#i didn’t like the side effects of this medication as i was going onto it

[beskad]

.

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and wings and hope Part 13

Masterpost

Danny had thought hat if he finished with Frostbite early that he would spend a few days in the zone to catch up with some of the other ghosts. He hadn’t wanted to with the wings. It wasn’t that Danny was ashamed of the wings, not from the fact of having different features, but Frostbite had seemed certain that Danny was in a heavily mutable state right then. The more people that knew Phantom with wings, the more likely they were to stick as they cemented in consciousness and identity.

Or something like that.

Danny had a whole stack of reading tucked away in his chest to go through later.

Just wanting time alone, Danny had given himself somewhere between an hour and a day (time was hard to tell in the zone) to sulk among the sparks and dust that were long dead stars before forced himself to get a grip and go home. He was an adult for, well, him sake he guessed. He could deal with this.

The reading set on the left side of the coffee table with a fresh notebook next to it. It wouldn’t do to mix up this work with his actual work, so Danny was sure to pick out one with a green cover from the stash that he kept on hand of his favorite dot patterned paper notebooks. He’d draw a blob ghost or something on it later. A few color pens and a highlighter joined the little pile, set in a battered and chipped Amity Park tourist trap mug.

Sam had gotten it for Danny as a present due to the so hideous it was funny caricature of Phantom on it.

On the right side of the coffee table went a box of protein bars, electrolyte drinks, suck’em candies, and Danny’s well stocked pill container. He moved the coffee table a little closer to the couch, turned the TV on to a playlist of Mythbuster episodes, and made sure he had his favorite blanket in hand before he transformed back.

And fuck that hurt. Pain shot up Danny’s back, radiating up through his shoulders, and shooting along his Lichtenberg scars so intensely that they burned. Danny collapsed inelegantly onto the couch with a defeated whimper.

Maybe it was the wings? Did having a different set of limbs as a ghost cause transfered muscle aches to his human form? He didn’t even have muscles as a ghost, not really, but the mind was a very powerful thing and not even Frostbite was entirely sure of how exactly the two parts of a halfa effected each other.

After the worst of the pain had dulled slightly, Danny managed to toss back his medication (missing doses while Phantom never did him any good) and pulled the candies close enough that he could use them as a distraction for his senses. Slowly the muscle relaxant worked its magic and Danny became a boneless lump. The episodes of Mythbusters idly distracted him as he just let his thoughts drift over what Frostbite had said.

Frostbite was sure that there had to be a reason— or several— that Danny’s form had shifted into a bird and after retained the wings still. Frostbite felt the first step to this all, if Danny was determined to either control or to get an understanding of where this all was going, was to understand the subconscious or symbolic particulars of the change.

The why Frostbite felt was clear: Danny had been without a haunt for too long now. Yes, he accepted, the pollen may have certain accelerated matters (hence the full bird then and only the wings now), but Frostbite was admit that the change wouldn’t have been occurring at this stage if Phantom had still been the protector of Amity Park.

Phantom had a purpose in Amity Park. Phantom was a protector and guardian. That guardianship extended to a very limited range. Now that Amity Park was many, many years behind him and Danny was living in a place already full of its own protectors, the Phantom part of Danny was left adrift which allowed for this new stage of ghosthood.

Why couldn’t his ghost half just be happy with a nice long nap?

“Fuck you, Phantom,” Danny grumbled as he watched a car be vaporized upon impact on the screen. Idly Danny wondered if he could get an object up to that speed if he flew fast enough.

Several hours and several protein bars later, Danny was managing to sit up enough to start going through some of the reading Frostbite had sent and make notes. Two more episodes and delivered Indian food later, Danny scrawled on the top of a fresh page ‘The Subconscious & Symbolic Particulars of Wings’.

Why on earth and beyond did he have wings?

‘Flying’, Danny wrote first and then as many reasons he could think of why he loved flying from the freedom of it to space to the way that it felt to move through a cloud. ‘Freedom’ branched off into movement and escape and getting to become his own person without the weight of Amity. ‘Gravity’ and ‘Identity’ sprawled into transformation and his death and the million of ways that it had changed everything about his life.

It was hard to think about.

Danny turned the page.

‘Wings’. Wings and feathers. Birds. Pigeons and crows and ducks and robins. And Robins. Biblically accurate angels who created the cosmos. Hope. And always hope.

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — ”

Hope and Robins and Bats.

And always hope.

Was Gotham his haunt?

Was he the thing with feathers?

---

AN: shhhhh I've been writing as my wind down before sleep. Also special prize for @stoiczee. I promise we'll see more batfam next part. Danny just needed some time to react!

[hier--soir]

take your medicine

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: *tv sales advert voice* so you've been finding it hard to reach orgasm? lucky for you, our best-selling item "hunky boyfriend joel" is on sale at half price. shipping is free, and he is very determined to help you achieve your goals! call the number on your screen to buy now! OR your medication makes it difficult to orgasm so joel (and your vibrator) help make it happen. warnings/tags: set in the early 2000s aka early thirties joel my lover boyyyy, boyfriend joel, depression [nothing dark or sad], anti-depressants, brief discussion of food/eating, cigarette smoking [f], soft!supportive!joel, mentions of masturbation [f], unprotected piv sex, use of a sex toy, ride 'em cowgirl (1939) dir. samuel diege, cream pie, dirty talk, joel talks you through it. word count: 2.9k masterlist a/n: so this one is.... self-indulgent. shout out to all my friends on anti-depressants that are strugglin' to reach orgasm. me too, pals, me too. and there will be no medication shaming on this account, no there will not! so happy sunday, i hope someone else out there enjoys this short little thing with me x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

Medication is a journey, they say. Every day will be different.

Medication is not the end all be all, they say. We can always try different avenues.

Six months on, now.

Six months since Let’s try the Zoloft for a few months.

Six months since We can reassess in April.

It’s June and summer has settled over Austin with a hot wet vengeance. April came and went with a mutual agreement that you weren’t ready to be weaned off yet. A gentle hand on your forearm and a softly spoken Why don’t we check in again in July?

A low dose. A starter dose. A you shouldn’t experience too many side-effects dose.  

And she was right – for the most part. There were no headaches, no nausea, no dizzy spells, no changes in appetite. That shallow, low mood that’d been haunting you for months suddenly began to lift. Begrudging exercise in the afternoons, a three-meals-a-day regiment implemented by your boyfriend, and a happy little pill with every morning coffee.

But fuck – you can count the number of orgasms you’ve had since January on one hand.

Countless nights spent alone in your bed, tangled betwixt sweaty sheets, fingers and forearm cramping until you finally give up. Drink a cold glass of water, wet your face, and go to bed frustrated; a routine disappointment.

You’d gotten lucky a few times, of course. Vibrator on the highest setting possible, pussy all puffed up and numb from the rough speed. Frustrated tears in your eyes, lightheaded by the time you finally feel that sweet sweet relief coursing through your veins.

A few times with Joel, too, in those first few months. And ignorance was bliss—quite literally—until he caught onto what you’d been doing.

“What was different tonight?” he’d asked you on one of those nights, laid out beside each other in his bed. Chests heaving, satisfied smiles spread across your faces.

Your hand had paused against his head, fingers twisted up in his sweaty curls, and you hesitated. So quick, the briefest pause before trying to play it off, but he caught it. Always too perceptive, too watchful of an eye; especially since you’d been diagnosed.

“What’s wrong?” Joel frowned.

“I… didn’t… my…” you’d mumbled, face tucked against his pillow.

“Can’t hear you when you do that,” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Baby?”

“I didn’t take my meds today,” you repeated, voice still low, still wary. But you could tell he heard you. Knew from the way his body stiffened beside you. From how when you looked over his smile had dropped, eyebrows pinching inward. 

For a moment he didn’t even say anything. He hardly breathed. And then—Darlin’, why would you do that?—so painfully soft, the faintest tinge of worry in that deep, rasping voice of his. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed, and something hot began to burn behind your eyes. Wet, pinching shame. “Just… I woke up and I wanted you. And I wanted it to feel like it used to for us, and I can never… you know I can’t finish when I’m on them, and I hate feeling like I’m disappointing you—”

“Baby,” Joel shook his head, strong hand cupping your jaw. His forehead knocked against yours; a tender but firm kind of insistence. The type that says look me in the fucking eyes and listen up. “You’re not disappointin’ me.”

“Joel,” you sighed, face hot, foreheads tacky where they pressed together.

“No,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ mean it. This stuff takes time, okay? We’ll figure it out the way we always do. Just… don’t do that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you murmured feebly, nose smushed against his.  

“Promise me,” Joel had urged you. “Promise me you’ll take your medicine.” 

“I promise, Joel.”

You kept strong on that promise. Didn’t get frustrated when he’d stay over more nights than usual, or drag you back to his place in the evenings – all just to watch you pop that little white pill in the mornings.  

It brought out something new in him, the day you’d showed him the prescription. Like some instinctual protectiveness was unlocked and he just kicked into hyperdrive.

Cutting work early to drive you to your doctor’s office, cooking up different meals every night for dinner.

Most days you wake up alone in his bed; wipe the sleep out of your eyes as you wander downstairs. Let him nudge you into a chair at the table, beside Sarah, so he can set identical bowls of cereal in front of the two of you—his girls. Hell, if you had a dollar for every time that man has said Breakfast is the most important meal of the day in the past six months, you’d have more money than you could spend.

Joel didn’t even get mad when you started smoking again in May.

Didn’t bat an eye when he found you at two in the morning, sat on the back porch in one of his sweatshirts with the smell of tobacco staining your fingers.

“Been a long time since I seen once of those in your mouth,” he’d smirked, settling onto the stoop beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, remembering how proud he’d been when you quit. He rested his head against your shoulder, eyes watering with a yawn.

“S’late,” he grumbled sleepily. “N’you smell now.”

“I’m sorry,” you’d repeated, stamping the cigarette into the concrete. “Today was just… hard. Couldn’t sleep.”  

“S’okay,” Joel told you. “Just don’t like it when you sneak out on me, yeah? You know I ain’t judgin’ you.”

The only thing that frustrates Joel, is that he comes, and you don’t.

And it’s not a frustration with you. No, it’s a hot faced guilt that spreads through him every time you fuck. Evident in those frantic touches, desperate pleas of your name, of tell me what to do, tell me how to help, of fuck I’m sorry.

Because you still want him, despite it all. Still can’t help your wandering hands, your fingers that tease back his bed sheets and then his boxers and coax orgasm after orgasm out of him, night after night.

Tonight, you thought, would be no different.

Covers strewn across the end of your bed, pillows askew, you sit astride his lap.

It’s hot; the AC in your apartment has been broken all week, and your thighs are tacky with sweat where they press against his skin. Everything wet – sweat in your hair, slick between your thighs, the soft squelching sound that raises with every press of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, hands tight against your waist. “I can’t—goddammit, I’m not gonna last, baby.” 

“It’s okay,” you moan, eyelids heavy as you rock your hips over his.

It’s late, and you both have work early in the morning, but the burn is so good like this. The heavy weight of him reaching so far, pushing the limits of what your body can take. For years it’s been your favourite way to fuck him; poised above his body, admiring the way his stomach tightens and his eyes roll when you sink down on his cock.

“What can I do?” his voice is strained, the veins in his neck bulging as he holds his breath – anything to stave off the impending high.

You only whimper pathetically, grinding your hips into his. Can feel everything in your stomach knotting up into a white-hot ball.

“Hey,” Joel urges, hand landing in a soft slap against your outer thigh. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” you cry out, shaking your head. “It’s right there, but I…”

“But what?” he murmurs, hips snapping up again.

“I don’t think I can,” you finally admit, eyebrows drawn tight in frustration. Your lower lip is bitten raw at this point, incessantly gnawed at by your own teeth. His grip tightens on your hips and he drags you upward until his length slips out, falling against his stomach with a wet smack.

“C’mon, tell me what you need,” he says quickly, and you’re sure that the desperation you see in his eyes is mirrored in your own. Pupils blown round and fat, endless black—pleading.

You stare down at him for a moment. Watch the way his chest heaves with harsh, stilted breathes. How little dots of sweat have gathered at the hollow of his throat. And fuck, you want it so bad.

“Top drawer,” you exhale roughly, pointing to the side table.

Joel doesn’t question the order. Doesn’t say a word as he spreads a long arm across the bed, yanking the drawer open and shoving his hand inside. You watch him rifle around for a moment, pulse increasing as you wait for him to find what you want. What you need. And you can tell when he does; his shoulders stiffen and he lets out a choked sort of sound, pulling out the black wand and shoving it into your hand.

“Show me,” he says, eyes wild.

Your finger drops down against the button, turning your hand to show him which one to press.

“There’s four settings,” you murmur, slipping it back into his palm.

“Does this normally help?” he asks, grunting softly as you grip his cock, notching the tip back at your entrance.

“Sometimes,” you sigh, sinking down, sucking in the heavy weight of him. “Can still take a—a little while.”

He presses the button tentatively, watching as the rounded head of the wand starts to vibrate. Spread open around him, he can see your swollen little clit so easily, and he lowers the wand to press against it. Your body jolts forward, mouth splitting open with a groan as heat flares through you. Your hips stutter against him instinctively, chasing that intense feeling, and he looses a gravelly moan at the feeling of your wasted cunt squeezing around him.

“Look at that,” Joel grunts, dark eyes trained on your face. That wicked pink tongue slips out to wet his lips and he nods in encouragement. “I know, baby, I know it’s a lot, you feel good?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, jaw going slack as you settle into the feeling. “Fuck, yes, it’s good, it’s good.”

It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before; nothing your past boyfriends had ever been comfortable enough to try. It has the muscles in your thighs tensing up already; the thick press of his cock paired with that unrelenting, almost overbearing, vibration.

“Can feel it,” he hisses out, head tilting back into the mattress.

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nods, expression grim. The muscle in his jaw twitches. “So fuckin’ tight like this. All wound up, y’need it so bad, I know.”

You moan, eyelids fluttering as he presses the button again, notching it to a higher speed. You lift up slowly and then press back down over him, and the two of you groan in unison. His free hand falls against the curve of your ass and he squeezes, encouraging you to rock against him, starting up a steady pace.

One of your hands settles on your chest, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. You need more, always more, something, anything.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” Joel mutters, and you can tell how fucked out he is already as he watches you. Dark eyes glazing over, mouth hanging open deliriously. “My pretty girl, so damn good for me.”  

Your heart stumbles in your chest and you whimper, appreciation for him flooding your senses. He’s been so close for so long tonight already, teetering precariously on that edge but holding off for you. Fucking you into the mattress before pulling out and tucking his face between your thighs, doing his damnedest to get you to that same place. Urging you to get on top, to take what you needed, to use him to get yourself off.  

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly, eyes pinching closed as something sharp starts to tingle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel snarls, hips snapping upward.  

“What ar—” your words cut off with choked moan as he clicks the button again, and then again, taking it to the highest speed. Your shoulders shake and you tilt forward a little, hand gripping his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Joel,” you cry out, chest heaving and stomach tightening.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, searching for something to ground yourself against. That firm press against your clit doesn’t falter for a second, and you let out a rough moan.  

“Good,” he grunts. “Good girl, give it to me.”

The muscle in his bicep spasms and strains beneath the skin, everything pulled taut as he keeps the wand pressed firmly against you. And it’s almost painful, the way you can feel your high coiling inside you, burning, but never quite reaching fever pitch the way you need it to. 

A symphony that builds and billows and writhes within you. Sloping swells of violins and cellos and trumpets. Up, up, up to that shattering crescendo you just can’t seem to reach.

“Joel,” you mewl, and there’s tears in your eyes, on your cheeks. Hot, fat tears that stain your face now, dripping from your chin to splatter against his chest.

“C’mon now,” he grunts, hips shifting up off the bed, meeting you thrust for thrust. The stretch of his cock is so wide, so deep, and every shift of his body punches the air from your lungs.

“I don’t know if I can,” you shake your head, stomach on fire. The vibrations are so intense, the speed so fast, you can feel your clit going numb beneath it. But Joel doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop the fast pace of his hips. The muscles in his abdomen twitch under you, tan skin glistening with sweat.

“You’re so close,” he goads, jaw tight. “Don’t fight it, baby.”

“Stop moving,” you beg then, your voice a high keen. Joel stills instantly, wary eyes darting across your face. He doesn’t pull the vibrator away though. Not yet.

“Fuck,” you cry out, hand firm against his stomach. “Just let me-just—”

Knees on fire against the bed, you grind your hips down into his. Gasp as his cock presses hot and heavy against something deep inside of you that sets your entire body shaking, vibrating against him; buzzing at the same high-speed rhythm as the wand between your legs. You rut against him again and again and then something pulls tight and hot at the base of your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Oh god, Joel, I think—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” he moans. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline to his chin. “You’re okay, let it happen.”

“Touch me,” you say, breathless and needy and so so desperate. “Fuck, please.”

Joel groans – a deep, guttural thing. A sound that comes from somewhere in the base of his stomach. It rattles your bones and has your fingernails digging into his stomach, and then his hand is on your chest. Rough fingers squeezing and stroking and pinching and you’re gasping, keening his name as he whispers frenzied words of encouragement and it’s building it’s building it’s building and and and—

Everything goes silent when you come. It’s all blurred vision and deafened ears; an intense ache in your jaw from the way your mouth hangs open. You can feel a vein in your neck, raging beneath the skin; a staccato rushing sound that echoes inside your head.

And you think you can hear Joel’s voice, somewhere beyond it all; Fuck, there it is, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.

When your eyes flutter open, you can only see Joel’s face swimming in your vision. His eyes rolling back, lips parted as he snarls your name.

“Fuck,” he spits. “—yeah, that’s it, there we fuckin’ go.”

You feel his cock kick inside of you; fast jerking spasms and then a warm rush as he starts to come. Your hand wraps around his, pushing the wand to the side of the bed, but he doesn’t fucking stop. He grips your waist and fucks up into you, spitting curses and warbled slurs of your name as he pumps you full of his hot spend.

It’s obscene – a mix of your come and his, squeezing out around his girth and smearing against the inside of your thighs. It pools around the base of his cock and you whimper at the sight, swollen cunt still tightening around him. Only when you start to sag down against his chest does he rest, his thighs twitching and tensing with the aftershocks of his high.  

Joel raises a hand, calloused thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks. Then, carefully, he grips the back of your neck, guiding you down to rest against his chest.

Your shoulders slump and you press a lazy kiss against the jut of his collarbone. And for a moment there’s just this. No sounds but that of heavy breaths and a soft buzzing, forgotten somewhere in the sheets. The swipe of his fingertips down your spine, your lips against his salty skin. A gentle tap against your waist and he’s slipping out of you with a sigh, but not letting you pull away, not letting you move from where you’ve collapsed directly on top of him.

“Missed that,” you slur sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Me too,” he mumbles. “Did so good. Made me proud.”

“S’that right?” you smile against his skin.

“S’right, baby.”

You hum, dragging your head up to press a kiss against his mouth. Both of you so exhausted that it’s just a brief, lazy swipe of your lips, but it’s enough. It’s thank you.

“Shower?” he suggests softly, smiling up at you.  

“Or… cigarette?” you respond, eyebrows raised, teasing.  

“Watch it,” he smarts, laying a quick smack against your ass before nudging you off of him. He stands and holds out a hand to help you off the bed, tutting underneath his breath. “Although I guess you’ve earned it.”

a/n: in hindsight, idk why the fuck i wrote that it took them six months to try this but what can you do lmao.

thank you for reading! x

[sim0nril3y]

I cannot get enough of ghost and his little civilian reader!!! I broke my arm today (boo do not recommend) but now I get to rest and fantasize about my favorite cod men lol. How do you think Simon would react if his girl broke her arm??

Note: oh my, I'm so sorry to hear that you broke your arm, honey. I hope that you are doing okay and that you are on the mend now. Please try to enjoy your time resting and fantising about the wonderful men of COD. I hope that this helped bring you some comfort. Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, broken arm, talk of pain, talk of pain medication, hospital talk, canon-typical swearing.

Simon was cursing himself. If he had been quicker then he might have been able to catch you before you slipped onto that patch of ice. Maybe if he’d been more observant Simon might have been able to steer you around it and avoid the problem all together. Hell, if he hadn’t insisted on walking on the side of the pavement closer to the road then it would have been him slipping and you wouldn’t be in agony sitting on an uncomfortable hospital bed after hours of waiting in A&E.

Not long after you’d been admitted they had taken you away for an x-ray to confirm that you had broken the bone, but that was something that Simon could have told them with utmost certainty considering he had heard the sickening crack of the bone breaking. It was a sound that was going to haunt his dreams for months, along with the sounds of your sobs and cries of pain, they had been imbedded into his mind and even now were echoing.

After you had been returned to him Simon kept a strong hand planted on you at all times, as if you were something that could be lost easily. It seemed to deescalate his anxiety just being able to hold you, that was something you even noticed through the haze of the pain relief they’d given you that hadn’t seemed to kick in entirely yet as your arm still throbbed in agony.

“Oi…” You said gently, gaining his attention as it focused in on your arm. Reaching over with your good hand to gently pinch Simon’s chin and force his gaze up into your eyes. “Will you stop it with that face?” You requested in a gentle voice. “What face?” Simon replied as if unaware that he looked like he had been kicked in the stomach over and over. “That face.” You whispered, gazing deeply into his eyes and gifting him a delicate smile, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes from the pain you were fighting. “Yes, it’s broken but accidents happen-”

In a sharp tone Simon replied. “Not with me.” His brows pinched together, as if internally scolding himself for his short tone. “Not… not with me.” He said again, his voice lower and softer. “Accidents don’t happen with me and especially not to you.” You pat his hand that was gripping your knee tight and leaned back into the pillows finally feeling the pain relief beginning to take some effect. It was just in time too because the nurse had arrived to begin to cast your arm into an uncomfortable position to ensure that it would set right.

After that they sent you away with Simon, some instructions for the pain pills and a sling to help relieve the pressure on your broken arm.

Arriving home Simon helped you through the front door, stepped inside behind you and carefully prying your coat from your wounded body. Then he knelt down and began to fight the knots from the laces on your boots. “I could do that, you know?” You informed him. “I know.” Simon answered before tilting his head up to look into your eyes. “But you’re gonna let me help you anyway.”

Gently you tugged your fingers through his hair and nodded in agreement. Simon helped you remove your boots and then rose up to his full height, glancing down at you as he cupped your cheek lovingly. “Let me get you settled, alright?” Coaxing you to walk in front and upstairs, Simon never took his hands from your body, keeping you clasped so that you didn’t stumble or injure yourself further. “Good girl…” He muttered softly as you entered your bedroom, Simon held you from behind and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your head. “Let me get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

A tired scoff fell from your lips. “I broke my arm and you’re gonna help fix it with your-” “Behave.” Simon smirked. “Fuckin’ brat…” Then shaking his head as he crossed the room to gather some loose fitting clothes for you. They were his clothes. Simon loved seeing you dressed up in his clothes, but seeing you comforted by them after your injury hit him on a whole new level. “C’mere… We’ll get you into something comfortable and then you can rest. Okay?”

Gently nodding your head, you responded with an almost teasing tone. “Yes, sir~” Which earned a tested look from Simon before he carefully began to undress you. It was fine until he removed your shirt, trying to move your arm as little as possible. The movement earned a noise of discomfort from you, eyes squeezing closed and not a moment later Simon’s lips pressed against your forehead. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He assured you gentle. “Not gonna let anything hurt you. Okay?”

You trusted him. In that single moment you knew you trusted Simon to protect you from any danger that would come your way. There was so much certainty to his voice. There was so much need to make sure that you were never going to be in pain again. “C’mon… bed…”

Now that you were dressed up in some of his clothes Simon lead you to your bed, pulling back the covers and placing you under them, tucking you in tight and ensuring that your arm was raised by a couple pillows. “Here.” He placed the remotes to the TV within you reach but knew that whatever you were going to put on you wouldn’t even last a couple minutes watching considering the way that your eyes were drooping closed now.

“Try and get some rest and I’ll make some food-” “Can you stay for a little while?” You questioned; your tone practically slurred from the exhaustion that was beginning to sweep through your body. “Course…” Simon agreed, moving to carefully slot in beside you, rubbing his fingers over your face, carefully drawing slow lines over your forehead, down your nose, coaxing you further into tiredness. “Can’t… can’t promise I’ll be… be good conversation…”

Simon chuckled quietly, kissing the hinge of your jaw tenderly and then requesting. “Sleep, babe. Get some rest for me.” He heard the way your breathing changed. He felt the way your body sank and your muscles relax and finally he whispered into your ear. “I will never let you fill this way again; I will never let anything or anyone hurt you.” He observing your peaceful slumbering face, knowing it was safe. “I love you.”

Masterlist | Ask | 09-12-2023

[juggalomary]

ghost is a world renowned sniper, he has a level of patience that most can’t comprehend. he has sat or laid in positions that are a bit less then comfortable for hours. this does not pair well with the fact that he is subsequently aging (34 with he life experience of 70). his back kills him when he gets back from missions more often then not.

these aches don’t require any prescription or even warrant a medical visit. he just sleeps it off or toughs it out. occasionally he’ll take a hot shower if he’s been hunched for a long time. he managed for almost 20 years so it just became routine. well mostly.

soap caught him on a particularly bad day. he was laying on his side with his hips rotated down to take the pressure off his back when soap knocked. the fucker probably need to shower or something and got to used to the en suite. he knocked now as a warning to get unnaked fast (long story) then an actual ask to come in.

“ghost am i interrupting?” soap looked horrified, ghost realized it looked like he was jerking off.

“no, back hurts like a bloody cunt.” soap just hummed and walked into the bathroom. the shower went on and then a nondescript amount of time later turned off.

ghost had moved to laying fully on his stomach with a pillow on his lower back. something about the weight made the pain subside.

“whatcha got here then?” soap said snatching the pillow. ghost was normally pretty decent at not showing pain even if he’s in pain, but this was another level, like top 10 worst pain experiences in his life.

“give it back or i’ll kill you.” ghost grit out, he whipped around too fast.

“alright then, need me to rub your back?” soap asked, “no homo.” ghost considered, genuinely considered.

“no, but can you sit on it.”

why the fuck did he say that. he taught his dog how to do it a while back for his leave but soap, well soap was NOT his dog.

“sure uh, how?”

“sit on my back, my lower back.”

soap carefully climbed onto his bed, and then slowly sat onto ghosts back. the reaction was instant, his muscles all relaxed and the pain went from a 8 to like a 2.

this became a need after a while, a weighted pillow that randomly showed up didn’t do the same effect as a 200lb man.

he would go to soap ( and gaz’ ) room for some damn pain relief.

he was kicked out once when gaz walked in and though soap was getting absolutely fucked. never has he seen someone of that height throw anything that hard.

the picture that was taken the next time gaz walked in is definitely in some fraternization case file in prices desk, even though they do not hook up, and are not actually together.

[ssahopelessly]

Sick Leave

Synopsis: There has never been a time where she was ‘too sick’ to go to work.

Request: Could you do a Spencer x BAU Reader where she is sick but doesn’t want to admit it and comes into work? Please?

Warning: SpencerxFemReader, ambiguous relationship, symptom descriptions, sans Spencer’s germophobia, light displays of affection // let me know any I missed!

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist

If you had asked me what my problem was that morning, I would have endless options but I couldn’t really decide on which one was actually the front runner. Maybe the inability to breathe properly, maybe the scratchiness at the back of my throat, or maybe it was the headache that seemed to be wrapping around my head like it’s own imaginary gym headband. But maybe, it was the way I still went to work, having taken some medication and telling myself the symptoms would subside. Or at least I hoped they would.

I had stopped by my desk, trying to rub the pressure from my head as I felt a pair of eyes on me, studying me in my state from across the aisle. “Are you feeling okay?” Most sounds had only made my headache twinge in sharp pain, but I was thankful that didn’t seem to be the effect with him. His voice was a cool breeze, wrapping around my shoulders to fight the heat that had rushed over my skin.

“Pfft, yeah. I’m fine.” I tried to dismiss him though, turning to see the rightfully deserved quirked up eyebrow he was casting at me. “I’m fine.” Was another attempt at reassurance that probably would’ve been believable if, in my state, I hadn’t also tried to take a step forward towards my chair, and nearly stumbled on my two feet, almost falling to the ground.

Spencer was soon behind me though, pulling me up onto my feet with an arm around my waist as he pulled me to his chest, safer there than the floor. He kicked my chair further out with his foot as I grabbed onto the desk for stability, the both of us wrestling my body towards the seat.

“You’re definitely not fine.” Was huffed into my ear as I was finally seated, eyes all over me as he backed up slightly, assessing me in my state. The back of his hand raised to my forehead, bottom corner of his lip pulling inward. “You have a fever.” I avoided looking into his eyes as his hands slipped under my ears on both sides of my head and towards the back of my head, somewhere near where my hairline met my neck, fingertips pressing into the skin in their vicinity. “And I can feel how swollen your lymph nodes are.” I would blame the potential fever on the blush that rushed to my cheeks, knowing that the way he was holding my head was a bit more intimate than acceptable for simple coworkers. If Derek had held Emily or JJ’s head like this, there would be room for concern or rumors.

“What is that supposed to even mean?” An attempt to breathe through my nose had him recoiling back, the proof that I was congested hanging between us.

“It means you’re sick and need to go home.”

“You’re not even a medical doctor. You can’t make that call.” His stare softened as his hand reached up once more to brush hair from my face to behind my ear.

“Do you want to talk to Hotch or should I?”

“I don’t want to go home. I want to work.” I forced the pout on my lips, knowing my bottom lip jutting out was often how I got him to cave in an argument. But he simply closed his eyes and turned away from me, moving back towards his desk.

“Okay,” was his admit of defeat, “Fine. I just feel like you should go home. Just trying to look out for you.” There was a layer of hurt in his words that made me feel guilty. Spencer buried his nose in a book, practically ignoring me from my side of the aisle, and that might’ve hurt more than his words. No matter how aggressive my cough had become, or how many times I sneezed, not a look, not a ‘bless you’, nothing. It was just an effort to look out for me, we both knew this. But I was stubborn, and it honestly just felt like a head cold. I could work through a head cold with medicine. I had done it before, I could surely do it again.

-

I’m not sure when, and I’m not sure how. All I know is, I was being woken up by someone shaking my arm, and when I opened my eyes, Aaron Hotchner was squatting down at the side of my desk, a sympathetic smile on his face. Dad Hotch was coming out for me in his smile, a sharp contrast to the stern exterior that usually accompanied SSA Hotchner. “Go home.” Was all he offered, the corner of his lips never falling.

“No,” it came out more of a whine than I had originally meant, my head pounding as I lifted it from where it had been resting on my arms. “I want to stay.”

“You’re sick. And you were sleeping here for an hour. Go home.” Another attempt at pleading with him would have dropped cold on the floor, and I wasn’t going to argue with him when he just explained to me how long I had been out. Gathering my things from my desk, Aaron walked me towards the sixth floor elevator bay, where Spencer joined us.

“I got her from here.” The grudge from earlier had been dropped, as his hand reached for my bag, draping the strap onto his other shoulder that wasn’t occupied by his own work bag. Aaron offered him a smile and nod before reentering the BAU glass doors, the only other company with Spencer and I being the hum of the elevator car as we waited. I kept my arms wrapped around myself, feeling very much like a child in a child swap dynamic. “Told you.” He muttered under his breath as he rocked from his heel to his toes. Rolling my eyes at him, I entered the elevator when it finally showed up, Spencer reaching over for the ground floor button as the door closed us in.

On the few occasions Spencer and I had carpooled to work, Spencer had noted that I tend to park in the same area and I tried to explain to him it was the prime parking spot location, and the banter had fallen off after that. Now, I was happy he seemed to know where I would have parked that morning, his hand reaching into my bag for my car keys. I had wanted to drive, but it was another instance where Spencer seemed to know better than me, and my energy was dwindling to maintain any fight that could start between us.

The drive home was quiet and I was fighting sleep. I would never admit to being sick and/or tired, but I was grateful for being sent home. I was grateful for having someone like Spencer as my coworker and my ‘something more’, but I didn’t know to what extent I was entitled to some actions. “Are you at least going to stay with me?”

“I’m taking you home, aren’t I?” There was a twinkle in the corner of his eye as he tried not to laugh at me, doing a terrible job of suppressing his humor from his lips. I sank further into my seat as we traveled further from Quantico and closer back to the residential part of DC. I had already fallen asleep at work, surely Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if I fell asleep on the car ride home.

-

“We’re here.” This time, I was woken by Spencer’s hand on my thigh as he had opened the passenger door and was working on getting my seatbelt off of me. Something he couldn’t quite do as my arms were once again wrapped over my chest and my head was resting against the strap as it crossed my shoulder. I just grunted as I reached for my bag that had been at my feet, seeing Spencer had once again placed the strap over his own shoulder to carry it for me. He stepped to the side as I tried to climb out, offering a hand for me to hold when he thought I might need it.

I was still capable enough to unlock my apartment in my state, but that didn’t stop Spencer from wanting to stay, entering my place with me. He placed my bag on one of the bar stools, like he’d seen me do countless times before, then just kind of watched me as I moved through my space. Sleep hadn’t left my system just yet, as I bumped into the door frame into my room, immediately pulling my top off, attempting to throw it towards the hamper. My pajamas had been resting on the foot of my bed and I had fully changed over to those by the time Spencer entered my room, hand in his pockets as he watched me from the door. “You didn’t have to tell Hotch.” I tried to chide him as I pulled the layers of fabric back from my spot on the mattress.

“I didn’t.” I raised my eyebrow at him, his head bowing as he took a moment to laugh under his breath, stepping into the room now. “You fell asleep at your desk. He asked what was wrong and I just told him you hadn’t been feeling well.”

“So you snitched on me?”I climbed into bed, back under my covers because that seemed like the best place for me to be in this moment. If I had been sent home from work, I was simply going to sleep the day away. Spencer sat on the side of the mattress, reaching for the covers to pull them over my body for me.

“Get some sleep.” The look of adoration was so intense, I thought I might actually see cartoon hearts take form in his eyes, his hand reaching up to gently brush the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.

I couldn’t stay mad at him, not for being overprotective or for telling Hotch. He was doing what he thought was best in an effort to care for me, and where it maybe hadn’t been how I would’ve handled the situation, it was only in my best interest. I reached for his hand as it rested between us now, trying to interlace my fingers with his. He let it happen, his focus seemingly only on our hold. “Spenc-”

“Sleep.” A kiss was applied to my forehead before I laid back against the pillows, watching him as he moved from the bed back towards the door frame, hand lingering over the light switches.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Pressing a hand to my lips, I blew him a kiss as he turned off the lights in my room, a blush rising to his cheek as he cracked the door in his exit. I listened for the sounds of his departure from the apartment, but instead only heard the sounds of him moving through the kitchen, probably making lunch. I pulled the pillow next to me closer, trying to imagine it was him, that it had been him cuddling me into tranquility as I drifted off to sleep.

-

For the alternate twist on this trope, check out my SickSpencerxFemReader fic here!

Thank you for reading!

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hello, love your work BTW 💕💕 if it's okai could I please request a drabble for Simon (ghost) where he's injured or sick and f!reader (also on the taskforce) takes care of him and he accidentally calls her 'wife material' 🙏💕 hope you have a great day 💖

A/n: this is just too cute

It was hard to imagine someone like Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley could ever get sick. It just did not seem like something that was plausible. But here you world by the side of a very sick Ghost. Grabbing your medical bag you grabbed the chair pulling it to be by his side.

Grabbing the thermometer you held it to the man’s lips. “Open wide.” The man’s mask was long abandoned and it was hard not to stare in his brown eyes, it was hard to pull your gaze away.

Trying his best not to nod off, Simon gave you a lazy smirk as if he just didn’t spend the last ten minutes throwing up wherever food he ate. “You are such a wonderful doctor.”

Shaking you head you gave him a smile shoving the device in his mouth before he could say anything else.

“Why thank you Simon.”

Frowning you kept your gaze glued to the ground waiting for the thermometer to go off. Once you heard the beeping you slipped it out of his mouth, the man quickly going into a coughing fit.

“Well I was right, you have a feaver. This is why you wear more layers Simon when you head out on a mission in a state where it’s two fucking degrees.”

Shaking your head you placed the back of your hand to his head. Heat radiating off of him, pulling back you grabbed the medicine he needed then put it to his lip then grabbed a blanket once you saw him shaking.

“Cold?”

Grunting, Simon did his best to keep his eyes opened though the man gave you a lazy smile, his hand grabbing your wrist. “You know Y/n….you would be the perfect wife…” his words slurred as the medicine started to take effect. “Wife..material” he muttered then slumped onto the cot.

Seeing his was now sleeping, you did your best ot push the warmth away. Chuckling you pressed a kiss to his head. “You’d make a good husband too Simon.”

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 19

Hey guys! See? I can be consistent some of the time and I promise this one will be out once a week until it's done.

In this one we get the fallout from the last chapter, Vickie takes charge, and Steve and Eddie talk about the cracks appearing in their bands.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

~

And of course the incident went viral, because there had been someone filming a bachelor party and caught the exchange in the background.

Fans rallied around the band especially when the two dudes could be heard saying the band was making shit up.

And despite Vickie keeping a deft hand on the situation, charges had to be filed. She called the band into the bus, having flown out the night before.

“Right,” she said, clasping her hands and leaning her elbows on her knees. “This was a scary incident and I was able to steer it in the right direction. But if you had told me right after it happened I could have gotten ahead of it.”

The members of the band just looked at her in shock.

“It’s just a problem we’ve always had,” Spence said. “It happens so often it’s just a part of being The Fallen, you know?”

Vickie cocked her head to the side. “You do understand that you’ve come normalize to assault, right?”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “We knew it was bad. Of course we did. But we thought it came with the price of fame.”

“Famous people have to put up with a lot of bullshit,” she said shaking her head, “but assault is not one of them. They’re people too, they aren’t objects to be used and consumed by their audience and then spat out.”

They all shifted in their seats uncomfortably and avoided looking her in the eye.

“I think we all learned from this experience,” Robin said. “We learned the new hoods work, we learned to tell Vickie when something goes down, no matter how small we think it is or if we think it was handled. Because that’s why I didn’t say anything. Hopper had the guy delete it from his phone so I thought that was the end of the matter, only for it to appear online anyway.”

“And I learned,” Vickie finished, “that as unique as you guys are, you still experience the common problems most famous people have.”

They talked a little bit longer and everyone came away from the meeting feeling better about the incident going viral.

It did have the unfortunate side effect of Eddie being aggressively protective whenever the two bands would go out. Which would be fine, if it was just ‘Abbadon’ he was fiercely protective of, Steve being his boyfriend and all.

But nope.

Because Eddie didn’t want questions about why he was only protecting Abbadon, he went full mama bear. Barking at some chick that got too close to Azrael’s hood when she was flirting with him. Slapping away some guy’s hand that looked like it was going for Astraeus’s mask. He even got between a guy with a phone and Asmodeus. Who looked like the one guy in the band you wouldn’t want to fuck with.

That was when Steve decided to talk to Eddie about. Because they both had security and no one had gotten past Hopper since that first time.

“Hey, baby,” Steve said softly, slipping into the hotel room.

Eddie jumped and almost fell off the bed. “Stevie! Are you supposed to be here?” He scrambled to get back on the bed.

Steve joined him on the bed and slid as close to him as possible. “If anyone asks, I’ll just say you thought you were having a medical emergency but it was a false alarm.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I think that would cause a bigger stir than me sleeping with an EMT, sweetheart.”

Steve laughed and crawled up onto his lap to kiss him senseless. Eddie let Steve slowly lower him on the pillows as they made out.

“How much time have you got before you’re missed?” Eddie breathed, grinding their bodies together. “I really need you.”

Steve knew they would be taking a huge fucking risk, but he needed his boyfriend, too. He needed be filled up and worshiped. “A while,” he panted into Eddie’s mouth. “I want you to fuck me, please?”

Eddie groaned because that sounded like heaven to him. “Anything for you.”

Steve’s shirt was off and Eddie’s hands instantly came up to his belt to start unbuckling it. Steve sighed at the release of pressure against his zipper as Eddie pulled it down.

“Look at you, honey,” he panted, “you aching for me?”

Steve nodded, pressing his lips together to stop the moan from escaping his lips. Then he stood up and scrambled to get out of his clothes and Eddie took the opportunity to do the same. Soon they were lying together with Steve on top, kissing.

The sex was slow and tender and everything Steve needed in that moment and he felt Eddie did too. Once everything had been cleaned up and they were lying next to each other did Steve speak up.

“I think we have a couple of things to talk about,” Steve murmured into Eddie’s neck. “About Brian and Gareth, and you biting that fan’s head off tonight.”

Eddie sighed and held Steve closer. “I’m sorry about tonight. It’s just after that incident with the assholes and Astraeus, I guess my protective instincts that drove me to pick up lost sheep in high school went into overdrive.”

Steve nuzzled Eddie’s neck. “Which I do get, but let me tell you of the four of us, in character Asmodeus really is the last one you need to defend. He uses his mask as a way to be braver then he is normally and will absolutely knock a guy out and then freak out about it later.”

Eddie chuckled. “I already have a good idea of who’s who, but thank you for cinching for me that Simon is Asmodeus.”

Steve huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah, that one was a gimme, I’ll admit. But who do you think are the other two. You have a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.”

He thought for a moment, really trying to put all the clues together. “Spence is Azrael and Shane is Astraeus. For the sheer fact that they make the least amount of sense and thus throw people off.”

“Right in one,” Steve confirmed with a kiss. “And yes, that’s why. Our personas are deliberately not like who we are in real life. I play more to my feminine side more as Abbadon because I’m your stereotypical boy next door.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “You’re way more than that, sweetheart. But I get what you mean.”

Steve sat up and pulled his knees up to drape his arms around them. “Did you want to talk about what happened with Brian and Gareth about the tour. I kept meaning to bring it up because there would be odd little moments where the tension would suddenly ramp up between you guys and it would be days before it went away. It seems like it’s only gotten worse since we’ve gone on tour.”

Eddie sat up too, and moved away from Steve, crossing his arms sullenly. Steve let him. He knew this was a prickly subject and if Eddie didn’t want to talk he wasn’t going to make him. So he waited him out.

Sure enough a few minutes later, Eddie let out a put upon sigh. “Yeah, okay. It’s gotten so bad Chrissy is talking to the label about what would happen if we broke up on this tour.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathed. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip and nodded.

“I remember Brian saying he thought not letting Gareth on this tour was wrong,” Steve said, “but that everyone including Gareth disagreed.”

“He made a promise,” Eddie said softly, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face between his knees. “No drinking, in therapy, and having actual fucking progress on both the alcohol dependence and the abandonment issues and he’d get to tour with you guys.”

Steve raised a eyebrow. Eddie had said things like this before. That even though Gareth wasn’t a fan of Steve he had posters of Abbadon in his house and especially his studio. As he hadn’t seen it, he had to take Eddie’s word for it.

“And then he went on that bender when no one could find him...” he murmured, remembering that night.

“Yeah,” Eddie let out a shuddering breath, “thank god both Dustin and Gareth are the same flavor of nerd.”

Steve cracked a small smile.

“So he shouldn’t have been able to come,” he reasoned.

“Yeah.”

Eddie gripped his hair as he continued. “It’s in our contract. Everything has to be agreed on by all four members otherwise it doesn’t happen. We’ve lost out on some major opportunities because one of us held out. Did you know that the latest Batman movie wanted to use ‘Jaded Hearts’ for their soundtrack?”

‘Jaded Hearts’ was about a bad break up Jeff had. He thought things were going well, even bought a ring talked to her dad about proposing. And then suddenly she turned around and said things weren’t working out between them and just moved out of state. No rhyme or reason to it, just left.

“I didn’t,” Steve admitted.

“Yeah...” Eddie’s voice cracked on the bitterness of it. “Gareth didn’t want to because he thought it would cheapen its meanihng. While Jeff, the guy that wrote the damn thing was freaking out that they wanted his song in a movie about his favorite super hero.” He grimaced. “Jeff’s still salty about that one.”

Steve’s eyebrows raised. Yeah, he would be too.

“So what was Brian’s reasoning for waiting until Gareth was out of rehab?”

Eddie let go of his hair and let his feet slide off the edge of the couch they were on. “Addiction is a mental illness and we wouldn’t punish any of us for needing physical therapy if we broke a limb or whatever.”

Steve let his eyelids flutter shut. He felt that. He did. Both Simon and he had parents that were alcoholics. Hell, his own mother did cocaine. Addiction was a disease, but not one that should be catered to like that. He opened his eyes and saw that Eddie was curling in on himself slowly but surely.

He grabbed Eddie by the wrist and pulled him into his arms.

“What’s going on with Gareth scares me,” Eddie murmured as he soaked up his boyfriend’s comfort.

Steve let out a deep breath and said gingerly, “I think Shane is a sex addict.”

Because while Shane hadn’t been late since their little intervention, he just got better at hiding his hookups. He figured he was the only one who knew because Hopper and Robin hadn’t said anything about it.

Eddie looked up at Steve, his big brown eyes wide in confusion. “I thought he was getting better at showing up on time.”

“Oh he shows up on time,” Steve muttered darkly. “But sometimes he shows up smelling of cheap cologne and expensive wine, like he hasn’t been to bed yet. And like with you and Gareth, what’s going on with Shane terrifies me, too.”

Eddie snuggled in closer. “Fame is a cruel mistress and she is giving our friends the beating of their lives.”

“I think after this both bands should take some time off,” Steve murmured, “and just be people for a minute or three. Three records in three years is insane for even the most seasoned bands and I think Corroded Coffin could really benefit not being in each others’ pockets for a bit.”

Eddie sighed and really thought about it. He nodded. Even if the other members said no, Eddie was willing to just walk away from it all. Go solo maybe. Because after twelve years of nonstop running he was starting to fall apart.

The only thing that was keeping him sane right now was the fact Steve was by his side and he understood what he was going through.

“Yeah, baby,” he said, “let’s do that. Maybe you and me will travel the world a bit, really see it, instead of a blur through the windows of a tour bus.”

Fuck did that sound perfect. No band, no obligations, just him and Eddie and an adventure of a lifetime.

“Sure thing, rockstar,” he whispered. “Let’s do that. Plan a trip of Europe or whatever and just see the sights for a change. And not just the sites that would be good publicity either. The wacky museums, the weird curio shops, five hundred year old bars.”

Eddie sat up and looked him in the eye. “Wait, what? You’d really be interested in doing that? I mean, I’d love that. But none the guys like that shit. Not like I do and you’d want to do that kind of stuff with me?”

“Of course I would,” Steve said and then kissed him deeply. “I love that kind of shit too. And yeah maybe I didn’t always, but Robin has been a very good influence on me.”

Eddie laughed. It was so free and happy, Steve wanted to bottle it up and keep it for shit days.

“Maybe we should bring her with us,” he said with a grin. “That way people will be less suspicious about you and me going on a trip and reading too much into it.”

Steve let out a sigh, his mood a little dampened by the fact this couldn’t just be a romantic getaway. But then again, he really didn’t want to leave Robin home for that long, either. He kissed Eddie.

“Yeah, Eds,” he said sweetly. “Let’s do that. She’ll love it.”

~

Part 20

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[kiddbegins]

Distraction - Matt Casey | 18+

requested: yes

word count: 2,204

warnings: smut [unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, lowkey think some of it counts as a breeding kink? I don't actually know???]

a/n: ... jesus christ

Masterlist

[“You’re the worst type of distraction, you know?” ]

Matt was probably the most supportive boyfriend you had ever had. He’s had your back since your first day at 51. He wasn’t a lieutenant yet but he still had enough pull at the house that he was able to get some asshole off your back in the first hour.

And since then he’s been at your side. You were a paramedic, so it wasn’t like the crush that had grown between you two was against the rules. And you didn’t even get together for… a while. For lack of a better word. But once you guys were, it was the strongest bond anyone had seen.

Nothing but loyalty, trust and support. Especially now. You’d had enough of being a paramedic. Not knowing what happened to patients after you brought them in. Not being able to use the copious amount of medical knowledge you had in the field. All of it was so frustrating.

So you decided to go to actual medical school. Which was going well. No you weren’t the top of your class but you were pretty high in the ranks. Half of the younger students ignored the embarrassment they put on themselves to ask for your help, knowing that as a paramedic you must have known a fair amount of stuff.

Which you did. But that wasn’t without the excessive cramming you did in between shifts. Like right now. Matt had been asleep for a few hours by now, expecting you to join him by the time it hit midnight.

It was 2:30 in the morning now.

And even though you knew you should go to bed, you couldn’t. Not when you still didn’t know what the hell to look for on an MRI. “Baby, why are you still awake?” Matt’s groggy voice was followed by the scuffle of his feet across the floor, making their way down the hallway.

You glanced over at him, a pen tucked behind your ear and hair tied up loosely. It was neat before but strands were slowly falling out of it the more you tilted and turned your head. His voice made you jump slightly, eyes too focused on some highlighted words in your textbook.

“Huh?” He sat on the couch behind you, gesturing to the skewed papers. “Oh, studying. Go back to sleep,” You gave him a soft smile, feeling his arms go around your shoulders, pulling you towards him.

Matt placed a kiss to the top of your head, “Come to bed with me,” He muttered, his hands sliding down your arms to push a different pen from your hand, grabbing it in his. You laughed softly, feeling him kiss from your cheek to your jaw.

Lightly you hummed, giving way to him, “You are the worst type of distraction you know that?” You muttered, twisting your hand to hold his. Matt nodded faintly, leaning more to kiss your shoulder.

“I know, so let me distract you more, in bed, and you can pick this back up tomorrow. When you’re more rested, and relaxed,” He slid his other hand over your shoulder, squeezing softly. It was damn near impossible to say no to him. Actually, completely impossible.

Matt was addicting. His touch, his words. Everything. He always has been. The first kiss you ever had sparked something deep inside you and since then it was like you were insatiable when it came to him.

Being at work was hard enough to control yourself, and his office only went uninterrupted for so long before someone knocked on his door so quickies were nearly off the table. Nearly. But at home, and when he was lazily kissing at your neck like he was now?

How could you even imagine declining his sweet offer?

You shifted onto your knees, turning to face him, pressing your lips to his. Matt’s hands abandoned yours, instead swooping around your waist, gently holding onto you. “That a yes?” He questioned smugly, already knowing the answer. He was well aware of the pull he had over you.

It was balanced perfectly, your presence having the same effect on the lieutenant as he on you. You hummed softly, pushing yourself up and off the floor, not without leaning forward to give him another firm kiss.

Moments like this made you thankful he was the type to only sleep in pajama pants, his chest bare for you to run your hands over. “Mhm,” Now impatient, you grabbed his hand, pulling him up, feeling him bump into your back as he followed you back into your bedroom, textbook and studies at the back of your mind.

You turned back to him the second you heard the door click behind you, hands finding the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. Any sleepiness that was in his body when he woke up was now gone, completely replaced with you, your lips and your body.

“You can’t just,” You firmly kissed him, “Come out there,” Another kiss. “And distract me.” And another. Slipping words in between them. Matt’s hands on your hips pulling you closer.

He reciprocated each kiss, his tongue fighting to slip into your mouth each time, slowly he pulled away, not caring about the line of spit that connected your mouths. “Seems I can though, doesn’t it?” His cocky words driven by the horniness that was clouding his mind, the ever growing bulge in his pants pushing the sarcastic side out of him.

Usually you were able to wrangle him in, get things done but when he started talking back? That’s when you knew to just let him do his thing. Cause damn was he good at it. “Is that so Lieutenant Casey?” You ticked an eyebrow up, overly softly gazing up at the blonde man.

Matt nodded, your tone catching his breath, “Mhm,” He nudged you back, slowly getting you to the end of the bed. “Cause look where you are,” His lips pressed to the bottom of your neck, “With,” Matt nipped right below your ear, “Me.” His breath sent a chill down your spine.

You closed your eyes, tilting your head to the side, letting the man kiss back down your neck. His hands slid up your sides, under your shirt and pulled it off. Matt turned you, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling you onto his lap.

Slowly your hands went over his shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist. His arms wrapped around you, leaning up to catch your lips again, pulling you into a deep kiss. It was slow but heated, all of the lust and passion wrapped into each twist of your lips together.

Each brush of your tongue against his made him grow more and more, grinding his hips up into yours. “You can take my clothes off you know,” You muttered into the break he took to catch his breath. Matt’s eyes found yours, loosening the grip on you to lean back onto his palms.

“Or you can do it for me,” He mumbled, eyes dragging across your bare chest and the pajama pants you had put on hours ago. Your cheeks burned as you lifted from his lap, making a show of pushing them off, going to return to your spot when he held his hand out in expectancy.

You tilted your head slightly, Matt raising his eyebrows at the floral underwear you still wore. Oh. With a slight smirk you pulled them off, tossing them to the side, accepting Matt’s grasp as he brought you back towards him.

“That’s my baby girl,” He muttered, his hand going to your hair while his other gripped your hip, rocking up against you. Lightly you moaned, head leaning back as he did it again. His bulge rubbed right against your clit, making you pull your lip between your teeth.

Matt wanted you to beg. You knew that and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of it. So instead, you leaned forward, kissing along his collarbone. Aka his hot spot that always, always did the job in getting you what you want.

And it did. As you sucked a mark into the spot just above his collarbone he stood, his arms tightly around you before he gently placed you on the bed, standing back up to pull the rest of his clothes off. In seconds he was back over you, his hand on your cheek.

“You want me to get you ready or do you think you can handle it?” Matt asked softly, his other palm pressing over your chest sensibly, just lightly running his thumb over your nipple as he spoke. You couldn’t wait any longer than you already were so, even though you weren’t sure you could, you nodded.

“I can handle it,” You put a hand on the side of his neck, holding onto him as he nodded, slotting himself between your legs.

Even when you’d done this million times, the warmth of Matt’s skin always made you twist and turn, the anticipation of feeling him grew like a hot air balloon in your stomach. “Okay, tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” Even in his lust filled mindset his first thought was always you.

No matter what, Matt did what he could to make sure you were having as good of a time as he was. So his eyes trained on your face as he pushed in, soothingly running his thumb across your cheek as your face screwed up.

Matt wasn’t big by most means but he was big enough to stretch you out, sending a burning sensation through your thighs every time he entered you. The pain never lasted long, usually subsiding within the first few seconds. But that was also after he’d already fingered you.

This was probably the first time he went in without the foreplay and honestly, you might have regretted it a smidge but the second the pain subsided the doubt went out the window and a moan left your lips.

“You alright?” He asked softly, yet to move his hips.

“Mhm,” As soon as you nodded Matt pulled back, slowly rolling his hips back into you. Your eyes were still squeezed shut but as your body loosened, he continued to move. With Matt it was always, well, at least usually, sensual. He liked taking his time.

Liked moving that one way that had your toes curling as you tightened your legs around him. And this was no different. Strategically he thrust into you. His hands grabbed your hips, pulling them as close as he could get as he leaned down to kiss you.

His lips always felt amazing, even more so when he was deep in you and hitting every spot perfectly. It was like his kisses could coax an orgasm out of you the same way his tongue around your clit could.

Something about Matthew Casey was just so perfect that he molded perfectly to you every time, every night. Your hands grasping his face tightly pushed his movements to grow faster, losing himself in the heat of your body, wet skin slapping together roughly as each moan went right to where you two were connected.

“God I love you,” He muttered roughly into your ear before biting at your lobe, his eyes fluttering shut. Matt was trying his hardest not to cum yet, making sure you were first was also something he always did. Very gentlemanly, of course.

Your head went back as he spoke, your eyes darting across his blissed out face. “I love you,” All of your emotions managed to come out when you were together, and this was no different. The serotonin or dopamine or whatever it was that spilled into your brain was always met with Matt’s touch and love.

Matt’s hand slid between your legs, slowly rubbing at your clit the opposite of his thrusts, relishing in the way his name slid off your tongue at the newly added sensation. “I love you so much. My girl,” He spoke, knowing his loving words and tone always made your stomach pull into knots. “Gonna be with me forever, hm? Always with me. Gonna get married,” His fingers sped up slightly as you gazed up at him, eyes locking.

“Gonna have my babies. Have a family. Always going to be mine, huh princess?” His last couple of thrusts sent you overboard, eyes failing to stay on his as they squeezed shut, backing lifting off the bed as you saw stars.

Matt took the opportunity to wrap his other arm around you, fingers slowing until they stopped, allowing himself to focus on working you through your own high and finally releasing inside of you. His chest rose and fell quickly, gently pulling himself out and off of you as your hand trailed up his arm and to his face.

“You better make good on those promises.” You muttered, stroking a thumb across his face. Matt tilted his head slightly, mind clouded by his orgasm, all he could think about was you.

Softly he hummed and you smiled softly, keeping your eyes on him. “Marrying me.” He leaned down, catching your lips in his once more, slowly moving against them.

"I plan to."

Wanna join Matt's tag list?

tags: @winchesterszvonecek

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 23

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 5k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Saturday, December 5th; 11:00 AM - Ona and Alexia’s Room

I gradually begin to emerge from my sleep. I’m lying on my stomach and stretch without any restraint. I take the opportunity to grab my phone from my nightstand. I'm surprised when I see the time. It’s the first time I’ve slept until 11:00 AM at school.

“The groundhog is finally up.”

I groan in frustration at the sound of that voice. She’ll never leave me alone, will she? I thought I’d at least have some peace on my Saturday morning. I don’t even want to know how long she’s been here waiting for me. Bronze hasn’t left me alone since our visit to the doctor. I was so fed up that I insisted on returning to classes on Wednesday morning instead of Thursday just to get away from her. I was still slightly sick, and of course, my return didn’t go unnoticed in class. But at least Bronze allowed me to stay with them and start revising for my upcoming exams that day. It didn’t stop her from continuing to hover over me, though. I almost regret deciding to stay here this weekend. Especially since Joan would kill me if he knew I could go home. Two months ago, I would have been the first to run away from school. But this weekend is different. Bronze promised we’d go out to do our Christmas shopping. She seemed to like the idea when I suggested it, saying she’d use the opportunity to buy her gifts too. I take the time to stretch again before rolling onto my back. I’m surprised not to see her by my side as usual. I prop myself up on my elbows to look for her. I quickly spot her sitting on my desk, her feet swinging in the air.

“Can’t you give me a break?” I chuckle, letting myself fall back onto my pillow.

“You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not,” she teases.

“Especially this week,” I sigh, closing my eyes again. “How long have you been here?”

“I just got back about fifteen minutes ago.”

I place my hand over my eyes to shield myself from the light, taking a deep breath. Since yesterday, I can finally breathe through my nose again. It’s pure bliss! Especially for Alexia, who wouldn’t stop complaining about my snoring. I’m relieved that the medication is finally working. The doctor wasn’t so clueless after all. At least he knows how to do his job. I’ve got a few days left on the antibiotics. If it were up to me, I would have stopped taking them yesterday, but Bronze insists that I finish them all to ensure I’m fully recovered. I still cough a bit and occasionally have a hoarse voice, but otherwise, it’s all gone. In fact, I’m coughing right now, like my life depends on it. It’s a phlegmy cough, which according to Bronze, is a good sign.

“If you don’t hurry up and get ready, we’ll have to eat here.”

That sentence had the desired effect. In less than ten seconds, I’m on my feet, not caring that I’m only wearing an old T-shirt of my dad’s. If we stay here, she’ll make me eat soup again. If not, I noticed there’s cabbage on the menu for lunch, and I hate that. Better to eat out so I can finally have a proper meal. I grab some fresh clothes and then have to pass by Bronze to get to the bathroom. Unexpectedly, she blocks my way by putting her foot on the bar of my bed. I almost fell backward from the unexpected impact.

“What now?” I grumble.

“Open your mouth.”

I roll my eyes as I accept the spoonful of syrup. I’ve stopped arguing with her since she’s taken my medical care so seriously. I feel like a child, but it seems to make her happy. The upside is that I’m healing quickly by letting her take care of me. I’d never have taken this much syrup and nasal spray without her. She finally lets me pass, a silly smile on her lips. I don’t bother closing the bathroom door behind me since she can’t see me from where she is and I just need a quick freshening up since I showered last night. I get dressed, finish up with my hair, and check myself in the mirror one last time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. I return to the room, where Bronze still hasn’t moved. I must not have taken long thanks to my morning routine. She doesn’t notice me as she’s absorbed in her phone.

“I’m ready,” I inform her.

“You get motivated so easily,” she smiles, looking up.

“I wasn’t going to say no when you’re finally letting me have a proper meal! I swear, if you offer me soup one more time, I don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

She chuckles, jumping off my desk. We put on our jackets, and I grab my bag before following her outside. I understand why she wanted me to hurry when I see Engen at the front desk. She wanted to make sure we could leave without being noticed by anyone else. Bronze drives more carefully than usual due to the snow that hasn’t stopped falling for days. It’s still snowing today, in fact. It’s surprising to see the roads so clear with all this snowfall.

“Does it always snow this much here?”

“I’d say so. Why?”

“It doesn’t snow at Barcelona.”

“That, I believe. It came late this year, but now I think it’s here to stay for a while.”

Everything is white, except for the road. I could get used to this scenery. There must be a good ten centimeters of snow. I’m glad I brought my boots. I’ll try to take the opportunity to look for a new jacket. At least I won’t have to keep borrowing Bronze’s, even though I really like it.

“You’re not used to this weather, are you?”

“No, not at all,” I chuckle. “I’m just not used to the cold.”

“You said you were from Portugal, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Where exactly?”

“Lisbon.”

“Porto, for me.”

“So it’s true. You’re from Portugal too?”

“Yes, of course,” she smiles. “When did you move to Barcelona?”

I tense up immediately. Bronze quickly apologizes, realizing she’s crossed a line. I tell her it’s fine, even though it does affect me. This is where everything sort of started. I turn my head towards the window before beginning my explanation.

“My parents separated when I was ten. My mom received an offer from a Barcelona hospital that she couldn’t refuse. It was the perfect chance for a fresh start, especially since she’s originally from there.”

“I see. Didn’t you want to stay with your dad? You seem close to him.”

“Believe me, if it had been up to me, I would have stayed in Lisbon, but my dad was in the military. He couldn’t keep me with him.”

I freeze, realizing too late that I spoke in the past tense. I glance at Bronze, who either hasn’t noticed or is hiding it well. She just nods. I relax a little, sinking back into my seat.

“I’d love to go back one day,” I confide. “Not necessarily to Lisbon, but I’d like to live in Portugal again.”

“Really? Do you miss it?”

“Let’s just say I have all my memories there. I used to go back during the holidays when my dad wasn’t on a mission… It was my refuge.”

“Stay here in Manchester if you want a change of scenery.”

We’ve had this conversation before not too long ago. She knows I’m thinking about it. I didn’t expect her to encourage me to do it.

“You said you were starting to like it here, so why not?”

“It’s a possibility. I’ve thought about it, but it’s more complicated than that. How am I supposed to live here? I’d be unemployed, and on top of that, I’d be coming from a damn camp… I’m not sure that makes a good impression on a resume.”

“Would you like to live here?”

I don’t answer right away. I weigh the pros and cons of her question. In reality, I have no idea. I don’t know anything except the camp. I’ve had a taste of the city, but not in depth.

“No idea,” I shrug. “I don’t know much, really. I’d like to visit the city sometime.”

She seems to be thinking. I had asked her before to give me a tour, but we never revisited the topic. I didn’t want to seem pushy by insisting. If it happens, I want the offer to come from her. She was about to say something but then stops herself and completely changes the subject, telling me she knows some nice places near the mall for lunch. As long as there’s no soup involved, I don’t care where she takes me. A few minutes later, we arrive at our destination. It’s a small, cozy restaurant. We’re warmly welcomed and quickly seated. It’s not too crowded. It seems like the kind of place with lots of regulars. We ordered our drinks first, then our meals. I got a chicken cordon bleu. It’s my first real meal of the week, and I plan to enjoy it now that I can finally eat something solid again. Bronze smiled amusedly at my order. I wasn’t joking when I said I’d strangle her if she offered me soup one more time.

“I have a proposal for you,” she says seriously.

“What kind of proposal?”

“I’ll give you a tour of the city one weekend when you get a pass.”

“Really? Like, a whole weekend?”

“Yes, a whole weekend,” she laughs. “I’ll host you so we can have more freedom. That way, you can get a feel for the city. But I’d prefer if we do it after the Christmas holidays.”

I can’t believe it. She finally offered! A whole weekend at her place and a tour of the city. What more could I ask for? She really got me earlier when she changed the subject! I can barely resist jumping for joy. She’s doing everything she can to make me happy. I should pay for the meal, actually. Not only because she paid last time, but also to thank her for everything she’s done for me. I’m probably the only student she treats like this, after all.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

I nod enthusiastically, my wide smile never leaving my face. She laughs softly. To think that back in early October, I couldn’t stand her. Now, I’m not sure I could do without her. We’ve reached a point where we’re eating out together at a restaurant. Our food arrives shortly after. That was incredibly fast. My stomach growls at the sight of my dish. I barely manage a quick “Bon appétit” before diving into the food. I close my eyes, savoring the meat. I even let out a little moan, which makes Bronze laugh.

“Don’t make fun of me! You’re the one who deprived me of decent food for a week.”

“You’re the one who was sick and didn’t have an appetite until today.”

I stick out my tongue at her, and her smile widens. We eat leisurely, chatting about my classes and revisions, which are already getting on my nerves. However, I have to admit that her lessons are paying off. Her supervision motivates me to keep going and make my goal possible. My math teacher, who’s also my homeroom teacher, gave me a schedule for the tests I agreed to retake. I’ll be taking one or two after my classes under Bronze’s supervision in a classroom. Without these new tests, I would have had an extra week to prepare for the final exams of the semester, which are scheduled for the last week before the holidays. I would have preferred to take everything in the last week, but Bronze thought that was too much and suggested I take the others the week before. So, I’ll have two very busy weeks in a row. I feel like I won’t be getting much sleep in the coming nights, even if Bronze manages to help me revise effectively.

“By the way, do you have any plans for New Year’s?”

“Oh, so I’m allowed to celebrate that one?”

Has she already forgotten that she banned me from parties? I’d regret reminding her if that’s the case. January 1st falls on a Friday, and we start right back up on Monday from what I’ve seen. I can’t afford to mess up anyway. I had some major bouts of depression after my detox. Bronze had to reassure me several times to keep me from spiraling into guilt over my actions. To her, I’m not to blame. Just for her support, I can’t let her down. Seeing her disappointed because of me would hurt. Moreover, the decision about the electives will be made during the class council at the beginning of the year. You can’t say that the decision is in my favor at the moment. So, I need to be present in class and make a good impression if I want it to be favorable. I’m both excited and nervous about that moment arriving. There will be a change in class and schedule starting in the third week. The only thing that scares me is ending up alone. None of my friends seem to have the same options as me, especially not Alexia. It’s annoying because she’s the person I appreciate the most here.

“As long as you’re reasonable,” she shrugs. “So, any plans?”

“To be honest, no. I haven’t planned anything yet. I’m thinking about spending it with Mapi in Barcelona, but we haven’t seriously discussed it.”

“You don’t talk to her?”

“Yes, we write to each other every day… well, we just catch up briefly,” I say, lowering my head. “Between our classes, my cold, and her girlfriend… it’s limited.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Well, a little, yeah,” I admit. “I know she won’t replace me, but it bothers me to be far from her. She was my confidante before—”

“Before…?” she furrows her brows. “Isn’t that the case anymore?”

I run my hand over my face. Damn… I made the mistake of looking into her eyes. She doesn’t even realize the effect she has on me, or maybe she knows how to use it. I look away before murmuring a weak, “Before you…”

“What do you mean, ‘before me’?”

“Well… since I’ve been here, I find it easier to confide in you. I told her about it, and since then, she’s been encouraging me to do it…”

“I see. And what’s the problem?”

“Well, let’s just say she doesn’t know everything about my past. She must think that over time, I’ll be able to confide in you completely, and that’s why she encourages me. She thinks it’ll be a relief to finally tell someone.”

“And what do you think?”

“Well… she might not be wrong,” she shrugs. “But I’m afraid she’ll resent me for doing it later. I don’t want her to think she’s less important or that she’ll blame herself for not getting me to open up… I don’t really know, but all I know is that I care too much about her to risk losing her.”

I’ve already abandoned her once, and I don’t want her to think it’ll happen again. I don’t want to push her away or exclude her from my life. She’s the only one who came back and who I really care about. It would be the ultimate irony if she thought she’d failed as my best friend.

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“No, she’d think I’m crazy,” I chuckle.

“You should. Am I allowed to give my opinion?”

“Of course.”

“I think she just wants what’s best for you, which is why she’s encouraging you to open up to me. For her, it doesn’t matter who the person is as long as you feel better. I imagine she just wants to see you like you were before.”

“You think so?”

“She cares a lot about you, Ona. You’re just worried because you’re afraid of being a bad friend by abandoning her again. Am I wrong?”

I sigh and shake my head. She really can read me like an open book.

“You should talk to her.”

I sigh deeply, resting my head on my hand. I bring a fry to my mouth as I think. She’s probably right. I’m worrying over nothing. I hope that’s really the case. I thank her for her advice. Now I’ll have to wait a bit to talk to Mapi. She’s very busy with her studies and her girlfriend. She has as many assignments as I do that are coming up. I’ll talk to her during the holidays.

“So, New Year’s?” she asks me.

“I’m not sure,” I shrug. “Probably at Ana’s place, like last time… We’ll see. I’m not too thrilled about the idea, but I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mapi’s girlfriend. I’m not jealous, really,” I quickly add. “It’s just that I don’t really like the kind of parties she throws anymore. What about you, your New Year’s?”

“With my friends, probably.”

“Still no girlfriend?”

She chuckles, shaking her head without giving me a clear answer. Bronze never talks about herself to me because of the restrictions placed on her. I had a hard time accepting it at first, especially since I tell her a lot. It was strange to think I know her habits and manners, but not her. Now, I accept what she gives me, telling myself she’ll confide in me one day if she feels like it.

“Still none,” she finally replies. “Even if I did have one, I wouldn’t bring her with me.”

“You’re that type, huh?” I laugh.

“What type?” she furrows her brows.

“The type to hide your girlfriends from your friends.”

“I don’t hide them. It’s just that… I don’t know, actually. I guess I’m waiting for the right one before the introductions.”

“I see. What are you like in a relationship?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, are you more the dominant type, or do you let the other person have their way?”

“Neither, I suppose.”

“Oh… You give off the impression of being dominant,” I giggle.

“Maybe, but I’m not. I believe that in a relationship, both people should be equal. It doesn’t matter if it’s a gay, lesbian, or straight couple.”

“You’re probably right… but there’s always one person who stands out a bit more.”

“Well, I guess it depends on the person you’re in a relationship with.”

Those words are so philosophical. I don’t completely agree with what she says. It’s true that we can be different with each person we’re with, but I think everyone is born with a dominant nature. Bronze seems dominant to me, even if she denies it. Maybe I’m wrong. In any case, she’s dominant compared to me since she surpasses me in any field and orders me around all the time. The meal finally ends. We decide not to linger and head to pay the bill. I had to fight for it, but I eventually managed to pay the whole check. She frowned and scolded me until we reached the mall.

“Shall we stick together, or do you want to go our separate ways?” she asks, surprised.

“I don’t know the stores here, so I’d rather we stay together if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” she smiles. “Where should we start?”

“Well, I already have ideas for certain people.”

“Then let’s start with them.”

We start with Sam and Sophia since I know what I want to get them. We continue into a toy store since Bronze still hasn’t said anything. For Joan, it’s more complicated. I thought about getting him some board games since he loves playing together, but I changed my mind when Bronze showed me a remote controlled car. I completely fell for it, imagining Joan’s face when he sees his gift. I don’t buy it but decide not to take it with me. I explained to the vendor that I’d need it in Barcelona. To make things easier, he suggested I reserve it and pick it up at a store in Barcelona, which I immediately accepted. He gave me a reservation voucher. I didn’t know that was possible, but it’s very convenient. The next shop we go to is a sports store. As you might guess, it’s not for me. It was next to where we were, so we went there. She said she knew exactly what she wanted, so it would be quick. I wandered around while she waited for a salesperson. I ended up in the football section. My dad was a big fan, and he introduced me to it. I loved watching matches with him, and sometimes, I’d watch them with Mapi afterward. We’d have movie nights in front of the TV with popcorn when a match was on. I linger over the jerseys. My wardrobe must still have some old ones from the teams my dad supported. I took a large part of his clothes when we did the big sort through his things.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” I hear Lucy say behind me. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah…” I say, dragging my hand over one of the jerseys. “Are you done?”

“Uh-huh. Did you find something you like?” she asks, looking at the section.

“No, no. I was just looking.”

“Do you like football?” she asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling shyly. “And you like boxing?” I ask, furrowing my brows at the boxing gloves she’s holding.

“They’re for my best friend. Her are broken.”

She was holding other items, but they must have been related to the gloves. I nodded, and then we headed to the checkout to pay for her items. We walked out into the middle of the shopping mall with an extra bag in hand.

"Do you have anything in mind?"

"I'm torn between getting a bracelet or perfume for Mapi," I shrugged. "What's the best choice for an ex? And on top of that, her girlfriend doesn't know about us."

"How come?"

"She’s afraid her girlfriend will have a jealous meltdown. She pretends I'm just her best friend so she can stay over at my place without any issues."

"That’s risky," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I already warned her, but she doesn’t want to hear it," I shrugged again.

"Okay. Well, let's start with the perfume shop then. I noticed my parents' bottles are almost empty, so I’d like to get them that. You can think it over in the meantime."

I agreed, and we headed to the next store, which was on the second floor this time. Bronze quickly decided on her purchases, picking up their usual bottles. As for me, a saleswoman made me smell several perfumes after she saw me wandering through the aisles. I narrowed it down to three based on what Mapi likes. Bronze went to pay for her items while I was left to choose between the last three testers I held in my hand. It was a tough decision.

"Bronze?" I called out to her.

"I’ve already told you not to call me that," she reprimanded me.

I’d forgotten that she now allows me to use her first name when we’re outside of work. It feels strange now that I’ve gotten used to calling her by her last name. She put her wallet back in her bag before coming over to my side.

"What’s up?"

"Which one do you prefer?" I asked, holding out the testers one by one.

"I’m not sure. What does she usually like?"

"She loves fruity scents, but nothing too strong. We have pretty similar tastes, but this is hard."

"I personally prefer the last one."

"I’m torn between that one and the first."

"Maybe you want to check out the jewelry store first?"

"No, I think I’ll stick with the perfume. I’ve already given her plenty of jewelry," I chuckled.

"Well, then you just have to choose between these two."

She took away the strip of paper with the scent I liked the least. I sighed as I looked at the remaining two. Bronze went off to browse while I made my decision. I sniffed them alternately for at least a quarter of an hour. Thankfully, she’s patient. I’m not sure I’d have been so tolerant in her place. I jumped slightly when I felt a weight on my back, relaxing when I realized it was Bronze who had come back. She crossed her arms over my shoulders and rested her head on them. Her position was a bit awkward. She asked me to let her smell the two perfumes again, which I did.

"I still prefer the one I mentioned earlier."

"I think I’ll go with that one then."

"Why hesitate? Plus, there’s a set that includes shower gel and lotion," she pointed with her chin.

"Alright, fine. I was leaning more towards that one anyway. It suits her better. Worst case, if she complains, I’ll just say you recommended it."

"Of course, it's too easy to blame others," she laughed.

She moved away from me, so I took the opportunity to grab the set she had pointed out. We went to the checkout, where someone was already paying for their purchases. The wait would be short.

"Besides, you shouldn’t complain about a gift you receive," she added.

"She’s never complained, but I can tell when she doesn’t like something."

"Why wouldn’t she like it?"

"I have no idea," I shrugged.

I paid for the perfume and accepted the saleswoman's offer to wrap it as a gift. I’m terrible at wrapping, so at least that was one thing taken care of.

"You really want to do things right with her," she chuckled.

"I owe her that much after all the time she’s put up with me."

"You’re very easy to put up with."

"Glad to hear that from you, Lucy."

I accidentally emphasized her first name. I still find it hard to use it. Bronze must have understood because she laughed. The saleswoman finally returned with my gift, ready to give. I thanked her for her service. Our shopping continued at the jewelry store where Lucy wanted to take another look. She was interested in bracelets while I browsed on my own. I lingered over the rings. One caught my eye. It looked a lot like the one my supervisor wears on her finger. She joined me when she noticed I had stopped.

"See something you like?"

"No."

"Well, yes. I can tell you’re stuck here," she commented.

She looked at the display case, trying to figure out which one might have caught my interest. I gave in and pointed it out to her. She must have noticed it looked like hers... A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly hid it without saying anything.

"I’m going to call a saleswoman. I spotted a bracelet I’m interested in."

I sighed softly and nodded. At least she didn’t make it awkward. It was half past four by the time we were done, and she suggested we stop at the cafeteria.

"You didn’t get anything for your parents," she remarked once we were seated at a table.

"My relationship with my mother isn’t the best..." I reminded her, playing with my cup.

"It bothers you, doesn’t it?"

"A little, but I’ve gotten used to it," I shrugged. "I don’t really want to talk about it."

"I understand."

She changed the subject without prying further. I appreciate Bronze for that. She never insists. We sipped our drinks, enjoying this rare moment. When we were done, I expected us to head home, but she suggested we take another walk, just for ourselves. I immediately agreed, especially since I wanted to look for a new jacket, so this was the perfect opportunity. This day was really nice. At least it helped me think about something other than my upcoming exams. I just hope I’ll be able to live up to everyone’s expectations. It’s a lot of pressure, but for now, I prefer to enjoy the present moment with my supervisor by my side.

[im-not-an-object-ok]

For three months this year, I bled nearly every day. My doctor doesn’t know why. Google doesn’t know why. The condition is simply called “postmenopausal bleeding,” and medicine’s best guess as to the cause is that the postmenopausal hormone-replacement therapy I started last November suddenly made my endometrium, the lining of the uterus, “unstable.” All scientific knowledge added up to “If it’s still happening in six months, get back in touch.” (I’m still bleeding intermittently, and I don’t know why.) This is the kind of massive medical shrug that anyone with female anatomy has probably encountered.

Despite major advances for women over the past 100 years—the invention of the contraceptive pill, greater access to safe abortions—much of female biology is still woefully underserved by science. There are reasons for this, most notably the historical exclusion of women from medical and pharmaceutical trials, partly because our awkward hormone cycles were thought to skew results. There’s also the fact that some scientists still project findings from research on men onto women, seeming not to realize that women aren’t just small men: Women are different down to the cellular level, meaning that many of our immune responses, experiences of pain, and symptoms (including, for instance, those that accompany a heart attack) may be different from men’s. Are you having a nasty, unexpected side effect from your medication? That could be because most drugs were developed with male bodies in mind. A 2020 review of 86 common medications, including antidepressants, cardiovascular drugs, and painkillers, found that women were likely routinely overmedicated and suffered adverse reactions nearly twice as often as men.

The lagging science is particularly apparent when it comes to periods and female hormones more generally—the subject of the anthropologist Kate Clancy’s new book, Period, a scientific and cultural history that purports to tell the “real story of menstruation.” Clancy’s book makes clear that a lack of data is to blame for many of the ills that women and girls face concerning their reproductive health, like doctors’ failure to diagnose painful conditions such as endometriosis.

My severe endometriosis was discovered only when I was 41, accidentally. For decades, I had been given prescription-strength painkillers, and my doctor never seemed to wonder whether the amount of pain I was in was abnormal. When I published an essay about my menopausal depression in 2018, a deluge of women wrote to tell me that when they were going through something similar, their doctors had told them they were imagining their brain fog or panic attacks, or had put them on antidepressants that didn’t work because many depression drugs are inadequate to treat the symptoms of fluctuating estrogen.

[forwhump]

Worry

a/n; im posting again im so sorry !!!!!!!!! lmfao somebody stop me

tw/cw: self harm, mentions of grievous bodily harm, traumatic brain injuries, medical torture

human weapon whumpee

With a snarl, Silas crushes the pen in his hand into sharp bits of plastic shrapnel that bite right through his palm.

He makes to throw the wreckage at the wall, but Wren is quick to catch him by the fist. He uncurls his fingers to carefully pick the chunks of plastic out of his shredded palm. He places them onto a bloody cloth he has spread across his bed beside him, keeping collected the other bloody pieces of plastic from the other pens Silas has so far destroyed.

He just can’t fuckin’ do it.

Wren gently wipes down his palm with a damp washcloth and isopropyl alcohol, whatever the hell that is. It stings, but a stinging pain is one of the more preferable kinds. He prefers a stinging pain to this whole thing, in fact. “It’s okay,” Wren tells him softly.

It isn’t.

“I can’t fuckin’ do it,” Silas snaps. His hand shakes in Wren’s. His hands are always shaking, and nothing helps, nothing stops it. Tremors, the unit’s doctor, Medic, had called them. A lingering effect from a traumatic brain injury that he might never recover from.

“You’re learning,” Wren reminds him softly. “It’s okay.”

It’s pathetic.

Silas the machine, Silas the weapon, and he can’t even hold a fuckin’ pen. He can’t write his own fuckin’ name. He can’t fuckin’ read, even, not anymore.

“I’m too fuckin’ stupid,” he spits.

Wren looks up quickly. “Silas,” he chastises. “You are not stupid.”

Silas grunts and cracks his other palm against the side of his head. He drives the heel of his hand against the layers of bandages, against the spot where his skull had been crushed most significantly, pieces of bone picked from his brain to be puzzled back together. The pain makes him nauseous, but it distracts him, for a second, from that writhing helplessness under his skin that makes him want to rip his hair out by the handful.

“Hey!” Wren snaps at him.

Silas is going to crack his own skull again but Wren is quick. Wren’s a lot quicker than Silas. He pushes himself to his feet and catches Silas’ hand before he can do any more damage to the side of his head.

And Silas —

In the same way his hands shake, his brain now fires wrong. His temper is unrestrained, and it fires up and out of control quicker than it ever has, too quick for him to stop it. He doesn’t mean to snarl at Wren, at patient, kind Wren, who’s sitting on the floor of his room trying to teach Silas how to write his own name, but he just wants to hit his head so he doesn’t have to feel this fuckin’ stupid anymore and —

And he snarls at Wren, pulling his hand free, but Wren is just as quick to grab it again and he leans in closer to Silas, unintimidated. “Stop it,” he says.

Belatedly, Silas thinks it might be one of the things he likes best about Wren. He’s Silas’ opposite in a lot of ways, in almost every way, this silvery, holy thing to Silas’ red misted violence. He’s the smallest in the unit, the most breakable, the most helpless. And he’s never been afraid of Silas, not once.

Not when he was first dragged into the unit, scared and confused, after weeks of introductory surgeries and mutilation. He didn’t know exactly what he was, but he knew he was some kind of monster. He could see it in the way the soldiers, the surgeons had looked at him. He could see it in the distance between them, in how far below he had to look at them. He could see it in the unit, the way those people, not human, either, but super soldiers, had each flinched away from him the first time they had bared witness to his horror.

Except Wren. Wren has never been afraid of him.

Generally kind, soft spoken Wren is the only one of them that isn’t afraid to stand up to him. To raise his voice at him. To tell him no.

Silas bares his teeth and Wren raises his eyebrows. “Stop it.” He pulls his hand free again and Wren catches him quickly around the wrist. “Silas.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Silas seethes through his teeth.

Wren snorts and tips Silas’ face up by his chin. He’s taller than Silas like this. He blows air really hard into his face.

It’s so far from anything Silas was expecting to happen that he recoils, startled. “What —“ he starts, but Wren just does it again. His breath always smells like something Hal calls bubblemint, and it isn’t unpleasant but it’s absolutely weird.

Silas blinks up at him. “What?” He repeats.

Wren raises an eyebrow. “Are you done?”

“What?” Silas says. His hand still shakes in Wren’s grasp but his hands might always shake. The heat had subsided, his temper fleeing, apparently, from Wren’s cool, sweet breath.

“Hands in your lap,” he tells him.

“I —“

“Hands in your lap,” Wren repeats, releasing Silas’ wrist.

Obediently, Silas lowers his hands into his lap.

Gently, Wren angles his head, and the touch of his fingertips is featherlight as he inspects the side of Silas’ skull for any severe damage.

“I’m sorry,” Silas says finally.

“Good,” Wren agrees, which isn’t the answer Silas wanted or expected.

He frowns. His hands twitch in his lap, unrelated to the tremors. He rubs his chest with one hand, trying to quell it, and Wren says, stern, “still.”

Silas drops his hand back into his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Wren clicks his tongue. The side of Silas’ head starts to sting as he dabs at it with isopropyl alcohol.

“I’m trying, Wren,” Silas tells him softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Silas,” Wren says, almost flat. “Do you remember when your skull was crushed?”

“No,” Silas says, because he doesn’t. His skull was crushed. He doesn’t remember a lot before the incident or a long time after, as a matter of fact.

“I know,” Wren agrees. “I do.”

Silas stops. He hadn’t, for a second, considered that. Maybe he just doesn’t have the disposable brainpower for critical thinking anymore, but he hadn’t ever stopped to consider that, yeah, of course Wren would remember. He didn’t have the fortune of having that memory wiped with a brain injury. “Oh,” he says.

“Mm,” Wren agrees.

“Sorry,” he says.

Wren snorts, but his voice is kind of distant, a little less prickly when he says, “it was bad, Silas, and they told us you had died. They didn’t think they were going to be able to fix you.”

He frowns again. “I wouldn’t die, Wren,” he says, “not while you’re still here. I wouldn’t leave you.”

“No?” Wren asks, and the thorns are back in his voice. “You’re not going to try to crush your own skull in front of me because you’re frustrated?”

It chastises Silas so thoroughly that he thinks he actually might blush. It also makes him feel even more stupid, but this time he doesn’t fight it. He’s earned it. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“Good,” Wren says again. He gently smooths his hand across the side of Silas’ head, sealing his bandages, before he tips Silas’ face up again so he can look at him properly. “Knock it off.”

Silas turns his face to press his cheek into Wren’s palm. “I’m sorry,” he tells him softly.

Sighing softly, Wren thumbs over his cheek.

“But you don’t have to worry about me, Wren,” he continues, just as soft. “I won’t die. I’ll crawl out of the ground if I have to and I’ll find my way back here to you. I’d never leave you,” he murmurs, and he knows it’s true, he’d thought it to himself a million times, but it almost knocks the wind out of him as he says it, how much he means it.

Sometimes, at his worst, Silas doesn’t think there’s anything human left in him. He doesn’t think he’s capable of anything more than violence. He doesn’t think himself capable of feeling.

Wren makes him feel, and everything Wren makes him feel is human. It’s kind of warm, the way he feels now, head in Wren’s hand, but he also feels like he might drown it. He doesn’t think he’d mind.

“There is nothing in the world this place could do to me that would keep me from you,” Silas says, and he doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything more. “Ever. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Slowly, Wren shakes his head. “I worry about you every day.”

Silas turns his head again to kiss his palm. “You don’t need to.”

He leans down to kiss his hairline in turn. “Stop giving me reason to.”

Silas hums softly, pleased. “I’ll be good.”

Wren laughs quietly. He kisses Silas’ hair again before he pulls away, settling onto the floor across from him again, settled next to Wren’s bed. He holds another pen out to Silas, this one unbroken. “Good,” he agrees. “Then let’s try again.”

[fairy-writes]

congrats on your milestone!! <3 can I ask dialogue prompt 15 for dazai please?

HANDSOME STRANGER

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing(s): Dazai Osamu x Female!Reader

Prompt: “I don’t have any interest in fraternizing with handsome strangers.” (Dialogue Prompt #15)

Notes: Female!Reader, Dazai-Typical Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Torture, Mentions of Injuries

I literally have no idea how to tag this… 

ALSO CATCH MY DOCTOR WHO QUOTE (again, lol)

TW for depictions of injuries received from torture.

__________________________________________________________________________

Dazai Osamu was an enigma to you. 

Former Port Mafia Executive. 

Current Armed Detective Agency Member. 

And the man currently being interrogated (tortured) by your boss. 

You remained in your office, stitching up a lower-level gang member who had brought a knife to a gunfight. Literally. He had brought a switchblade to a fight with revolvers and pistols. Shaking your head, you clipped and tied off the end of the thread. How stupid could one person be?

Dazai made a noise of pain in the other room. Just on the edge of your hearing as if he was trying to stifle it, but it was there nonetheless. Your heart twanged in sympathy. Whatever information they were trying to get out of him, it sounded like it wasn’t going well. 

He was brought to you nearly four hours later. 

You had been mindlessly organizing your medical supplies in your various cabinets in your makeshift office the entire time. 

Perhaps “office” was too kind a word. It was more of a closet in the run-down building. There was an examination table in one corner, cabinets for supplies along the other, and a rusted sink in the final corner that didn’t have a door. 

The door to said office banged open, and Dazai was dragged in with arms hooked under his armpits. His head lolled to the side, and blood dripped from a head wound at his temple.

In a split second, you were on your feet, helping the tall and lanky man onto your examination table. His tan coat is missing, and he is mumbling something incoherent under his breath. His skin was pale, and you were certain at least two of his fingers were broken, the nails missing from six of them.

“Fix him.” Your boss huffed, and you gritted your teeth. You hated it when they did this. Tortured people and then expected you to magically fix them up. You weren’t the famed Armed Detective Agency’s doctor. You didn’t even have an ability. You were just an ordinary doctor trying to pay off a debt your father had left you with when he died. 

“I’ll do my best.” You reply, and your head is whipped to the side with a painful slap to the face. Your boss’s hand is still raised, and you look back in shock as you cradle your already swelling cheek.

“Your best isn’t good enough. You will fix him. We still have plans for him yet.” He growls and leaves with a flourish of his trench coat. 

You turn back to your patient, who is slowly coming to. You wash your hands in the sink, slide on nitrile gloves, grab some disinfectant for his injuries, and lastly, some bandages to fix him up. You’d have to replace the rest of the wrappings already on his person. They were soiled with dirt and blood, and you could see where the restraints used on him had frayed the bandages around his wrists. 

Just as you began to stitch close the head wound, his right hand shot out and gripped your wrist, effectively stopping what you were doing. The grip is tight, almost painful. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His voice is dark and dangerous. His eyes aren’t even open yet. You huff,

“I’m trying to patch you up, jackass. Now lay back down before you tear the stitches I’m slaving away for.” You snap, already fed up with his attitude. Former Port Mafia Executive or not, he was still your patient. 

Dazai does indeed lay down and let you work after that. 

You finish stitching up his head and move on to his missing fingernails. They are still bleeding, so you assume it must have been one of the more recent torture techniques they utilized. You leave his side momentarily to grab some petroleum jelly and some nonstick bandages to apply to his fingers. 

That turned out to be a mistake. 

You are spun around to face Dazai, and a scalpel is held to your carotid artery, his hand at the base of your throat. 

“Why are you helping me?” He demands, eyes calculating and analyzing your every move. You inhale, panicked, and more than a little scared. 

You couldn’t die here. 

“Like I said before. I’m in charge of patching you up.” You blurt, and he narrows his eyes.

“So they can torture me again?” He asks, and you nod, wincing as the scalpel starts to bite into your skin. He cocks his head, taking in your answer before abruptly letting go, and you slide down the wall to sit on the floor. 

You had almost died at his hand. And that thought terrified you. 

You didn’t want to die. Not yet. Not until you fulfilled your goals as rudimentary and simple as they were. 

Dazai sat on the examination table and flourished his arms, splattering crimson against the wall from his bloody fingers. 

“Well then, patch me up, Doc.” He says with a sardonic grin, and you get to your feet, change gloves, and get back to work.

The next time you see Dazai is two days later. They had allowed him a day to recuperate, keeping him under lock and key with multiple thugs stationed outside his room.

How kind of them. 

He looks worse than before when he is dragged in. His left eye is swollen shut and bruised, and his right flutters as he stares at the ceiling. He has eyelashes that any woman would be jealous of. 

Stop getting distracted. Now isn’t the time. 

“Why haven’t you escaped yet? I know you can.” You ask as Dazai sits in silence. He’s unexpectedly solemn, not at all like the womanizer you had heard of through the grapevine of criminals. He was known for being an expert at information gathering, going to any lengths to recover said information, and even sleeping with people to get what he wanted. 

Was he doing that here? Not sleeping with people. But getting information.

“I suppose I’m waiting for my knight in shining armor.” He muses, stiffening when you apply petroleum jelly to his fingers. They must still be tender. You lighten your touch, and as soon as you’re done, you change gloves and check his stitches. An icepack is retrieved next. You crack it and let the chemical reaction cool down the packaging. You gently place it over his eye, and he hisses. 

“You don’t need a knight in shining armor. You’re too cool for that.” You mumble, more to yourself than anything else. But he hears it and perks up.

“You think I’m cool?” He asks, and you blink at the sudden change in personality. But then, a thought occurs to you. Was he trying to get you to spill intel on your boss? Would you even be willing to give him those details?

“If you’re trying to get information out of me, it won’t work. I’m not privy to that kind of knowledge.” You say simply, and he cocks his head. 

He does that a lot. 

“But you’re a very likable person Doc. I can see a lot of people telling you just about anything you want to know.” He says, and you bark out a laugh,

“About as likable as a cactus, maybe. I’ve been told I’m particularly prickly.” You reply, and it’s his turn to chuckle.

You try to ignore the stuttering of your heart at the sound.

The third time you talk to Dazai, it’s in his cell. 

You had convinced (bribed and threatened) the thugs outside to leave you alone with him for a few moments so you could check on his injuries without being judged. If they had their way, Dazai would have been dead and buried a long time ago. That was the only intel you had gathered. 

When you told Dazai, he frowned,

“What a terrible way to die.” He spat, and you look on in confusion,

“What’s your ideal way to die, then?” You find yourself asking, genuinely curious. Dazai hums, leaning his head back against the wall.

“I suppose to commit double suicide with a beautiful woman.” He muses, turning to look you directly in the eye. 

You stiffen and lean back, but part of what he said caught your attention.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You whisper, and he grins,

“The most beautiful thing in here, Doc. Now, what do you say?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“I don’t have any interest in fraternizing with handsome strangers.” You reply cheekily, and his smile turns almost warm,

“You think I’m handsome?” He teases, and you nod,

“The most handsome thing in here, Dazai.” You reply, and his smile falls, blinking in surprise as if not expecting the answer.

He doesn’t say another word to you the rest of the time you’re there with him. 

And you don’t see him again until three days later.

The sound of gunshots makes you jump, knocking over your jar of cotton swabs and falling to the ground as your office door bursts open. You pull out your pistol from the waistband of your trousers as someone appears. 

A man with a long blond ponytail stands in the doorway. His glasses and suit are immaculate, not stained by dust or blood as you expected in a gunfight. He catches your eye and turns,

“Dazai! She’s in here!” He bellows, and there are quick footsteps before Dazai appears.

“Come with me.” He says, holding a bandaged hand out to you. You loosened your hold on your pistol, almost dropping it before flinching at the sound of shouting down the hall. 

Then… without any doubt… you grabbed his hand, and he led you out of the hellhole that had been your life for the last seven years.

[old-poptart]

Hi! I hope i read the rules correctly and didn’t miss anything. I was just wondering if i could get Teru tsukasa and Hanako with a diabetic s/o? Like their first reaction on how s/o just goes poking their finger for the first time to check their blood? Please just delete this request if you can’t do this or Thank you :]

a/n: HEY THERE!! yes of course you can 😜 i don't have diabetes myself so i do apologize if i misrepresented!! ANYWAYS ONTO THE HEAD CANONZ!!!!

warnings: uh oh blood, pricking your finger with a needle

Hanako 🌺, Tsukasa 🥀, and Teru 🤺 with a diabetic s/o (gender neutral):

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

Hanako 🌺:

"it looks like i need one too, you're too sweet for me~"

even though you and hanako have been together for a while, he's never seen you prick your finger with your kit, he didn't even know you were a diabetic!

that all changed though, the two of you were hanging out in the bathroom as per usual, you two were chatting about your upcoming date and having lunch together! how cute~

right before eating though, you had to check your blood sugar as part of your routine. so, you got out your kit and pricked your finger like normal

you had forgotten though about how your boyfriend doesn't even know that you were required to do this, so it had shocked him

he doesn't know much about about modern medication, so seeing you prick your finger for no apparent reason caught him off guard

"but yeah! the rooftop is a nice plac- what are you doing?"

he tried to stop you cuz he thought you were hurting yourself, bless him-

you stopped in your tracks due to his sudden action, realizing you had some explaining to do

once you told him that you had to do this daily thing due to your lack of insulin, he immediately switches up

he's not very squeamish so he doesn't mind when it's time to do your thing

BUT he will always make sure that you're not hurt afterwards and always gets you a cute little bandaid for your finger

if you refuse he will make you wear it (jk)

he also carries candy (and steals candy from the mokke too) for whenever you need it, such a sweet darlin </3

Tsukasa 🥀:

"can i help you?!"

tsukasa loves taking naps with you

again he’s like a cat, all over you and you can’t escape muehehhehe

like between class periods or after school he luvz getting all cuddled up as y’all snooze togetha

you usually do your routine when he’s already asleep, not on purpose though you just aren’t aware that he’s already going honk shoo

one faithful day he was just aboutta fall asleep next to your beautiful self but somethin caught his eye!!!

some kinda pointy concoction was moving towards your finger!? and it’s gonna hurt you!? no ma’am nah uh

he swatted that thing as far as possible (to the other side of the broadcasting room) and looked back at you to see if you were alright

“tsukasa i need that to feel better..”

“THAT makes you feel better!?”

“let me explain this-“

once he was educated about your condition (it took ten times to explain and two charts), it was his plan to make sure you stay healthy!

he wanted to have an extra diabetes kit on him but having a prickly needle at his reach wouldn’t be the smartest idea..

the boy jus wants to take care of his sweetums’ 😕</3

can he even call you that

Teru 🤺:

“whatever it takes for my dear to be at their best”

atp dawg this man is educated about anything

if he isn’t you bet yo precious ahh he will learn about it until it’s engraved into his mind

whenever y’all can he takes you on cute lil dates!!!!

flowers every time, he pays every time, lets you pick where y’all are gonna go

he’s so cutie patootie keep him forever

unlike hanako and tsukasa he’s known about your diabetes for a while, before y’all started going out actually

he found out obv when you pulled out your lil kit and did your thing, asking if you needed help with the needle and such

“pfft, and do you know how to work this thing?”

“..and there!”

“you’re telling me i’ve been doing it in a way less effective way and you jus did that in seconds.”

all funnies aside he carries lil sweets for you and reminds you to take your test before you eat and sleep, he even helps you on your dinner dates 😓🫶🏼

marry him rnnrnrnrnnrnrn

GAHHH SOSOOSOSOS SORRY FOR PUTTING THIS OUT SO LATE I HAVE INZANE WRITERS BLOCK BUT HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!!

-ooga :D

[glitchedrabbit]

aaand we’re back!!! Puppet boy chapter 2!!!

i’m losing my mind with school but it is done!!

Puppet Boy

Chapter 2:

Something was wrong, Tony could feel it almost instantly since that night. There was nothing wrong with him, health-wise, he was in perfect shape and had no health issues, he was prescribed sleep medication to help him doze off to sleep, but there was no effect with them, he only now takes them to leave less worry to his mom.

But recently, he’s been acting even stranger according to Ellis, he’s been less aware and more zoned out and absent-minded, nothing like him at all. Tony Becker, always watching and learning, listening and writing out his discoveries; is now sitting around staring blankly at nothingness.

”Tony!” Ellis yelled out, finally pulling Tony out of his head.

“Jeez man, are you going deaf too?” Ellis chuckled, pulling him away from a crowd he was close to crashing into.

He was walking down the hall, notebook in hand, supposedly writing, but when he looked down at the opened book, he found nothing but a blank sheet. What was he going to write again?

”Sorry just— got really into the writing” he lied, slamming his notebook shut with one hand and holding it to his side, catching up to the same pace as Ellis and Greg.

The trio slid through the hall trying their best to avoid bumping into the other kids, eventually making it to their lockers and putting away their books.

“Are you still up with going to the Pizzaplex today Tony?” Ellis asked as he shut his locker and adjusted his backpack.

Tony rolled his eyes and scoffed.

”I already said I'm not allowed to go anywhere else after school anymore.” Tony pointed out. Ellis twisted his lips and sighed, he looked at Greg and raised a brow at him.

”What about you? Are you able to come with me, or do you also have an excuse to not come?” he teased, and Tony became reluctant. For some reason, he didn’t like the idea of Ellis being around Greg alone, especially when he had no clue of what his actions could be, Tony opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Greg.

“Yes, I'll be able to come with you, Ellis.” Greg finally responded, Ellis grinned, and his face seemed to immediately light up, he pulled Greg into a hug and cheered.

“Alright then! guess just the two of us this afternoon!!” Tony stared back at Greg, an unnerved feeling creeping up to his neck, he bit his lip.

“I could..” Tony hesitated, Ellis looked back at Tony with a gleeful smile, he assumed what Tony was going to say and already seemed excited, “I could…go I guess, my mom wouldn’t mind just this once.” He responded, Ellis cheered yet again, pulling both friends into his arms and wrapping his arms around the two boys’ necks,

“That’s the spirit man!” He smiled, wrapping his arms around the two boys' necks and beginning to walk out of the building.

—————————-

The Pizzaplex. Who knows how long it has been since Tony set foot into the building, he has been so scared to return, he had a whole lie about not being allowed to go anywhere alone after school, and he became fearful of this place, all because of that day. He only came today because he didn’t want the same for Ellis, his best friend, it’s only fair he does this, to prevent such an incident again.

Tony seldom took his eyes off of Greg the whole time they stayed there, and Greg noticed that he was, he would glance back at him now and then showing he was uncomfortable, but Tony didn’t seem to care. He was just trying to be a good friend, but at some point, he lost him.

Tony took his eyes off for a minute, looking around the arcade cabinets and still noticing GGY on the screen leaderboard, he felt regret rushing in like a wave. If only he listened to what everyone told him, maybe then he wouldn't be in such a situation, always itching for a mystery to be solved, only to become a mystery himself.

Tony glanced around, Greg was nowhere in his point of view anymore, Ellis was still at the arcade machine, eyes focused deeply onto the screen, his fingers tapping the buttons and his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, having no other thoughts besides the game.

“Ellis, where's Greg?” Tony asked Ellis hummed in response, and Tony asked again.

“Ellis. Where's Greg.” having a bit more of an assertive tone this time. Ellis glanced around, looking to his left, where he once was, then to Tony, he turned back to his game.

“I don't know dude, he probably ran off, he's been acting strange lately…” Ellis didn’t seem to genuinely care what was happening around him, nor about the situation, his eyes darted side to side as he stared at the screen, jaw clenched. “Both of you have been acting strange.” He admitted, then went back to clicking on the buttons of the arcade cabinet.

Tony rolled his eyes and walked off in frustration at Ellis, some friend, Tony thought to himself. He didn't seem to hold onto that grudge for a long time, he's used to his best friend acting this way, but it does annoy Tony to the rotten core. Maybe it's because he is more mature than his best friend, Ellis.

Either way, Tony continued to walk around the Fazcade in search of Greg. He glanced at every short brown-haired boy he saw, he was nowhere. Tony began to feel a dread grow, there was no sign of Greg, he's checked everywhere. His ears began to ring, he could hear his breathing lose its rhythm, and his vision began to blur from the corner of his eyes.

Is this one of those episodes again, or is it a panic attack? Tony was not sure. He sat down at a nearby chair and began focusing on his breath,

“you're okay, you're okay.” He mumbled to himself. He closed his eyes shut to stop the throbbing pain piercing through his skull, after what felt like minutes, Tony seemed to settle down.

He kept his eyes shut, just his luck, he thought to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose. At least Ellis was okay, but that didn't mean it could be happening to someone else, he shot up scanning the area.

No one seemed to be in any sort of trouble or scared, everyone was smiling and laughing while either playing or watching a friend play, walking around talking their own stories and gossiping, it was all okay, everyone was okay.

That's when Tony finally spotted him, creeping around through a crowd of kids to the elevator, Tony scattered to his feet, his headaches magically disappeared into thin air and he ran down the stairs watching his step to avoid tripping and falling to the ground, cause that would DEFINITELY cause attention to him, he glanced back up to find the elevator door closing, “crap.” Tony mumbled under his breath.

He bit his lip, praying and hoping he would be able to catch up to Greg, if not. Who knows where he could be in a place this huge?

Tony ran to the elevator door, spamming the down button, the people around him looked at him suspiciously, and he chuckled awkwardly, trapping his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

The elevator door finally opened, he rushed inside and waited for others to enter, they were all then taken back to the auditorium. Tony rushed out and glanced at each side, Greg was nowhere yet again, Tony cursed under his breath.

“Come on Becker, think, think.” He rubbed his forehead thinking maybe it'll get his brain to start working. The backrooms of the Pizzaplex, his dream, he had considered himself crazy for thinking it, but he had to have that dream for some reason. Tony nodded to himself rushing through the pizzaplex and sneaking through the staff.

He made it, He found an entrance not so guarded and managed to sneak his way to the back of the pizzaplex, but he had no idea where exactly to go. He’s only been walking around mindlessly and when he hears some of the staff walking around he’s quick to hide, but he hasn’t heard them in a while now.

Suddenly he heard footsteps again, but they weren’t heavy like an adult's, they were light and quiet, Tony stood still in his tracks listening to the newly discovered steps, they were right around the corner. Tony hid behind the wall waiting for the footsteps to walk by, his heart raced out of his chest, and once he heard them grow closer he prayed the person wouldn’t turn the corner to his hall, once the steps passed he crept to the end of the hall and peeked out.

There he was, Greg. He found him, he looked stressed, his pace matching his emotion, Tony almost began to sneak down the hall, but hesitated, it seemed Greg had no idea he was being followed and with the way Tony’s trust has been with him lately, he was overthinking the worst case scenario.

Instead, he tread softly behind him, hiding behind boxes and what seemed to be carts full of dirty laundry, eventually Greg made it to a destination, they seemed far from the pizzaplex, the faint music that Tony had heard before was completely gone, and the only sound is the sound of the old fluorescent lights buzzing, that’s another thing, this area of the pizzaplex seems abandoned and no longer used, what could Greg possibly be doing around here.

Greg pushed through the doors and walked in, Tony had enough, he rushed to the door and slid in, Greg turned around and his expression was in full surprise.

“Tony?” he said astounded, Tony walked to him hands in fist, pulled Greg by the shoulders, and made direct eye contact at him.

“What are you doing here?” Greg asked again, Tony didn’t answer, he wanted his questions answered first.

“I could ask you the same question, Greg.” Tony alluded, Greg bit his lip, glanced around the area, and dragged Tony down to the dark hall, Tony yelped as he was pulled from his stance.

”I didn’t want to tell you this because I knew you weren’t going to like it.” Greg responded, he kept his eyes forward, avoiding any eye contact with Tony. Tony grit his teeth and yanked away from Greg’s grip, Greg turned around.

”Tell me what?” Tony yelled, “How do you expect me to not be mad? I've been acting so differently since that day we hung out, and the only thing you have told me was about a virus!” his body shook, was it adrenaline or fear? Either way, he was going mad with all of this nonsense happening in his life, he needed answers, and he wasn’t letting Greg get away this time. “So tell me. What happened that afternoon!”

Greg seemed calm, but also tense; he was acting extremely off and Tony could notice this. He then raised his hands to try and reassure Tony, “Tony, keep your voice down!” he whispered, glancing around the room more, he was looking for someone.

“You expect me to just be calm and collected after two weeks! I’ve been losing my mind!” Tony panicked, “You have to tell me what’s wrong, if not, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me!” He begged, hands gripping onto Greg’s arms.

Greg watched Tony lamentably, his eyes glistening in the only source of light that lit the room, he watched Tony with them, he could see his fear, He stared blankly at his friend.

“Tony..I—“

A loud thud echoes into the room, and the two boys jolt and turn toward the sound, at the door, a tall figure stands still. Tony took a closer inspection at the figure, they seemed to be in a sort of suit, they had glowing red eyes and rabbit ears, the rabbit held a knife in one hand and twirled it around as if it was some toy. Tony glanced at Greg, he frowned at Tony as he walked over to the tall figure walking towards them.

”Vanny, you’re here.” he hesitated, and Vanny only scoffed, pushing him aside and walking toward Tony instead.

“You can quit the act now Rab, he’s here now.” A slight robotic voice spoke, it was a woman. There was a person in the suit, their movements were fluid and their steps were light, graceful even, she gripped her knife with cherish.

Tony backed away from Vanny as she crept closer to him, Her eyes were cartoonishly large and glowing red, her mask had a wide-open grin, her entire suit seemed home made, there were patches that did not match the color of the suit and you could see the hand sewn stitches from his point of view, but he couldn’t read her expression at all, he had no idea what this person was thinking.

“Wait, Rab?” Tony remembered, Rab. The story, Greg’s pen name. It all finally came together for Tony, that afternoon at the pizzaplex, the weird dream, was a memory, something about that afternoon, Greg was behind all of this, and he did something to him.

“Did you honestly think that he had no idea you were following him?” Vanny giggled behind her grinned bunny mask, “The boss wants to see you, finally, one-on-one they said.” Tony panicked as he stared into the eyes of Vanny, he lost focus of his own steps and tripped on his own feet, slamming head-first down onto the ground, and everything went dark yet again.

[littlemisspascal]

Fast Cars and Lightning Bolts Part 4

Pairing: Din x Female Reader

Word Count: 3200+

Rating: T

Summary: It’s kind of ridiculous, really, the way everything else fades away the longer you stare at Din. The gaudy banners in all capital fonts seem to blur and the colorful bouquets of balloons lose their vibrance. The Din Djarin Effect, you used to call it, a comforting distraction to indulge in when the rest of the world felt too close, too much all at once. 

Author Note: 2 years later I'm sure 99% of people have lost any care about this series, but it felt nice returning to this fic after so long away. Hope someone out there enjoys this 😊 All likes, comments, and reblogs super appreciated 💗

Warnings: Helmetless Din, dialogue heavy, racing au, heavily inspired by Ford v Ferrari, language, worldbuilding, No physical characteristics of Reader described except for having hair + a heart condition (I’m not a doctor, all medical details are fictional)

Series Masterlist

Mos Espa is hotter than you remember.

Or maybe it’s how different the city looks—flourishing businesses, smiling faces, and cleaner streets (literally and figuratively, not one piece of trash or shady character in sight)—that’s making it hard for your memories to sync with your reality. 

There’s a bustling crowd of hundreds at the Fett Motor Company Headquarters by the time you arrive. You almost forgot how overwhelming being in the midst of large groups of people can be, all clamoring for a handshake or autograph. Like feral dogs fighting over the same piece of meat, pulling and tugging until they get their portion of the prize. 

Today’s a significant one for Fett Motor Company. Not only are they announcing their partnership with you and subsequent entry into the world of auto racing, they’re also celebrating the launch of their newest model. Dozens of reporters and photographers from every major HoloNet site have come, drawn to the promise of a spectacle and juicy bits of gossip to spin a story out of.

Attending events like this has always been the part of fame you liked the least. Too chaotic and invasive for your tastes. Makes your heartbeat start to climb until it’s in your ears, an incessant reminder of your retreat from the spotlight.

There are a plethora of people in every direction you look. Do they notice your trembling hands? The bottle of pills in your jacket pocket? Can they tell you’re in over your head? 

So many people. So many pairs of eyes.

And then, just when you think you’ll be swallowed whole, there’s Peli blasting her way through the crowd with waving arms and shrill exclamations, providing you a path to freedom. The rush of absolute relief nearly has you sinking to the floor, but she’s quick to latch onto your wrist, towing you to sanctuary in a quieter room away from access of the general public.

“Thanks, Peli,” you say, letting out a shaky breath as the tension digging into your spine starts to loosen. 

“Don’t mention it, LB,” she shrugs, then nods at something off to the side. “I figured it’d go smoother if I saved your hide instead of tin can man. He looks like a biter—and not in the sexy way.”

“What?” Sometimes your engineer makes no damn sense. You look at where she’d gestured, first noticing Ahsoka (the young Togrutan mechanic had practically stubbornly glared you into letting her come along) talking animatedly to—

Your eyes widen.

“He…” you trail off, mouth abruptly dry. “He actually came?”

“Well, yeah,” Peli replies, looking back and forth with furrowed eyebrows. “You invited him, didn’t you? He told me he wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Funny. Last thing he said to you, back in that diner one week ago, standing up from the table with an expression devoid of the previous softness, was, “I’m nobody’s puppet, not even yours. Find someone else.”

It’s kind of ridiculous, really, the way everything else fades away the longer you stare at Din. The gaudy banners in all capital fonts seem to blur and the colorful bouquets of balloons lose their vibrance. The Din Djarin Effect, you used to call it, a comforting distraction to indulge in when the rest of the world felt too close, too much all at once. 

You give yourself a tiny shake, forcing yourself to blink. Today’s too important for your career to lose focus.

Walking up to the pair, you greet Ahsoka first with a friendly nudge of your elbow against her arm. Blue eyes widen in surprise before she beams at you, utterly oblivious to the straightening of Din’s posture you catch out of the corner of your gaze. 

“Lightning, you made it!” Ahsoka’s one of your youngest employees, full of big emotions and just a tad bit impulsive at times, but Peli swears she’s got one of the brightest minds for vehicular engineering the woman’s ever come across in all her years. And that’s the exact kind of talent you want to surround yourself with these days.

“Welcome to the madhouse,” Din remarks dryly, and you hate the instant locking of your eyes with his, the sensation of a loss of control of your own self. You hate the reminder that for all the things time and distance have changed, there still remain some constants entirely uninfluenced by either. 

Still.  Better to have loved and lost than to have continued down the road you and your ex-boyfriend had been on, pretending things were fine when they were anything but. And having him here in Mos Espa, looking at you, speaking to you, that’s more than you had dared to hope for one week ago, parting ways in the diner; definitely more than five years ago, breaking up in the middle of your living room. 

You smile at him, unable to stop yourself. Another one of those pesky constants you can’t shake. “I’m glad you came,” you tell him genuinely. Then, a hint of teasing, “Forgot how nice you look all dolled up.”

He has ditched his usual oil-stained clothes for his clan armor, Mandalorian beskar pristinely forged by his mentor to fit his exact measurements. The rare metal glints dangerously in the afternoon sunshine streaming through the skylights, a far contrast from the soft and silky fabrics of the expensive suits other men have chosen for the occasion. It’s purposeful, this look, there isn’t a doubt in your mind. You can already imagine the numerous photos of champagne and fancy ties and plastic smiles online, and there Din will be, stubbornly resisting to blend in.

Honestly though? You would’ve been upset if he’d tried. 

His lips curl at the corner. “You don’t look half bad yourself, mesh’la.”

Maker. You’re tiptoeing the line of dangerous territory, feeling hot all over in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature. And judging from that look in Din’s eyes, a daring sort of regard, the bastard knows it.

“Have you seen the new Fett Firespray?” Ahsoka asks, her voice startling you out of your staring contest. Embarrassing, how easily you’d forgotten she was standing right next to you.

“It’s uglier than a shaved bantha’s ass,” Din remarks, so utterly deadpan it takes an incredible amount of self-discipline not to bark out a laugh. 

Ahsoka huffs, the kind of sound kids make when they think an adult has said  something stupid. Maker, she really is young, isn’t she? “It wasn’t that bad. All those customization options for the interior were pretty cool.”

The unimpressed scowl twisting Din’s mouth tells you exactly what he thinks about the options. Pretty cool definitely isn’t his opinion on the matter. No, you’d bet it’s on the complete other end of the spectrum. Which means that’s where your opinion can also be found.

Ahsoka may be the brightest of her generation, but Din is Din. When it comes to cars, there’s no one’s judgment you trust more. Another constant that’ll stretch the length of your combined lifetimes.

Fennec Shand and Peli approach at your side, putting an end to your conversation with Din before you’re ready for it. Your fists clench against the nervous energy pulsing in tandem with your heartbeat, then immediately slacken upon registering the unknown Duros accompanying them, red eyes peering at you with scrutiny.

“I’d like you all to meet the senior vice president of Fett Motor, Cad Bane.” Fennec introduces with a respectful dip of her chin, hands clasped behind her back. Her hair is styled in another long braid with intricately woven orange ties holding every strand in place. “Bane, this is Lightning Bolt.”

Rather than shake your outstretched hand, Bane merely tips his wide-brimmed hat in acknowledgement. His crimson stare never lessens in its intensity, as sharp as the pointy teeth peeking from his lipless mouth when he speaks.

“Afternoon, little lady. You look…rather ordinary outside of a race car,” he says, and that’s enough for you to determine three things. One: his voice is as deep and gravelly as the depths of a bottomless chasm. Two: he’s a master at intimidation. And three: he’ll mercilessly squish you beneath the heel of his boot the second you let your guard down.

You absolutely cannot show weakness in front of him.

“Ah, well, despite what the tabloids might say, I’ve always been just a regular, ordinary mortal girl.” You force your mouth up into a small grin, tacking on a rueful little laugh you learned over the years will smooth the spikes of even the prickliest of bastards. Hard to tell if it works on Bane, his features so stoic they might as well be carved out of stone. “I brought along one of my best mechanics, Ahsoka Tano. And this is my–”

You cut yourself off, triggered by the inaccuracy. The acknowledgement that Din isn’t your anything anymore. Once upon a time you were so close you might as well have been the same person. Tangled up in each other’s souls. Indistinguishable. LightningandDin. But the way Din’s looking at you, guarded in a way you aren’t used to seeing, well. Not everything can remain a constant after five years. 

Surprisingly, though, Din saves you from having to make up a label on the spot. “We’ve met.”

The curtness of his delivery throws you off. Your eyebrows furrow, flicking a quick glance between the two men, sensing a frosty tension that wasn’t there mere seconds ago.

“Yes,” Bane says, something in the drawl of the word you can’t determine. But it definitely isn’t pleasant. “We have.”

Curiosity and wariness fizzle uncomfortably in your stomach. Here and now isn’t the time or place to ask questions. Too many eyes. Too many cameras. 

The whole thing feels very…sharp. One wrong move and someone will wind up scarred forever. The jackrabbiting beat of your heart doesn’t offer any comfort to the situation either.

A hand lightly grasping your elbow is almost enough to have you biting through your bottom lip. Jerking your head to your side, you meet Fennec’s even gaze. A calm port in this brewing storm. 

“Walk with me?” It’s phrased as a request, but you and the woman both know it isn’t one. “There are a few details I need to discuss with you.”

You nod, and follow after Fennec with your head bowed, focusing on the taps of her boots against the stone floor. She leads you to another private room, a small nook empty except for a pair of Gamorrean security guards standing near a door which opens up to the courtyard swarming with people waiting for the big news to be announced. You suck in a breath, feeling like for the first time since you arrived your lungs stretch to their fullest capacity. 

“So, what is it?” you ask. “What details do we need to talk about?”

Fennec leans back against the wall. “Before you go give your speech, I need to make sure we’re on the same page regarding our future partnership and procedure going forward.”

You try your best, but you can’t stop the incredulous arching of your eyebrow. “Are you checking that I read the fine print of the contract?”

And something interesting happens then. Fennec’s jaw quirks, the faintest, most miniscule display of unease. “Well, it’s just–”

“Page 3 paragraph 2 explicitly states that responsibility for the day to day practical affairs of the Fett race team is handled by me,” you cut in, pointing your index finger at your chest. The bottle of pills in your pocket rattles with the movement, drawing Fennec’s eyes there for a split second before your sharp glare has them recentering on your face once more.

“That’s correct,” she agrees. There’s a carefulness to her voice you’ve heard before many times in your own tone. Used when the topic of conversation is a potentially explosive one that could result in tempers flying. “Day to day stuff, that’s your job. But in regard to broader decisions that may or may not affect the wider company…” Her tongue runs over her lower lip, buying a pause to plan her next words, before she eventually comes out with, “There’s going to have to be some give and take with the gotra.”

“The gotra,” you repeat, audibly clumsy and unfamiliar coming out of your mouth. 

“Senior creatives, Lightning.” Her expression is back to annoyingly neutral. “Just so everybody involved is comfortable.”

“Well, color me confused, Fennec.” You draw yourself up to full height, arms crossing over your chest. You might not be as intimidating as Cad Bane, but no one survives long in the racing world without a bit of iron in their spine and fire in their stare. “Because up until this exact moment, I was comfortable.”

“Look out there,” Fennec says, gesturing with a tilt of her head towards the courtyard, an MC standing on stage addressing the crowd. The same one you’ll be giving a speech to only a handful of minutes from now. “What do you see?”

Your eyes drift over each of the figures. There’s an air about them, sensed even from where you stand, suggesting they’ve never changed a tire in their lives, let alone picked up a hydrospanner. They’re pencil pushers, not grease monkeys. 

“You know what I see?” Fennec asks rhetorically when you say nothing, pointing a nail painted onyx black at the door. “A machine. Thousands of parts moving hopefully in harmony because it’s my job to make it so. And it’s my job to guide you through it.” The nail’s aimed at you now. You swallow, your mouth dry. “I am here to help you, Lightning Bolt. But we have to trust each other.”

A crack splits open your chest, aching and inflamed, upon the realization that Din was right. Controlling people is their specialty. You press your lips together into a thin line, knowing the assurance Fennec wants but you’re reluctant to give it. Trusting others has never been easy for you. It’s something that must be fairly earned, not handed out carelessly. That’s how you spare yourself unnecessary pain. 

The presenter’s wrapping up his opening welcome, you can hear the applause like distant thunder. You pull out your pill bottle, mechanically opening it and popping two into your mouth, all too aware of Fennec watching the entire process. The meds taste like ash on your tongue, scraping the tender inside of your throat, but they’ll serve their purpose of keeping you numb onstage. 

Tucking the bottle back away, you start to turn for the door. “Excuse me, Fennec.”

“Lightning,” she holds up a hand, reaching for your shoulder then quickly backtracking, awkwardly hovering in front of you. “Do not go on that stage if you don’t trust me.”

You stare her down. “I said, excuse me.”

Hearing the firmness in your tone, Fennec sighs, her shoulders slumping marginally. She yields and moves out of your way.

The walk up to the stage, the shaking of hands and greetings along the way–none of it truly registers. You’re just going through the motions. Like you’re on autopilot. Like…like someone else is pulling the strings.

“Hello everyone,” you say into the microphone, voice steady and emotions tightly wound in the depths of your chest. You introduce yourself with a bright, picture perfect smile. “Most of you probably know me better as Lightning Bolt though. And like my cars, I’ll make this fast.”

The crowd ripples with laughter, softening the edges of your smile into a slightly more genuine one. Sometimes there’s no reaction, just blank stares or, worse, eye rolls. Speeches have about a fifty-fifty risk of making you feel like you’re flying high or that you’ve just struck concrete face first. You never quite know what to expect until after your first attempt of cracking the ice.

This time, you’re soaring.

“I was just a youngling when my mother told me the luckiest souls are those who know what they want to do. Because they’ll never work a day in their lives.” The crowd shifts a little and you catch a glimpse of Fennec and Bane standing together with other authoritative-looking figures, including a massive black-furred Wookiee–the gotra you were warned about, you assume. It’s the man further behind them though, beskar gleaming like there’s a spotlight trained directly on him, that has your heart leaping. “But I’ve come to learn there’s a precious few in the galaxy who find something that they have to do with their lives. An obsession they can’t shake. Pushing them to their farthest corners.”

You’re hyper-aware of the hundreds of eyes on you–of Din’s eyes on you, sunlight turning the dark brown into liquid gold smoldering in a forge–and you rapidly try to organize your thoughts as memorized words spill from your lips because time is running out and you have to make a decision.

Why is it, whenever you find yourself faced with making one of the hardest choices of your life, Din can be found at the bleeding center? Why do they always involve him?

“I’m one of ‘em.” You remind yourself to take a breath, that you have to breathe even as it feels like your insides are being crushed. “And I know one man who feels exactly the same.”

Din hasn’t blinked, staring at you like he always does in your dreams, and just like in those dreams all you want is to reach out and touch him. 

“His name…”

He’s your weakness. Always has been, always will be. 

“His name is Boba Fett.”

Time seems to stand still, captured in ice, chilling you to the bone, and Din’s eyes have widened, you can see it from here, see how he can’t believe what you’ve just said.

And you–you taste the name like poison. You’ve never even met the Daimyo, unable to cut out a hole in his schedule big enough for a face to face conversation with you. He didn’t even come out of his palace to make an appearance at his own damn car launch. You can’t pull your words out of the air though, can’t erase them from anyone’s minds because the ice shatters with roaring applause. 

You might smile, your lips are numb so it’s hard to tell. You want to say: Forgive me, love. Forgive me for surrendering to them. Maybe you would if not for the threat of the gotra hanging above your head like a knife. 

Some things must be hidden behind closed doors. And sometimes…sometimes you must put your career first above all else.

Averting your gaze back to Fennec, you nod at her as you pitch your voice over the cheers. “And together, we’ll make history. We’re going to build and race the fastest car the BEC’s ever seen. I personally guarantee it.”

You step back from the podium and wave both hands, pretending it’s excitement twisting your guts into knots. You might’ve fallen for it, if not for the last second guilty glance at the back of the crowd, stomach dropping at the lack of familiar brown eyes and beskar. 

Funny, how quickly soaring can switch to plummeting when one flies too close to the sun.

And all you can do now is brace for the inevitable impact, hoping you made the right choice.