain's previous places of residence. It pissed him off, that it was in such plain sight. Right under Hero’s nose, for four years. He shook it out of his head. This was not time for anger, for guilt. 

He parked about a block down from where the tracker placed Villain. As much as it hurt, he walked the rest of the way, his skin itching from the burns that swallowed his body. He just had to get Villain, he was so close. He wasn’t going to mess it all up because Supervillain saw his car.

So walk he did. When he got close, he moved to the backyard instead, peeking through the kitchen window. He didn’t know the way to the basement, but he assumed it was a door inside the house. But Supervillain was also inside the house, and  Hero didn’t know where.

Then there was a scream.

Hero’s head snapped towards the sound, but he couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from. It was muffled, but clearly coming from this house. 

A million thoughts ran through his head. Had he been wrong? Was Villain dying? Or- or being tortured again, already? If that were true, at least it meant he was still alive. But for how long?

The next second there was stomping, fast paced. Hero had to duck as the very person he was pursuing stormed across the kitchen, throwing open a door that easily could have been a pantry. It wasn’t though, it was the basement.

Where Villain was.

As soon as Supervillain descended the stairs, Hero snuck to the back door. He pulled out a glass cutter, suctioned it to the glass, and swung it around in a circle. His hands were shaking so much that, along with the burns, it took three circles to get through the glass. Then he stuck his arm through, unlocked the door from the inside, and slid into the house. As much anger and fear filled Hero right now, he knew better than to barge in, to warn Supervillain of his presence. He was trained for moments like this, and he couldn’t let his emotions get in the way now. 

The basement door was right in front of him. He eased the door open as silently as he possibly could, opening it enough just so his body could fit through. He kept his gun at his side as he descended the stairs. There was more yelling, and he tried to listen in as he slowly made his way down, step by agonizing step.

“Be quiet! That is your number one rule, Pet! It is a simple rule. What has gotten into you? Maybe I should chop off the rest of your tongue.” There was a thump. Shoe meeting flesh, and a quiet yelp. Hero winced, but continued slowly regardless. He had to be quiet. 

His heart sank when he heard a switchblade, then total silence. He stopped on the stairs, holding his breath. “No, don’t. Whumper, please don’t.” Villain. He was so close. 

Supervillain laughed dryly, cruelly. “Why shouldn’t I? You’ve been nothing but a brat, and it's only been a few hours! Your beloved Hero is dead! He’s dead! You had such simple, simple rules.”

Hero could hear Villain crying as he began to continue. As much as hearing it hurt, it was just enough sound to cover up his footsteps. “You killed him! You killed me! I hate you!”

“I’ll never kill you. You don’t deserve the mercy of death after betraying me. Not once, but twice. All for that damn hero you love so much!” Another kick landed in Villain’s side, this time Hero could see it. He pointed his gun at Supervillain's back. His hands shook, and he looked over at Villain, bloodied and bruised and his eyes red. It had only been a few hours, how was he already this broken again? 

Supervillain pulled out a switchblade as they knelt down, grabbing Villains face tightly in their hand so they couldn’t turn away as it was brought to his mouth. As they did so, Villain and Hero made eye contact, and his crying intensified, his shoulders sagging. Luckily for Hero, Supervillain took this as an act of defiance, not a sign that Hero was there. 

So in this moment, as Villain’s mouth was being pried open, Hero shot. It ripped through their shoulder, lodging itself in bone. They screamed, loud, releasing Villain and swiveling around towards the stairs. Towards Hero. 

So he shot again. And again. And again. Until the amount of blood flowing from the bullet holes amounted to more than Hero and Villain had ever cried combined. 

As Supervillain sunk to the floor, his eyes followed. The cement pooled with blood. His gun felt heavy in his hands. He dropped it. It clattered to the ground, echoing in his ears. He looked up to Villain, but he was blurry. 

“Hero…” Villain tried to move closer, but he couldn’t, being chained to the wall like he was. All he managed to do was get his knees sticky in his captors blood. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Shut up.” It was a whisper. Barely audible, but Villain listened. Hero walked over, mechanically, unchaining his lover and pulling him close, despite sitting in a pool of blood. It was only then that he let his tears fall, and only moments later that the agony of his burns finally registered. The adrenaline was gone. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Villain,” he growled, his jaw clenched in pain. “I love you.” He doesn’t care if Villain doesn’t remember, doesn’t process this information, but he can’t hold it in. “I love you so much. You’re safe.”

There was silence for a moment as they held onto each other, then Villain started humming into Hero’s neck. The same song. “I love you too.”

-

Hero carried Villain in his arms upstairs, outside then into the passenger seat of his car. They were both exhausted, in pain. It wasn’t until the lights in the car came on that Villain noticed the burns all over Hero. The fire. 

It still amazed him that Hero was alive. Part of him thought this was death, that Hero was driving him to the afterlife. He wasn’t though, unless the hospital was Villains hell. If it was hell, the devil was going easy on him. It certainly wasn’t heaven, though. 

They were separated for a while. Villain was mostly fine. A few broken ribs, plus the injuries they had treated the first time he got rescued. Hero was burnt all over, and could hardly breathe. They didn’t see each other for the next few days. Villain went quiet, but he did eat, and he did look. He looked outside, at the sky. The clouds. And he cried. He’d forgotten all of it. It wasn’t relevant, not when every day was torture and pain. 

When he was finally allowed to see Hero, he didn’t hesitate. Hero was wrapped in a bunch of bandages, and said he felt a little itchy, but otherwise he was fine. Villain sat in a chair beside Hero’s bed, frozen. Silent. 

Then he reached out for Hero’s hand. “I need to tell you something.”

Hero gripped Villains hand tight. These were the first normal words, the first sentence Villain had spoken to him in four years. “Anything.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I can’t remember much,” he whispered. “Everything is so distant. It all hurts. I can’t- I can’t remember you, how you want me to.” He couldn’t look at him, now. “I’m sorry.”

Hero brought Villains hand to his lips. “You remember our song. You remember us. That’s enough.” When Villain didn’t smile, didn’t even move, Hero pulled him closer, onto the hospital bed with him. “We’ll be okay.”

Finally he smiled, turning his face into Hero’s chest. “We’ll be okay.”

taglist: @alwaysalilhigh@nicolepascaline@whumped-inc@littlespacecastle@hollowgast1@edkore@ramadiiiisme@writereleaserepeat@when-no-wings-do-broomsticks@robinwrites@aswallowimprisoned@whumblrwork@cepheusgalaxy@tedrakitty @delicateprincepaper@alwaysalilhigh@0eggdealer@subval01@ifthisislifeidontlikeit

@books-are-everything @whumpsoda @robinrites @wildcard-whumps

[hb-writes]

The Doctor's Orders

Summary: Emma has been pushing herself too hard between her college courses and work at SIP. When she suddenly faints at the office, she's taken to the hospital. As the truth behind her fainting comes out and the repercussions start to feel overwhelming, Em finds allies in her sister-in-law and her favorite nurse.

Characters: Christian Grey, Ana Grey, and Emmeline Grey (sister!OC)

Request: Can i please request where Emma got into an accident and Christian is there with Ana. (note: I've already written about Emma getting into an accident in Replacable, so I changed this up a bit).

Warnings: adderall misuse.

Fifty Shades Masterlist

--

When Emma finally woke, it was to a quiet room, the silence only interrupted by the steady beep of a monitor to her left. The lights were off, the shades drawn, and her sister-in-law was seated in a chair pulled up close to her bedside, a blanket draped over her while she slept.

Emma’s mind was foggy as it held fast to the remaining wisps of sleep, and a list of questions began to pile up in her mind though her sore throat and slow-forming thoughts wouldn’t allow her to voice any of them. 

Why…was she at the…hospital?

Why was Ana here? 

And why was she wearing yesterday’s clothes?

Why—

Emma’s internal monologue paused as the door creaked open, her eyes drawn to the far side of the room. 

Christian looked like he hadn’t slept, his face pale and his eyes tired…his usually pristine suit rumpled beyond recognition.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, his eyes darting to his pregnant wife for a brief moment before shifting back to his sister. 

“How…” Emma croaked, gently clearing her throat. “How long was I…?” The question drifted away as a distinct itchiness in her arm brought her awareness to the IV anchored there. 

“Leave it,” Christian warned, Emma’s subtle glare shooting toward him as he finished the directive, the needle in her arm temporarily forgotten. 

“And you’ve been out for seventeen hours,” Christian continued, answering her earlier question.

Emma nodded as though that cleared things up, as if it even helped her to determine what time it was now, but her brain couldn’t do the mental math even if she’d wanted to. She once again cleared her throat, and Christian reached for the small cup of water on the bedside table, holding it out so Emma could sip from the straw. 

“Why am I…What happened?” she asked, her voice quiet and hoarse as she formed the words. 

“You don’t remember?”

They held each other’s gaze for just a moment before Ana shifted in her chair, drawing Emma and Christian’s attention as Ana stared back at them, her sleepy gaze taking an extra moment to realize what she was seeing.

“You’re awake! Thank god,” she said, ungracefully pulling herself out of the chair so she could lean over the edge of the hospital bed and wrap Emma in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Ana started to pull away, her hands on Emma’s shoulders as she stared into her eyes. “Don’t ever do that to me again!” 

Emma swallowed, trying to remember exactly what it was she had done, but she didn’t know, almost like there was a wall up to keep that particular knowledge separate…

“You don’t remember a thing do you?” Christian’s sharp tone pulled her gaze back to the other side of the bed.

“You passed out and hit your head in the middle of a conversation. Ana had to call an ambulance.” 

She remembered being at the office. She remembered Ana telling her to stop what she was working on and head home despite the fact that she was behind in her to do list and they were on a deadline, but Emma had no memory of fainting. No memory of any of it. 

Christian leaned over to grab the chart off the end of the bed. “Sleep deprivation. Dehydration,” he listed off before flipping to the next page. “That’s what he’s diagnosed, but the doctor says your bloodwork suggests you’ve been taking something—an amphetamine of some variety.” 

Emma tensed, and it was enough that Christian clocked it, his voice immediately rising in volume and sharpness as he dropped the chart on the end of her bed. 

“Christ, Emma. What the hell were you—”

“Christian!” Ana hissed. “Do not yell at her.”

His nostrils flared as he shifted his gaze to his wife. “You think I’m yelling? Just wait until our mother hears about it.” 

Emma gulped. Christian was right. He was pissed, but she would rather endure his lecture than their mother’s, assuming that the woman didn’t go straight for some other method of dealing with it instead. Like locking her up forever and never again allowing her to see the light of day, no heed spared to the fact that she was 18 now and no longer legally a child.

“And clearly she needs to be yelled at!”

Emma cringed away from the tone. She knew it was a mistake, taking the adderall pills that her friend Izzy had offered. It was a big mistake, an idiot move. She knew that, but they had helped Emma get through finals while working at the same time, and she thought she had it under control.

She’d been careful about it, limiting herself even as she had come to rely on the pills to get by during the last few weeks. Somewhere along the line, she’d started to feel like she needed them—to study throughout the night and stay awake in classes and at work. And it had all been working out fine. She’d set limits on how much she took. She didn’t allow herself to go beyond them, and with the small dosage she allowed herself, she’d been so focused and productive. She had barely needed to pause to sleep or to eat.

“Taking drugs, Emma? Of all the idiotic things you could do…I am so—”

Ana shouted his name to cut him off, but Emma was certain her brother had intended to voice his disappointment, as if it wasn’t already inherently clear from the way he was acting that he was appalled with her choices. Emma felt a certain shame wash over her even though the words were left unsaid.

“She needs to hear this.” 

“Maybe,” Ana answered, once again pulling her unwieldy body from the chair to square up against her husband with Emma and the hospital bed between them “But it doesn’t need to happen here. Your sister needs rest. That is what the doctor said was most important.” 

“I don’t care what he said. She—”

Christian shut his mouth, heaving a few irritated, silent breaths as Ana pressed the nurse call button, bringing a familiar face—Emma’s favorite nurse—through the door. 

“Ah, sleeping beauty finally wakes from her slumber,” Sarah said as she moved to the bedside and began checking over Emma’s vitals. “I’ll notify the doctor and give you two a few minutes to clear out. Do try to keep the noise to a minimum as you go, Mr. Grey. The girls out front were debating calling security just now…” Sarah spared a glance at Christian, her gaze chastising him alone even though Ana’s outbursts had been as loud, maybe louder. “Lucky I was out there to convince them otherwise.”

Sarah was an emergency room nurse, and she’s worked alongside her mother for years. She had gotten herself moved upstairs to monitor Emma the second she had heard the Greys were in the building.

“We’ll keep it down,” Christian answered with a nod that was something close to gratitude, even though the way Sarah had said Mr. Grey had been mockingly deferential.

“Good,” Sarah answered with a nod as she moved to the end of the bed to record something in Emma’s chart. “There’s a waiting room at the end of the hall, and you know where the cafeteria is. Assuming Miss Emma wants visitors after speaking with the doctor, you’ll be—”

Christian laughed, glancing up from his phone. “I’ll be staying right here to meet with my sister’s doctor, and our mother will be on speaker phone.” 

Sarah glanced at the monitor beside Emma’s bed, noting the sudden spike in the girl’s vitals, but not commenting on it, instead focusing her energy on Christian, her arms folded delicately over her chest as she snorted.

“Christian, come on. I’m hungry anyway,” Ana started as she began the work of pulling her pregnant body from the chair, but it was too late, the tension in the room too high to be alleviated so easily.

“I don’t think you’re understanding me, Mr. Grey. Your sister is an adult, and now that she is awake, she can decide who she wants in this room. She’s entitled to privacy. She is entitled to decide who hears about her medical care and who doesn’t. It’s not up to you. It’s not up to me. And it’s not up to your mother. And so help me god, if you keep riling the girl up when she is supposed to be resting, she won’t be the only Grey tucked in a hospital bed.” 

The room was still, tension still humming in the air that had even Christian remaining quiet as Sarah’s words hung between the four of them. 

“Now, is that clear or—”

“It’s clear,” Ana answered before Christian could offer a retort.

Sarah nodded once to Ana before turning to Emma. “Now, Miss Emma, do you want them here or no?”

Emma didn’t like being put on the spot like that and she swallowed thickly rather than answering straight away, a long enough pause that Ana crossed the room, intending to meet Christian and guide him to the door. 

“Emmeline,” Christian prompted, pulling her gaze as they all waited for her answer. He had something more to say, but he never got to it as the phone in his hand started ringing, their mother’s face suddenly inhabiting the screen as the incoming call came in. 

“Ana,” Emma sputtered. “Just Ana can stay.” 

“Alright,” Sarah nodded before glancing to Christian. “You heard her. Ana stays. You and the phone can take a walk…unless you’d rather walk out with security?” 

Emma watched him debate his options as his mother called again, her first call gone to voicemail. He could make a fuss and get his way if he wanted. Emma knew that, but rather than answering Sarah, Christian turned to his sister. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” he offered. Christian stepped to Ana’s side and kissed her before he slipped through the door, pulling the phone to his ear as he went. 

Emma rubbed her hands over her face, heaving a huge breath as the door closed behind him. She knew it would probably be worse because she had put her mother and brother off, but Emma knew she couldn’t deal with their judgment just yet. She had a few well-deserved lectures waiting for her, but Emma felt bad enough on her own for now. And she was exhausted, eager to drift back away into sleep, even as Sarah slipped through the door to go fetch the doctor.

Emma knew she was owed lectures, and she also knew she owed a few apologies, but none more so than to Ana, who’d been the one there when it happened and the one to deal with what Emma assumed was a terrifying aftermath.

Emma knew it had scared her sister-in-law. Scared her enough that she insisted on staying over at the hospital and sleeping in that uncomfortable chair when she should have been home. Ana was 8 months pregnant. She didn’t need this stress, and yet, she had been worrying over Emma for weeks now, insisting that Emma take a break, noting that something seemed off, but holding back from involving Christian because Emma had insisted she was perfectly fine. She had promised Ana that tere was nothing to be concerned about. 

Emma had been convinced it wasn’t a lie, but seeing it from this side, that’s all she’d been doing. Lying to Ana. Lying to herself. 

Emma watched as Ana eased back into the chair, rubbing at the back of her neck before she settled and pulled out her phone.

“Ana?” Emma said, her voice barely above a whisper as she waited for Ana to finish sending a text. “I’m really sorry. I—”

Ana shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine. I just sent him a list of snacks to bring back for us. It’ll give him some time to cool off and anyway, I really am hungry.” 

Emma forced half a smile. “No, I mean, I’m sorry about that, but I’m really sorry…I’m an idiot and—”

“No,” Ana interrupted, reaching out for Emma’s hand. “We’re not doing that. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing to focus on is getting you better and making sure it doesn’t happen again. You need a break from school, from work, from…well, everything.” 

“But—”

“No buts,” Ana answered, her free hand drifting down to her belly. “You can come stay with me at the lake house. Nothing to worry about but relaxing and helping me get things ready for your nephew.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be real relaxing with Christian lecturing—”

“You leave your brother to me,” Ana answered with a smile. “As far as he’ll know lecturing will be strictly against the doctor's orders.” 

Emma snorted. She didn’t believe her brother—or her mother, for that matter—would let a doctor stop them from saying their piece, but she allowed her sister-in-law’s assertions to bring her a bit of peace, even though a part of her was having trouble believing that she even deserved it.

Fifty Shades Masterlist

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Missing scene from Blood of Elves. Coën argues with Lambert about responsibility, nobility and their fate.

“I believe that. But I’m not gallant enough. Nor valiant enough. I’m not suited to be a soldier or a hero. And having an acute fear of pain, mutilation and death is not the only reason. You can’t stop a soldier from being frightened but you can give him motivation to help him overcome that fear. I have no such motivation. I can’t have. I’m a witcher: an artificially created mutant. I kill monsters for money. I defend children when their parents pay me to. If a Nilfgaardian parent pays me, I’ll defend Nilfgaardian children. And even if the world lies in ruin—which does not seem likely to me—I’ll carry on killing monsters in the ruins of this world until some monster kills me. That is my fate, my reason, my life and my attitude to the world. And it it not what I chose. It was chosen for me.” —Geralt of Rivia in the Blood of Elves.

Coën drew in a deep breath through his nose. The smell of pine filled his chest, mixed with the subtle fishy odour of the lake, and the sprawling bryonia clinging to the rocky outcrops at his back. The mountains around Kaer Morhen were peaceful and familiar in a way that made his chest tight and his eyes prickle; it reminded him of home. He didn’t resent the ache, but cherished it, for it was one of the few things he had left. A tenuous link to something he could never get back.

His head lolled back between his shoulders and he held that breath deep in torso for as long as he could, expelling it through pursed lips only when the ache became a tight pain. Splashing at the lake edge drew his attention and he watched through slitted eyes as his companion stumbled ungracefully through the shallows.

When Lambert had invited Coën to winter with him, Coën had accepted without hesitation, and had been most bewildered by the relieved grin on Lambert’s face at the time. It had been many years since Coën had wintered with other witchers, and Kaer Morhen’s hospitality had not disappointed. Lambert seemed to be bending over backwards to make sure Coën was included in every part of the wolf’s life here, and for that Coën was grateful.

“Ahh, just as bollock-shrinking cold as always!” Lambert crowed, before swearing as he stubbed his toe on a pebble buried deep in the silt and sand. It was an uncharacteristically warm day, but the mountains could be like that. When the skies cleared and the snows had cleared a little, it could almost feel like early summer, when the cool spring breezes stirred the first buds of wakening meadows but your cuirass became itchy and close.

Lambert flopped down on the threadbare tablecloth they had pilfered from Vesemir’s kitchens as a makeshift picnic blanket—Lambert’s words, said with a wry smirk as they had tiptoed out of the larder like errant trainees. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it out to dry. Not for the first time, Coën was struck by just how good-looking his companion was when the lines of anger and frustration had smoothed out, the shadows in his yellow eyes chased away by good sleep and good food. “Urf, fuck,” Lambert lifted his hips and pulled the damp cloth of his trews away from his crotch.

“Dunno why you didn’t take ‘em off,” Coën said lightly, tilting his head back again to bask in the warmth of the sun some more.

“Told you, not the type of tackle I tend to fish with. If you’d seen the teeth on some of the fish I get from here, you’d understand why.” Lambert shuffled some more and flipped to his front to grab one of the unopened bottoms of ale tucked in the shade of a large boulder. “No drowner spawn that I could find in the usual places. No idea about the far banks though, that’ll have to wait ‘til—,” Lambert waved vaguely towards the derelict old boat he had been working on half-arsed for the majority of the morning.

“Mmhm, and when’s that then?”

“Fuck knows. Between Geralt’s princess and Vesemir bellyaching about the west wing falling down on his head, dunno when I’ll get back down here.”

Coën opened his eyes, squinting into the great expanse of unclouded blue above. Cirilla. Sweet child, mischievous and bright, despite all the trials and loss she had faced. And yet, the shadow of destiny loomed over her, ever present and threatening. Coën had hoped that, with Triss’ arrival, they might have felt slightly more sure of her path forward, but the magess’ presence seemed to have brought new tensions to the fort. The wolf witchers had invited her in, and yet not a single one seemed to trust her intentions, except old Vesemir, who seemed relieved to have someone take a little responsibility from his shoulders; the girl was beyond even the old wolf’s knowledge.

Geralt appeared somewhat exhausted by her and Coën sensed by her advances that there was a history there that Geralt did not wish to revisit, Lambert was confrontational and ice cold, even more so than usual, and Eskel was the most peculiar of all. He was beyond polite, magnanimous, quick to take the knee and open doors for the magess, scurrying around the castle at her beck and call; if Lambert hadn’t told Coën which way Eskel’s appetites leaned, Coën would have assumed it to be flirtation. Yet, it had been Eskel that had gazed at Triss with distrust and apprehension when they had discussed her whisking Ciri away to her Chapter as in days of old.

They had called Triss out of desperation, but not a single one of the wolves were willing to let her take Ciri from them. They were guarded, protective, Lambert perhaps most of all. He treated Merigold with open disdain, dismissing all pleas from his brothers and master to remain civil. Coën surmised it might be more than a distrust of mages in general, but he hadn’t found the opportunity to probe further.

“None of you trust, Triss Merigold. That much is obvious. But Ciri’s peculiarity worries you. Would it not be best for Triss to take on the burden? To let her take the child with her to Aretuza or wherever destination she has in mind?” Coën asked.

Lambert didn’t answer immediately. They had spoken some of the school’s previous experience with such a girl, but the conversation had been stilted and tight, like it was a source of pain and shame. Coën found out little of the girl’s fate, only that she had left her mark on one of Lambert’s kin. Lambert sighed. “N’aw, she’s just another lost kid. Nothin’ new, nothin’ special.” He didn’t look up as he said it, focusing instead on a blade of grass. “As I said, we’ll teach her the sword, let her grow big and strong, and she’ll be like any other warrioress out there.” He flicked the blade of grass away and drew a swig of ale.

“You don’t believe that. I know you too well, Lambert of Kaer Morhen, you may lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me. You care for the girl, I’ve seen it. You wouldn’t drive her so hard if you didn't, and you would not see her whisked away by the magess. And yet you know there is more to her—”

Lambert rolled his eyes, settling them upon Coën’s face with one eyebrow quirked towards his scruff of dark hair. “It doesn’t make a difference either way. What can we do? Train her to be one of us, but without the poisons. This—that—“ Lambert waved over his shoulder vaguely southward, towards the majority of the Continent, “is so far beyond us, so fuckin’ bigger, we’re just witchers. We fight monsters, that’s it. We don’t get involved, no matter what Merigold might want. No matter the moralistic fuckin’ rants she wants to have over our own fuckin’ mead in our own fuckin’ keep. Arrogant bitch.”

Coën winced and fell silent, giving Lambert’s anger time to settle to an even ebb again. Such was the way with Lambert; whereas the older witchers of the keep seemed to have suppressed their emotions to the point of ambivalence, Lambert’s raged all the fiercer as if out of spite. It was one of the things that Coën admired so ardently about him; the way he took on the world unapologetically and refused to succumb to its darkness. When Coën sensed the turbulent waters had settled, he continued. “You agree with Geralt, then. That there is no side for us to take in this conflict in the South, no greater good for us to fight for.”

“The only greater good for us is coin,” Lambert murmured. “Come spring, we should head south and we can clear up in the wake of the armies. Wade through the shit and the corpses to find the monsters. It’s what we’re built for.”

Coën huffed. “You sound like a cultist reciting a mantra you don’t even believe yours—“

“Where’s this goin’? Out with it. I’ve had enough of politics, euphemisms and bloody philosophising from Merigold this winter; I don’t need it from you too.”

Coën gazed over the lake to the far bank where a mist hung unnaturally among the trees. Foglets, no doubt. The recorded voices and shapes of hundreds of trainees that had perished in the mountains. Souls that were never given the opportunity to realise their potential, to breathe free air beyond the confines of the brotherhood. “I’ve been thinking more on those orphans Triss spoke of. How she works to prevent them from being orphans in the first place, whereas we’re just there after the fact to pick up the pieces.”

“You let her get into your head,” Lambert shook his, adjusting his trews once more, nose wrinkled in discomfort. “She was just trying to take a cheap shot. Get a knife in your ribs and twist.”

“What if she’s right? We may be mutants, but can’t we rise above? Become more? We are worth twenty Cintran soldiers. Having witchers fight on the side of the North, we—we could turn the tide of this war, we—“

“Delusions of grandeur.”

Coën’s blood ran hot with anger. While he admired Lambert’s sass and sarcasm when it was directed at others, he didn’t much enjoy being the target of it. Such dismissal bit at him, and he didn’t much want to examine why it hurt so very much. “So we stand by and watch the world burn so long as we line our purses, how very noble. We pick over the corpses of children like graveir, thugs and mercenaries with yellow eyes.”

“I never pretended to be otherwise,” Lambert snapped back. “You seem to think we owe this world something. We don’t. You think they’d care if us mutants fought at their side? You think they’ll give you a fuckin’ medal? Accept you back with open arms? Write stories and songs about you? Grow up. You’ve got yourself all wrapped up in those fairytales you read to Ciri.”

“And so what if they don’t? It’s not about that—it’s about doing the right thing, it’s—“

“There is no right thing. There is survival. There is getting through another pissin’ year and getting back here. Drinking with the people who actually give half a shit about whether you live or die. That’s it!”

Lambert was shouting now, his eyes furious, and Coën’s belly had tied itself in knots. Defensively, Coën raised his own voice, shoulders bunching. “For you, maybe. But I’m done with it. Maybe I want to become more! Rise above. Maybe I want to fight for something meaningful, defend the innocent, protect the—“

Lambert’s eyes narrowed, his fist tightening around his bottle, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “Throwing your life away won’t bring them back, Coën. Get your head out your arse. They’re dead, and you’re alive. Foolish sacrifice for those who don’t give a shit about you is just that, foolish. You’re a witcher, not a hero, stop trying to be more than you were made to be.”

Lambert’s words cut sharper than any knife. His lip lifted in a sneer of what looked like contempt, but there was an unnameable hurt in his eyes. Coën couldn’t parse it, he couldn’t even begin to, because his own anger and hurt was making his head ache. “Then perhaps I am a fool,” he snapped, rolling to his feet and snatching his shirt from the grass. “And as my foolishness seems to vex you so, I shall relieve you of my presence.”

“Fine! Why don’t you scurry off to Merigold? I’m sure she could tell you exactly the best way to piss your life away on her crusade.”

Coën stalked away and didn’t look back. He found Eskel weaving baskets with Ciri in one of the stillrooms and sat with them. The older witcher studied him closely, one of his large hands pawing at the scars on his face om thought, but he said nothing.

The rest of the winter passed much the same as before, but Lambert was no longer open and jovial in the evenings. He festered by the fire, muttering darkly about the cold and throwing an occasional scathing remark in Merigold’s direction, only to be chastised by Eskel, Vesemir or both. He drove Ciri just as hard—harder, when Triss wasn’t looking—and picked fault with everything she did.

Coën found her sitting by the fire one evening, picking dejectedly a the scabs on her hands, and staring into the flames. He brought her a blanket and hot mug of juice. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“Half an oren, and we’re talking!”

He thumped her lightly on the shoulder as he sat at her side, and she heaved a sigh. He pressed gently. “Come, a burden shared is a burden halved. Talk to me.”

“I think Lambert hates me, thinks I’m weak.”

“No,” Coën said quickly. “He loves you. Very much.”

Ciri blinked at him in surprise. “But he berates me every day. I disappoint him with everything I do. I need to get it right, I need—“

“Princess, Lambert is harshest to those he loves the most.”

“Well, he must absolutely worship Triss…”

Coën winced. “Ah, yes, no, perhaps there are exceptions, but…”

Ciri sniffled and turned her head away, one of her small, broken hands lifting to her face. He placed an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Come, there’s no need to hide your tears.”

“He’s right, I am weak…”

“No.” Coën lifted her chin so that their eyes met. “When I lost Kaer Seren, I cried for many days, and when I thought there could not possibly be a single tear left, they kept coming. Do you think me weak?”

“No, you’re so strong. You can shoot an apple from the air at a billion miles away! You make Lambert sweat in fencing and you can do ten backflips in a row, and—”

Coën smiled crookedly. “Your emotions aren’t something to be overcome, they are part of you. They make you stronger.”

“I need to get this right, I need to get strong, I need to kill him. I need to avenge them all. I need to—“

“And you will,” Coën said. “But Cintra was not built in a day, and its lioness is still a cub with a lot of growing to do. You must give yourself time. Strength is something that is forged through hardship, through failure. It will come.”

She gave him a watery smile and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I will get strong, Coën. I’ll listen to everything he teaches me, everything you teach me, Geralt, Eskel… I’ll get strong enough that I can protect people. Save people, you know, just like you do.”

“Yes,” Coën said, smiling. “You will be the greatest of us. Now, drink your juice. It’s past bedtime and Lambert wants me to teach you the crossbow tomorrow.”

“He does?”

“I found him stuffing targets only an hour ago.”

She squealed with excitement and downed her juice. He carried her to bed shortly after, tucking the heavy furs around her narrow frame. But that night sleep wouldn’t reach him; he listened to the others snore as he stared at the ceiling, thinking of orphans, monsters and war.

Come spring, he would head to the front, Coën decided. He could not stand by. He would rise above. He would become more.

[lilapplesheadcannons]

Nie MingJue was welcomed by the gust of cold air from the air conditioner as he walked in. The long anticipated rain did very little to dissipate the summer heat. Instead, the outside felt like a sauna. His shirt was sticking to his back, and the skin under his wristwatch was itchy. Baxia meowed in welcome.

Before he could finish taking off his shoes, though, his phone rang. It was Meng Yao.

"Heyyy." Meng Yao sounded perky. Like the way he sounded when Jin GuangShang got busted in a hotel room with two prostitutes. Or after the son of Meng Yao's old boss, the obnoxious greasy git that tried to grope Meng Yao in a lift, drove straight into the railings of a bridge. (A miniscule part of MingJue will resent Xichen until the next life for never telling him about the groping incident, for allowing Wen Chao to die painlessly in a hospital bed instead of begging for his life, choking on his own blood while MingJue tore him into pieces). Anyway...

"Is everything ok?"

"I am going with Mo-shi to A-Yu's school. He has been suspended."

"Damn!"

"Don't worry. I'll talk to the principal. I am sure he can be persuaded to see how that can easily be misconstrued into an attack against a non-binary student by the press. A-Su will meet us there." Meng Yao's voice sounded silky smooth.

Nie MingJue isn't worried. He doesn't know Mo XuanYu's principal well enough to care for the man. But he knows the mottled bunch his in-laws are. Especially after the shovel talk Qin Su and Mo XuanYu, two people not even reaching his sternum, gave him while the oldest ZiXuan stood calmly smiling at him with his back blocking the only door. All lives must go through some trials and tribulations. It was Mo XuanYu's principal's turn.

"Can I help?" He was quite free for the rest of the day.

"Well, not us. But Saozi needs someone to look after A-Ling for an hour."

"Ummm, me?" MingJue was pretty self-confident in his capability to deal with anything. That anything, however, wasn't a baby that couldn't even walk. He had taken care of HuaiSang since their dad passed away, but HuaiSang was a 5 years old child then. Albeit he came with his own set of challenges, but at least he wasn't a fragile 6-month-old.

"Yes, she's got to run to a venue, client is throwing tantrum. But don't worry. My mom and Mrs. Jin will come pick A-Ling as soon as they can. They went to an auction to Caiyi. If not, Xuan-ge will try to sneak out."

"OK."

The bell rang. It must be Jiang Yanli. MingJue opened the door while hanging up the phone.

Yanli smiled apologetically. She was carrying the baby in a carseat. Behind Wen Ning was packed like a mule with miscellaneous bagpacks and diaper bags. He was also carrying a teddy bear under one arm and a bassinet under the other. The baby was fast asleep.

"Sorry. One of my clients is having a major issue at her wedding. A-Yao said he was free, but I guess he got called away by A-Yu."

"It's ok, it's ok. Don't worry about it." Nie MingJue took the carseat. Wen Ning walked in to drop off his load while trying not to trip over a curious Baxia. In the next ten minutes, MingJue was familiarised with the baby food, formula, bottles, clothes, diapers, and enough syrups, drops, and creams to open a pharmacy of his own.

"He was just fed and changed. This is his naptime anyway. Don't worry, popo will come around to pick him up in an hour."

Nie MingJue smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry, Baxia and I will keep him safe."

Yanli relaxed. "Again, terribly sorry. I'd ask mom, but she and dad are out of the country. Give me a call if you need anything, ok? Let's go, A-Ning."

The duo rushed out. MingJue smiled at the seeming nonchalance that the Jins had for anything as he closed the door. Jiang Yanli acted as if her divorced parents going away together on a vacation abroad was the most natural phenomenon. A-Yao acted as if Mrs Jin taking her ex-husband's mistress to her latest fad was nothing out of ordinary. Even A-Yao going with another one of his dad's ex-mistresses to his half-sibling's school was just daily bread and butter. They functioned as a pack, a pride that had already devoured it's wayward patriarch, and one MingJue hoped he would never run afoul.

He could guess why it was him and not anybody else who was left holding Jin Ling. There was a silent, cold war of the uncles going on between Jiang Wanyin and Meng Yao to establish invisible territory, aided and abetted by HuaiSang, who very likely had a betting pool running somewhere. Wei Wuxian was a part of it, too, with strong backing from Lan Wangji, who would happily find a match if Wei Wuxian ever wanted to set the world on fire just for funsies, but they recently got their paperwork sorted and took a toddler with extreme separation anxiety home. It was obvious it would be a major loss for A-Yao if he couldn't provide impromptu babysitting on a day he was supposed to be free.

Jin Ling frowned , squirmed in his bassinet, and then opened his eyes. He was very clearly not impressed by what he saw because he broke into the howls of anguish.

Poor baby! MingJue picked him up and patted his back while pacing. Must be jarring going to sleep in your bedroom and waking up in an unfamiliar room with a semi-familiar giant staring at your face. Jin Ling simmered down into occasional whimpers. Baxia closely followed MingJue, obviously concerned for the deformed furless kitten. MingJue's phone rang again.

"Hello," Meng Yao sounded grimly determined, "how are things in your end?"

"Good, good. We are just getting along, " MingJue reassured. Over his shoulder, Jin Ling broke into a babble of babytalk with Baxia.

"That's better than us."

"How bad are things?"

"He fought with another kid, one of his cousins from the other side. That brat has to be hospitalised. School is thinking of getting police involved."

"Shit!" MingJue remembered his youngest half-brother-in-law. He was a twig of a child, surly and shy. He must have been pushed really hard for him to retaliate so badly.

"Yeah, Xuan-ge is on his way to here. If we can combine some legal threats, bad press, and monetary compensation, we can probably make things go away. Love you."

Meng Yao hung up. MingJue slowly whistled. He could understand why A-Yao was trying so hard to get XuanYu off without any blemishes. The Jin siblings were a hyperambitious, over-achieving bunch. Having one of their owns kicked out before completing high school with allegation of assault was not something A-Yao's delicate sensibilities could live with. His thoughts were interrupted by Jin Ling, who turned his head to make direct eye contact with him and said, "Shit!"

Nie MingJue almost dropped him in panic. Even not taking Jiang Yanli into account, a woman whom he had personally seen physically pull Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin apart, what Meng Yao would do to him if he ever learned that Nie MingJue taught his precious nephew to swear boggled minds. It wasn't even the cursing that was the worst part. One of the major bones of contention between A-Yao and Wanyin was whether Jin Ling would say shushu or jiujiu first. Jin Ling, like a good deplomat, had avoided saying any meaningful word so far. But when did things go in MingJue's favour anyway?

"No, no, A-Ling. Bad word. We don't say it."

Jin Ling tilted his head inquisitively. "Shiiiit?"

"Oh no, oh no. I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You shouldn't say it either."

"Shit!" Jin Ling spoke in conviction. He had found the first catchphrase of his life, and it was obviously getting all the right traction.

Maybe he'll forget if he gets distracted?

"Look here, this is kitty. Kiii-ttyyy. Say kitty. Meow, meow."

Baxia stared at him at mild contempt. Jin Ling spoke enthusiastically, "Shit!"

MingJue could feel himself breaking into a sweat despite the AC. This was exactly the type of stressful event Dr. Wen advised him to avoid during his checkup this morning. She was overall impressed with his blood pressure and his cholesterol and even smiled at him when he confirmed he got 9 hours of sleep every day. Now, he had gone and undone a year's progress.

"No A-Ling, kitty. Come on, Baxia, help me out here, old girl."

Baxia continued to look as unimpressed as ever. Jin Ling stuffed his left fist in his mouth.

MingJue decided to use threat because it was obvious his rotten old cat had no better nature he could fucking appeal to.

"What do you think will happen to you when Meng Yao kills me? Do you think he won't try to make it look like a burglary gone wrong and murder you too?"

Baxia finally said something, "Mrrrrrrrrrowwww!"

"I am glad you trust him so much. Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but he knows you peed in his shoes that time. He's just biding time, you'll see."

Baxia simply turned her tail and walked off. Jin Ling continued to slobber on his fist like it was a lollipop. MingJue took a deep breath. Why was he, a man in his late 30s, arguing with a cat over a baby? His phone went off again.

"Oh, hello, darling," Meng-shi sounded like a bubbly teenager over the phone, "How are my two favourite boys doing?"

Light-weight, light-voiced, a hummingbird of a woman; Meng-shi was the exact opposite of the stoic, statuesque mother figure MingJue was used to having. He informed her that they were, in fact, doing perfectly well.

"Well, you see honey, there was an accident on the highway." Meng-shi's singsong voice was tinged with anxiety. "We are waiting for the road to clear. Won't take long. Will you two be ok?"

MingJue reassured her and then hung up. Great! How hard can looking after a baby be? He just needed to not swear anymore.

Jin Ling looked thoughtful as he took his fist out of his mouth, then with the sound of ripping papers came the stench of the deepest, darkest depth of hell. MingJue felt a hot liquid on his forearm leaking from the baby's diaper.

It took ages and an insane amount of babywipes to clean Jin Ling up. MingJue also made the effort to scrub his forearm raw and sniffed A-Yao's cologne to clear his sinuses. On the brigher side, Jin Ling was so delighted by his gagging that he seemed to forget the swearword.

As he was spraying the house with airfreshner, his phone went off again. Finally! Please let it be Meng-shi. Or better yet, Jiang Yanli herself. But no, all his hopes were dashed at the sight of the caller id.

"Hello, Xichen."

"Oh, hi, hi. How are things?"

Before MingJue could answer, Lan Xichen continued, "So Wanyin called to say that A-Ling needs babysitting. Wanyin isn't in town, but I'd be happy to take him off your hand. I am quite free today."

MingJue stared at the phone in disbelief. Et tu, brute! Xichen had shared ice creams with him in kindergarten when they were expressedly forbidden to buy those without grownups. Xichen cried with him at his dad's funeral. Fuck, the man slept off his first break-up in the sofa MingJue paid for. (Ok, A-Yao helped too because he's so much better at vouchers and sales). But here was the smiling serpent, stabbing MingJue for petty personal gains.

"No, I wouldn't want to presume." MingJue tried not to sound curt.

"Oh, come on," the treacherous snake purred, "Do you really need the aggravation? Why not take the time to plan a special meal for A-Yao? I bet he'd like that."

The backstabbing beast. As if A-Yao won't castrate MingJue for surrendering his precious nephew to the opponent team.

MingJue copied the purr, "Oh no, Jin Ling and I are already planning a special meal for A-Yao when he gets back. Thanks for your offer. Bye."

"But..."

"BYE!"

Things some people would lower themselves to do for gaining brownie points with a dimpled shortie! MingJue shook his head mournfully. Jin Ling restarted his whimpering.

"What is it, A-Ling? Do you miss mommy? She'll be back soon. Don't cry."

Just on the cue, Jin Ling's stomach rumbled. Nie Mingjue put him down on the carpet with a sigh and went to heat up the water. Midway making the bottle, he got suspicious of the sudden silence and came out of the kitchen to see Jin Ling tugging on a fistful of Baxia's fur. A terrified MingJue was about to jump in, but it was obvious the baby had carte blanche. MingJue, who still bore the marks on his forearm from the time he picked up kitten Baxia and brought her home, sighed at the unfairness in the world and went back to the bottle. He was sighing a lot today.

Jin Ling drank his bottle with much gusto but took a serious offence at MingJue's paltry attempt to burp him. He turned his head and babbled in complaints and seemed quite close to saying "Shit" again. So MingJue gave up and started giving him a tour of the flat.

It was when he was showing the baby Baxia's cat tree that Meng-shi rang back.

" Sorry, sweetheart, we need to take a detour. It'll be another hour. I'm really sorry," She sounded breathless.

MingJue wasn't too bothered. He had changed the baby. He had fed the baby. Surely the worst was over? Just to prove him wrong, the baby broke into tears again.

MingJue checked his diapers. It was dry. He checked his clothes too for good measures in case there were any rogue insects. But A-Ling was all clear and still yelling. MingJue carried him to the kitchen this time with him and made another bottle with one hand, but A-Ling spat it out. He was beginning to go red in his face. Desperate for a miracle, MingJue took him to the bedroom. He put the baby on his knees and tried to rock him side to side, just like how he had seen his own mother rock HuaiSang. Baxia meowed, then jumped up on the bed. He asked the cat, "What do I do now, Baxia?"

But the baby stopped whimpering. Baxia had crawled next to him and put a paw on his tummy. The baby yawned, then closed his eyes.

Within half an hour, MingJue felt his leg go numb. It was also lunchtime, and he skipped breakfast this morning for fasting blood glucose levels. But he didn't dare to move the baby.

Another half an hour crawled away. Finally, he heard keys rattling in the door.

"Da-ge?"

He could hear Meng Yao's whisper.

"Over here, in the bedroom." He whispered back.

It wasn't just A-Yao, though. Jiang Yanli and Jin ZiXuan peeked from behind him, three of them showing matching grins. Probably, the baby could sense his mom nearby because he blinked his eyes open.

It was an... impressive reunion, to say the least. If MingJue hadn't witnessed the whole thing, he'd easily believe that the mother and the child hadn't seen each other for aeons. Jin ZiXuan updated him as he put the baby items back into the bag.

"He's going to be fine. After school detention. The other kid is in trouble, though. He's been hitting A-Yu for a long time. Other students spoke up. He's the son of Mo-shi's sister, and well, it seems Mother dear has been talking nonsense to the boy. His dad works in a company affiliated with us, though. He came in to apologise. We'll also bring this up in the next school board meeting. I am sure people would be interested to know how the school was so quick to punish my brother without proper investigation. " His smile reminded MingJue of a documentary he had seen only the night before on great whites.

He felt Meng Yao touch his arm. He was almost blinded by the beatific, grateful smile. Well, he couldn't blame Xichen anymore. A man could go a great length for some dimples.

"Thanks! I owe you one." Meng Yao whispered.

MingJue felt a pleasant tingle in his spine. A-Yao was generous in his paybacks. He was in luck.

The Jins were ready to leave. Yanli waved Jin Ling's chubby fist for him.

"Say goodbye to shushu, A-Ling. Say goodbye to Gufu."

However, Jin Ling opened his mouth and said, "Bai-ya!"

Everyone paused.

"He said bye! His first words!" Jin ZiXuan was in tears. But Jin Ling protested, "Baiii-yaaa!"

As if in response, Baxia walked up to Yanli and meowed. It dawned onto people only then.

"My son's first word. It's a cat's name!"

MingJue struggled to maintain his smile as he waved them goodbye. If only ZiXuan knew the original first word his son had uttered. MingJue kept his fingers crossed that Jin Ling wouldn't say "Shit" until he was at least one.

[klbwriting]

Our Strange Duet

Chapter 7 - From Here

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: none, just angst

Summary: Jason had a long recovery journey ahead and doesn't start it well

Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch @amberpanda99

It isn't where I am, its where I go from here - Amelie

Jason had passed out whenever he saw Dick finally arrive to get him, the pain of trying to walk on his ankle enough to drain all the blood from his face. The last thing he remembered was Dick’s frantic face as he picked him up to carry him to the car. Then he was sleeping, until he heard Dick’s voice. He didn’t open his eyes, wanting to will himself back to sleep, but then he heard his name.

“Jason isn’t just some soldier for you to discharge when you think he’s disobeying orders,” Dick said, voice low but so angry. Jason assumed that he was talking to Bruce. He must have known that Jason found Bruce and was now trying to figure out what had happened.

“What are you talking about ‘he’s not one of us’? I tried to beat the shit out of you…so what if I didn’t try to shoot you, I just didn’t think of it…o so because he has guns he’s some kind of serial killer?...it was Falcone what harm did his death do?...what are you talking about, you wouldn’t give him to the cops…fuck you Bruce, get your shit together and don’t call me until you do,” Dick finally hung up the phone and let out an annoyed sigh. “I know you’re awake.”

“I don’t want to be,” Jason said, eyes opening slowly. He wiped them and sat up a little, looking down that his leg under the hospital blanket. “An actual hospital?” he said, taking in the stark white room and the itchy blanket over his lower half.

“I got your gear to a safe house, said you were getting drunk at some roof party and fell off,” he said. Jason rolled his eyes. “Hey, it was always a safe go to way to get injured, drunk people are idiots.” Jason nodded, pulling the blanket to look at his ankle, leg in a cast from the knee down. “That’s on for six weeks, then you get a boot, so no hijinks until after. I contacted the school, they obviously will work with you for your classes and your theater director said she wouldn’t recast you, they want you at practice today, which starts in an hour so we better get moving.” Jason followed along, but then looked at Dick.

“What about YN? What did she say? Where is she?” he asked, getting up and getting his clothes so he could get dressed. Dick looked at little guilty.

“I didn’t tell her anything, I said I had you and that she needed to get to class, so she went to class, you’ll see her at practice,” he said. Jason stared. Great, she was going to freak out. He got dressed around the cast, needing to cut his combat pants to get them to work around the bulk before shooting off a text to YN telling her not to freak out when she saw him. She called him.

“What do you mean NOT freak out? What happened?” she asked. Dick was driving, pretending he couldn’t hear his brother who was stretched out in the backseat.

“I fell off a roof,” he said. There was a long minute of silence. “YN?”

“Are you ok?” she asked, clearly trying to contain herself. He didn’t know where she was, but she was whispering now. “Was it related to anything like…the terror that flaps in the night?” Jason let out a laugh.

“Darkwing Duck? No, he wasn’t there,” Jason said, getting a loud hmph from YN. He heard a door close and then another door and then running water. “Are you showering?”

“I’m making noise in one of the dorm showers, so no one hears me, I snuck in to hide for this conversation,” she said. “And no not Darkwing Duck, I was trying to infer about Batman.” Jason scowled.

“Yes, it involved Bruce,” he said. “I confronted him, told him to leave you alone. He said something about me finding him, then he said my name and I lost it…I tackled him off the roof, he used a grappling hook and I fell.”

“And then he came to help you until Dick arrived?” she said, even though she knew the answer.

“No, he left me,” Jason said, saying it out loud really ripping open his chest. His father once again leaving him. It wasn’t a surprise, him being abandoned, but it didn’t hurt any less.

“That absolute fucking cunt,” she said, and Jason laughed in surprise more than anything. She wasn’t exactly angelic, but he had never heard her say something so vulgar. “I need to go, heading to practice early to do some arranging with the music teaching advisor on the play, I will see you there?”

“Ya, I’ll be there,” he said, smiling a little.

“Alright, I love you Jason,” she said, making sure to enunciate each word so he heard them clearly. She hung up, knowing he might not be able to say the words back. Betrayal could do that to him. He didn’t feel much love for anything at the moment, but he knew in a few hours, when he had a chance to rest, get a shower and some food, get comfortable, he would feel so much love and care towards his brother and his girlfriend, but right now his entire mind was shaded with anger and worry and doubt. At least he could use that for motivation at practice.

The director was understanding about the timeline of his ankle, but did ask that he be more responsible in the future. He heard her mutter that if he wasn’t so talented she would have kicked him out so he took that as a good sign. He could at least do something right. He could hobble around pretty good on one crutch since he had done that before during his stint as Robin, so he got around the stage pretty well as they got used to their marks. Being the phantom, he didn’t need to do much dancing, it was more looking menacing, which was a little difficult with a cast, but he could figure it out. By the end he was exhausted, collapsing into a theater seat as the director went over the schedule for the next couple weeks. YN didn’t make an appearance until the end where she answered a question about how the arrangement was coming along and she stammered through her answer, catching sight of him with his cast.

“Yes, I know Mr. Todd seems to have gotten himself injured already, college parties get wilder every year,” the director muttered. YN nodded, before walking over and sitting next to him. The director dismissed them all and while the others left YN and Jason stayed seated.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think you were in a cast; you fell off a roof, of course it wasn’t just a concussion or something,” she said. “How bad is it?”

“6 weeks in this thing and then a boot until they say I’m ok,” he answered. She nodded and produced a sharpie from her bag. “Going to be the first to sign it?”

“Yes, I am your girlfriend I am first,” she said, putting her name and a heart on it. “There, now you have a six-week reminder that you are loved.” Jason still wasn’t ready to accept that and instead rolled his eyes, instant annoyance settling over him.

“Yes, loved by someone who lied to me,” he said before he could stop himself. He regretted it as soon as the smile fell off of YN’s face. His annoyance wasn’t at her, it was at himself, and just like always he pushed his self-loathing out onto others. “YN…”

“No, you’re right, I lied to you about the apartment. Don’t worry, the next apartment I get I will be paying for myself, no rich assholes or deadbeat dads to be seen,” she said. “I have some work to finish for the show, I will see you later?” She stood and grabbed her bag before he could answer, disappearing back towards the music area of the school. He knew Dick was waiting to take him back to the apartment, so he sighed and went home.

YN wasn’t back until late that evening, setting her things in a corner by the door, trying to be small. Dick had noticed Jason was in a bad mood as soon as he got in the car and since he couldn’t go out to kiss criminal ass at the moment, he was sulking on the couch watching the 2005 Pride and Prejudice because yes, the one with Colin Firth may have been a classic but dammit Matthew Macfadyen was absolutely perfect as Mr. Darcy. He noticed and bounced to shut the movie off.

“No, I love this movie,” she said, walking over as his hand stilled on the remote. She sat down on the couch, and he put an arm on the back of it, a peace offering. She slid in and leaned her head to his chest, his arm sliding around her and Dick slinking out of the room, and Jason took a deep breath, finally ready to feel loved for a little while.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered after several minutes. She took the hand on her shoulder and kissed it softly.

“I’m sorry too,” she said. Neither of them needed to look to see how much the other meant it, how much they loved each other. It was in their very beings and Jason once again, and probably not for the last time, realized he didn’t need Bruce to love him, he had Dick and he had YN and that was all he needed.

[bellysoupset]

Jon's Appendicitis - Part 2

Jonah didn't feel well. Everything was hurting, even through the painkillers, and to make matters worse, Leo had hardly spoken since he had woken up.

He had been obviously concerned and the few words they exchanged were over how Jon felt - is this okay? Do you want me to fix your pillow? I'm gonna get the doctors, you need more painkillers - , but other than that... Nothing.

Jonah shifted on the passenger seat, staring out of the window. From the corner of his eye he could tell Leo was frowning.

"Will you spit it up already?" Jonah snapped, so loud that it caused Leo to jump a little on his seat and the car to almost break. The blonde let out a scoff, frowning still.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You're clearly pissed, so just yell at me already, Leo," Jonah sighed, rubbing his chest. Everything felt so damn itchy, the bandages, the clothes scratching against his skin.

Leo didn't answer him immediately, squeezing the steering wheel and attempting to be the bigger person, before he blurted out, "you were sick for days and you didn't tell me."

"Sick is an overstatement," Jon rolled his eyes, "I didn't feel well, big fucking dea-"

"You didn't tell me."

"You were busy, Leo," Jonah grimaced, turning on his seat, "you had to focus on your exam, I wasn't gonna be complaining about a damn stomachache, c'mon."

Leo let out a scoff, "and then yesterday you went out to fucking drink? Are you insane? You're supposed to be a fucking doctor, Jonah!"

"We were celebrating!"

"Shut up about the stupid exam!" Leo rolled his eyes, "we could celebrate another night! If the roles were reversed you'd be pissed I didn't tell you!"

"This isn't fair," Jonah said quietly, sighing in relief when their building came into view, "you're being unfair."

Leo's mouth hung open and he felt tears sting his eyes. This was like being told I'm-not-angry-I'm-disappointed. It stung twice as much than just screaming at each other.

"How- How am I not being fair!?" Leo exclaimed, forcing the words out, "you hurt yourself! You're not even remotely sorry! You - You hurt yourself and it's my fucking fault-"

"Stop," Jonah rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted, "stop, Leo."

"No! You're being a hypocrite!"

The car came to a stop and Leo fully turned to glare at his boyfriend, only to feel his anger diminish as he got a good look of Jonah's wounded face and the pain written all over it. He felt an overwhelming urge to apologize immediately, but Leo dug his metaphorical heels. He couldn't believe Jonah thought he was justified in hurting himself like that.

"Okay," Jon said, almost soft spoken and opened the car, getting out of it slowly, hissing at every move. Leo's stomach sunk.

"Jon..."

"I said Okay," Jonah repeated, leaning heavily against the car, "I just wanna go lie down."

"I... Yeah, okay..." Leo mumbled, feeling dangerously close to tears. He wanted a fight, not whatever this was. He didn't want to kick his boyfriend when he was in pain, he had wanted to just voice his frustrations, but somehow he felt worse now than before, "let me help."

"I can walk on my own," Jonah snapped at him, a cold edge to his voice, betraying the anger he was calmly concealing. Leo gulped down.

"Why are you pissed at me?" He groaned, resting his elbows on top of the car and resisting to raise his voice out of frustration. Jonah let out a scoff, rolling his eyes.

"Can we please go inside? Or are you so hell bent on causing a scene in the garage?"

"Who's being unfair now?" Leo scoffed, slamming the car door shut and power walking ahead. Still, he held the elevator door until Jonah joined him, mulling over his words. It wasn't right that Jon was acting like he had no business being angry. If Leo had hidden an illness for days and landed himself in the hospital, Jonah would be ballistic.

He noticed Jon slumping against the wall of the elevator, chest heaving with laborious breath. Leo desperately wanted to comfort him, just as much as he was still furious.

The elevator came to a stop with a soft ding! and they walked out, still not looking at each other. Leo held the door open, so Jonah could pass in front of him and then let out a sigh, "can you take more painkillers?"

"Not for another five hours," Jonah said quietly, then glanced around the room, "where's my rug..?"

Leo let out a chuckle, noticing the white rug he had always found incredibly tacky was gone, "I guess Luke trashed it. I mean, it was definitely ruined, so..."

Jonah glared at the empty spot, then around the room, "where's my cat?"

"Luca has her-"

"You let Atwood kidnap my cat?" Jonah scoffed, sitting down on the couch and crossing his arms, "great, just great."

Leo rolled his eyes, shoulders still tense, "he didn't kidnap her, he's catsitting for us during this weekend. I couldn't exactly feed her while I was at the hospital, could I?" the bitterness pulled his voice up at the end.

"For fuck's sake, Leo!" he exploded, slapping the couch and jumping up, so sudden that Leo jumped and took a step back, heart racing, "why the fuck are you so pissed!? This isn't fair! I sucked it up so you could pass the exam-"

"I never... I never asked-" Leo choked out, but Jon interrupted him immediately, pissed off.

"I know! I know you didn't ask me to suck it up, but it was the bar exam, Leo! It's your future, it's our future! I wasn't gonna take your focus away because of a fucking stomachache and now you're yelling at me? How about thanks Jon!?"

"You want me to thank you for hurting yourself?!" Leo echoed, floored, "are you out of your damn mind?!"

"I didn't hurt myself, not on purpose! I got sick, stop making such an issue out of this! Take the fucking win and shut up!" Jonah all but yelled and Leo flinched, out of reflex.

His thoughts were all scrambled and he stumbled back, "you're- You're being a hypocrite. If it was me-"

"It's not the same at all-"

"Why?" Leo frowned, "because you know best and I know fuck all?"

"That's not what I said-"

"That's exactly what you said."

"Because you'd do it on purpose!" Jonah exclaimed, "because- Because you don't think you deserve to be cared for, so you go and you- You hide and think you can just curl up and die and no one will care, but I wasn't doing that! I just didn't think it was a big deal and I wanted you to pass the damn exam and I wanted you to be happy! It's not the same!"

He was panting when he finished yelling it and Jonah let out a hiss, bracing against the couch and falling sit. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands and Leo took the minute to collect himself.

He felt a little dizzy, mind struggling to stay in the present. Leo clenched and unclenched his fists, taking deep breathes. Five things he could see: his boyfriend curled up and clearly struggling not to throw up from the pain; the grey light streaming through the living room windows; the dishes washed and put away in the kitchen; JD's food bowl was missing; His flip flops neatly tucked away near the front door.

"Leo...?" Jonah spoke up, voice much calmer, much quieter, "are you alright...?"

Three things he could hear: the blood singing in his ear, Jonah's concerned voice...

"Leo?"

"Give me a fucking second," Leo snapped, squeezing his eyes shut. Jon was scary when he was angry, yelling like that. He wasn't a violent person, Leo knew that, but that didn't stop his heart from hammering up like that.

"Baby, I didn't-"

"Shut up!" Leo exclaimed, pressing his back to the opposite wall and sliding down, "just fucking shut up for one minute."

Jonah's mouth snapped shut in a tight line and he sat on the edge of the couch, watching Leo intensely. The blonde looked up, glaring at the ceiling and counting his breaths until everything got back in focus.

"I'm not a child," he said slowly, refusing to meet Jon's eyes, "I appreciate you not wanting to take my mind off my exams and trying to make my night special, but I'm not a little kid who needs to be lied to or shielded from facts. I could've done even if I knew you were sick. We could've celebrated it a different night-"

"Leo-"

"Let me speak," he said sharply, raising a hand, "and I don't appreciate you using my mental illness as an excuse to hide things. That doesn't help me. All that causes is me trusting you less."

"I didn't use your depr-"

"I know I have my issues and I know I struggle with things, but that's no excuse for you to lie to me," Leo glared at him, finally meeting his eyes, "I don't want to feel like I did, sitting in that waiting room, knowing you were in immense pain just because you didn't speak up earlier, ever again."

Jon nodded, his frown melting, "I'm sorry... And I'm sorry for yelling... Can you please get over here? I don't-" he tried to get up again, then gave up with a pained whine, "please?"

Leo nodded, feeling exhausted. He got up and crossed the room again, hesitating for a split second before sitting right next to Jon and allowing his boyfriend to hug him. For a second there, his whole body tensed up and he felt Jon squeeze him harder, until Leo hugged him back.

"I'm sorry," Jon mumbled against his neck, "I didn't mean to scare you. Not then, not now."

"I know," Leo answered, turning his head to kiss Jonah's temple, noticing how clammy he felt to the touch, "let's move you to bed, you're not supposed to be sitting up like that."

Jonah nodded, saying nothing and Leo appreciated the silence, because he still felt very close to tears. He looped an arm carefully around Jon's waist and pulled him up, noticing just how pale he was.

They took a minute to stumble back to the suite and Jon fell against the pillows with a sigh, pressing his hands to his eyes. Leo frowned, as he noticed his boyfriend's heavy breathing and the way his shoulders were shaking.

"Jon," Leo sat gingerly next to him, touching his elbow, "babe, if the pain is so much you're crying, then maybe we should-"

"It's not that," Jonah's voice was choked up and he rubbed angrily at his eyes, "it's not the pain. I'm fine."

Leo's frown deepened and he said nothing, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"I don't like you being scared of me, that's all," the other man whispered, looking defeated. Leo's heart squeezed and he leaned in, wiping the tears that Jonah was clearly unable to hold back, due to how tired and achy he felt, and kissing his forehead.

"Don't think too highly of yourself, I'm not scared of you," he rolled his eyes, opening a smile, "I don't like the yelling and hitting, it scares me, yeah, but you don't. Those are different things."

"It's not really," Jon pouted and Leo glared at him, kissing his pout.

"Are you trying to explain to me my own triggers? Didn't we just talk?"

"I..." Jonah had the decency of blushing and then nodded, grabbing the front of Leo's shirt and pulling him closer. Even weak as he was, he had enough force in his grip that Leo fell over him, narrowly avoiding putting all his weight on his boyfriend's tender stomach. He kicked off his shoes, snuggling on his side and planting a kiss to Jonah's shoulder, wrapping an arm around him, fingers playing with his hair.

"I love you, okay?" Leo whispered, exhausted, "you know that's why I'm pissed, right?"

"Yeah..." Jon nodded, leaning in to press their foreheads together and breathing out, "my stomach bloody hurts, Leo. No one told me about this..."

Leo smiled, counting it as a win that Jonah was communicating his pain and kissed the side of his head, "do you think a warm bath would help? Or a hot water bottle? Or ice?"

"Maybe ice," Jonah said tentatively, but then squeezed Leo's shirt when he attempted to move, "not now. In a second."

Leo let out a huff, hugging him closer, "it's just gonna hurt more, babe..."

"It's fine, in a second," Jonah snuggled into the hug, "and I want my fucking cat back. You can call Lucas."

[glazedsnail]

Fanficcy

We're closing in to the end (not yet there's like at least 4 parts left lmao)

Misery Loved Company

ShanexOCFarmer (♀️) 18+ / swear words/substance misuse/explicit/suicide ideation/mention of abuse/Blood/injury

I know a good fanfic writer links her parts but I don't feel like it tonight I dribbled tea on my chest and that's tea that'll never end up in my belly.

Look at my family waiting for the jellyfishes. I'm taking Jas with me and there's nothing you can do about it.

Look at us all purple fresh and then there's goober with brown hair smh.

(I have a full folder of screenshots that can last me until I actually play the game again) (I had purple hair/green eyes combo before even knowing the existence of Shane this was truly meant to be)

‘Ok she’s back. Thank you Maru.’

‘I’m back?’

‘The hematoma isn’t new, do you recall when it might have happened?’

‘What do you mean I’m back?’

‘You dozed off a little, Maru got the blood needed. Fern, do you remember anything?’

‘Yes, I mean, yes. I fell face first. What’s this? How do you know my blood type?’

Harvey sighs, I’m obviously being difficult. Maru is softly laughing, removing the empty perfusion bag from the stent in my arm.

‘We have your medical records, on top of having a bank of universal donors if you want to know everything. Now can you answer MY questions? Fern?’

‘My medical records?’

‘When did you fall? Was that before the cut? Do you feel nauseous?’

‘Last night, or early this morning I’m not sure. I’m sorry.’

‘You are in a safe space, alright? Maru thank you again for the stitches. If anyone’s still outside let them know she’s fine.’

The young nurse starts walking towards the door.

‘But no one is allowed in until I say so, is that clear?’

She nods, getting herself ready. 

‘Ok Fern’ Harvey starts ‘I’ll keep you in tonight for observation. But tomorrow we’ll have to send you to Zuzu city for an MRI, alright?’

‘What about my arm?’

‘It was deep, but the shards missed any major arteries or tendons. You’ll get some blisters from the boiling water but’

‘Wait a minute, how do you know?’

He chuckles.

‘Wow you were really out weren’t you? You told us about the glasses and the tea and all.’

‘And all?’

‘Actually that was pretty much it. Do you want to keep the pieces of glass Maru extracted?’

He casually hands me a porcelain bowl with glistening small bits of glass, bloodied gauze, and a pair of tweezers. 

‘I, huh.’

‘I’m joking’ he adds, replacing the bowl on its tray. ‘There’s a bell if you need anything during the night. Anything urgent that is. I’ll phone Gus, see if Emily can deliver you some dinner. Craving anything in particular?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘The fusspot special then. Fern you’ve lost a lot of blood, you need to eat. I’ll be upstairs, ok?’

He disappears behind the curtains and I hear the door closing. It’s odd to have a friend turn on their bedside manners…

I feel so silly. Everything hurts so much. And I’m terrified of the town speculations.

Marnie did see it happen, she’d be able to help me dismiss any rumours. Then again, this is the perfect opportunity for her to confirm her narrative. That I’m way too unstable for Shane. 

What a thing to say. Coming to my house, waste my tea, drink my juice. Question my sanity. Forbid me to see her nephew. Nephew who made it clear he didn’t want to see me anyway.

I fall back on the large pillow with a sigh. The stitches are already itchy. The hospital gown is thin like toilet paper. The duvet is too thick. The perfusion stent is uncomfortable. Wait, hospital gown? How long was I out? Where are my clothes?

I’m too upset.

And hungry.

I pass my hand on my tired face. I try to remember what happened and what was said during the panic. I think about Vincent and Jas. Way to traumatise a generation. I carefully touch the bump on my forehead. “I’ll take you to Harvey’s in the morning.” He said. I scoff. Right. I didn’t believe a word he said anyway. That whole date was an absolute disaster. I had no fun, no laugh. Nothing. I faked through the whole ordeal. Comfortable arms? Soft lips? Warm smile? Kind eyes? … I slap myself. Left hand against my forehead.

‘Ow, ouch, oh what a fucking idiot’ I wince, folding myself over in pain. I never want to see him ever again.

Someone knocks on the door and doesn’t even wait for an answer to open. I assume it’s Emily with my food. ‘Ugh Emily I’m so happy to see you. I hope you brought something good, I’m starving. I have so much to tell you, you’re… Oh. It’s you.’

The curtain opened and out appeared Shane, holding a box.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, crawling back under the duvet.

‘Emily told me she had to deliver this to the hospital. I knew it was for you, so…’

‘Very professional of Emily I see…’

He puts the box on the bedside table and grabs a chair.

‘I’m not going to beat around the bush, Fern. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left so abruptly last night.’

‘It’s ok, no sweat.’ I lie.

‘It’s absolutely not ok. It’s never ok. Especially after… the time we spent together.’

My thighs tense up at the reminder. I try really hard not to look at him, lest I see his lustful eyes and sleazy smile on top of me, his sweaty body all over my naked skin.

I shiver.

Well that was an exercise in futility.

‘What do you want.’ I say in the coldest tone I can while my brain showers me with millions of images of me and Shane completely naked. 

Hardly appropriate. ‘I mainly came to see how you’re doing.’

‘I’m fine.’ I cut short

‘Do you mind telling me what happened?’

‘Ask your aunt.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’ I’m bitter. Who wouldn’t? ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Fern. Did Marnie come to visit you?’

I scoff. How dare he?

‘Shane, please, don’t piss on me and tell me it’s raining, ok?

‘At least look at me.’

‘No.’

‘Fern, I’m sorry I hurt you. Leaving you there, in the chicken coop I… Well I panicked. I simply panicked. I don’t have any excuses other than I fucking panicked. Remembered how and why I was being so… rude to you in the first place, and seeing how we were now, it just…What if in the end I’m just… reverting back to that jerk… Fern, look at me!’

‘You know there’s a bell I can tug at to get Harvey down.’ 

‘You wouldn’t do that.’

‘Try me’

‘You wouldn’t bother anyone to get rid of me, one, you’re too polite, and self conscious. And two, for some reason I can’t understand you.. Like me? Still?’

‘So you came here to insult me, I see.’

He carefully grabs my heavily bandaged arm.

‘Did you… do that yourself?’

‘I said ask your aunt.’

‘Did SHE do that?’

I chuckle, what an idiot.

‘Yes, actually. She came in and said “if you touch my nephew again I’ll cut your arm, worthless farmer!” and did this to show me she wasn’t kidding.’

He laughs, the bastard.

‘Fern’

‘It’s not that far from the truth, you know.’

He stays silent, dumbfounded.

‘W-what?’ He stutters after a moment. I finally look at him. He’s out of his Joja uniform, making me realise how long I did pass out. He looks even more tired than usual. And worried. His cold hands are cradling mine, softly rubbing it with his thumbs. He brings it to his lips and kisses it. His other hand reaches my hair he tucks behind my ear.

‘Nasty bump there.’

‘See, I ended up at Harvey’s without your help’

He bites into his lip and looks down. We stay silent for a while, his hand rubbing mine, and I feel terrible to play with him like that. I, probably, didn’t need to bring Marnie in the conversation, when he’s already confused. ‘I broke a glass, in…Hum, in anger. And instead of, you know, doing the sensible thing like going to the hospital, I spend too long trying to fix it myself…’’ 

He softly kisses the bandages. I remember him seeing the wound and asking what I did, in the panic of it all. I kinda see where he’s coming from. But I’ll never admit it.

‘So’ I start ‘ What did Gus prepare for me?’

‘I actually don’t know, I just grabbed the box and left.’ He hands me the warm lunch box.

‘No notes this time?’ He dares say, in a laugh.

‘Like you’re in a position to make jokes. Aw! Some fried mushrooms and eggplant parmesan. Nice.’

‘So, does he know your favourite too then?’

‘Only one of them is my favourite’ I say, biting into a mushroom. ‘I’ll let you guess which one.’

‘I’m a terrible cook but I’m willing to try.’

I almost choke on my mushroom bite. Who said anything about cooking what for who now. I sigh.

‘He also packed some cookies. Do you, erm. Do you want to join me and grab some?’

‘You don’t want me to leave you alone? You won’t ring on Harvey?’

I laugh.

‘If anything happens, know that I have the power to make him come down in an instant!’

‘What pyjamas do you think he wears?’

‘I can ring to find out.’ I joke, extending my arm to the chord.

He laughs, timidly, and smiles at me. I smile back. I can’t fight it. I shuffle slowly to the side and pat the bed.

‘Come on. Let’s have a cookie sleepover.’

He chuckles and joins me.

‘Aren’t you cold in that gown?’ He asks, looking at me out of the cover, before lifting it for himself. ‘Oh shit that’s heavy duty stuff.’

‘Yeah I barely need the gown at all, it’ll make me sweaty.’

He laughs, locking his eyes into mine. I feel myself breathing heavily, looking back at him. He softly caresses my cheek, my neck, reaches my shoulder and undo the first knot of the hospital  gown. He sighs, breathing heavily too.

‘Harvey could hear us’ I say in one whisper, helping him put the box of food aside and get rid of his belt.

‘I’ll have to keep you quiet’ he says in my ear. I shiver, let him devour my neck, climb slowly, delicately, on top of me.

‘Watch for the stent.’

‘I’ll be very careful, the softest.’ He slowly inserts himself inside of me with incredible ease. He tries to conceal a groan as he feels my wet inside surrounding him, ready for him.

He breathes heavily against my neck. I grab him, letting him fall completely into me. He moves ever so slowly, making me taste every inch of him in a delicious soft dance, punctuated by his breathing and low growl.

‘You ok baby? I’m not hurting you?’

I shiver.

‘N-no’ I whisper back ‘This feels..Ah..Great.’

I fail at concealing a moan. Shane softly covers my mouth with his hand.

‘Shh. You’re gonna get us caught.’ he whispers directly in my ear, moving with the only goal of making me explicitly squeal.

He’s enjoying it. This is outrageous. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. 

‘That’s my good girl.’ He looks at me, still covering my mouth, moving his hips to overwhelm me, forcing me to stay silent. I try to keep my muffled whimpers as down as possible.

‘Shane…’

He kisses me with such intense softness. I grab the back of his head, kissing him back. My eyes are getting wet from the multiple sensations, the edges of pleasures Shane is balancing me on. The risk of getting caught, the self-inflicted restriction of making any kind of noise, while subjected to the creaking of the bed, the wet sound of our bodies merging, and his slow breathing against my skin. 

I lift my bandaged arm to him.

‘Ha shit.’

‘Are you ok?’

‘Yeah I’m sorry ah.. No, don’t stop… It’s only my arm. I almost forgot why I was there.’

‘Almost?’ He replies, kissing all the free skin he can find. ‘Then I’m not doing a good job.’ he laughs, moving inside me, making me yelp.

‘Shane!’

‘Shh.’

‘You certainly are enjoying yourself’ I say between gasps and heavy breathings. ‘Are you not?’ He asks, attacking me with a stronger thrust.

‘Fuck, Shane!’

‘I said: “are you not?”’ I yield, like I’m able to do anything else. ‘I am…’ I grab him by the back of his head, locking him with my legs. ‘ I love feeling your hard cock inside my warm pussy.’ I feel him try to conceal a spasm. Despite it all, it seems I know how to get the upper hand.

‘Fern…’ 

I’m overstimulated by his slow passionate fuck, the low sound of his whispering voice.

‘F-Fern.’ he repeats, slowly moving between my legs.

He buries his head in my neck. I bite into his shoulder. Tears fall down my temples as I conceal a scream, barely. I hear him growl, feel him tremble, feel his warmth covering my walls. 

‘Fuck Fern I’m sorry.’

‘It’s ok… It’s ok, don’t worry. No please stay… stay inside of me…’ 

‘I couldn’t…Control anything I’

I laugh

‘Shane it’s fine. Come don’t worry.’ I grab him back to let him fall on me, give him some rest. He works on getting his breathing back to normal, I play with his hair, feeling my heart pumping in my chest. I try to process how we came at the same time, like two stupid romance protagonists. I laugh to myself. After a while, disappointingly, he slips down next to me.

‘Are you gonna leave?’ I try to sound completely disinterested whatever he chooses. After all, about an hour ago I said I didn’t want to see him ever again. Then I saw him again, and invited him on my hospital bed, made him comfortable in between my legs, cried at the overwhelming pleasure he inflicted on me I… I need to stop and reevaluate my convictions. ‘No, unless you want me to.’

‘I guess you got what you came for.’

‘Fern’ He shuffles against me, moving his fingers delicately on my tender skin. ‘I know you don’t believe that of me.’

‘There’s been precedent.’

‘I had no clue this would happen’ he simply says, now kissing my chest ‘It’s certainly not why I came here.’

‘Then why?’

‘I still haven’t had any of those cookies for starters’

I slap his shoulder, failing to push him off the bed. He has no right to make me laugh.

He gains back his composure and sits up. ‘First of all, I wanted to check on you.’ He grabs me in his arms, making himself more comfortable on the hospital bed. He accidentally pushes his shorts, all with belt and set of keys, off the mattress. It all falls in a loud repeating clink of noises. We both brace ourselves, keeping an ear out for “old man Harv’” running down the stairs. Nothing. Fortunately. We both sigh and he continues. ‘When Caroline ran into Joja she was white as a sheet. She was shouting for Harvey. I was trying to calm her down and help her find the doc but then she said your name.  I let her there, and took off. As stupid as it was of me. She was panic stricken, about something that happened to you. I was so scared.’ I see his eyes shifting left and right. The memories of this afternoon are mixing with distant ones. Distant memories of hurt loved ones he’ll never be able to process. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be there. It haunts him. I grab his shaking hand.

‘And then I saw everyone outside the clinic. Jas ran to me, crying. Penny’s hands covered in blood. I tried to ask what happened, Jas was crying on my shoulder. I got no answers. I had to run in. This.. rush overrode every sense in me, telling me I had to see you now, just in case.’  He’s trembling. I realise he’s having some sort of PTSD episode. I catch him, pulling him towards me.

‘Take a deep breath, Shane. You’re fine. I’m fine. It’s ok.’ I cradle him in my arms, swaying side to side, softly humming. ‘I did tell you about Jas’ parents.’

I nod, feeling the tears gathering in my eyes.

‘And you did the best you could. For her, and for yourself.’

I tightens my arms around him as much as my injury and this stupid stent allow me. ‘I’m fine, Shane. Look at me. All I’ll get is a stupid scar. We’re all fine, ok?’

He removes himself from my arms.

‘I’m sorry, I…I’m not sure what happened.’ He says, wiping his wet eyes.

‘You’ve had to process so much on your own, to keep strong for others, on your own.’ I recall Marnie’s words from this afternoon, asking me to leave Shane alone, for his own sake. Is she right? Would I bring him down? I’m in such a better place than ever before, that’s got to count for something, right? I don’t want to die anymore.

‘Fern?’

‘What?’

‘I said “how’s your arm?” You’re rubbing it.’ I didn’t even realise I’ve been doing that.

‘It’s ok. Harvey said it looked fine. He even asked if I wanted to keep the shards but he was joking.’

He laughs ‘That’d be kinda cool.’

‘Right? And he just threw them away.’

‘What if he actually keeps everything and has a collection box or something.’

‘Shane that’s so gross’

‘I know but imagine, everything that’s been inside someone’s body! A Pelican Town time capsule, a keepsake of some sort.’

‘So, he’s got shards of glass from me, what else?’

‘Well, I’m not sure how well pumped stomach content would keep.’

‘Oh of course, that night…’ 

I look to the side, to the empty bed in the corner Shane was occupying that night I stumbled upon him on the cliff. Harvey had done a great job preventing Shane from falling to alcohol poisoning. I shudder at the idea of what could’ve happened.

Shane grabs my chin, turning my head to him instead of the empty bed full of bad memories.

‘I’m fine.’ he says, knowing exactly what I was thinking about. ‘I mean, not…”fine”, but, I’m ok.’ he quickly adds, laughing. 

‘Can you stay with me a little longer?’ I ask, nuzzling into his chest. ‘I don’t want to be alone in this room.’

‘You can always ring for Harvey to come down’ he answers with a grin. ‘Yeah, you know what. I might. He seems like a good cuddler. Good night, Shane.’ I reply, turning my back on him and covering myself with the heavy blanket. ‘Don’t forget your pants on the way out.’

He laughs, I feel him shuffling down, lying next to me. He passes his arm under my neck and intertwines his fingers with mine. I’m too stunned to say anything. His other arm is resting on my waist, his hand on my chest. His leg pushes mines to insert himself in between.  I hear him sigh, and he kisses the top of my head.

‘G’night, baby’ he says in a soft whisper.

I’m, err, surprised? Pleasantly surprised that is.

I can’t help but feel bitter. I should have told about Marnie, about what she wants, what she knows, from his own mouth.

I didn’t say anything, I let him make love to me. Ha! Let him. Like I didn’t want it as much, if not more. I let him weaken me, make me laugh, remind me that I fell in love with him. He genuinely seems to not know about Marnie’s little visit. It wouldn’t be his choice. If he didn’t want me around he wouldn’t be spooning me right now.

But perhaps Marnie’s right. I can be a bad influence on him. All my talks about trying to be together and see, were they just to serve me? I don’t know properly why I fell for him. The only certain thing is that I want him happy. Do I want it enough to let him be happy without me? What if his happiness is kept at bay because of me? Every day he’d look at me and know that I tried to kill myself once. I can’t possibly bring him any good.

I can’t choose for him.

He holds me closer, as if to calm my troubled thoughts.

‘Good night, Shane.’ I finally whisper back.