#and to be open to the suffering it causes

[megalony]

No One Helped- Part 2

I know it's been a while since I posted the first part of this Bobby Nash imagine, but I finally got around to doing a follow up after some lovely feedback on the first part.

I hope you will all like it, I'm contemplating a third part to this if anyone's interested.

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Bobby Nash Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: While (Y/n) is helping out at another station, she gets injured. But rather than helping her, this team decide to tease her about her relationship with her Captain, who she has to call for help.

Enjoy.

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

"You've got a bad concussion baby, I need to take you to the emergency room."

One arm stayed looped beneath (Y/n)'s thighs and his other hand pressed into the centre of her back to keep her steady and safe against him.

She had thrown up. Her head was still causing her agony. She couldn't keep focus or even stand up. And now she had blood dribbling from her ear. (Y/n) was suffering from a very severe concussion and Bobby had to get her down to the emergency room to get her checked over. She would need an MRI and a CT scan and some stronger pain meds.

She should have been checked over the moment she fell, not well over two hours later when she was starting to deteriorate.

He carefully moved one hand to check his phone and wallet were in his back pocket before he swiped his keys from the side table and swung open the front door. It had been a long time since Bobby had to make an emergency trip down to the hospital like this.

"Bobby…" (Y/n) twisted her head so her cheek slumped against Bobby's shoulder and her lips merged with his neck. Each breath she took fanned against his skin as he hurriedly locked the door and headed towards the car.

"It's okay sweetheart, we're gonna get you some help."

As soon as Bobby had (Y/n) down at the hospital and she had been checked out, he would be making a dozen phone calls.

And Chief Simpson was at the top of his list.

"Baby just keep those eyes open, okay? Keep talking to me, come on." Reaching across the console, Bobby stretched his hand out to grip (Y/n)'s thigh and squeeze tight to get her attention.

He darted his eyes from the road to look across at (Y/n), trying his best to assess her over and over again in the few short seconds he had before he had to keep an eye on where he was driving.

She didn't look well.

She was trying to curl up in the passenger seat like a frightened child. Her knees were coiling up towards her stomach. Her arms were bound around her chest and her nails were scratching into her arms to try and distract herself from the agony she was having to endure.

She hadn't opened her eyes since Bobby carried her out the house, the natural light of the afternoon sun was too bright for (Y/n)'s pounding headache and the sensitivity clearly showed how impaired she was. Her features were scrunched up in agony and her cheek was meshed against the chair as she faced Bobby.

He kept trying to coax her to look at him, to stay awake and alert but she wouldn't look at him. She kept turning her head from left to right, cowering and curling up and whimpering. She wasn't even speaking to him anymore, she was just crying quietly.

"Baby, we're nearly there now."

Bobby slid his hand from her thigh to change gear and flick the indicator to turn off. He had never been more glad that they lived ten minutes from the station and only fifteen minutes from the hospital, which Bobby had shaved down to nine minutes and counting. He wasn't bothered about a reckless driving charge, he just needed to get (Y/n) help.

No one had helped her so far, and Bobby wasn't about to let her down like everyone else.

"Where?" The quiet croak of (Y/n)'s voice made Bobby's heart drop down to his stomach that started to churn like a cement mixer.

"The hospital, baby."

He caught the glimpse of confusion that scoured across her face as her nose scrunched and she nuzzled her cheek into the seat like she wanted to make herself disappear.

She was getting disorientated. He told her when he carried her out their house that he was bringing her down to the emergency room. Either she was in too much agony to retain that information or her concussion was bad enough to start causing memory issues. Either way, Bobby didn't like these odds.

"We're almost there now, can you try and open those pretty eyes for me?"

Bobby steered to the right and scoured around for a parking space as close to the doors as he could get. He needed to get (Y/n) to a doctor now.

He found a space just as he felt one of (Y/n)'s hands reach out for his bicep and the touch made him jump in his seat. He yanked on the hand break and turned the ignition off before he turned to look over at (Y/n). He was relieved to see she had finally opened her eyes, but the half-lidded look and the way she was shaking his bicep had him shaking.

The breathless, whimper of "Seeing stars," that passed (Y/n)'s lips made Bobby's expression turn harrowing.

"Not for long, we're getting you help now."

Leaning across, Bobby pressed a searing kiss to her temple before he undid both their seatbelts, hooked the keys on his thumb and climbed out the car. It was clear that he was going to have to carry her inside just like he had carried her to the car and that was fine with him. He needed to take care of her and that's what he was going to do.

He rounded the front of the car and opened the passenger door, taking a deep breath before he crouched down and leaned inside the car. He leaned over (Y/n) and took the time to kiss her cheek and gently hold onto her arms.

He eased her from where she was leaning heavily towards the driver's seat and inclined her towards him.

"Okay baby, I'm gonna get you out now, okay?" He carefully turned her head towards him where she tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't manage it. The lights were too bright, focusing on looking up at Bobby was too hard. She just wanted to go to sleep.

Bobby kissed her cheek before he eased her head onto his shoulder and reached down for her wrists. He looped her arms around the back of his neck and slid his hands beneath her thighs to pull her out of the car and into his arms.

He felt just how limp (Y/n) went, turning to jelly in his arms as her weight rested fully on his chest. She was like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He pushed up to his full height and hooked her legs back over his torso just like he had done to get her out the house. His hands squeezed her thighs and he kicked the door shut and managed to lock the car before he turned around.

"Alright, here we go. You're gonna be just fine."

His thumb brushed up and down her thigh and he attached his lips to the side of her temple while he made a quick jog towards the emergency room doors. It had been a long time since Bobby had come down to the emergency room when he wasn't on shift, and he'd never had to bring (Y/n) to the hospital before.

The only time he had been with her at the hospital was when they all donated blood. Bobby and (Y/n) weren't great with needles or seeing their own blood being taken.

Shifting his arms a bit, Bobby deadlocked his right arm beneath (Y/n)'s thighs to keep her secure on his hips while his left hand slid up to press into the centre of her back. He had to keep her steady so he could speed up a bit without the risk of falling or dropping her.

His chin perched on her shoulder as he headed through the automatic doors and turned to the right, speeding towards the reception desk. He didn't have time to try and ease (Y/n) down into a chair and chances were that she would probably slide right onto the floor with how drowsy she was, she could barely keep her head up.

He slumped his elbow down onto the desk and nudged (Y/n)'s hips against the edge so he could lean forward.

The look on Bobby's face was almost unreadable. His eyes were wide with raised brows and his lips parted when the receptionist looked at him, flabbergasted as if she had no idea what he would be doing with someone in his arms.

"Can I help you?"

"I hope so." An edge of sarcasm flooded Bobby's voice as he tried to keep (Y/n) steady when he felt her face slump further into his neck. "I'm Captain Nash, this is my partner, (Y/n). She's a firefighter and she fell off the truck over two hours ago. Severe concussion, I need a doctor to see her now."

"Has she been sick, drowsy?"

"She's thrown up, has bleeding from her ear, a horrible headache that didn't go away with painkillers. And just outside she said her vision's blurring…" Bobby trailed off when he looked down at (Y/n).

His hands tightened on her frame and he nudged his nose against her temple but his blood ran cold when (Y/n)'s head slid from his neck down to bash against his sternum at the top of his chest.

"She's passed out. I need help now!"

The receptionist was quick to look down at her screen before she pressed the buzzer that opened the door to the right of the desk that led into the assessment ward.

"Go into bay one."

With a nod of his head, Bobby turned and quickly headed to the door, barging it open with his shoulder so he could head into the first room on his left. There was a nurse waiting, clearly tidying up from the last patient who had been in there and she seemed a little surprised since she was only just finished and wasn't expecting a new patient so suddenly.

She stepped back so Bobby could carefully ease (Y/n) down onto the bed in the centre of the room. His hand cupped the side of (Y/n)'s neck, easing her head against the pillow and smoothing his thumb over her cheek.

He tried to calm down his breathing as he stared down at his unconscious girlfriend, but seeing her in this state made his insides begin to crumble. There was blood trickling from her ear. Her lips were chapped and discoloured. Her breathing was changing from deep to swift and shallow and she was still unconscious. None of these were good indicators after a concussion and a bad fall.

Bobby reached down to take (Y/n)'s hand in his and he hunched forward just enough so that he could press his lips to the back of her hand.

It didn't take long for a doctor to come into the room, a thin sheet of paper in his hand with the notes the receptionist had clearly made when Bobby hurried in.

The doctor and nurse were quick to stand on the opposite side of the bed and they began their checks. A light across (Y/n)'s pupils that didn't constrict or react to the light. Monitoring stickers attached to her chest to watch her pulse and breathing. Feeling and assessing her head for any bumps, abrasions or swelling.

"How long has she been unconscious?" The doctor looked up towards Bobby while he continued to press against the back of (Y/n)'s skull where he could feel some rather severe abrasions.

"She passed out when we arrived." Bobby reeled (Y/n)'s hand to his chest and tried to take slow, deep breaths. He didn't need to be getting panicked but he couldn't help it.

He suddenly wished he had his rosary beads with him to make sure that (Y/n) would be alright. She had never needed to come to hospital for anything major like this. Bobby had never had to worry about her and he didn't like it. He hated being stood here, uselessly watching without being able to do anything to help her.

This shouldn't be happening.

If Bobby sent Buck or Eddie to the other station instead of (Y/n), this wouldn't have happened. If he listened when she said she was nervous, if he saw the signs and decided against sending her. Hell, if he didn't send anyone at all and declined to help that station then none of them would be in this mess.

(Y/n) wouldn't be in the emergency room, the 118 wouldn't be two people down with Hen as acting Captain. Everyone would have been just fine and all on shift together.

This was Captain Harper's fault.

He had teased (Y/n), he hadn't been professional and he allowed his team to bully (Y/n) and be cruel and uncaring to her. They all prevented her from getting help when she was injured and they had allowed this to happen. If someone looked out for her, gave her an exam and checked her over, if they sent her to the hospital for a check up this could have been spotted and prevented.

"She fell and got a concussion, was she alright after the fall? Did she black out or lose consciousness in the immediate time afterwards?"

The doctor was switching between writing notes and trying to switch tactics for assessing (Y/n).

Bobby watched him intently while he tried to think and keep (Y/n)'s hand glued against his chest. He hadn't been there and he doubted Captain Harper would even be able to answer these questions either. He hadn't been that concerned that (Y/n) had been injured, he would have been the one to tell her to get in the truck and continue working like nothing was wrong.

"No- I don't think so. They dragged her up and took her to the station, and she took herself home. She's been sick and she's bleeding from her ear." Bobby knew that the doctor had seen the trickle of blood in (Y/n)'s left ear that indicated her concussion was bad, but he still pointed anyway.

She said they wouldn't assess her and forced her to get up after her fall, that surely couldn't have done her any favours.

Whenever they went to a scene with a potential head or spinal injury the person got checked and assessed before they thought about sitting them up or transferring them to hospital.

If Harper's team and their awful manner and forcing (Y/n) back to the station had in any way worsened her state, Bobby would be gunning for their jobs.

The nurse attached an oxygen mask to (Y/n)'s lips and nose while the doctor set about sliding a blood pressure cuff up her arm. He didn't seem happy with the results he got and when Bobby leaned over to look at the numbers, his heart went in the opposite direction.

"BP's crashing. Send for an MRI now."

That was both frightening and relieving to Bobby and his chest shuddered when he had to let go of (Y/n)'s hand. His eyes followed her as the nurse made sure she was stable and the brakes were off the bed so they could get her ready for transfer. She needed to be taken for an MRI and they would see what action to take from then.

"Can I go up with her?"

"You can wait in the MRI ward waiting area, we'll find you with the results."

Part of Bobby wanted to protest even as he followed both nurses who came in to transfer (Y/n) out of the trauma assessment bay and through a back route to the MRI ward. He wanted to disagree and ask to go in with her, but he knew he wouldn't be allowed.

(Y/n) was unconscious, she wasn't alert and panicking like she would be if she knew what was happening. He might have been allowed in if she were awake because she wouldn't handle such a confining, nerve-wracking procedure like being stuffed into an MRI machine. But she was unconscious and they had to move fast.

There was nothing that Bobby would be able to do for (Y/n) if he went in the room with her. All he could do was follow and sit in the empty waiting room.

His elbows flopped onto his thighs and he stooped forward with his head hanging down like he was having a hangover. Part of him felt like he was, his mind was beginning to fog over and he couldn't find his centre of balance or organise his thoughts.

Bobby knew how long it would take for the scan to be done, but it still felt like time had stopped while he sat there on his own. His foot jittering against the floor and his knee bouncing up and down causing his arms and his head to jitter and shake too.

He was still in his uniform. His starched black trousers and his cotton shirt with the station logo in the right corner. He knew (Y/n) was still in the exact same uniform too. They should both be on shift together and instead they were here in the emergency room with uncertain circumstances and outcomes in the balance.

He didn't know what to do with himself, all Bobby could think about was how someone could do this to (Y/n).

How could Harper think that someone falling off the roof of an engine wouldn't require medical assistance? How could he presume that (Y/n) was making it up or pretending to be hurt to gain sympathy when everyone must have seen her fall and heard her scream or cry out and writhe in agony.

Bobby had seen the state she was in when she came home. She was in agony, she was crying, barely able to open her eyes. She had been sick, taken medication, could barely get up off the sofa and it was a miracle in itself that (Y/n) had gotten herself home unscathed without collapsing beforehand.

Someone was to blame for this and Bobby was going to make sure that they got exactly what they deserved.

Bobby was so caught up in his thoughts and the images of what he wanted to do to Harper's team that he barely heard the doctor calling out his name.

As soon as the doctor was within reach, Bobby shot up from the uncomfortable plastic chair he had been slumped in. His back straightened up and his hands began to clench and twitch at his sides as he tried to calm himself down and be approachable for whatever news he was going to be given.

"The scan showed she has a small bleed on the brain, conclusive with a concussion."

"What do you have to do?"

Bobby didn't like the sound of that. Any bleed around the brain was dangerous, she could start having seizures, lose brain activity or blood flow and cause a stroke or an aneurysm further down the line. There were so many complications that could stem from this.

"We'll go through a vein in the thigh to get up to the bleed and repair the damage which looks minimal. And we'll need to put her on medication for at least three weeks to prevent any further bleeding or aneurysms."

***

Relief swarmed through Bobby when he looked up to see Chief Simpson aiming his way.

Part of him hadn't truly believed that the Chief would come down to the hospital when Bobby called. But then again, he had sounded rather panicked and furious down the phone. The Chief might have thought that Bobby was entering some kind of breakdown, he might only be here in order to see whether or not he had to take Bobby off shift lead or if Bobby himself needed medical attention.

He stopped tapping his phone against his thigh and stuffed it back into his pocket again now that he had someone's attention.

Bobby had been downstairs for a good half an hour trying to get hold of people as the only good signal he could get was out in reception rather than up here in the waiting room.

He had called through to Hen and checked she was still alright with being acting Captain and that the shift was going well after all the chaos from today. He tried to call through to the 189 and to talk to Captain Harper but he had no luck getting hold of him and it had only riled Bobby up.

He rang the main office, talked to a snotty receptionist and the head of incident reporting before he finally got to speak to Chief Simpson and demand that he come down to the hospital because of a situation he wouldn't explain on the phone.

Now part of Bobby could relax. Now he could try and simmer down and explain the situation and get the Chief to do something about Harper. Because if no one took him off shift soon and hauled him into the office for what he had done, Bobby would be going down there himself, and it wouldn't be pretty.

"Nash, what's going on? Why are we here?" Simpson looked out of place and he seemed to sense it immediately.

He looked around the waiting room that Bobby had told him to come up to, it was an area just off from the emergency room. Sort of in between stations and units and it was where Bobby had been told he could wait in privacy until they had news about (Y/n)'s surgery and got her onto a ward.

Simpson wasn't in his full uniform like he usually was when he met Bobby which happened to be mostly on formal occasions or appraisals. But he was still in a dress shirt and starched trousers and he was glancing around in confusion, clearly not knowing the situation at hand.

He didn't know who had been hurt or what kind of accident had happened. Nothing had been reported or sent through to him or anyone else in the office. The only complaint they got was Bobby yelling down the phone for someone- preferably the Chief- to get down to the emergency room as soon as possible. And no one felt capable of denying that order from Captain Nash.

Simpson looked as if he was going to reach his hand out to get a handshake from Bobby, but he wasn't having any of the formalities. He hadn't brought him here for a civil conversation, he wanted a serious chat and some repercussions in place.

"I had to bring (Y/n) here, she's in surgery." The rapid tapping of Bobby's foot began again on the tiled floor and it made his body skew off kilter with all the adrenaline swarming through his system. He felt like he was going to be sick, something that didn't happen very often.

Usually Bobby was calm and in control, it had been years since he'd faced the thought of a loved one being seriously hurt. Aside from the team. They were his family, but they weren't his significant other, they weren't someone Bobby opened up to and allowed himself to love and be vulnerable with and risk losing or hurting like he had done the last time.

He didn't want to face the thought of losing (Y/n), and she was hurt today because he made the decision to send her to the 189. A wrong decision. A decision that had put (Y/n) in surgery. Bobby had done what he feared he would, what he was afraid of happening if he loved someone else.

"Did something happen on shift?" Simpson didn't have knowledge of who worked what days, he didn't memorise or care to remember that kind of thing.

There were hundreds, if not thousands of people that the department had to look after and govern, the Chief couldn't be expected to remember them all personally or know what days they worked and which were their days off. But he knew he wouldn't have been called down here if this had happened when (Y/n) was on her day off. Something had to of gone wrong on shift, but that didn't explain why no report or statement or call had been placed back at the department.

He watched the way Bobby's hands moved to clench around his hips and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, cocking one him out to the side. He tried to take a deep breath but it wasn't working when all the adrenaline was coursing through his system and battling against the anger he felt.

One hand moved to run across his sharp jawline and he nodded as he looked into the distance to steel himself and stop from becoming outraged. "Yeah, yeah something happened. And you need to pull Captain Harper in for it right now."

"Bobby, slow down. Tell me what's happened first." Simpson tried his best to motion towards the seats lined against the wall, but Bobby was too riled up to sit down again.

He had sat for twenty minutes while he waited for (Y/n)'s MRI, he had sat down to try and calm down when they took her to prep for surgery. He couldn't sit any longer, he had to be up and moving around and he had to get this mess sorted out before something else went wrong.

"What's happened is malpractice. I got a call today to send someone over to Harper's station as they were a few people down. I sent (Y/n) and I expected her to be treated fairly and looked after, what happened was they bullied her and she got hurt."

"How'd she get hurt?"

Bobby couldn't tell whether it was a shock or not for Simpson to learn that Harper's team were a bunch of bullies. His expression was neutral and gave nothing away and that made Bobby feel worse. He wanted to see the same outrage he felt mirrored on the Chief's face. He wanted him to be riled up and angry and to want to storm off and sort this mess out right now.

Standing here the picture of calm wasn't helping and it wasn't giving off the best impression either. At least not in Bobby's eyes.

"(Y/n) fell from their engine and got concussed. That team dragged her up and took her back to the station without an assessment or any bloody checks, they all but told her to man up. And now she's here."

If Bobby weren't restraining himself so much, he would have gone into a further rampage. He would have explained how they acted as if she had stubbed her toe rather than whacked her head on the concrete fall after a substancial fall. He would have gone into further detail how they picked on her because of her relationship with Bobby, something which should have been no big deal and nothing to be ashamed of.

As soon as Bobby and (Y/n) got into a relationship, he told Simpson. He told the office so it could be on file that he was seeing someone in his own station. It wasn't against the rules but they had to tell people so everyone knew and couldn't say that (Y/n) was being favouritised.

No one had ever said she had special treatment, but their relationship had caused her to be alienated and bullied at another station and Bobby wouldn't stand for that.

"Oh God." Simpson moved his hand to rub at the back of his neck before he looked up at Bobby. "Harper put a note on the file, said she walked out of shift without telling anyone-"

"She went home because she was sick and panicked! No one would help her or take her seriously, she had to get out of there. I found her barely conscious and now she's in surgery because she had a bleed on the brain. If I didn't get to her who knows what would have happened."

What did they expect her to do?

Was (Y/n) supposed to of waited around at the 189 until she collapsed and they had to take her to the hospital themselves? Was she wrong for feeling so afraid and hurt that she went home?

No one bothered to check her over or ask if she was alright, they forced her to carry on as if nothing had happened and they would have blamed her if she collapsed on shift back at the station. There was no choice for (Y/n) but to leave.

If she tried to tell Harper she needed medical attention he would have penalised her in front of his whole team and he wouldn't allow her to go. He would put a mark on her file and draw her up for going against orders. (Y/n) had to leave for her own sake and Bobby wouldn't let anyone say otherwise when it was the truth.

"She got no checks whatsoever?"

"None. She called me, frantic and crying that she was in agony and had to go home. I didn't send her there expecting her to get hurt or that I'd have to bring her here myself because they didn't have the decency to look after her."

He wouldn't be sending any of his team to any other station for the foreseeable future. No one would be forced to move when Bobby couldn't trust their neighbouring stations to care for his team the same as he would. If anyone was hurt on his watch he would get them checked out and send them home. If anyone had problems or fears he would want them to talk to him.

He wouldn't let his team be bullied or allow them to pick on a new recruit or a new member from a different fire house. Bobby wouldn't stand for any of that and the fact that Harper clearly allowed it was beyond infuriating.

When it looked like Simpson wasn't about to do anything or didn't quite know what he was supposed to do, Bobby took a daring step closer. He stood so their shoulders were squared up and they were one foot away, allowing the vengeance in his eyes to be crystal clear, damn the consequences.

"If you don't do something, I will."

If Bobby didn't see any progress by the end of the day, he would be doing things his way. He would be going down to the 189 and dragging Harper out of that house by his thinning hair. Bobby would demand to be told the truth and he would get Harper to explain it to everyone in the office.

He would make a report on every worker in that house who thought it was funny to tease and bully (Y/n) while she was working with them. He would find out which ones had ignored her pleas for help and who didn't bother to assess her and he would make sure that they paid the consequences.

Somebody had to do something, lest they want Bobby to take matters into his own hands like he already started to do when he called the Chief.

"Now Bobby, you know full well-"

"I mean it. That man told (Y/n) she got no free passes in his station and they dragged her up and made her go back to the station after an injury. Because she's my partner he victimised her. Do something."

***

Something strange crossed (Y/n)'s face when she looked down. Her fingers were slow and tepid as she traced the pad of her fingertips across her left thigh where her pyjama shorts had rolled up.

The little incision in her thigh was odd and the skin was tender and slightly swollen. It was strange to think that a wire had been inserted through that cut into her vein and had gone all the way up to her brain. Just the thought was enough to have (Y/n) shivering and pulling the hem of her shorts down so she didn't have to see the little mark.

"Can I come in?"

Her head snapped up which caused a rickoting headache to roll around in her head like a pinball. Her hands scrunched up in the bedsheets she was sitting on and she looked at who was in the doorway.

Chief Simpson.

Now he was someone (Y/n) didn't get to see very often, and for good reason. If she saw him it was either for a celebration or a very bad incident. (Y/n) was a plain worker, she wasn't a Captain like Bobby or an acting Captain like Hen, she didn't need to see the Chief for any reason. Seeing him now made her stomach churn and had adrenaline coursing through her system.

Her eyes drifted to look over at Bobby before she nodded. She didn't want to speak to anyone right now, but she knew it needed to be done sooner or later.

She shifted back on the bed and crossed her legs beneath her but when she stretched her hand out to the right, Bobby was quick to take her hand. He got up from the chair beside the bed and moved to sit down next to her. Part of Bobby knew that Simpson might ask him to wait outside, but they all knew that wasn't going to happen.

If they were in the office (Y/n) would be allowed someone with her for support so it was no different here. She needed support, she needed Bobby and he wasn't going anywhere.

"Are you up to talking?"

Uncertainty flooded Bobby's eyes when he looked over at (Y/n). Her expression was blank but there were so many emotions flooding her pupils that he couldn't keep track.

(Y/n) shrugged. It wasn't as if she had a choice, she needed to talk at some point and explain what happened and the sooner she spoke, the sooner this mess could be sorted out. She wished Bobby could handle it, that he could make a complaint about Harper and that would be it as far as (Y/n) was concerned.

This was going to make waves and she didn't want to cause friction or problems between the stations.

"I've been down to the 189, talked to the people on shift and to Harper. I've been given a few different stories, but everyone confirmed your fall."

Well that was comforting. They couldn't exactly deny the fall or else the Chief would have to speak to the public who they had been helping during the call out to get their outside point of view. The team couldn't lie when they all witnessed (Y/n) fall from the truck.

And clearly the 189 knew that (Y/n) was now in the hospital, so denying her fall wouldn't do them any good when she had the medical treatment and diagnosis to back her up. Not that she believed any of them would lie about the fall, they knew better. That team would simply cover up the fact that they denied her any treatment because they knew it would earn each of them a reprimand.

With Bobby now sitting on the side of the bed with her, Simpson reached out for the vacated chair and took a seat beside the bed. He looked calm and his smile was relaxing, but that calming look wasn't making (Y/n) feel any better.

She tangled her fingers together with Bobby's and leant her cheek on his shoulder. His arm was coiled into her chest so she could curl around him and hide away in his side.

"They said you got up, you were talking and responsive and didn't ask for an exam."

(Y/n) felt the way Bobby huffed and his chest tensed up. What would it have mattered if (Y/n) tried to deny a physical? If she fell from that height and hit her head she would be mandated to have one either on scene or back at the station. They would have checked her out either way and not doing so was against the rules.

But Harper was clearly trying to deflect the blame onto (Y/n), as if he hadn't put her through enough already. It would be a lesser reprimand on him for not following up with an exam than flat out denying (Y/n) one.

"I didn't get up." (Y/n) looked down at the back of Bobby's hand which she was examining while she corrected the Chief. "I blacked out, but Thompson dragged me up, I- I didn't have a choice. Eddison tried to help but Harper, he- he denied me medical attention."

She hadn't gotten herself up after that fall. She hadn't stood to her feet and said she was fine or started talking right away. She lost her vision, she felt like she was going to pass out and then Thompson just grabbed her and hauled her to her feet like she had only strained a muscle.

He gave no concern for (Y/n)'s wellbeing or whether she had been injured and no one listened when she said she had.

"You told them you were hurt?"

(Y/n) hadn't noticed when he walked in, but Simpson had a notepad and a pen in hand that he was now jotting a few things down in. Clearly he was taking this seriously which was a good thing, but it still made the nerves inside (Y/n) go haywire.

"I cried. Said my head hurt… I was told, no free passes in their station." (Y/n)'s lips curled into a broken smile as tears were already welling up in her eyes again.

She felt bad for admitting that she had cried, like it was wrong or some kind of weakness, which is exactly what the 189 thought of it as. She had started to cry, she cradled her head and said she was in agony, she asked explicitly to be checked out and then argued with Harper when he denied it.

What else was she supposed to do? Stand there and demand to be checked out to then be berated by his team and have them be crude to her? They probably wouldn't have checked her properly anyway if she made a fuss and disagreed with Harper out in the open.

"They kept jibing that I was coming onto Harper, I didn't feel able to argue with him, with any of them. I called Bobby a-and went home."

"Why didn't you wait at the station for Bobby or someone to come to you? You didn't tell the team you were leaving-"

"Harper said sleeping with my Captain might get me a free pass in my station, but it- it wouldn't work in his. And the team agreed."

(Y/n) unravelled her hands from Bobby's arm when she felt him go slack beside her and the small glance she stole up at him made her heart break. She hadn't mentioned that earlier. She hadn't relayed Harper's full conversation with her to Bobby, or how crude he had truly been to her.

She had been hurt and penalised because of her relationship with Bobby. He shouldn't have sent her. He should have been there to help and protect her. Instead she had fled the station and gone home in a horrible state and practically collapsed at home. She could just have easily collapsed in the street and not made it home. Any number of worse things could have happened to her, and all because of Harper and his team.

"You think he would let me leave? What should I have done?" A broken sob followed (Y/n)'s words and she dropped her head forward so she didn't have to look at them anymore.

The pain in the back of her head was starting to ignite and rage like a wildfire and she moved her hands to cup the sides of her head.

When she felt Bobby's hands on her shoulders and his chest pressing into her back, (Y/n) let him ease her into his chest and she felt his lips very gently attaching to the back of her head. She could barely hear him murmuring that it was okay over the ringing in her ears.

Her head flopped back onto Bobby's shoulder but it caused a further shockwave to rattle through her temple and had her whimpering and turning to press her lips and nose against Bobby's neck. She pulled her knees up towards her stomach and curled up into Bobby's side until he turned to hold her a bit better.

Bobby twisted so his chest was facing her and he could reel her into him and let her cuddle into his chest like she was desperate to make herself disappear and become invisible. He curled his left arm around her waist and moved his right hand to cup the side of her face where she was cradling her temple.

"We're done." The stern tone to Bobby's voice gave no room for negotiation. (Y/n) was in pain and she was distressed, Bobby wouldn't sit and watch her get any worse than this and become distressed when it wasn't (Y/n) who Simpson should be questioning.

With a nod of his head, Simpson got up and moved the chair near the wall so it was out the way. He could see he- and anyone else from the office- wouldn't be welcome back to question (Y/n).

And he knew if they didn't take action now, Bobby would be taking things into his own hands.

[bruisedboys]

trouble — jacob black

it’s raining and you’re bored. your boyfriend proves to be an effective distraction (if you can distract him, that is) OR in which jacob is busy and you like to cause trouble. based off this drabble!

jacob black x fem!reader, 2k words. suggestive content 16+ pls!!

The rain is unforgiving today. It’s not uncommon for it to be wet in Forks, the rain a persistent, stubborn thing, but today it’s horrendous. Heavy and icy cold, big fat droplets that seem sure to pierce your skin and freeze you to death. It hasn’t stopped since last night and doesn’t seem like it’ll stop for a good few days.

You’re bored out of your mind. You realise rain just comes with living in Forks, and you’re mostly used to it, but you’d really wanted to go shopping with your friends today and the rain squandered your plans the moment you woke up. Jacob’s busy working on his bike in the shed, and everyone else is rained in. You’re stuck on the couch at Jacob’s while the rain comes down in sheets outside. You flick through channels on the TV until you can’t stand it anymore. There’s nothing good to watch, anyway.

You grab one of Jacob’s jackets from the hook by the door and brave the rain, using the jacket as a makeshift umbrella as you jog your way over to the garage, shoes sloshing in the mud.

You find Jacob sitting on the beat-up wooden bench, hunched over his newest project. It’s a bike he found second hand at a yard sale — when he first got it, it looked to you an unrecognisable hunk of metal, hardly a bike at all. But your boyfriend has a way with his hands, and now it at least has two wheels and a proper seat.

Jacob looks up as you come in, though the sound of the rain completely covers your footsteps.

“Hey, trouble,” he says. Then, at the look on your face, “You okay?”

Your frown deepens. “No,” you shake your head. “I’m bored, Jake.”

Jacob chuckles. Trust him to laugh at you when you’re clearly suffering.

“Yeah?” He asks. “You want to come help me?”

You take one look at the frankly confusing array of tools around his feet, and wrinkle your nose. “No, thanks. Can’t we go for a drive?”

Jacob wrinkles his nose back at you. “I’m busy, babe. And the road’s slippery, it’s dangerous. Maybe later.”

You roll your eyes. He can be such a grandma sometimes. Jacob goes back to his bike and you wander around the shed looking for something to do and moping. After a half assed search for some way to entertain yourself, you find an old novel you or Jake must’ve left in here a few months ago — you remember starting it and getting bored, but you’re already knee deep in boredom with no way out, so you decide to give it another try.

You sit in the bed of Jacob’s truck where it’s parked in the back of the shed, legs swinging over the edge. The rain drums rhythmically above you as you start reading. It takes about ten pages for you to get bored again, and five more for your mind to start wandering.

You think about how you could’ve been out shopping right now. Looking at all the lovely dresses in the new store they opened near the cinema. Sorting through books at the second-hand bookstore. Choosing a pretty new bra that you know Jacob would love seeing on you, and taking off of you. The thought gives you an idea. Unceremoniously, you give up on the book and slide off the truck bed, crossing the room to Jacob.

He doesn’t lift his head as you come up behind him, but acknowledges you with a brush of his knuckle to your thigh. You stand over him for a moment, watching him work. He looks hot when he’s concentrated, eyes trained in on his work, jaw set in concentration, arms muscles straining as he twists a particularly stubborn screw. He’s got big, strong hands, which only fuel your desire even more. What’s the best way to drag him away from his work?

“Did you want to help?” Jacob asks without looking up, interrupting your thoughts. You’re lucky he doesn’t catch you staring, or he’d figure out your plan in an instant.

You shake your head. “No. I’m just watching you.”

Jacob hums and goes back to what he’s doing, which happens to involve a lot of strained muscles as he tightens another loose screw with a wrench. You’re holding your breath as you watch his tanned bicep strain beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, and yeah, you’re a minx, but he’s really hot, and you don’t think anyone would blame you for reaching out and touching him.

Jacob doesn’t startle under your touch nor does he acknowledge it. You play it off casual, like you’re only rubbing his shoulder, palm gliding over the hill of it. You can feel his abnormally high body heat through his t-shirt, a nice change from the cold air. You find yourself pushing your hand down the expanse of his shoulder blade and up again, pressing the heel of your palm into his muscle.

Jacob sighs a little under your touch and rolls his shoulder back, leaning into your hand.

“Feels nice,” he murmurs.

You grin. This far into your relationship you’ve learnt that Jacob is a lot like a puppy when it comes to physical affection — he’s a total sucker for it, he melts for shoulder rubs and back scratches, and he turns to complete putty in your hands when you play with his hair (though you won’t implement that just yet.)

Instead, you just hum softly, smiling to yourself as you press both hands to his shoulders. He’s equally warm and muscled all over, and at this point it would take a hoard of vampires to hold you back from touching him. You get a good grip on his shoulders and push your palms into his muscles, massaging him.

It’s mean, because you know what it’ll do to him, know exactly what kind of mood it gets him into. Still, it’s not until you start to push your hands further up towards his neck that he confronts you.

He turns to face you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Did you want something, sweetheart?” He asks, and you can tell you’ve begun to unravel him by the way he says it, plus he’s called you sweetheart, which almost certainly means he’ll give in.

You feign innocence, though the look on his face almost unravels you.

“Nope,” you lie. “Just watching.”

Jacob raises his eyebrows at you. “You sure? You’re being awfully touchy.”

“You’re really warm,” you say, shrugging.

Jacob squints at you, then shrugs. “If you say so,” he says, and (looking like he’s exercising quite a bit of restraint) turns back to his bike.

You stay where you are and give him about five minutes of peace before you start being cruel. Keeping one hand at the base of his neck, you slide the other up the back of it, pushing up into his hair. You card your fingers through the short strands at the very nape of his neck, and Jacob goes very still. You think he’s holding his breath. When you push your hand further up into the longer strands, and let your nails drag over his scalp on the way back down, he folds.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he murmurs. He drops his tools, scrubs his hands on his jeans and spins on you, hooking one leg over the wooden bench, straddling it so he can properly face you. He‘s giving you a dangerous look that makes your heart race. Finally.

You blink at him, a picture of innocence. “What’s the matter?” You ask sweetly, though you know your smile gives you away. As if you weren’t caught red handed already.

Jacob huffs and rolls his eyes, before grabbing your hips and pulling you forward roughly. You go tumbling into his lap and he catches you, hands hot on your jeans, adjusting you until you’re properly sitting in his lap. Your legs fall on either side of his hips and you giggle, pleased and flustered at his manhandling.

Jacob gives you a somewhat disapproving look, though his thumb rubs fond circles into the fat of your hip.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” He says in a low voice. His eyes flicker to your lips. He looks a bit like he wants to eat you.

“Sorry,” you say. You are kind of sorry for disturbing him, but the heat building in your chest outweighs the guilt. “I was really bored.”

Jacob laughs through his nose. “Yeah, I know, babe.” He spread his hands over your hips and butt and pulls you closer still. Your hands end up on his shoulders again. “You always know how to get what you want, huh?”

Something about the way he’s talking to you makes you so dizzy you can’t speak. You’re silent as Jacob dips his head to press a kiss to one of your wrists, then takes it in his hand and guides your hand up his neck and back into his hair.

“Keep going?” He asks in a quiet voice, encouraging your hand around the back of his head. “Please?”

Well, when he asks like that, how could you say no? You curl your fingers into his hair and Jacob barely gives you time to breathe before he’s kissing you, mouth landing on yours in the sort of kiss you can only describe as desperate. You’re equal amounts of needy as him, pushing forward in his lap and grabbing at his hair with greedy hands.

The rain thunders overhead. Jacob tilts his head, kissing you until your lips part under the pressure. His tongue slips into your mouth and your stomach swarms with butterflies. You grip Jacob’s hair harder, ensuing a sound from him like an angry dog, half moan half growl. It seems your touching earlier got him in exactly the mood you knew it would.

It’s not long before his hands start to wander. First your ass, then your arms, rubbing up and down as he kisses you hard enough to make you forget where you are. Then back to your hips, and you can feel the scalding heat of his hands through your jeans. He grabs you and tugs you further up his lap, close enough that your legs spread as you press against his bulge.

“Jake,” you whisper.

“Mmm,” he moans back. Then pulls away just an inch, lips swollen and forehead pressed to yours. “What, babe?”

You shake your head, breathless. “Nothing, just feels nice when you do that.”

Jacob ducks in to kiss you again. “Yeah?” He murmurs between hot kisses, sounding both pleased and a bit dangerous.

You nod your head, and it’s all it takes for Jacob to rock you against him again, pushing his hips up into yours as he goes. You moan and Jacob makes a similar sound from the back of his throat, heating you all the way through.

It quickly turns into not just kissing after that. Jacob’s kisses turn sloppy. You push your hands under his shirt to feel along the ridges and planes of his chest and abdomen, his skin like a furnace. Jacob guides your hips forward and back and forward again, grinding you against him slowly and breathing hard into your open mouth.

You forget about the rain, the pounding of your heart much louder than the downpour outside. You forget about the cold, your failed shopping trip, and the boring book abandoned in the bed of the truck.

It’s not long before Jacob’s got his hand on your thigh and a warm ache sweet as honey has bloomed between your legs.

Jacob’s busy kissing at your neck, bullying your skin with his teeth and tongue while you go breathless. His hand trudges further and further up your thigh until it’s high enough to abuse the waistband of your jeans.

His hand roves along the length of it, until he reaches the button. He tugs at it, mumbling into your neck a barely intelligible, “Can I?”

You nod vigorously, and your breath catches as he unfastens the button — his thumb skims over your underwear and you make a needy sound you can’t help.

Jacob emerges from your neck, smirking like mad. You’d say you hate him for it, but his thumb is tracing the hem of your underwear and you can’t speak.

“Not so bored now, huh?” Jacob teases in a low voice, but he’s out of breath too. You’ll tease him later for how quickly you managed to unravel him, but right now you can’t form more than two words.

“Shut up,” you manage, then make sure of it by pressing your mouth to his again.

He shuts up.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[shouyuus]

─── 啓悟 THE ART OF FALLING

keigo; 4,599 words; hurt/angst, not that much comfort, heavy allusions to suicide, terminal illness!reader, mentions of abuse (keigo's dad), pro-hero!keigo, no "y/n", lapslock

summary: all of life is a falling, all of life is a losing, all of life a catching, a remembering. endless, endless, until it isn’t.

a/n: apologies in advance for this one -- pls do heed the trigger warnings!!! big thank you to @aimfor-theheart for beta-ing and suffering through my keigo-flavored meltdown u__u i promise i will be writing fluff with the birdman soon he deserves it but first... the horrors...

─── 啓悟 HE CATCHES YOU FALLING out of the sky; it will not be the last time.

“oop — careful there,” he says, cradling you to his chest, an easy grin slung across his lips, his eyes twinkling as if there’s an inside joke caught in liminal space between your body and his, “trust me, i get the urge to go flying too but,” he shrugs, zipping through the air till he’s found a nice low rooftop to set you on, “not havin’ a pair of these makes the landing a bit tricky,” he jerks his chin back towards his wings, feathers red as freshly spilled blood.

you swallow, the prickle of hot, angry tears tickling at your eyes as you blink slowly at him as he sets you down. your bare feet curl against the bits of gravel on the rooftop. he glances down at your feet.

“ah… sorry about that. here —”

two red feathers zoom out of nowhere and deposit your sandals at your feet. you stare, almost unseeing. it’s hot, the air miraged in heat, overhead the sun screams its light over the tokyo skyline.

he bends down, holding up a shoe, “alright, on you get —” he reaches out a gloved hand, gently picking up your ankle and slipping your feet into the shoe. your foot drops with a clatter and he glances up to make sure you’re stable before helping you put on the other. when he’s done, he pushes to his feet, stretching his hands above his head in a great, over-wrought sort of yawn.

“man, it really is a good day for flyin’ though,” he shields his eyes with his hands, squinting out over the endless rooftops.

you lick your chapped lips.

“why’d you save me?” you ask, voice soft. there’s a piece of gravel stuck underneath the pad of your right foot.

keigo turns, hitching an eyebrow as he looks you over. his lazy smile stretches, but there’s a hardness to his gaze that almost makes you flinch back.

“cause, pretty girl like you deserves saving, no? and, well, a big ol’ hero like me? comes with the job description.” he chuckles, the noise curt and self-deprecating.

you frown and open your mouth, but the heat is making you woozy, the world going liquid around you as you wobble on your feet.

“oi — are you alri — oi!”

his voice tunnels, warping, echoing and strange, an underwater thing. the sky pinwheels above you, and then — blissful, cool, darkness.

you wake up in a hospital bed; it is not your first time.

the systematic beeps of the machines around you is almost a welcome sound. you count your breaths, feel your heart sync up to the rhythmic whir of machines, you open your eyes to the white-tiled ceiling, the spinning fan, the lifeless fluorescent panel-lights.

“you awake?” a groggy voice asks.

you turn your head; your heart skips a beat. the traitorous machine to your left maps the skid in a perfect spike of bright green light.

keigo yawns, his wings flexing out behind him as he shifts in the hospital seat, strangely dwarfed by the size of his wings. he cracks his neck and sits up straighter.

“i’d say ‘nice place’ but…” he looks around the hospital room, his lips tug into a grimace, “they say it’s not good manners to lie to a lady.”

you can’t help it, a coughing laugh burbles out of you, the motion so unexpected it jolts your whole body. you swallow around the dryness in your throat, but keigo is already leaning forward, helping you up and pressing a glass of water to your lips.

“there, easy does it…” he watches you drink, soothing a hand up and down your back. his palm is warm against the thin linen of your hospital gown. he frowns slightly as you pull away, licking at your lips.

“thanks,” you say, your voice a croaking thing. you flush at the sound, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. keigo laughs.

“no need, just promise me you’ll keep on doing that.”

you frown at him, “doing what?”

he points to the water, and then at you, “drinking water. keeping yourself alive.”

you let out a long breath at the way he leans into the last word, casting your eyes towards the window. outside, the summer sun is just skimming the far horizon, the light gilding the room in liquid gold.

you turn to find him watching you, even as his eyes flicker from your face out towards the setting sun. like this, every feather on his massive wings looks like a lick of fire, and you can almost reach out to feel their heat.

“c’mon,” he says suddenly, jumping to his feet and offering you a hand. you stare at it before slowly letting your eyes wander up to his face. he grins as he meets your eyes, there’s that self-same mischief dancing behind their golden glow, a secret he wants to tell you, just you, and no one else in the world.

you eye his hand once more.

“let’s get outta here, hm?”

you reach out to take his hand.

it is not every day that you get to watch the sunset from the top of the tokyo skytree, and not every night you get watch the moonrise there either. keigo sits with you slotted between his legs, his wings domed around you to block out the wind.

“why’re you doing this?” you ask, after a very long while. overhead, the stars have just started their twinkling ascent. keigo shrugs, letting leaning back, his hands propped behind him.

“like i said, it was a good day for flying and…” his voice trails off. he drops his chin, a mirthless little laugh tumbling out of him. after a moment, he shakes his head, almost mumbling to himself.

“figured… you’d probably never done anything like this before, so.”

you let out a giggle, the sound jolting him up. his eyes go wide as he watches you fall into a semi-silent fit of laughter, a palm pressed to your chest to keep from laughing too hard, lest you start coughing again. he gives you back a few ginger pats before you wave him off.

“n-no —” you manage between gulps of air, “can’t say i have, though… i don’t imagine most people have done this —” you motion towards the space around you, the night sky seemingly encasing you both, sat atop the outlook deck of the highest point in tokyo.

again, he shrugs, but there’s a smile spreading across his lips.

“yeah, well… i didn’t bump into any of them on patrol today, so guess they’re not that lucky.”

you scoff at the word, the smile slipping from your face.

“yeah… lucky.”

“hey,” he leans forward, tipping your chin up, “c’mon, dovie, none of that now.”

you frown, “dovie?”

keigo nods down at your white hospital gown, “yeah, white — like a dove.”

you crinkle your nose and try to shake off his hand. he laughs.

sometime before midnight, he brings you back to your hospital room. strangely, no one’s come to check in on you (though you find out later that keigo must’ve spoken to the nurses and told them to leave you be for the night). he sets you down beside your bed and hops back onto the window ledge.

you watch him with your arms linked behind your back.

“alright, you keep on drinkin’ water and —”

“staying alive, yeah, yeah,” you say with a tiny tremor like a laugh to your voice that makes keigo smile.

ten minutes after he leaves, you hear a faint tink-tink, only to find a single bright red feather poking at your water glass. your jaw drops.

“you left a feather to babysit me?” you ask, before you can even wonder if the feather can hear you. the feather taps it’s sharp spine against the glass once more, nudging it closer, even as you let out a long sigh and reach for it.

you take a long gulp, letting a thin droplet of water trickle down your chin.

smacking your lips loudly, you set the glass down and stare at the feather, now lying motionless on your bedside table.

“there, happy?”

the feather remains unmoved, but you can’t fight the tiny little smile that threatens your lips as you flip onto your side and tug the sheets up over your shoulders. outside, the moon is bright and round as a rime of rice; the city below her glitters in a sheet of undulating stars, and you close your eyes to sleep, for the first time, without fearing for what you’ll find in your dreams.

keigo does not know what brings him back to you; it will not be the last time.

but when he finds himself hovering awkwardly outside your hospital window, he allows himself a single eye-roll of what-the-fuckery before pushing forward to let himself in. you’re reading in bed, a fresh bouquet of flowers on your bedside table.

he feels a strange, almost startling jab of something inside his chest before he shoves the feeling aside and alights down easily onto the floor in front of the window.

you look up from your book, painfully unfazed by the appearance of the winged hero at your bedside.

“i made it into a necklace, look,” is all you say, tugging down the neckline of your hospital gown to show him the bright red feather now tethered to a thin red thread, looped around your neck. he clears his throat, feeling a blush prickle at his cheeks as he glances around the room.

“yeah — i — i know.”

you cock your head, staring at him, the movement so birdlike he almost laughs.

“oh, well, i thought about putting it on a gold chain or something like that, but metal’s not good for mri machines,” you say, casual as you reach for a small mandarin orange from a basket on your table and start the methodical process of peeling it.

keigo watches in muted fascination as you slowly work the peel off with your fingers, one long strip of it, till it falls away to reveal the soft veined flesh beneath. gently, you break off half the mandarin and hold it out to him.

“they’re really sweet today.”

keigo nods, dropping into the seat by your bed and popping three slices into his mouth at once. there’s such an explosion of flavor he almost chokes. coughing, he reaches for the glass of water and chugs half of it in one go, thumping himself in the chest.

“wow — you really weren’t kidding — these are sweet!”

you nod, humming as you break off a section and press it slowly into your mouth.

“some of the girls from uni came to visit today,” you say, your eyes scanning across the words on the page before you flip to the next one, “one of them is thinking about asking an underclassman boy out.”

keigo watches you press another slice of mandarin into your mouth, his throat suddenly very dry.

“uh — yeah? wait — uni?”

you turn towards him, blinking owlishly, “yeah. i was studying to be a nurse. guess i got my wish in the end though —” you let out a flippant little sigh as you slump back into your pillows and look around the hospital room, “no better masterclass than to see the experts at work, right?”

keigo blinks. you were decidedly less talkative the last time he’d been here, though, it was also under decidedly very different circumstances. he wonders about the kind of girl you were before all this, before the endless tests and tubes, hospital visits and check-marked charts. if you were effervescent, if you laughed a lot, made jokes, more than the dry, gallows-humor kind that eventually infects everyone living with a terminal illness.

“oh, you’re super popular with them —” you say, and for a second, keigo is confused, but then he sees the stack of magazines half-hidden beneath the fruit basket. the corner of one depicting his signature bright red wings. he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“yeah well, that also comes with the job description.”

you flash him a smile, bright and cheeky, and keigo silently thanks the heavens that he’s not the one linked up to the heartbeat monitor because he’s certain his reading would’ve just gone haywire.

“you never told me you were such a heartthrob hero,” you say, lilting the last two words. he scoffs, holding up his hands.

“whoa, whoa there, dovie — that’s not a light accusation to make — and plus,” he says, propping one leg over the other and leaning his elbow on the hitched up knee, “that kinda title is given, something bestowed upon you. ‘s not something you bring up yourself, alright?”

you hike a perfectly arched eyebrow and lace your fingers delicately across your lap.

“bestowed, huh? by whom?”

keigo leans back in his chair, balancing on the hind two legs, spreading wide his arms. behind him, his great crimson wings flare out, sending a woosh of air through the room.

“by the adoring public, of course.”

you stare at him for a beat of three seconds before falling into a fit of laughter that sets every nerve-ending in his entire body ablaze. he fights the urge to flap his wings, if only to get some air in here — damn — he glances towards the window to make sure it’s still open.

it is.

it’s a strange thing, spring. the shortest of all seasons, but eternal in it’s endless impermanence. flowers bloom, green buds darken into the lush green of summer leaves. the whole world blushes, and the wind spins her skirt tails, light over a humming horizon.

keigo’s always wondered about the likeliness of people falling in love in spring, thought it cliched and strange, a seasonal sickness maybe — the change in weather making everyone light-headed. but, he gets it now.

it’s hard now to fall in love, when the world is doing the same with living.

he finds himself hovering outside your window, more nights than not, hesitating about whether or not to go in. usually, it’s after he’s dropped you off after whisking you away to watch another sunset, somewhere, another moonrise, somewhere.

he basks in the musical lilt of your laughter, the rhythmic sway of your breaths (like wingbeats); he takes you flying and flying and flying, till you stop looking down when you plummet towards the ground. you know he’ll catch you, and he does.

every time.

except —

“i won’t need you to catch me when i’ve got a pair of my own,” you say one day, tucked into his side, sitting atop a skyscraper made of metal and glass, the summer sun burning itself out over the jagged tokyo skyline.

keigo glances over.

“a pair of…?” he pulls his attention away from the way you feel curled against him, body to body, his wing feathered over your shoulder like a cape.

you run a thin finger along one of his long flight feathers.

“wings, duh.”

keigo frowns.

your eyebrow kicks up in a devious little dance.

“y’know, for when i’m up in heaven.”

he freezes, every muscle in his body slowly calcifying. he turns his head slowly. you’re watching the sun sink inch by shimmering inch behind a row of faraway buildings, the light refracting off of a hundred thousand windows, spilling into a hundred thousand homes. a hundred thousand people going about their hundred thousand lives, unaware of the looming threat of death, tucked into every darkened corner, lingering behind every closed door.

keigo wants to scream.

he feels it building inside him, fluttering, as if the scream could grow wings and beat it’s way out of his chest.

“call me cynical but… i never used to believe in shit like that.”

you quirk your head, a curious little bird. keigo’s heart aches.

“used to?” you ask.

he lets out a puff of laughter, his wings drooping, closing in and in and in till they’ve almost blocked out the sun entirely.

“yeah,” he turns, his voice catching on his barbed-wire regrets, “and then i met you.”

you watch him for a second longer before leaning in. your mouth barely grazes his, but by the time he realizes, you’re already pulling back, a small, satisfied smile pressed between your lips like a flower, or a secret.

“c’mon, i’ve gotta be back by 8… or else the nurses will have your head.”

“eh, a couple of autographs and they’ll be happy.”

keigo grumbles, allowing you to tug him up by the hand. he loops his arms around you and tips off the edge of the building, letting the pair of you tumble into freefall for a long moment before swooping out of it with a great woosh of sun-licked feathers.

later, perched on the railings of the hospital rooftop, he peers over the edge of the building and wonders what it might be like to jump, to surrender yourself to air and gravity with no wings to catch you. he sighs and stretches out one wing, then the other, groaning as he feels each muscle and tendon pulling taut.

he’d never know. instinct would kick in first, and he’s always had his wings.

“the scan didn’t go well,” you say, toying with the worn red thread around your neck.

keigo’s long since gotten used to the tiny niggling feeling of your skin brushing against his feather. at first, he’d been acutely aware of it, the inside of your hospital gown, the soft warmth of your skin, the way he could almost, almost feel your heartbeat if he concentrated hard enough.

how the presence is a constant companion, a grounding piece of knowledge, something his mind gravitates towards during moments of pause and rest.

“hm, i’ve heard that before and you’re still here, aren’t you?” he asks, flipping through one of your magazines, rocking on the two hind legs of the hospital chair.

you shoot him a tired, annoyed kind of look.

“the doctor said i should stop treatment.”

the steady creek of the chair stops. you cast your eyes up at the white-washed ceiling, a bone-deep tiredness settling in as if death had been waiting for precisely that moment to come creeping in, to remind you of it’s closeness.

the chair clatters to the ground, but by the time you look over, keigo’s already halfway to the door.

“keigo — where’re you —”

“to go have a chat with those goddamn doctors —”

“it won’t do any good.”

he whirls around, wings flaring out. you push yourself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly as pain twines up the length of your spine.

“how do they know? they should at least try —”

“we have been trying. what do you think all this has been?” you motion at the room, the beeping machines, the endless tubes and iv drips.

“well you don’t stop trying just because it gets worse before it gets better —”

“there is no better, keigo. not for me.”

“you don’t know that!”

feathers, a flurry of feathers. his fingers pressing into your skin, his hands on your shoulders, holding you, shaking you. feathers everywhere.

you let him shake you, let him press his face in so close your noses are almost touching.

you wrap your fingers around his wrists and hold him till his grip goes slack.

“i — you can’t know that,” keigo says, and it sounds so much more like a plea. to what, or whom, you can only guess.

“the treatment’s not working,” you say, your words soft, gentle.

keigo slips to the floor, buries his face in your lap, crumples the rough hospital sheets between his fingers. his wings encase you both, a great dome of red, mottling out the light till you’re both just shadows.

he leans up to kiss you, a harsh breath puffing out against your lips the only warning. you nod ever so slightly before he tips forward and crushes you to him.

he’s never handled you as delicately as most other people do, as if you might shatter at the slightest touch. but now, he doesn’t hold back, clutches you to him, kisses you rough and hungry, there’s a desperate, furious slant to the way he licks at the seam of your lips, groaning deep in his chest when you finally let him in.

when he pulls back, you’re both lightheaded and breathless.

keigo runs a thumb along your bruised bottom lip with a tiny, self-deprecating laugh.

“how long?” he asks.

you sigh, looking down at the negative space between you.

“few weeks, a month,” you offer.

keigo swallows, the distant ticking of your heartbeat now no longer a sanctuary but a haunting specter, creeping ever closer.

“alright…” he says, unable to think of anything else to say, “alright then.”

later that night, whistling through the clear metropolitan night, he remembers the one and only time his mother had ever brought him to the beach as a child. he remembers watching a family of three building a sandcastle — mother, father, and son — how the child had been so delighted when the castle was finished, clapping his pudgy little hands, his fingers caked with sand, but less than half an hour later, the rising tide had all but washed the sandcastle away.

he remembers being enchanted by it, the transitory nature of the thing. how something that looked so solid against the dying light could be whisked away so quickly, so completely, by just a rush of foamy water.

he thinks of his father, and enjoys the sun.

that same year, they’d passed by a winter festival on their way home from picking up groceries. he was sporting a freshly bruised arm, and his mother a black eye she was attempting to cover with her muss of mousy hair. they’d caught a glimpse of the tail end of an ice-sculpture competition, the massive glittering structures standing on mounts, already dripping.

keigo had heard the announcer lament about how terribly sad it is that things so beautiful can’t last forever.

he’d thought it a strange sentiment then — wasn’t their ephemera an integral part of their beauty? the fact that it doesn’t last forever? because he knows, better than most, that temporary is good, temporary means that there’s always an ending worth looking forward to.

except he’s not a kid anymore, and this is a kind of ending that he never thought he’d have to deal with, at least not so soon.

with a looping barrel roll, keigo lets himself tip into a dive, cutting through the humid night air like an ill-shaped comet. he wonders briefly when he’ll stop falling in love with ice sculptures and sand castles, things that are destiny-bound to leave him. he thinks it’s such dramatic irony that the first time he properly falls in love is with a girl with one foot already out the metaphorical door — but of course it is.

your funeral is a muted affair, small, intimate. keigo debates whether or not he should go — after all, he hasn’t really told anyone about you (one night, he’d wondered wryly who he would even tell — endeavor, perhaps; he strikes the thought almost as soon as he has it), and you about him. so he watches from afar, watches on crimson wings and nectar-drenched air and wishes he were something else, someone else — someone with a quirk that didn’t literally pin his identity to his back.

“it’s a bit lonely at the top, isn’t it?” he remembers you asking one day, the magazine in your lap opened to a glossy centerfold of the most recent pro-hero rankings. he glances over, eyes catching on a candid shot of himself, his wings taking up a decent quarter of the page, eclipsed only by endeavors’ hulking form, the flames melding seamlessly into his own mess of feathers.

“lonely? nah — i’ve got —” he cuts off as he tries to think of something to say that won’t sound like a deflection — his legions of adoring fans? his fellow pro-heroes? the people at his agency? the students he’s mentored? sure, they’ve all staked out their own claims to his heart but closeness, the kind that he’s seen so casually bandied about on the mid-summer streets (in the way teen girls topple into each other, giggling, careless of the way their limbs get tangled, in the way men who have known each other for decades greet each other with just a knowing smile, in the swift way lovers might graze a kiss by the other’s cheek to say hello or goodbye), he suddenly finds that he can’t think of a single name.

you, perhaps.

he bites his lips.

you let out a tiny laugh, “it’s okay, it gets lonely here too,” you’d said, before going back to flipping through your magazine.

he thinks he could kiss you, then. so, he tugs the magazine from your lap and does.

he feels your body burn, his feather burning with it, the distant knowledge of heat and smoke stinging his subconscious. he feels it standing at the edge of the hospital roof, staring down. he’s been doing that a lot lately, coming up here, perching on the railing, staring down.

he tries to think of what you might’ve felt, standing here like this, the hopelessness, the endless, innumerable hurts of life, how a person might be tempted to step off and simply cease to be.

but he’d caught you, that day, falling. and he still can’t figure out if he’s glad he did.

he feels you burning, until suddenly, it’s over. the feather rendered to ash along with the rest of your body. he hopes you’ll be buried somewhere the spring can reach, somewhere with flowers, somewhere high up, perhaps, but not high enough to warrant a jumping off.

keigo takes a deep breath, can almost taste the smoke in his lungs.

faintly, he thinks he can feel summer breeze pick up, brushing by his cheeks, his lips, grazing his skin like your lips once had.

“i won’t need you to catch me once i’ve got a pair of my own,” you’d said of his wings.

he hopes that heaven is a beautiful place; he hopes that your wings are bigger and more beautiful than his, stronger too.

he closes his eyes.

the air is mandarin-sweet.

he teeters over the edge. his wings ache. distantly, he thinks he can hear the voices of curious people below — he must cut such a silhouette.

then, he breathes out, tips himself forward, and lets himself fall.

taglist: @simplyshelbyrae @raven-nevra @honeyoru @dira333 @unriding @fennecnco @encrytpta @simpingdailyforthem @dreamcastgirl99 @frosted-flakes @ryzheling @metalprincessxoxo @katiekawls @ally-all-around -- join the taglist

[bebx]

Squid Game Vampire AU where In-ho’s infected with a disease that causes him to have to consume fresh blood from bodies whose hearts are still beating, the disease also makes him physically unable to be directly exposed to sunlight.

No one knows about this except for The Masked Officer, his right hand man, and a very few Square Soldiers. In-ho survives by sneaking into Players’ dormitory and feeds on them during nighttime, fight never breaks out during the first couple nights, so it’s convenient for him. (And during the period where the game isn’t being hosted, In-ho has his trusted men kidnap people to him from the mainland, people with no friends or family to look for them once they’ve gone missing.)

His disease is also why he never leaves the island. Besides the risk of getting exposed to sunlight being higher on the mainland than it is on the island where he can hide in his room 24/7, In-ho can’t stand the idea of returning home to Jun-ho when he’s become “a monster”. Better let Jun-ho think he’s dead, as long as Jun-ho doesn’t know about the disease from which he’s suffering.

During the current game with Gi-hun as Player 456, thing goes wrong; because Gi-hun wakes up when In-ho’s feasting. Gi-hun isn’t supposed to wake up. But he does. It’s Gi-hun’s second time in the game, which means — unlike other Players — Gi-hun knows to always sleep with one eye open, despite the exhaustion. In-ho forgets to think about this and that’s his mistake.

So Gi-hun wakes to the sight of “Young-il” with his teeth buried in a Player’s jugular, blood runs down his mouth.

He’s about to scream, but at least In-ho is fast enough, and fortunately — just in case — he always carries a syringe of tranquilizer with him. He injects Gi-hun with the sedative and Gi-hun’s out like a light before he can wake other Players up.

Gi-hun wakes in a cell. No longer in the dormitory. In-ho’s here, and he’s in the Front Man attire now.

Gi-hun begs In-ho to stop “feeding on” people and killing them. They talk. Argue. Fight not with force but bitter words. Until eventually, Gi-hun learns what In-ho’s condition really is; In-ho has to consume fresh blood in order to survive, but he doesn’t need enough in one feasting to kill a person — he only kills his victims so that they can’t tell anyone.

But Gi-hun knows now. So he offers In-ho a deal; he will agree to let In-ho keep him and feed on him indefinitely as long as In-ho stops feeding on innocent people. Because Gi-hun can do this without dying, his body can regenerate / make more blood during In-ho’s cooling period. They can keep doing this. In other words, Gi-hun offers himself to be a slave.

In-ho takes the deal.

In-ho and Gi-hun live together on the island even after the game. The relationship starts as master/slave, until they slowly grow closer. And before In-ho knows it, Gi-hun isn’t just his source of blood anymore. Before In-ho knows it, Gi-hun is taking care of him and making sure he stays away from the sun. And Gi-hun is extremely protective of In-ho.

And hmmm there’s homoerotic tension involved, there’re feelings and sparks. You know where this goes.

Bonus; The Masked Officer betrays In-ho one day by throwing him outside and letting him burn under sunlight. And Gi-hun is screaming, trying to save his life, dragging him back into the shadows as In-ho cries in agony.

And yeah, you know the deal, lots of whump, lots of hurt/comfort. Lots of feelings. In-ho survives the Officer’s betrayal but just barely. Gi-hun is treating / taking care of In-ho’s injuries full time. And those feelings grow stronger between them as In-ho heals with Gi-hun by his side.

And then Gi-hun has a vampire for a boyfriend.

Okay okay I might have to write a fic about this

[pineconepie]

How would like. Any ocs you want I really don’t care, But how would they react to the reader having BPD and fping them but, the reading splitting on them. (Also did you get my SH ask so sorry I don’t expect you to answer ^~^’) -☀️ Anon

I think I just answered it, but if not please send it in again! <3

I'll do my top favorites then haha

Octavian is devastated, but he's not upset at you. Since BPD wasn't really a diagnosis in his times, you'd have to explain to him exactly your feelings. He'd understand and know its beyond your control, and he'll take less offense to you splitting on him.

In fact, you might even get a little bit of space from him just to help you, all while assuring he won't abandon you, and no matter what, you'll always be his little fledgling <3

.

Vincent loves it when he's your favorite person, since he thought that's how it should be in the first place lol. But once you split on him, he'll get offended, but think its just akin to throwing a temper-tantrum, so he'll tease about it, accidentally making the situation worse.

He craves love and adoration, so it might trigger his fear of abandonment too, causing him to cling harder to you, hoping doing that will make him your FP again. It'd take a word from one of the professional psychologists he hired to make him realize he needs to give you space.

.

Seradiel is hurt, but he knows everything about you. He's seen your past relationships and how they've been affected, he won't take it personally, even if it really does break his heart.

Sometimes with how calm and sweet he is, it can be even more annoying. "You aren't thinking clearly, love. Let's talk when you calm down," is his go-to thing to tell you. Despite that, he also reassures you very often that no matter what you say to him, he'd never even dream of abandoning you. You're stuck with him! <3

.

Cullen would be very concerned, internally freaking out and not knowing what on earth to do. He'd crack a nervous joke, poking fun at you and labeling it as crankiness, but your reaction would shut him up and make him worry even more. He'd be calling a psychologist, just because he can see you are clearly suffering inside and he doesn't know what to do.

August would cry each time you split on him, and even when he doesn't understand what is going on, he knows you are hurting. He'd think back to his own actions and blame himself, thinking he might've done something and didn't realize it hurt you. While Cullen would want to give you space, August might be even more suffocating.

Once they both are educated on BPD, I think they'd manage it a lot better, though August would still cry each time you split on him, or even went back to seeing him as your FP again. He knows it isn't healthy, but it makes him happy to think of himself as your favorite person.

.

Ellis goes silent in shock whenever you split on him, he can't even be angry. He wouldn't confront you about it immediately, but eventually he'd simply ask what he did wrong. A little bit of him is angry and getting ready to scold you, but when you tell him about what you go through, or simply that you have BPD, he'd be very understanding and sympathetic.

When he was younger he had an interest in psychology, so he knows a bit about personality disorders. He'd do extra research on it and how to help. Even though he'd be genuinely understanding the entire time, he'd also like being your favorite person, even if he knows it's unhealthy as well.

.

Hugo gets defensive and visibly upset, but he'd be much more patient as well when you explain the situation to him. He'd still remain stern on certain things, but he'd be a little more understanding of your personal space and such. Not much, but it's not as suffocating as before.

He'd try to make it a lighthearted conversation, to make you feel less nervous or insecure about telling him your struggles, opening up about his own fears of abandonment. "Well, lucky for you, kiddo, it's gonna take a lot more than this to scare me off; believe me when I tell you, you're stuck with me!"

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Owl Ford au my beloved, i couldn't forget about it i don't know why, but ig its for the best right? Like Stan thinking he's so cool! Cause he got an owl pet for free! Look how cool and legendary that is! Until somehow the curse breaks and Stan knows that all this time his twin was this owl who he told his secrets and hard feeling on Sixer to, this owl who was Ford? Too many emotions. Stan is so doomed and embarrassed. Ford in the other hand wss crying cause he knows now the dangerous life his twin was living in the last couple of years.

Someday i'll write a full 'Ford was transformed into an animal' fic, just to highlight the difference between Stan and Fords thought process in my mind. Ford finds a animal, and despite all his attempts to get rid of it, it sticks around, only seems to like him, seems to understand what he says, and is his special little buddy? Its because he's special! Him and this animal have a deep special connection like none other, for reasons he might not understand but will take full advantage of. Man suffers from a huge ego, main character syndrome, and an aching loneliness (the animal is Stan, and when Ford learns this he will be devastated, not only because he didn't realize, but because his special connection was actually fairly mundane)

Stan? Stan finds an animal that he can't get rid of, only seems to like him, seems to understand what he says, and follows him everywhere as his special little buddy?

Its trying to kill him.

Stan's keeping one eye open on this thing while he waits for it to peck his eyes out in his sleep. Its getting cozy because its trying to get him to drop his guard. Good things don't happen to him, so this bird is just sticking around waiting for its chance to strike. But because he also suffers from ego and an aching loneliness, he's going to grow attached to the demon beast and spill his guts out, because this bird is determined to stick around so he might as well pretend it cares and he has some sort of company.

Then the bird is Ford. His brother. His brother who's been hanging around for who knows long while Stan's lamented about all the terrible things in his life to it because he thought it was a murderous dumb animal. Ford's not supposed to know all of this about Stan, he's supposed to be living his life somewhere safe and maybe happy while Stan tries to get that money he owes him. Now Ford knows all this stuff about him and has seen him vulnerable and weak and not the confident happy person he pretended to be. Its devastating and now Fords leaking water out of his eyes for some reason and trying to hug him.

Sorry got a bit off track there. I don't know anything about birds, but i imagine Ford does the 180 head spin that owls do and Stan screams so loud Ford poofs up twice his size and hisses at Stan while their in his car and Stan tries to bolt, then falls on his face immediately while Ford laughs at him.

[skyguytoast]

YOU’RE THE ONLY THING THAT I GOT RIGHT - JAMES KELLY X YOU

SYNOPSIS:  James always believed he was doomed to destroy everything good in his life. But then there was you—too good, too kind. You stayed through the mess, even when he tried to push you away. The night before the heist, he comes to you, unsure if he'll make it out alive. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness… but he asks to be held one last time. WARNINGS:  angst  WORDS:  785 A/N:  Hi loves of my life, how are you? I love James, he's so suffering poor thing, every time I watch the movie I want to pick him up and never let go🤧😔❤️‍🩹So, basically, I wrote what I would like to do, anyway I hope you like it, comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated 🩷🩷🩷 And requests are open, please, ask!! DIVIDERS BY @cafekitsune

When I take a look at my life and all of my crimes  You're the only thing that I think I got right  I'll never give you away 'Cause  I already made, already made that mistake

You were curled up on the living room couch, already in your pajamas, balancing your laptop on a pillow while your fingers raced over the keys. The sales spreadsheets for the small grocery store where you worked blurred together, the numbers twisting into knots the longer you stared at them.

Your hair was piled into a messy bun — half from comfort, half from the hundred times you’d run your fingers through it out of frustration. A forgotten mug of coffee sat half-full on the table, gone cold hours ago. Takeout burger wrappers were scattered across the surface, your half-eaten sandwich abandoned next to crumpled napkins and a mess of sauce packets.

You barely heard the knock at the door over your headphones, only catching the second round thanks to the ad flashing across your laptop screen. Frowning, you shoved the pillow aside and padded barefoot to the door, wondering who would show up this close to midnight.

When you cracked it open, your heart twisted.

James stood there, hunched slightly like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back. His dark hoodie hung loose around his frame, grease-stained jeans rumpled and dusty. His face was drawn, his blue eyes a storm of anxiety and something softer — something broken.

You didn’t hesitate. You reached for him.

Wordlessly, James let you pull him inside, his body heavy with exhaustion. He dropped onto the couch where you’d been working, elbows braced on his knees, hands scrubbing at the worn denim on his thighs as if trying to wipe away something invisible.

“What happened, James?” you asked gently, kneeling in front of him, your hands hovering just shy of his trembling ones.

“Nothing you need to worry about, sweetie,” he said, the edges of his southern drawl curling around the words, soft but strained.

You didn’t believe him. You knew him too well. You could see the chaos crashing behind his tired eyes.

“James,” you whispered, your voice full of quiet insistence, “is it about Frank? Did he… force you into something again?”

Your lips parted to say more, but he reached out, brushing his thumb over your mouth in a silent plea. “Not tonight, baby,” he murmured, voice cracking. “I don’t wanna talk. I just—” His chest heaved. “I just need you.”

The words cracked something open in you.

Without hesitation, you climbed onto the couch beside him, fitting yourself against his side until your thighs touched. "I'm here, James. Always," you promised.

He let out a shuddering breath, turning to press his face into your chest, arms snaking around your waist like you were the only thing keeping him alive. His fingers clutched at the fabric of your pajama shirt like he was afraid you’d slip away.

“I know,” he whispered thickly. “That’s the problem.”

You didn't push for more. You knew better. You simply gathered him close, threading your fingers into his messy dark hair and stroking soothing lines across his scalp, cradling him with an almost maternal tenderness.

Softly, you began to hum — an old lullaby your grandmother used to sing, letting the quiet vibrations anchor him. His body slowly melted into yours, the tension bleeding out of him little by little, though you could feel the slight tremors still running through him.

You didn’t flinch when you felt the warmth of his tears soaking through your shirt. You didn’t tell him to stop. You just held him tighter, pressing kisses to his hair, to his forehead, to any piece of him you could reach without pulling him from the shelter of your arms.

After a long while, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Do you want to go to bed, baby?” you offered softly, rubbing small circles against his back.

James shook his head, a muffled, broken sound escaping him. "Nah," he whispered hoarsely, "don’t wanna move… don’t wanna be away from you."

Your heart cracked wide open.

“It’s okay, baby,” you murmured, rocking him slightly. “We can stay right here. As long as you need.”

Slowly, James lifted his head, blinking up at you with raw vulnerability laid bare across his face. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing away the lingering salt tracks on his skin.

He leaned forward, brushing a soft, desperate kiss against your lips — a silent prayer, a plea for forgiveness he didn’t know how to ask for yet. You answered by kissing him back, gently but firmly, pouring all your love and reassurance into that one moment.

If tomorrow he had to walk into hell, you would make sure that tonight — at least tonight — he would know what it felt to be in heaven, to be safe, to be loved without condition.

TAGLIST: @ihearthayden @anakinstwinklebunny @sometimescharlolette @awhhayden @dessxoxsworld  @speaknow-sw

[bibli0thecary]

i gave so many signs ౨ৎ

pairing: baker! joel miller x reader

In a world with no outbreak, Joel Miller runs a popular bakery—grumpy, flour-dusted, and way too serious about sourdough. His daughters, Sarah and Ellie, are either helping or causing chaos behind the counter.

Then there’s you—a stressed-out grad student who starts doing your thesis in his cozy café. You only came for the pastries… and the baker.

read more: baker! joller miller series

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

The car was quiet for exactly nineteen seconds after the bakery closed.

Then Sarah sighed—that kind of sigh, the long-suffering, dramatic kind she must’ve learned from him and said, “So. When are you going to ask her out?”

Joel grunted. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again,” Ellie chimed in from the backseat. “We’re tired of watching a love story that’s all soft looks and tragic longing. It’s giving sad divorced dad. You’re killin’ me.”

“I’m not—” he cut himself off, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “It ain’t like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” Sarah said. “Dad, come on. You made soup. For a girl. Who wasn’t even conscious enough to taste it.”

“I was worried,” he muttered.

“You closed the bakery.”

Joel didn’t answer.

“You cleaned her apartment.”

He sighed.

“You fluffed her pillows!”

“That’s just—decent,” he grumbled, turning the blinker on a little too aggressively. “What do you want from me?”

“We want you to stop acting like she’s just someone who sometimes buys scones.” Sarah crossed her arms. “You stare at her like she is everything. But you won’t do anything.”

Joel rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m too old for her.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ellie said. “You’re not eighty.”

“I’m forty-eight.”

“And she’s what? Late twenties? Big deal.” Sarah leaned forward, voice softening. “She doesn’t look at you like you’re old. She looks at you like you hung her moon.”

Joel’s jaw tightened.

“I got baggage,” he said. “You two. The bakery. My whole life is rooted. She’s just… passin’ through. Studyin’. Young. Got a future.”

“Maybe she wants that future to include you,” Sarah said, voice gentle.

“She deserves someone who ain’t so… tired.”

“You’re not tired when she’s around,” Ellie pointed out, kicking the back of his seat. “You smile more. You let me make cinnamon rolls without swearing.”

Joel looked at the road. Said nothing.

Because they weren’t wrong.

────୨ৎ────

One week later, things fall apart. 

Joel was in the kitchen when it happened.

He heard your laugh first.

That easy, open laugh—the one you never used when you were sick or stressed or too deep in thesis mode. It was the kind you used when you were relaxed.

The kind that made him pause whatever he was doing.

He peeked through the kitchen window. Saw you near the pastry case, chatting with someone. A guy. Tall, younger than him, smiling wide. A stranger.

And then he saw it.

The man held out his phone.

You laughed again, a little flustered—but typed something in.

Joel’s chest went tight. Tight in a way that had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with fear.

You gave him your number.

In his bakery.

In the place where he made you scones without asking. Where you left your scarf last week and he kept it for you because it still smelled like your perfume. Where you once said, “This place feels like a second home.”

And now?

You were giving pieces of yourself to someone else.

His hands clenched around the edge of the counter.

He didn’t even realize Sarah had come into the kitchen until she said quietly, “You saw, didn’t you?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Ellie appeared too. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, already scrubbing the counter too hard. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

Sarah sighed. “Because you waited too long.”

Ellie added, “Because you let her think you didn’t want her.”

Joel stared at the flour-streaked surface in front of him, white dust clinging to his knuckles.

And in his chest—where warmth used to bloom when you walked in, where laughter used to echo when you teased him, where quiet comfort used to sit soft and sacred—there was only silence.

He should’ve said something.

He should’ve asked you.

Now?

He might have to watch someone else do it.

In his damn bakery.

₊˚⊹♡

thank you for reading!

taglist: @lcvespedro @katwriteshardy @h3mm3tt @elizabeth4th @libraryofneith @mystickittytaco 

[guess-ill-dye]

EUROPEAN BLACKOUT RN

Edit: alr heres what I know happened

It was in Portugal and Spain, due to a disconnect from Europe because (if I remember right from the radio) they are changing smth over there. In Portugal there is electricity and Internet in some areas, and the prime minister says that tommorow the situation will likely be settled. There had been some misinformation abt it being a hacker, but that's fake news and the EU president said that it wasn't true. Also my source for this info is the radio (trustworthy, national one) and one of the main news channels in Portugal, but even then take this w a grain of salt alr

Screenshots of source under the cut

(Translation if the 1st one:

Blackout caused by a disconnection with the European network

The blackout was most likely caused by a disconnection from the European network. The statement comes from the director of the spanish services of public eletric network, Eduardo Prieto, in declarations to the Spanish newspaper La Vanguardia.

According to Eduardo Prieto,the origin of the blackout suffered in the Iberian Peninsula was a disconnection from France from the European interconnection system. The loss of connection with Europe led to an instability that ledbto the collapse of the "giving")

(Translation of the 2nd one:

Government believes that schools will open tomorrow

"We don't see a reason so that schools can't open tomorrow in situation of normality, if there is no concerns in that re-establishment" afirms the prime-minister.

Montenegro believes that tomorrow the situation will be one of normality

"We are confident that the [eletric] re-establishment will give people a situation of normality on the day of tomorrow, afirms Luis Montenegro, who believes there will be no difficulties in the supply of goods.

"We are both predicting to have any problems".)

Any doubts abt the translation or anything just ask, I'll explain the best I can!

[isabelawritesthings]

Sindel and Mileena and the favoritism

Topics

Introduction

Family dynamics

Mileena and the Tarkat

Sindel's ignorance and a mother's despair

Real-life examples of a deadly disease in royalty

Some parallels between Alexandra and Sindel

Mileena VS Kitana: Same faces, different behaviors

Finalization

Introduction

I was really happy that you liked my post about Li Mei and the injustice she suffered (judging by the number of notes and reblogs), that I decided to make another post analyzing characters from Mortal Kombat 1.

REMEMBER! This is just my opinion about the characters, I personally like both of them, I'm just here to analyze the characters' behavior and their story, not to judge them, I'm open to opposing opinions as long as they're respectful.

Family dynamics

Sometimes I wish Netherealm Studios would pay more attention to Mortal Kombat's lore, because I think it's quite rich and diverse for a fighting game (considering that I'm also a fan of Street Fighter and Tekken and the stories of both are quite simple). Maybe if they had time to publish short stories and even books related to the story, it would be great, so that people don't just remember the game when a new one comes out. I would love to know about the Great Kung Lao's victories. And I'm saying this because the dynamics of the royal family are pretty much information that the characters' biographies and intros give away, which doesn't help much since it's limited content, but based on what we have, I'll try to guess what their lives were like before Jerrod died.

We know that Sindel married Jerrod to prevent a rebellion from happening, let's assume that Sindel ascended to the throne very young shortly after the death of her father or mother, who was probably the emperor or empress of Outworld, an intro with Kenshi mentions that she has a twin sister and that this twin sister probably had children (the cousins banished from court that Kitana mentions), so everything suggests that like Mileena, she was the eldest twin and heir to the throne.

The marriage was initially only to avoid civil war, but they eventually found love and had twin daughters. The game suggests that Jerrod was more than a consort; he helped Sindel rule and perhaps handled affairs of state, while also being a loving father and husband, but everything fell apart after his death, leaving Sindel to rule alone, leaving her vulnerable to attacks from political enemies.

Kitana and Mileena, by all accounts, had a peaceful childhood, being trained by Li Mei and loved by their parents. They undoubtedly suffered with Jerrod's death, just like Sindel. In short: They were a happy family, but it all ended with Jerrod's murder.

Mileena and the Tarkat

We don't know how Mileena caught Tarkat, but according to the YouTube comments (which I don't consider a reliable source but is the most likely), she probably left the palace at night in secret to meet Tanya and was attacked by a Tarkatan or a person infected with the disease (which could mean her scar on her eyebrow). I remember seeing on Baraka's Wiki a while back that one of the causes of Tarkat could be stress, which could be the explanation for Mileena's contamination, we know that she is temperamental, and that dealing with her father's death must have been quite stressful for her, but again, the game's lore explains little, so the way is to create our own theories.

The contempt for people with the disease reminds me of how people treated people with AIDS in the 1980s. It was a little-known disease and treatment was limited. People always fear what they don't know, and they even thought that simply shaking hands with a person with AIDS could pass it on to them, and the fact that the majority of those infected were gay men, didn't help much in the fight against prejudice and ignorance against the disease.

If you have been infected by tarkat, you will likely be kicked out of your home and sent to a colony of infected people until you go mad and die in pain and agony (according to Baraka's intros). But we know that suffering this terrible fate is for commoners, if you are an aristocrat like Mileena, you will probably have the privilege of receiving treatment that will assess the symptoms.

One thing the game makes very clear is that this could destroy Mileena's image as a future empress and even the entire monarchy, being a secret as well kept as her love affair with an Umgadi (to be honest, I don't know which would cause more scandal).

Sindel's ignorance and a mother's despair

Sindel blames Mileena for her illness, which is weird, because she's practically telling her daughter that it's her fault if she eventually dies from Tarkat, it's like telling someone with cancer that if they have cancer it's their fault. I try to put myself in Sindel's shoes (or in this case, her high heels), she's angry and sad because she lost her husband and now has to deal with yet another problem because her daughter was careless, but the approach to this could be more caring, after all, it's normal to expect understanding from a mother.

Perhaps because she blamed Mileena so much, she began to have more affection and pride for another daughter who is completely healthy, Kitana. We don't know if Sindel's favoritism arose after Mileena's infection or if it already existed since Jerrod was alive, I like to think that it already existed but increased with Mileena's situation.

But don't think that Sindel is sitting on her golden throne waiting for Mileena to die to finally name Kitana her heir, she is still a mother who loves her daughters, and for that, she had to resort to secretly handing her daughter over to be cared for by a sorcerer who until a few years ago was nothing more than a liar who stole money from naive people with promises of cures with his medicines, in addition to listening to advice from another sorcerer who makes demons his personal slaves, all to cure his beloved daughter.

Before being an empress, she is a mother.

Real-life example of a deadly disease in royalty

I don't work in the Netherealm writers' room, so I don't know if they had any inspiration for their portrayal of Tarkat in the game... But I'd like to draw a comparison with a disease that affected many royal families between the 1870s and 1930s.

Hemophilia is a rare disorder in which the blood doesn't clot in the typical way because it doesn't have enough blood-clotting proteins (clotting factors). If you have hemophilia, you might bleed for a longer time after an injury than you would if your blood clotted properly.

I imagine most of you know who Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom was, as she literally has a period in history named after her. She suffered from hemophilia and passed it on to her youngest son, Prince Leopold. She had five daughters as well, two of whom did not have the disease but carried the hemophilia genes which unfortunately passed on to their children and grandchildren.

Treatment at the time was precarious and could sometimes make the disease worse rather than do any good. One of the greatest examples of hemophilia in a royal family was the case of Prince Alexei of Russia, son of Tsar Nicholas II of Russia.

(Alexei and his mother, Empress Alexandra of Russia)

If you don't know the history of the Romanovs, I'll give you a brief summary: Empress Alexandra of Russia was one of Queen Victoria's granddaughters, the daughter of Princess Alice of the United Kingdom, one of her two daughters who carried the genes for the disease. She did not have the disease but also carried the genes, eventually passing it on to her son, Prince Alexei.

Alexei suffered from hemophilia type B, a more serious and lethal type of the disease. Most doctors were sure that he would not live to adulthood, since most of his cousins, who also had the disease, died from it at a relatively young age, including an uncle who died at the age of three. The empress was desperate to cure her son, turning to the mystic Grigori Rasputin, a Siberian monk who claimed to have healing powers.

Rasputin exerted a great influence on the Empress and the Emperor, as he was supposedly the only one who could cure their son, he also involved himself in the politics of the state through his influence with the Empress (which was so big that both the Russian nobility and the people believed they were lovers).

Rasputin was actually a fraud, as he never cured the prince, he only prevented the use of aspirin on the boy, which was the treatment for hemophilia at the time and only made the bleeding worse. He was eventually assassinated by the husband of the emperor's niece, as it was almost a consensus in Russia that he was ruining the image of the imperial family. The imperial family itself would be assassinated in 1918, including Alexei and his mother.

Some parallels between Alexandra and Sindel

EMPRESSES: both were empresses, although Alexandra was only a consort.

DESPERATE MOTHERS: Both were desperate to cure their children of the disease that was affecting them.

TRUSTING A FRAUD: Shang Tsung claims that he could only control the symptoms with his serums, but he did not find a cure for the disease, Rasputin only prohibited the use of a medicine that could only make things worse for Alexei.

MANIPULATED: Shang Tsung and Quan Chi had influence over the Empress, as one could control her daughter's symptoms and the other could predict the future. Rasputin also claimed to be able to see the future and tell which government ministers would eventually betray the imperial family, causing the Empress to dismiss them all when she became regent during World War I.

HIGH PRICE TO PAY: Sindel's over-trust of sorcerers led to her eventual death, just like Alexandra trust in Rasputin was one of the factors that condemned the Russian imperial family to death.

Mileena VS Kitana: Same faces, different behaviors

Some in Outworld think that Mileena is too rebellious and that her beautiful and graceful sister Kitana would make a better empress, even Sindel thinks so! Although Kitana has no interest in usurping her sister, Mileena does not feel safe even as her mother's heir.

I can draw a parallel with two real-life princesses, Queen Elizabeth II and her younger sister, Princess Margaret (yes, I'm referencing the British royal family again). Elizabeth was known for being obedient and peaceful, in contrast to her younger sister who was rebellious and bold. People liked Elizabeth, but found Margaret spoiled and arrogant.

Mileena in the future may become paranoid that Kitana is trying to steal her throne (perhaps one of the symptoms of tarkat includes mental confusion), and may even have her own sister arrested on suspicion of high treason. But only the future will tell.

Finalization

I literally spent two hours writing all of this 😭 Again, thank you to everyone who reblogged my post about Li Mei, you have no idea how much this motivates me to write more analyzes.

[anemia-rp]

"Objectifiyin' me here, eh?", Jake interferred but didn't sound offended. Rather intrigued. He wouldn't get worked up about such a little joke. Not from someone he found attractive. In this regard he was way more chill than Fuji. "Who knows what kinda object I could be for ya." Fuji whereas just rose an eyebrow and snorted, nudging his friend with his arm.

"I know that struggle. I've got a pair of those really bold and amazing looking new rock boots, but they're so fucking heavy." Fuji lifted one of his feet. "That's why I mostly wear those boots. Even in summer. They're light and comfy." He had some converse chucks, but he wasn't a fan of being too casual. "Seems as if we're both all ready to suffer for beauty, huh?" In fact he could understand Lucy being dramatic about his shoes. He looked asquint at Jake. "And sometimes, for the case your feet get sore, you need a strong man to carry you on his back." Fuji loved to be carried, it was one of his favorite things. "But today we'll take the car for convenience reasons."

He smiled now with a shrug. "If we don't wanna be seen and found then guess there's no way you cross paths with us", Fuji claimed as they walked. "But to be fair, we stick out like sore thumbs in fact, huh?" Jake now went ahead to guide them to the black car with the shaded windows, opening the door to the passenger's seat first. Something that caused Fuji to look at Lucy. "You wanna sit with Jake or with me?" Usually Fuji would sit in the front, but he was curious for the response. If it would be a cocky one once again. Somehow he would have enjoyed it, in fact.

@secretxxpaladaiseu

Fuji had many facets among himself. What he showed others didn't only depend on himself and his mood but the person in front of him, too. How they approached him and if they displayed some habits he hated. Mostly things he suppressed within himself. Like showing too much vulnerability and being an attention whore. The things you despised within others were often the demons that lived inside of yourself, Fuji knew. Anyway, he definitely couldn't expect someone acting friendly towards him from the start when it had been him tying someone up against their will. But in his weird, twisted way he enjoyed how things are between them so far.

Now he snorted, and it sounded as if he was about to make another derogatory comment, but he just was so astonished about Lucy and him once again completely agreeing on a topic. "Damn, what should I say? You spoke my mind here." Something like respect grew within him because this guy was intelligent, and while Fuji liked to use dense boys as his toys he had high respect for clever ones. "Jake's all that, but you can't have him though. At least not all for yourself." Having been quite dismissive before he now had a wide smile on his lips and gave his words a humorous undertone. Laughing even when Jake flicked his head. "Ain't ya dare to steal anyone from the /principessa grande/", Jake said and even tried to imitate an italian accent, winking and clicking his tongue.

"Dunno. Maybe", Fuji just shrugged. He wasn't good with naming his feelings. "I just know love and hate are like twins you can't separate. And maybe I'd have pleasure dwelling in both." A chuckle erupted him, his eyes glinting as he looked at Lucy. Yes, he felt drawn to him more and more with each minute passing, and he wanted to figure out what this would turn into. Thus he changed his mind, changed a glance with Jake and then they both followed Lucy. "Not to supervise you but 'cause I don't wanna have this feeling of irritation in my guts to get interrupted", Fuji claimed. "Jake can drive us so you won't even need to walk. Don't we treat our captives well?"

@secretxxpaladaiseu

[kingzombear]

remember that one post you did a while back with pomni and jax’s personalities swapped?

can i have more of that, my good bear?

She likes to sneak in his room when he's sleeping w an airhorn and when he jolts awake screaming she decks him in the face with a pie lol

[koszmarnybudyn]

I won't let myself get devoured

Or a Normally Oak-swallows-garcia angst post about grief and anger.

[dykedvonte]

I was rewatching mouthwashing, and I ended up thinking of the different reactions that Curly and Jimmy had in doing their tasks. How during the scene of Anya evaluating Jimmy and showing dread towards the idea of doing his evaluation, Curly was the one that offered to take it off her hands. He had no issue with adding more to his plate, because he knew - or well, thought, he knew that Jimmy wasn't going to "bullshit" with him since he's known him for a long time. When Anya hands Curly a note from Swansea, Curly goes to check out what the issue is and he takes care of it without a complaint, the only "complaint" he has is how this incident could have damaged the pods. Which is reasonable, those pods are their only way to be saved if anything tragic happens on the ship. However, in comparison to Jimmy being asked to do things, he's passive-aggressive about it. When Anya asks Jimmy if he could help her out with Curly's painkillers, he tells her that people should be worth their titles, specifically using her title as a nurse when she asked him for help and then when she says forget it, since he made her feel insecure, he still goes "Oh no, I'LL take care of it" as if he was doing a chore, a favor for her. Then, there's that part where he blows up at her for things that she didn't even ask him to do - more so the others asked him about it, like the code scanner, him deciding he needed to find the axe for the foam, and then, there's the medicine part (which when she does ask, and she reconsiders - going to do it herself, he takes that away from her). Jimmy complains about the tasks he has to do and he treats it like a big issue, a "woes me" that he has to do this and that - wanting the praise of the capital without actually doing any work. While Curly doesn't complain about it, in fact, he even mentions that he's aware of how well he is doing at his job as a Captain during that cockpit scene with him and Jimmy. If Jimmy only had to do a small amount of tasks to get irritated and annoyed at being captain, while Curly didn't which I feel like encapsulates their personalities. Curly understands what he's doing is a job, it's a responsibility, why would he complain at any point for doing what he's suppose too? Why would he be upset at people asking him to do tasks? While Jimmy on the other hand, isn't used to it at all and it's different to what he's had before and he's realizing that he doesn't actually like doing the work he has too. I just wanted to ramble about it even if it seemed kind of obvious xd

It’s obvious but it is a thing people miss or understate when trying to find parallels in Curly’s and Jimmy’s relationship/personalities.

Like the way people portray it as neither taking responsibility when it is almost split down the middle of Curly taking responsibilities and faults that shouldn’t be his and making himself unequipped to handle the ones that are while Jimmy refuses to handle the responsibilities he has because he wasn’t expecting the work that comes with them.

Not a lot to say but people forget that another thing the game comments on is prioritization of issues and responsibilities and how the guys fail at it in one way or another in the situation.

[pokemon-ash-aus]

Imma be honest, is really interesting seeing Berry with the mindset and opnion she had before when u know how much regret she has and shows later in the future. I kinda wonder what would happen if future Berry had a chance to talk with her past self?

Tbh, she definitely is of the opiniom that she can't save herself. Everything that happens was her fault and she deserved it.

It's not a fun feeling

Berry | Spot | King

[brofightiscancelled]

okay ill bite why do u hate kaoru sakuraba sidem aside from the fact that they went from hokuto as a main blue to downgrade to kaoru. to make it less awkward that I’m asking abt sidem on ur osomatsu side blog, what sidem idols would u assign to each matsu ?

i think sideM should collab w osomatsu-san and put them all in Beit so they can all get JOBS!!!!!!

anyways i hate kaoru from idolmaster sideM. i need all my osomatsu-san side blog followers to know that i hate this man. "i need a lot of money fast to pursue an extremely niche medical research track, which is why i quit my stable and high paying job as a surgeon to become an idol while having no soft skills, physical strength or stamina, or interest in getting along with people" are you Stupid??

he's not even using his idol clout to spread awareness of the rare disease he's trying to cure (like SEM does) so it can secure funding, he sees it 100% as a job and refuses to have fun, he is actively unpleasant and uncooperative in every interaction with his coworkers because he's trying to "rise to the top". it seems like the only thing he has going for him are his looks and that he kind of liked to sing when he was a kid. why not become a model at that point when you have the personality of a wet tree trunk. or better yet why not STAY A FUCKING DOCTOR!!!!!

also, i don't like meganes, so write that down.