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training4theapocalypse · 1 year ago

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Tiny Stitches (Adrian Chase x gn!reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: SMUT, Graphic injury detail, Handjob

Summary: Your Halloween plans are cancelled last minute. You’re ready for a night alone eating Halloween candy until Vigilante comes to your door needing stitched up.

A/N: Based on this ask by @impossibleheartflower - thank you! No pronouns are used but the reader is wearing a slutty nurse outfit. It’s pretty nondescript (e.g. no specific mention of skirt or pants) so the slutty nurse outfit can be whatever you want it to be. Maybe the real slutty nurse outfit is the friends we made along the way.

Masterlist

Chapter text

You dip your hand in your bubble bath to test the temperature - it’s not exactly going to make up for the fact that your Halloween date flaked at the last second but you know you’ll feel better when you take off this ridiculous costume and sink into the bubbles.

You hear a distant knock from your front door and turn off the tap.

It’s sort of late for trick-or-treaters. Right? Maybe your apartment is the last stop for the kids who live in your building. You don’t want to end up on a register somewhere so you pull on a robe over your sexy nurse costume.

“Coming!” You rush out of the bathroom to unchain your front door.

You let out a gasp of shock when you open it. Thud. A man’s body falls backwards into your apartment.

“What the fuck?!”

Is he… dead?

Dread fills you as your eyes ping over every part of his figure, looking for signs of life. But it’s hard to tell when he’s dressed in a black and teal Halloween costume with his face completely concealed by a mask.

Almost completely.

His eyes are just visible behind the red visor on his mask. He blinks up at you. He blinks. He’s alive.

The man dressed up as the masked Vigilante of Evergreen groans. “It’s me... Sorry.”

That voice is familiar. “Who- ?”

Vigilante stares up at you standing over him. He knows he’s got more pressing matters to worry about than being offended that you don’t recognise his voice but he can’t help it. He’d know your voice anywhere. Hell, he even recognises the way your keys jingle in the hallway when you get home from work.

“I’m your neighbour… from across the hall.” He clutches his side with one hand so he can rip off his mask with the other.

Oh.

‘Hot guy’ is the stupid thought that pops into your head when you stare at his upside-down face lying across your doorway. You realise who he is now after all, under his Halloween costume, with his dark, curly hair and sharp jaw - all that’s missing is his glasses. You’re not even sure of his name - you’ve been so used to referring to him as ‘Hot Guy Across The Hall’ in your friends’ group chat for months that you’re more accustomed to calling him that in your head.

‘Hot Guy Across The Hall took a package in for me today.’

‘I bet you’d like to take a package from Hot Guy Across The Hall.’

You snap out of it when you see a trickle of blood drip onto your floor. You look at the gloved hand clutching his side - he’s holding a wound on his abdomen. A dark puddle of blood leaks through the fabric, staining the white parts of his gloves crimson. A new terror sets in as you realise he’s been attacked.

“Please, I need a nurse.”

“This…” You look down at your red and white polyester outfit and the plastic stethoscope around your neck that’s visible underneath your open robe. “This is a Halloween costume.”

“I know that. I’ve seen you in scrubs.”

“I’m a vet.”

“Uh, thank you for your service?”

“A veterinarian.” You stick your head out the door and look up and down the hallway, worried about anyone stumbling upon the bloody scene. “Get in here.” You slip off your robe so you can move freely, then bend down and drag Hot Guy Across The Hall by his underarms into your apartment, sliding him across your wooden floor and shutting the door behind him. Fuck, he's heavier than he looks.

Shit, what was his name?

“Aidan, right?”

“Close enough.” He groans, staring up at your ceiling.

“Can you get up if I help you?”

“Mhm,” he winces in affirmation and you bend down to put his arm around his shoulder. He inhales sharply, holding onto his side as you help him across your small apartment into your bedroom. You’re glad your apartment is clean. Not that you’d admit out loud that you’d tidied it specifically just in case your date had gone well tonight.

You help him onto your fresh bedspread. The blood is definitely going to stain your new sheets. Perfect.

“Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” you say, tossing the plastic stethoscope aside and sitting beside him on the edge of the bed so you can assess the wound. “Wait, is your costume a onesie?”

“No,” he groans. “I just need to take off the belt-” He swears when he removes his hand from his side to unfasten his gunbelt. A jolt of adrenaline courses through you when you realise that attached to him are real guns.

“Okay, let me do that. You just keep applying pressure.” You firmly move his hands from his belt to his wound. The sound of metal on metal clicks in your silent bedroom when you gently unthread the belt from the loops. “There we go, you’re doing great,” you soothe as you place the belt and his gun on the floor and roll up the top half of his suit. Your fingers tremble slightly when you realise the fabric under them isn’t cheap polyester. It’s thick. Lined with what you expect is Kevlar. This is no bargain bin Halloween costume.

Oh shit.

There’s a long but shallow knife wound running down his ribs. It doesn’t look like there’s any damage to his vital organs. But it’s gruesome. “I’ll get my car keys - I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“Wait!” He tries to sit up but yelps in pain and lies back again.

“Please, I can’t go there… Too many questions.”

It confirms your suspicions.

“You’re not dressed up for Halloween.” It’s not a question but you look up to see his response all the same. You’ve been so focused on his injury that you haven’t noticed the way his green eyes have been searching your face. He slowly shakes his head and looks at you beseechingly. Ugh. You can’t say no to those pretty eyes. It’s why you ended up becoming a vet - you just can’t resist the stupid, puppy-dog eyes.

“I don’t have any anaesthetic. This is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep that sentiment in mind when you’re screaming in a second.”

You leave him and boil some water while you busy yourself finding your medical supplies and a bottle of vodka. You set up your things on the bedside table while you sit on a throw pillow on the floor next to the bed.

“God, this is always the worst bit.” He says, squinting at you dipping the gauze in the boiled water, getting ready to clean out the wound.

“Don’t you normally wear glasses?”

“They’re in my pocket.”

You reach into his pocket and carefully place them on his face. “Better?” He nods. “Or maybe you don’t wanna see this?”

“Aren’t you gonna clean it out with vodka first?” He asks as your hand hovers over his wound, holding the gauze.

“Hell no - that’s only in the movies. Alcohol can damage your tissue. This is for us.” You open the bottle with one hand, take a quick swig and shudder before handing him the bottle.

“Shouldn’t you be sober for this?”

“Hey, the dogs never complain when I turn up to work drunk.”

“They don’t?”

Your face cracks into a smile as you take in the sincerity of his look. “A joke. I’m joking.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He takes a long gulp of vodka, screws up his face and passes it back to you.

You clean his wound and he clenches his fists, breathing heavily.

“So, you said you’ve done this before?” You ask, trying to distract him.

“Yeah,” he says through gritted teeth.

You scan his toned lower abdomen and spot a gruesome-looking scar just under his navel. “Oof, I can tell. That looks like shit.”

“Hey-” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale when you give the wound one last wipe.

You thread the sterilised needle. “You ready?”

“Wait.” He extends his arm towards the vodka and you pass it to him so he can take another drink. He shakes his head. “Ready.”

“I’ll be quick. I promise.”

He groans when the needle breaks his skin. “So, what’s your name? If it’s not Aidan.” If you keep him talking, you can take his mind off the pain. Keep him conscious.

“It’s Adrian.”

“How about that? I was close.”

“I know yours. I get your packages sometimes.” He says your full name and address as if reciting a poem.

“Well remembered,” you say, furrowing your brow in concentration as you make the next stitch. He grabs your shoulder instinctively.

“Sorry,” he whimpers.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so good.”

His grip tightens at that.

“Anyway, how come you’re home more than me? You always get my packages. Doesn’t doing all this keep you busy?”

“I work nights. Mostly. Evenings too at my other job.”

“You’re a waiter, right? I’ve seen your uniform.”

“Busboy.”

“That’s cool,” you jabber on, focusing on keeping him distracted. “Must be a pretty convincing secret identity.”

“Right?!” He perks up at your compliment, extremely pleased that you think his secret identity is a good one.

“Bussing tables in the evenings then committing murder at night?”

“It’s not murder.” He grimaces again. The grip on your shoulder is now vice-like. “It’s holding people accountable.”

“Sure, sure…” you say. You feel strangely calm. It’s as if the shy, awkward dude on your bed is just cosplaying as Vigilante. Even though you’re currently stitching up his fresh wound from whatever the fuck it is he’s been up to tonight.

“...You’re not gonna, like, tell anyone, right?” You feel his eyes studying your face as you continue stitching him up.

“That depends. What are you gonna do for me?”

For some reason, his cheeks turn crimson and he blinks rapidly behind his glasses.

“Uh, like what?” he blusters.

“Does your job have any perks?

“Uh… Do you need me to kill someone?”

“No!” And despite the absurdity of the question, you laugh. “I meant like free pink lemonade for life in exchange for stitching you up.”

“Ohhhh, right. I dunno. I might get asked a lot of questions if I give you free drinks.”

“More questions than you’d get at the hospital if I took you there instead?”

“Uh, no, probably not.” He chews his lower lip seriously and it makes you feel bad for teasing him in his sorry state.

“I’m kidding, dude. My lips are sealed.”

The fact he’s Vigilante doesn’t scare you in the way you know it should. You know you should absolutely phone the police. But you kind of enjoy sharing this. A dirty little secret between the two of you.

“Pink lemonade is overhyped,” he says after a few beats.

“Is is not! It’s like the best kind of lemonade.”

“It is - ow! Sorry! Okay, sorry for saying it’s overhyped! Pink lemonade is great. Jesus.”

“That wasn’t on purpose - sorry. It’s just the last stitch… Keep holding onto my shoulder if you want?” Before you even finish the suggestion, his blood-stained gloved grips onto your white nurse outfit. “You’re being so brave.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers.

His whimper makes you feel flustered in a way you hadn’t expected. And you’re pretty sure it’s nothing to do with the task at hand.

You can’t think of a response to comfort him. Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired - usually, your patients are much fluffier. You stop short of calling him a good boy and patting his head

Finally, you tie off your last stitch and squeeze some antibacterial ointment onto the neat row of stitches.

“Done. Now take a look at this.” With difficulty, he hoists himself into his elbows to look at his stomach. “Evenly spaced stitches, not too tight, yeah? Now look at these.” You point at the scar on his lower abdomen. “Tiny stitches. They’re too tight. And you shouldn’t make X’s when you sew yourself up. Not bad for a second try, though.”

“That was like the fifth time I’ve done it,” he pouts. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Look, you can feel how it’s gone all bumpy.” You trace your fingers along the scar, feeling the way the skin has healed unevenly under the trail of hair on his stomach.

He flushes again as he looks down at you, your fingers brushing his abdomen.

“What?”

“Sorry.” He lies back again, determinedly looking at the ceiling.

“For what? Oh.” Your forearm brushes against something hard in his pants as you remove your hand from his stomach. “My bad.”

“It’s not - ” he winces, trying to sit up further but changes his mind mid-way through. “Fuck.”

“Does it hurt?”

“My… my boner?”

“No!” You crack up laughing again and he joins in uncertainly as if not sure why. “Your very recent knife wound?”

“Oh. Yeah. I mean - no.” His eyes linger on your body and you suddenly feel very aware of the fact that you’re kneeling at his side wearing not very much clothing. He swallows and looks away quickly. “Y’know, I should go. I don’t wanna ruin your night.”

You laugh like it’s nothing. That this whole situation is totally in your comfort zone.

“Don’t worry about it. I was supposed to be going to a Halloween party with a date but they bailed.”

“They bailed on you?”

“Eh, it happens.” You shrug. “They mighta had a better offer.”

“Than you?” He looks at you seriously and pushes his glasses higher up his nose. “No way. Not possible. You’re, like, a ten.”

You tilt your head and look at him carefully. He takes a sharp inhale of breath when you get up from the floor, sit on the bed next to him and place the back of your hand on his forehead.

“Wha - what are you doing?”

“You don’t seem to have a fever…” His eyebrows scrunch together as he gazes up at you through his wire-rimmed frames. “I just thought you might be hallucinating.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not hot.”

“You don’t have to compliment me just because I stitched you up.”

“Am not!” he protests like you’re teasing him. “I’d compliment you all the time if you didn’t run off every time I saw you.”

It’s your turn to protest. “I do not ‘run off’.”

Although it’s not strictly true. You sort of do. You just thought he hadn’t noticed.

“Uh, yeah!” he says. “When you picked up that package last week? It was kinda impressive how fast you sprinted across the hall.”

You feel heat rising in your neck as you remember it. He had answered the door wearing just a pair of grey sweatpants, grinning as you read the indiscreet label plastered on the front.

‘HOSPITAL HOTTIE - ADULT FANTASY LINGERIE��

You had stammered a quick thanks before fleeing back to your apartment where you shut the door behind you and leaned against it, eyes closed, not sure whether to text your friends immediately with this news or to strip off and take a cold shower.

You look down at your almost bare legs and smooth out the front of your outfit, now wishing you hadn’t so hastily thrown off your bathrobe. It must look ridiculous.

“Y’know when I saw the label, I thought a lot about what was in that package.”

Your eyes dart up instinctively to see if he’s making fun of you. He’s smiling. But sincerely. It’s a cute smile. With dimples.

“You did?”

“Tch - Hell yeah I did. I sort of… I dunno. Fantasised about this, I guess.”

Your throat feels dry. “About this?”

“Yeah, I mean I thought I might have been dreaming when you actually opened the door like that.”

You look at him suspiciously. “Adrian… did you - did you get stabbed on purpose so I’d take care of you?”

“What? No! I never get stabbed.”

“Never?”

You touch the scar on his lower abdomen again and this time - intentionally - your forearm rests on his crotch.

“Well, hardly ever.”

“You should let me stitch you up from now on,” you say, as your fingers dance down his stomach. “The next rare occasion you get stabbed.”

The heel of your hand barely grazes the tip of his hard cock through his pants. When his eyes lock onto yours, you know you’re not being slick. He swallows. You freeze. You’re worried you’ve overstepped.

You both stare at each other for a few seconds.

You realise you’ve been holding your breath. “What else was in your fantasy?” you whisper in an exhale.

“Fuck.” He closes his eyes like he’s throwing caution to the wind. “This.” His gloved hand clamps on top of yours faster than you’d have expected in his injured state and he firmly moves your hand over his cock.

Fuck it.

Your hands work urgently, unzipping the suit hugging his waistline and suddenly his warm cock is under your palm.

He suppresses a groan of pain and you look up in alarm, worried that you’ve hurt him somehow but you can see he’s trying to sit up.

“Lie back - you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“It’s - ow, fuck - it’s worth it if I can kiss you.”

You push his chest back gently so he’s lying on your pillows and kneel on the bed to kiss him. As soon as your lips meet his, he tries to lift himself up again, lurching himself deeper into your mouth. Your tongue slips into his mouth as you push, more firmly this time, onto his chest so he can’t sit up.

You lean your forehead against his and his glasses push into your brow. “Keep still. Nurse’s orders.”

“I thought you were a vet,” he says breathlessly.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

You lick your palm, wrap your hand around his cock and slide it along his shaft.

“Oh fuck... Fuck - you’re so hot. Where - where have you been all my life?”

His eyebrows knit together in a beautiful, pathetic sort of way that makes your lower tummy burn dangerously.

“Across the hall in this slutty little outfit. Waiting to take care of you.”

“Holy fucking shit.” He tenses his thighs and jerks his hips up into your slick fist with a laboured groan.

“Don’t. Stay still,” you tell him sternly. For some reason your reprimand makes him clench his jaw.

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah? I bet you do. I bet you’ve been jerking off thinking about it.”

“Y- yeah,” he gasps. His cheeks are flushed pink. You don’t think it’s from embarrassment - you have a feeling he doesn’t embarrass easily so you press on.

“Tell me.”

“I’ve been - shit - I’ve been jerking off thinking about you.”

“Doing what?” Your hand picks up pace and he squirms underneath your touch.

“I told you. This.”

“Just this?”

“Fuck. No.”

“Tell me then,” you repeat.

“I wanted to - oh god - when you ran across the hall, I wanted to grab you.” His voice strains. “Pull down your scrubs and fuck you so hard you wouldn’t forget my name again.”

You feel yourself dissolving then and there. “Shit. I would have let you.”

“Ah - fuck,” he whispers as he throbs under your hand. “Let me. Please.”

“No.” You stay in your kneeling position on the bed - one hand bracing against his chest to prevent him from sitting up and the other pumping up and down his cock. “You’re hurt. Lemme take care of you.”

He whimpers and pushes his head back into your pillows. The muscles in his pale neck tighten as he swallows hard. You can’t resist leaning down and pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses on the exposed sensitive flesh of his throat.

“Relax, Adrian,” you murmur, your mouth pressed against his skin.

When his name leaves your lips, his groan vibrates in his throat against your mouth in response.

“Fuck - fuck - you feel so good.”

“You know where’d feel better, right?”

Adrian’s hips jerk up into your hand again. You don’t scold him this time - you let him squirm and work his hips in sync with your fist. He can handle it.

You kiss along his jawline and meet his lips again.

“Cum for me and you can fuck me when you’re healed,” you whisper.

And quicker than you’d expected - he does.

A shaky gasp leaves his lips and without really realising you’re doing it, you pant with him, breathing each other’s air as spurts of warmth coat your fingers. Your hand flexes along his length as you milk every last rope of cum from him and he collapses back onto your fluffy, white pillows.

Grabbing tissues from your bedside table, he lets you clean him up without complaint as he breathes heavily, staring at your ceiling.

“Better?” You give him a wry smile and he brings his gaze back to you.

“Yeah…” He looks down at his new stitches apprasingly. “I just wish I hadn’t been stabbed.”

“Yeah, well I’m kind of glad you were.”

He laughs so hard that he winces in pain and holds his side again. “Fuck. You’re kind of a freak, you know that, right?”

“Maybe I just like helping injured little things that give me puppy dog eyes.”

Adrian exhales a gentle laugh and fixes his glasses.

“Did you mean what you said about stitching me up again?”

You meet his green eyes. “Did you mean what you said about fucking me so hard I’d never forget your name again?”

“Uh, yeah? Obviously.”

“Then sure.” You toss the used tissue into the trash can and kiss him again. “Fucking sounds good. Pink lemonade is overhyped, anyway.”

#adrian chase x reader #adrian chase #vigilante #vigilante peacemaker #vigilante x reader #smut #halloween

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eeveedel · 3 years ago

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WIP Sunday

Hello all, I was tagged by to post a bit of my current WIP alongside some “art” -- I don’t have a current moodboard but I thought I would provide some general ~~aesthetic pics and another preview of the rancher harry fic -- this time an HL meet cute! I hope you all enjoy, and happy Sunday

Harry heard a rapping at the screen door, and he grunted, shifting his weight forward so he could sit up and hoist himself out of his armchair.

He took a step forward on his good leg while his bad one dragged behind him. After a bit of walking around, it usually woke up enough for him to put more weight on it, but for now, after his rest, it was a dead weight of pins and needles behind him. It took a bit of effort to get to the front door, but he got there eventually. He grabbed his cane that was leaning by the door, and then opened the wood door, revealing just the screen and what lay beyond it.

There was a man in mint green scrubs and a thick corduroy jacket on his porch, perfectly centered between the big American flag hanging beside Harry’s door and the pots of tulips lining the front gate. The man at the front door was young. He had some creases around his eyes and mouth but his freshly shaved face looked so youthful, along with his bright eyes behind his big, wire frame glasses.

“Howdy,” Harry drawled, lifting his thermos to his mouth, “You must be — “ His tongue worked in his mouth, trying to come up with the name Margaret had given him last week. It wasn’t something common around here, and yet it still evaded him.

“Shoot, I’m sorry,” he sighed, pushing up the brim of his hat with his thumb, “Help me out, what’s your name, son?”

“Oh, I’m Dr. Tomlinson, but you can call me Louis,” he said. “Dr. Baldwin caught me up on some of the animals you have here and their needs, sir,” he said. “I know you have a pregnant cow nearing the end of term and a newly pregnant mare that just needs a bit of a checkup as your main concerns. She also told me you had a few roosters and a chicken coop, is that correct?”

Harry cracked a smile and nodded.

“Well, that’s correct. Seems like you did your homework,” he said. “Cherry’s gonna have a baby now damn day now and I just found out about Goldie last month.”

He took a sip of his coffee, shuffling his feet and readjusting his cane as he did.

“You don’t need to worry too much about the chickens, they nearly take care of themselves. Got a few pigs but those are going to market in a couple months, but you can take a look at ‘em if you want to.”

He pushed at the screen door, moving out onto the porch to meet Louis directly. When he was in front of the man, he could see Louis looked even younger up close, and he was nearly a full head shorter than Harry.

“Can I get you something to drink or anything before we go out?” Harry asked, taking the briefest moment to look the young vet over.

“Um, maybe a glass of water after we finish up? It is a bit hot out today, even though it’s January,” Louis rambled. “I mean, I came from San Francisco, so it’s still hot there— anyways, sorry.”

He exhaled, his cheeks already pink.

“Could you show me to Cherry first, please?” Louis asked. “I want to make sure she and her calf are in tip top shape.”

Harry smiled gently. The young vet was eager, and looked a bit flustered. He tried not to let his gaze linger too much longer, although he already liked him.

“Sure thing. I’ll show you out the pasture. Cherry’s probably out gossiping with her friends.”

He walked to the edge of the porch, taking the small ramp that was easier to navigate with his cane.

“Tell me, they have a lot of cows out in California, Louis?” he asked as they trudged along the path, “Because if this is your first one, I’ll give you a fair warning. Cherry’s a sweet girl but a little sassy.”

“Well, I grew up in San Francisco, so no, we don’t have a lot of farms there,” Louis said. “But I studied with a bit of everything in veterinary school, and went to a lot of farms up north. So yeah, I’ve worked with cows.”

“Good, good,” Harry nodded.

He walked through along the dirt path that led from the house to the rest of the ranch. He led Louis past the chicken coop and the large horse barn, moving out to the back part of the property with the cattle barn and the large pasture. His leg was starting to wake up, making his gait a bit less strained.

“Where did you study?” he asked.

“UC Santa Barbara for undergrad and then vet school at UC Berkeley,” Louis said. “I just graduated last spring, actually.”

“Congratulations,” Harry said. “Before you look at my girls, you wanna tell me know if you were bottom of your class?”

Louis laughed a little, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was actually valedictorian.”

“Damn. Undergrad or vet school?”

“Uh,” Louis said, smiling sheepishly. “Both? And high school.”

“Jeez,” Harry chuckled. “Well. I didn’t even go to college, so you’ve already impressed me many times over.”

They arrived in front of the enormous cattle barn and the wide pasture beyond it. Harry smiled to himself, lifting the hand that wasn’t gripping his cane.

“Yep,” he smiled to himself, “There she is.”

He gestured to the pasture, and specifically pointed to one of the cows, a rich red brown and swollen at the belly, who was smack in the middle of a group of five other black and white cows.

“Gossiping, just like I thought,” Harry said. He reached for the gate, going to unlock it, “Well, come on, you can give me your expert opinion.”

“Wow, she’s beautiful,” Louis marveled.

“Don’t let her hear that, it’ll go straight to her head,” Harry said. He opened the gate fully, then opened the pasture and turned around, holding it open for Louis.

Once they were both inside, Harry approached Cherry, cooing and clicking his tongue as he walked. She looked up and stared at him, chewing slowly on a thick clump of grass, but when she was done, she let out a low moo and slowly but surely waddled towards him.

“Here she comes,” Harry smiled.

They both stood and watched her as she slowly came over, and when she did, she immediately gravitated to Harry.

“Hey, princess,” Harry said. He set his hand on her head and gently stroked her with his thumb, smiling to himself as she blinked at him with her big, milk chocolate eyes.

“Louis’s gonna take a look at you, pretty girl,” Harry said. “You be nice to him.”

Harry kept petting Cherry’s head and then looked over to Louis. The vet was kneeling on the ground, unlocking the briefcase he had brought. It was funny, seeing him with a shiny, clearly barely used case. Margaret had always just shoved her tools into her ancient Jansport backpack, which was covered in twenty years’ worth of coffee stains and held together with duct tape and spite.

Louis took out a pair of latex gloves and a stethoscope, then moved closer to the animal. He gave her a settle pat on her swollen side, then put the stethoscope’s earpieces in. He set the metal diaphragm on her side, and Cherry jolted a bit, but Louis cooed at her and kept petting her side as he listened. He closed his eyes and nodded a bit as he moved the cold metal over her stomach, humming softly to himself.

Harry watched Louis carefully touch and examine Cherry, the young man’s hands gentle but sure as he did his job. Harry had had his hesitations before Louis arrived. But he seemed at home, and like he really cared about doing a good job. Harry could appreciate that. He had spent years building up trust with Margaret to work with his animals, but, maybe he was just getting sentimental at his age, or Louis really did have a special touch, but he immediately felt just fine with the younger man taking care of his herd.

After a few minutes Louis opened his eyes and ducked his head down, examining Cherry’s udders and nether regions. Finally, he lifted his head and pulled himself up, taking the stethoscope out of his ears and draping it around his neck.

“Well, she looks great,” Louis said as he peeled off his gloves and shoved them into his jacket pocket. “The calf’s got a nice, strong heartbeat. She seems about a couple weeks away, but just keep an eye on her – “

“Early labor, yeah,” Harry said. “I always start preparing at least a couple weeks in advance of the due date, anyways. My girl Caroline went into labor a couple years ago, fuckin’ 16 days before she was due, and I was in Austin for the weekend. Only time I left the house in months, and she picked that weekend.”

One of the white cows in the pasture mooed loudly, and Harry looked over his shoulder and glared.

“Yeah, I’m talkin’ about you, fuckin’ drama queen,” he scoffed. “She’s a good girl. And a tough one. Had a delivery all by herself and nearly gave me a heart attack when I got home and there was a new baby toddling around.”

He turned back to Louis, offering an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, don’t mean to bore you with farm stories right off the bat.”

“It’s okay,” Louis said. “I love to hear animal stories.”

“Well, let me know in a few months if you’re sick of cow stories. That’s nearly the only kind of stories we have in this town.”

Louis just laughed and lifted his hand, shifting his glasses up his nose.

“Would you show me to Goldie, please? Just to see how her early stages are going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Harry said. “Goldie’s in the small barn, come on.”

#rancher harry #uwu

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jawllines · 6 years ago

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pLEASE WRITE A BLURB ABOUT HARRY, EVIE, AND Y/N HUGS AND KISSES TO YOU SWEETHEART I LOVE YOU MWA

Harry had never been so in love with anything before.

What could it be? Was it a book that he’d fallen for, with old weathered pages yellowed by ages and annotated paragraphs scrawled in his pen about how a certain sentence makes him feels? Or could it be a favorite tee shirt that he has worn to tatters but refuses to throw away, comforted by its holed fabric and frayed edges? What about a certain song that’s melody never gets old no matter how many times he repeats it, with guitars strumming a soothing hum that lulls him contented with the world around him and all within it?

It was none of those, actually.

It was a cat.

A beautiful, black and white little creature that crawled onto his shoulder and nestled against his neck and napped there for hours while he was slumped against the couch watching Pretty Woman when he had originally met her. Had spent his whole time cooing over the tiny thing, rubbing between her ears, pouting his mouth because when he puts his hand against her tummy and all of it is covered. At the end of the night, he and Evie (the cat) would retire to his room where she would curl between his knees and sleep through the night, maybe nip at his toes if he moved them too much.

Maybe that’s when his mum decided that he would get the little beauty after his tour. Surprising him with a message of Evie with a little bow tied around her neck, and a small card that read, “Can I come live with you?” And Harry’s whole heart expanded to the size of implosion in his chest, as he immediately responded with yes, yes, fucking yes he would take the sweet little kitten (he omitted the fucking though).

Once he to London, he did a various assortment of things. He took Evie with him to the Pet Store and let her climb around in the cart while he picked out items to make her living with him more pleasurable for the both of them. Harry buys her a bed even though he’s sure she’s sleeping with him, toys on toys (from little mice to the biggest cat tree he thinks he’s ever seen and decided she needed right then), treats that help her teeth, treats the promote hair growth, treats that are just yummy in general, a water and food bowl designed specifically so that her whiskers don’t get irritated brushing against the edges of the bowl, and a brush that he hopes she might like. Maybe he spends way too much, but anytime he would pick something up just to look at it, she would peer up at him with those big eyes, slowly raise her paw from the baby seat to bat at it and he would nod in response and set it in the cart.

He took her to a vet too, just to make sure everything was okay and that she was in tip-top shape.

This is where he meets Y/N.

Y/N is something out of his dreams, he thinks. She works at the vet’s office as a secretary but her duties extend far beyond that of just checking people in; since they’re short staffed, sometimes she’ll aid the vet in all the ways that she’s able to, whether it be to calm a puppy down or to hold a cat still. She always wore a various color of a cardigan, a white shirt, and light-washed jeans (he only notes this because it’s a weird choice of outfit when working with animals, sometimes she has fur all over her and sometimes it looks like she worked in some pristine business office, there was never an in between), smile wide in her greetings to him (“Good morning, Mr. Styles! To what do we oh the pleasure of seeing you and Miss Evie today?”), and remembered Evie by name, and always managed to have a cat treat ready to go as soon as they walked up to the desk to check in.

Evie is awful finicky about who she likes. She loves him and his mum, but other people she is pretty skittish around, however upon first meeting with Y/N, she wiggle wormed her way out of Harry’s arms (he brings her in a basket of soft blankets and cloth opposed to a cage, he feels those are restricting), and crawled over the counter to Y/N. Immediately butted at her with her head and Y/N let her muck around while she checked them in, scratching between Evie’s ears, “Hi miss thing,” she had murmured, Harry hears it clearly as he thinks about it, “You’re awful cuddly, yeah? You must make your Daddy feel very loved.”

She does, Harry had almost responded, but for the first time in a long time he was all choked up.

Soon he gets a little better with talking to Y/N though, he gets Evie checkups regularly and they offer surfaces like brushing Evie’s teeth and small spa like things he likes to treat her to. The more often he sees Y/N the easier it is for him to have a conversation and that just makes him feel all new kinds of soft for the girl. She was funny and smart and kind -- she was really, really kind, and that made his heart full, especially when he saw her with Evie.

It’d taken about a month for him to get her number and he did it in the slyest way he could. After watching Y/N check somebody else and their cat in, he had felt sort of hopelessly jealous when she smiled at them and scratched the kitten beneath its chin with the pad of her finger, (it was so small, Harry could hold it in his palm), he’d strolled up with purpose. Asked her if she had any pets to which she pouted and shook her head, “My apartment doesn’t allow them, sadly, and it’s all I can afford right now to stay there.” She runs her thumb over Evie’s left ear, “But Miss. Evie here makes me feel better with her presence, though I do miss her an awful lot when I don’t see her.”

“If you want, I can send you pictures of her to tied you over for each visit?”

He’d planted the seed right then in there, biting the inside of his cheek hard, wondering if she would water it.

When a big grin lit up her face and she slid out her phone, Harry knew he’d done well.

Harry’s pretty sure he’s got a major crush on her but doesn’t know what to do about it. Sends her an outrageous amount of pictures of Evie (he tried being frugal at first but Y/N kept responding so happily to them and saying keep them coming so Harry kept them coming), and in return, she sends pictures of the animals that come into the vet’s office. They chatter about their days, Harry sends terrible jokes, Y/N laughs at them like they might be the funniest thing she’s ever heard, and when he sees her at the office it feels like they have this secret between one another. He really likes that.

So that’s why he has her number at least, and that’s why -- instead of calling the vet at 2AM -- Y/N gets a panicked call. His heart twists and guilt drips deep into his bones when he hears a scratchy, croaky, “Hello?” Because he’d definitely just woken her up, but he was cradling Evie in his lap with tears threatening his eyes.

“Y/N?” He begins, “I’m sorry -- I’m so sorry to wake you up, but my -- Evie. . .we were just playing and she started breathing really heavy and weird, and she’s been sneezing for the past few days and sniffling and now she’s asleep in my lap but she’s still breathing so loud. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

There was a shuffling on the other end and he half expects Y/N to tell him to fuck off and grow up before the dial rings dead, but instead he has a very careful voice saying, “Okay, s’okay Harry just calm down,” she responds, a small sniffle on the other end and he wonders for a moment if he’s just woken her up when she’s trying to sleep a cold off, “Are you in town? Come by my place and I’ll have a look at her, yeah? I think I know what’s going on, but just to make sure.”

Harry had never shoved his shoes on quicker, lying Evie in her basket of cloth (he warms one in the dryer to lay over her since it’s so cold outside), lies her in the passenger seat and just about guns it to the address Y/N had sent him. Absently does he wonder if she lives alone and if he’s about to find out whether or not his crush was in vain if some big, husky bloke walks out of her bedroom and asks where she’s gone but he tries to shake away the thought. Not only does it drop a small, sad pit in his stomach but there was much bigger problems at hand, one of which being he had to use every ounce of self-restraint not to pet Evie right now who sits up straight in the basket and is looking around the car with one of the pieces of cloth draped over her head.

He pulls up to a set of cute little brick flats, only one of which with the outdoor light flickered on and Y/N expressed that’s hers. Collected Evie in the basket and walked to the door, feeling jittery, nervous, and silly for calling her so late. However, his worries of annoying her or pissing her off or ruining any chances he might of had with her because he’s such a panicky person when it comes to this animal -- all diminish when she opens the door, clad in soft pajama shorts and a thin t-shirt, slippers nestled on her feet, “Come in, come in,” she urges them, stepping out of the way so Harry could duck into her home as it had just started sleeting the moment they’d arrived.

The bite of the cold against his nose eases up immensely as he steps into the sheer warmth of her flat, not only from the furnace, but from the appearance as well. It’s well lived in and home-y, paintings, and pictures lining the walls, string lights hung around the tops and a lamp clicked on a warm glow in the corner. Y/N leads them to the coffee table, where she’s set two mugs down and two couch pillows on the ground in front of them, “Set her by the table for me,” she knees down so she’s level with the basket, and its only then does Harry notice she has things strewn out on the couch. “Hi Evie,” she hums, reaching out to pet between her ears and Evie leans up into the touch, “Don’t you know s’mean to scare your Daddy?” She reaches for a stethoscope, plugging her ears and taking the end to Evie’s chest all while Harry stares on with widened eyes. He supposes she must be going to school for this, or maybe she’s just picked up a lot from working at the clinic. He’s not all too sure, but what he is sure of is that watching her so gentle with the kitten makes his heart bloat up in his chest.

It only takes her a few seconds before she’s nodding, turning to Harry with a soft smile, “She’s all good,” she tells him and Harry feels his shoulders sag in relief, “Poor little thing has a bit of a cold, but otherwise everything is fine. I’ve got a treat for her that should make her feel better -- Dr. Anthony lets me take home some packages of these ‘cos lots of my friends have animals.” Next, she reaches for the bag, taking two of the treats out and holding them out on her fingertips for Evie to take.

It’s safe to say, Harry feels like an absolute idiot for throwing a cold out of proportion, “I’m sorry about this,” he tells her sheepishly, after gnawing hard on his lip for a moment, “I woke you up and barged in all because of a little cold?”

Y/N waves her hand at him, shaking her head, “S’fine, really. It’s always scary when they’re so small. When I had a cat, all he had to do was look a little weird and I was calling a 24-hour emergency vet number”

He laughs, a smile painted on his mouth, and though he didn’t much want to leave he decides it wouldn’t be fair to keep her up any longer than he already had,“Well, thank you so much for this. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Nonsense, Harry,” she stops him as he reaches out for Evie’s basket, “It’s late, freezing and sleeting out there, you guys are spending the night. Too dangerous for a drive,” then she reaches around the basket, grabbing the mug, “I made you tea, yeah? Figured you would want something warm after a panic like that.”

Harry tries not to sound too giddy, because the thought of drinking warm tea with Y/N, sat here on her flat’s living room floor with Evie poking around curiously, talking to one another -- well, it fulfills all the weirdly sweet, innocent daydreams he’d been having when he thought of her, “Are you sure?” He asks her, and when she nods, grinning at him, he begins to slip out of his coat, “Thank you, Y/N, don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.”

“Repay me?” She shakes her head again, “Don’t worry about it. Getting to spend time with you and Evie is repayment enough.”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for his heart to grow any more than it had when he’d first met Evie and she’d slept against his throat.

Y/N is doing a damn good job of proving him wrong though.

#bLURBS #OR #BLURB #:D #Anonymous

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ethelbertpaul444-blog · 6 years ago

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Millions Of Americans Go To Mexico When They Need Healthcare

How much does healthcare penalty in the USA? Let’s leant it this mode: It’s often cheaper to float to another goddamned country, get medicine there, and fly back. It is about to change that Americans do this all the time, and their well-liked destination is their forever slandered neighbor to the immediate south … 5 Going To Mexico For Treatment Can Be Worth It — Even If You’re Already Insured You likely already was well known that healthcare is practice more expensive in the USA than just about anywhere else. But “youre supposed to” also know we got a big ol’ health care overhaul this past decade that was supposed to fix things( amongst other aftermaths, it shortened the number of uninsured Americans by a significant quantity ). And yet even today, Americans find it worthwhile to leave the country when they need treatment. Ogling simply at California, a million medical tourists a year disappeared across the border both before Obamacare and after Obamacare. “If anything, we’ve gotten more business since Obamacare, ” replies Jerry, who shuttles medical tourists south in his shuttle bus. So what’s going on here? div > “American health insurance is really strange, ” mentions Dr. Juan, a Mexican dentist whose practise is a mile south of their own borders. “It can treat so much better or so little.” Some of the American patients who be coming home with Dr. Juan don’t have insurance, but most do, and they tell him it’s still cheaper to pay out of pocket in Mexico than to shed it to insurance in the U.S. Hope still generally leave you with a deductible to pay, and deductibles keep changing. Unless you are eligible for subsidies, your out-of-pocket expenses probably went up under the Affordable Care Act. So cheap care in Mexico can look like one blaze of a good alternative. Costs overall are seemed like it was gonna be 40-65 percent lower than in America — 70 percent or even more if we’re talking about dental wreak. When you’re fronting a five-figure legislation in the U.S ., that means you can buy an aircraft ticket to Tijuana, record a hotel there, get mended, and then throw in another week of sightseeing and tequila on top of that, and you’ll still end up spend less than if you’d come the work done at home. Read Next I Worked For A Company Selling Fake Paintings To Old People You might even save occasion, since these infirmaries don’t acquire you wait for elective procedures. We should mention, though, that American wait times are just the worst in the world. “I get enough Americans complaining about waiting months, ” alleges Jerry. “Canadians have to wait years.” So even some Canadians start the medical outing to Mexico, despite penalty not really being an issue when you’ve got authority healthcare. One recent Canuck passenger of Jerry’s required leg surgery so she could step accurately. “She told him that the wait in Canada was 5 year, ” he pronounces. “I couldn’t believe it.” But she got fixed up five years sooner by ability south( or as we usurp Canadians call it, “south-south” ). 4 Some Tourists Like Mexican Healthcare While Still Being Racist Against Mexicans You might dream there’s something of an intra-state conflicts for patients who bawled for a border wall to keep the filthy Mexicans out, only to themselves go south in their era of necessitate. This is no longer representing the most people Jerry freights, but there are enough of them that he’s come to expect it. div > Someone might refer to the “beaner doctor” they’re go to. Or “wetback doctor, ” which comes off as very ignorant both in the that’s racist impression and in that the speaker appears not to know what that slur literally necessitates. “Wetback doctor would be working outside a Home Depot if it wasn’t for us, ” said one passenger, according to Jerry, demonstrating so many levels of misunderstanding that we don’t even know where to start. One vast somebody got on the shuttle and announced today that it everyone, “I’m a Vietnam vet, and the VA can’t do shit about what I have.” It could be the first line of a moving tale of woe, but Jerry predicted purely by looking at him that the person “wouldve been” perturb. “He preserved mentioning ‘spic with a scalpel, ‘” he tells us, “in place of ‘Mexican doctor’ — or, let’s be real now, ‘doctor.'” Jerry has light scalps( plus a epithet tag that predicts “Jerry” ), so passengers seem to assume he’s cool with hearing insults , not realizing he’s half-Mexican himself. He often doesn’t said so, though in the case of the large Vietnam vet, he did tell the guy he should consider deterring that shit to himself once he’s off the bus. 3 It’s Hilarious How Mistaken Patients’ Idea Of Mexico Is Jerry can generally approximate how much individual patients are all aware of Mexico based on where they’re from. He’ll get parties from Texas or New Mexico or Arizona, and they know exactly what to expect from a major Mexican city, especially if they happen to be Latino. “And then we get parties from space up north, ” supposes Jerry — people who’d never visit Mexico but for this surgery of theirs. “They expect to see mariachi strips everywhere.” Now, we altogether recommend you check out some mariachi music next time you’re in Mexico, but not every locate “theres going” will look like a cheesy themed theme park. Dr. Juan’s office, for example, looks like a dentist’s part anywhere else in the world, to the disappointment of countless Americans with unclear hopes of something strange. A Mexican hospital is … a infirmary, with no special indigenous prospers. “Some people expect taco stands inside, ” suggests Jerry. He’s not kidding; one Canadian patient joyously placed at a booklet that spoke “taco bar on proposition, ” imagining he had been able to get pico and guac in the waiting room. Jerry had to explain that the brochure was for a hotel. div > Other fares complain to Jerry when a infirmary hallway has English publications set forth by staff trying to cater to Americans. These cases want Spanish magazines so they can “see the culture”( even if they can’t spoken said magazines, since they don’t know Spanish ). Some elderly patients, whose part knowledge of Mexico appears to come from Westerns and footage of illegal border crossings, complain about never learning the “real” Mexico, because the city they see has sidewalks and paved roads. 2 Patients Originate Whole Trips Out Of Hospital Visits Some medical tourists do make the opportunity to spend a little more time in the country they’re seeing. Jerry will be taking some busload to the hospital, and he’ll notes the fact that hardly any of the talk behind him is about anything medical. Instead, passengers talk about relaxing by the fund later, or going horseback riding. “It sometimes feels like I’m taking them to a used, ” he alleges. The medical procedure is simply one day of a week-long vacation. div > Good for them, but that’s “the worlds largest” surreal part of this whole thing. Medical costs force Americans into bankruptcy, leave others dead, and acquired these particular cases leave their country in search of treatment they are unable render, but it can also be an excuse to deplete a few daylights working on your suntan. “An American said it was like being given a five-hour sales pitch on a timeshare for two nights free, ” reads Jerry. “The surgery is like the lecture, and the remainder of the expedition procreates up for it.” And why not? They’re still saving coin, even with all the additional stuff included. We’ll say it again: This is nuts. And the cities they inspect merrily cater to this specific kind of traveler. Shuttles like Jerry’s are one part of the medical tourism industry, because no one wants to drive liberty after surgery( or raise their vehicle to a country they’ve learn is full of crime ). Clinics push these shuttles, which pick you up at an American airfield or other spot north of the border and make you immediately to an enthusiastic physician fluctuating a stethoscope. div > Many of these are standalone clinics, but others grab the all-inclusive/ office park model to dive into the “tourism” part of medical tourism. “There is likely to be restaurants, stores, spas, ” adds Jerry. The diners have rice and other soft nutrients, perfect for dental patients still sore from Dr. Juan’s probing. Pamphlets address you to the spa from within the hospital itself. And when you walk out of an nose clinic, you’ll examine hawkers selling something excellent for patients with dilating schoolchildren as well as tourists of all kinds: sunglasses! Which might be sincere Ray-Bans, if you don’t look at the emblem very carefully. 1 Even Medical Tourists Mistrust Foreign Doctors Expensive intends good, we’ve been educated. Cheap symbolizes bad. Cheap knockoffs are sure to be inferior, with cheap Mexican knockoffs obviously not an exception. So some Americans deem lost-cost Mexican healthcare with the skepticism of, say, that sightseer being sided$ 5 Ray-Bans. div > Dr. Juan’s patients think they know more about openings than he does, and insist on describing how their own dentists back home do acts. Or they’ll ask if he knows what Novocain is. “Not if I’m going to use it, ” he clarifies for us, “but if I know what it is.”( He does know what Novocain is. He also knows they are likely planned lidocaine, because most dentists haven’t squandered Novocain for decades .) His favorite route came from a sponsor New Yorker, who admonished him before a procedure, “Be sure to use surgical gloves.” Other patients are amazed “hes having” state-of-the-art rig. One was surprised to see solid brick buildings. Those sentiments seem laughable to Dr. Juan, but patient proposes do suggest that you research any foreign clinic and even check it out privately before agreeing to be treated. Sure, good doctors in Mexico may be as skilled as their equivalents in America, but that doesn’t mean you can trust merely any building in a border hamlet or resort town that blasphemes it’s a infirmary. Perhaps you’ll find yourself operated on by a cosmetologist instead of a surgeon and needlessly end up dead. Or perhaps the mistake will be less major, but you won’t have American tribunals keeping you afterward or get you compensation. Medical tourism comes with gambles. It’s a cluttered workaround that shouldn’t be necessary , not some awful hacker that vanquishes the system. div > Every so often, a patient of Dr. Juan’s will get up from the chair, still in severe suffering, and leave. “Sorry, ” they say, leaving their nonrefundable payment behind. “I can’t do this.” And at least formerly a few months, Jerry makes some fare like that back to the U.S ., their procedure abandoned. One memorable person became it as far as having his leg scraped in surgical prep before getting out of there, scared at the last minute by sounding the doctors speaking Spanish. On the shuttle north, the other fares talked about how well their own procedures had gone, so when they are crossed their own borders, he phoned the hospital, asking if he could do the surgery after all. They told him it was too late — to go forward with it, he’d have to pay the fee a second time. Maybe he ceased up doing that. Even compensating twice, it would still be a bargain. Evan V. Symon is a columnist, interview finder and correspondent for the Personal Ordeal section at Cracked. Have an impressive profession/ experience you’d like to see up here? Then hit us up in members of the forum . i> Interested in making a expedition to Mexico? Check out Fodor’s Guide to San Diego and Tijuana . b > i> Support Cracked’s journalism with a call to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you . b > i> For more, check out A Zero B.S. Guide To American Healthcare and 5 Huge Problems Nobody Told You About American Healthcare . b > i> Follow us on Facebook, and we’ll follow you everywhere . b > i> Read more: http :// www.cracked.com/ personal-experiences-2 563 -millions-americans-go-to-mexico-when-they-need-healthcare.html http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/06/23/millions-of-americans-go-to-mexico-when-they-need-healthcare/

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trendingnewsb · 7 years ago

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Millions Of Americans Go To Mexico When They Need Healthcare

How much does healthcare cost in the USA? Let’s put it this way: It’s often cheaper to fly to another goddamned country, get treatment there, and fly back. It turns out that Americans do this all the time, and their preferred destination is their constantly insulted neighbor to the immediate south …

Going To Mexico For Treatment Can Be Worth It — Even If You’re Already Insured

You probably already knew that healthcare is way more expensive in the USA than just about anywhere else. But you probably also know we got a big ol’ health care overhaul this past decade that was supposed to fix things (among other effects, it reduced the number of uninsured Americans by a significant amount). And yet even today, Americans find it worthwhile to leave the country when they need treatment. Looking only at California, a million medical tourists a year went across the border both before Obamacare and after Obamacare. “If anything, we’ve gotten more business since Obamacare,” says Jerry, who ferries medical tourists south in his shuttle bus. So what’s going on here?

“American health insurance is really strange,” says Dr. Juan, a Mexican dentist whose practice is a mile south of the border. “It can cover so much or so little.” Some of the American patients who come to Dr. Juan don’t have insurance, but most do, and they tell him it’s still cheaper to pay out of pocket in Mexico than to throw it to insurance in the U.S. Plans still generally leave you with a deductible to pay, and deductibles keep growing. Unless you qualify for subsidies, your out-of-pocket costs probably went up under the Affordable Care Act.

So cheap care in Mexico can look like one hell of a good alternative. Costs overall are said to be 40-65 percent less than in America — 70 percent or even more if we’re talking about dental work. When you’re facing a five-figure bill in the U.S., that means you can buy a plane ticket to Tijuana, book a hotel there, get healed, and then throw in another week of sightseeing and tequila on top of that, and you’ll still end up spending less than if you’d gotten the work done at home.