#i just. like medical stuff??? it’s calming in a way. knowing that i’m getting tested and hopefully getting answers to my health concerns
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seventh-district · 2 years ago
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CW: talkin’ about my scars and the experience of having blood drawn
oh, the tension between me and the poor urgent care staff member that’s been assigned the arduous task of trying to find one of my tiny escape artist veins so they can draw my blood whilst doing their absolute best to be polite and not say anything about the fucked up and concerning amount of scars on my arms, wrists, and hands
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eu-nicola · 2 months ago
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the fastest driver part 3
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summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc
warnings: take of pills
word counter: 7364
author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍
tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @ananyasribughead @supertrashbread @amalialeclerc @rawr-123s-stuff @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress @sweetmuffynsblog @vjbillno
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Endless hours passed after the accident before the first clear update about your condition reached the media and the paddock. Everyone was anxiously waiting for news about your health. The uncertainty left fans, journalists, and especially those who truly knew you in a state of tense anticipation.
Finally, a statement from the hospital's medical team brought some relief: you were stable and conscious. While initial tests had ruled out serious spinal injuries or significant fractures, the impact had been severe, leaving you with a moderate concussion and several internal bruises that required monitoring. What concerned the doctors most were the potential psychological and emotional aftereffects: the nature of the crash, the impact, and all the built-up stress could take a toll later.
Hours later, you woke up in a hospital room softly lit by the afternoon light. Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside your bed. Your body felt heavy, like it was filled with lead, and the headache was sharp and constant. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed someone sitting nearby.
It was Charles. He was there, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, as if praying or just trying to calm his own nerves. When he saw you stir slightly, he lifted his head, and his expression changed a mix of relief and worry crossed his face.
“You’re awake,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to scare you. “Thank God.”
You hadn’t expected to see him there. In fact, you hadn’t expected to see anyone. And yet, here he was.
“Charles…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out as barely a whisper.
“Shhh, don’t talk too much. The doctors said you need to rest.”
“What are you doing here?” you asked, ignoring his warning, even though just talking felt like needles stabbing your skull.
He shrugged, offering a light but sincere smile.  
“Someone had to make sure you were okay.”
Charles stayed by your side for hours, even when the doctors came in and out to check on you. He answered questions from the journalists crowding outside the hospital, desperate for a statement, and refused requests from photographers trying to get a shot of you. There was something unusually warm and protective about the way he acted.
As you lay back, eyes closed to avoid making the headache worse, you heard his voice.
“You scared me, you know? I’ve never seen anything so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “So violent. Not since Jules. And when I saw the crash on the screen, I thought the worst.”
You opened your eyes and looked at him. There was sincerity in his face, something you hadn’t expected.
“I’m okay… sort of.” You tried to joke, but the pain turned it into a grimace.
“No, you’re not okay. But you will be. You have to be.”
As Charles stayed with you, messages started pouring in. Your phone sat on the bedside table, just out of reach, and Charles offered to read some.
“Everyone’s worried about you. Here’s one from Lando… and even one from Toto. Seems like the entire F1 world is waiting for you to get better.”
“Who else?” you asked, almost dreading the answer.
Charles scrolled through, his expression hardening briefly before softening again.
“Max,” he said simply.
Your heart stopped for a moment. You didn’t know what to expect. Since the accident, you’d assumed Max was too caught up in his own world to care, but the fact that he’d written at all was enough to twist your stomach.
“What does it say?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though you knew Charles could see right through you.
He hesitated before answering.
“‘Hope you’re okay. Sorry I wasn’t there sooner. Let me know if you need anything.’”
The neutrality of the words didn’t match the intensity of what you felt hearing them. You closed your eyes, trying to process it all. What did that message even mean? Was it just courtesy, or was there something more behind those words?
Charles noticed your discomfort and set the phone aside.
“You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to.”
“I won’t,” you said quickly, though part of you knew that wasn’t true.
As night fell, Charles finally said goodbye, promising to return the next day. There was something comforting about his presence, how he’d set aside any competitiveness or formality just to be there for you. Yet, when you were left alone, the thoughts began to overwhelm you.
The crash, the messages, the worries it all tangled into a mess of emotions you couldn’t unravel. The only thing clear was that while you were physically stable, emotionally, you were far from okay.
After that day in the hospital, Charles became a constant presence in your life. His support wasn’t limited to encouraging messages or occasional visits. He went beyond that. Where others saw a moral obligation or an opportunity to score points with the media, he saw something else: a chance to show you that you weren’t alone.  
The medical team made it clear you could return to racing, but not without certain restrictions. You had to stick to a strict combination of medications after every race: anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and supplements to manage the physical and mental stress you still felt after the accident. Charles was the first person to offer to help you with this. It wasn’t his responsibility, but he seemed to take on the role without hesitation.  
The first race after the accident was a mental and physical challenge. As you prepared to get back in the cockpit, fear swirled in your chest. The accident was fresh in your memory, and even though you knew you were capable, there was a shadow of doubt you couldn’t shake.  
The day before the race, Charles showed up at your hotel. He had a small bag in hand and a calm expression, almost as if it was meant to soothe you.  
"I thought you might need this," he said, placing the bag on the table.  
Inside, there was a box of relaxing tea, a small book about mental strategies in sports, and a handwritten note. When you opened it, you found a simple phrase: "You’re stronger than you think."  
"Thank u," you said, moved by the gesture.  
"You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to know I’m here, okay? If you need to talk, if you need anything..."  
You nodded, grateful for his sincerity. For a long time, you’d felt alone in this world. It was strange to realize someone was willing to stand by your side without asking for anything in return.  
Race day was a whirlwind. Even though you tried to stay calm, every time you sat in the car, the memory of the crash resurfaced. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, reminding yourself you’d done this thousands of times before, that you were capable—one of the best.  
The race wasn’t easy, but you finished in a solid fifth place, a result any other driver would’ve considered a success under the circumstances. When you got out of the car, exhausted but relieved, Charles was the first to approach you.  
"Well done," he said, patting your shoulder.  
After every race, Charles made sure you followed the medical protocol. Sometimes, when you forgot the pills, he’d show up holding the box, reminding you that your health came first.  
"How do you even know I haven’t taken them?" you asked one day, half-joking.  
"Because I know you well enough to know you hate depending on this stuff," he said with a smile, handing you the water and pills.  
It was strange how his presence had gone from sporadic to constant. He wasn’t just there for the serious moments; he also found ways to make you laugh, to lighten the weight on your shoulders.  
It wasn’t something you’d planned or even imagined after everything you’d been through, but your friendship with Charles was good for you. So much so that you felt comfortable asking him something after noticing he’d been off for a while. You’d seen his behavior become quieter than usual, even in the paddock, where he usually managed to keep up appearances in front of the cameras.  
"Are you okay? You seem... off."  
His response came almost immediately.  
"Do you have time to talk?"  
You invited him to your place, where you saw a different side of Charles. He’d shed his usual composure and looked... vulnerable, almost like the facade he kept in public had cracked.  
"Thanks for this," he said, sitting on the small couch as you handed him a bottle of water.  
"You don’t have to thank me, Charles. What’s going on?"  
He sighed, fiddling with the cap of the bottle before speaking.  
"It’s... complicated. Ferrari doesn’t feel like my team anymore."  
You frowned, surprised by his words.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Since Lewis joined this year, everything changed. I knew it would be different, it’s Lewis Hamilton, of course but I didn’t think it’d be like this," he confessed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I feel like everything revolves around him. The strategies, the resources, even the engineers’ attention... It’s like I’m a shadow in my own team."  
You felt a pang in your chest hearing that. It was almost an exact replica of what you’d felt when you shared a team with him at Ferrari.  
"Charles... you don’t know how much I get it," you said, sitting across from him. "That feeling of being invisible, like your efforts don’t matter... I went through the same thing with you."  
He looked up, surprised by your honesty.  
"Really?"  
"Yeah. Do you remember all those team orders? All those moments where no matter how fast I was, they always put me aside to favor you. It’s... frustrating. It makes you question everything you do."  
Charles nodded slowly, processing your words.  
"I guess I never saw it from your perspective. I always thought the team’s decisions were fair, but now... now I know what it feels like."  
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.  
"Charles, I know how hard this is. But what you need to remember is that your talent doesn’t depend on them. Ferrari is just one team, one stage in your career—it doesn’t define who you are as a driver."  
"How did you deal with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.  
"At first, I didn’t," you admitted. "I kept everything inside, let the frustration eat me up... until I couldn’t take it anymore. But I learned something: you can’t let them take away what you love about this sport. If Ferrari doesn’t value you the way they should, then prove your worth on the track. Force them to see you."  
Charles nodded slowly, as if your words were beginning to sink in.  
"It’s easier said than done," he said, with a bitter smile.  
"I know. But I also know you have the talent to do it."  
The conversation went on for hours, shifting from serious topics to shared memories and stories from your days at Ferrari. It was strange, but comforting, to share that space with him. He’d gone from being the rival who overshadowed you at your lowest to someone you could fully trust.  
When he finally stood to leave, Charles paused at the door and looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before.  
"Thank you for this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."  
"I’m always here. You know that."  
As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Charles was so much more than you’d ever thought. And somehow, he’d brought out the best in you too.
While you were helping Charles find his way in a team that relegated him to second place, you couldn’t ignore the fact that your own demons were still lurking. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Max remained a constant presence both on the track and in your personal life.  
Since your move to McLaren, the rivalry with Max had reached a new level. If before you shared moments of camaraderie and confidences, now every interaction was loaded with tension. And not just on the track.  
The championship was on fire. You and Max were leading the standings, swapping first and second place race after race. On every circuit, every corner, and every straight, it felt like only the two of you existed. It didn’t matter who else made it to the podium; the battle was always between you and him.  
During qualifying, both of you pushed to the limit, but an incident in Q3 left Max without a lap time. As soon as he got out of the car, Max stormed straight toward you, visibly furious.  
“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice sharp as he closed the distance between you in the paddock.  
“What was what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.  
“You blocked me on my flying lap.”  
“Max, you were too far behind when I started my lap. I didn’t block you.”  
“Of course you did!” he insisted, stepping even closer. His blue eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.  
The argument caught the attention of journalists and members of both teams. You knew that one wrong word could make headlines the next day, so you chose to stay calm.  
“If you have a problem, take it up with the stewards, not me,” you said before turning and walking away, leaving Max with the words stuck in his throat.  
But the tension wasn’t confined to the track. It had started to bleed into your personal lives. Even though both of you tried to avoid each other outside of race weekends, coincidences were inevitable especially at sponsor events or official meetings.  
At one of these events, an FIA gala in Monaco, Max couldn’t resist looking for you in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, you were talking to Charles, laughing at something he’d said. The sight seemed to ignite something in Max, and he couldn’t hold back as he approached.  
“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting into the conversation.  
Charles glanced at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution, before stepping back to let you decide.  
“What do you want, Max?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.  
“You and Charles, what’s going on between you two?” he asked quietly, though his tone carried an accusatory edge.  
“What kind of question is that?” you replied, crossing your arms.  
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing it, but… every time I see you two together, I can’t help thinking that…”  
“That what?” you interrupted, annoyed. “That maybe someone else can actually support me and understand me in this chaos that you chose to ignore?”  
Max pressed his lips together, clearly feeling the sting of your words. But instead of responding, he looked away and muttered:  
“You still know how to twist everything around.”  
The conversation was left unfinished, but the night didn’t end there. Later, as you tried to avoid him, you found Max alone on the terrace of the venue, staring out at the sea, his figure illuminated by the lights.  
“Why do you do this?” you asked, walking toward him. Your tone was no longer defiant but tired.  
“Do what?” he asked without looking at you.  
“Show up, disappear, demand things from me that you can’t even give yourself. You’re still with her, and yet…”  
Max closed his eyes, as if your words were too heavy to bear.  
“I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted finally, turning to face you. “You and me… I don’t know how to handle it.”  
“Then maybe you should stop trying,” you said, though your voice cracked at the end.  
The silence between you was deafening. Too many unsaid emotions, too many decisions both of you refused to make. Finally, Max stepped back.  
“It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”  
And with that, he left, leaving you alone on the terrace, feeling like the two of you were trapped in a vicious cycle neither of you knew how to escape.  
In the days that followed, you tried to focus on racing and your friendship with Charles, who had become a kind of refuge in the chaos. But every time you saw Max, every time your eyes met in the paddock, you felt the storm lingering, waiting for the right moment to break again.  
The rivalry on the track only grew more intense. Max and you raced as if every race was the last, as if the championship depended on who was stronger, more determined, more ruthless. But off the track, you both continued to grapple with the same internal conflict: what you felt for each other and what the world expected of you.  
You and Max were the top contenders for the title, and every race turned into a war. The media called it “the battle of the century,” comparing it to the legendary Senna-Prost rivalry. Every overtake, every strategy, every word in a press conference was scrutinized.  
At the Brazilian Grand Prix, things came to a head. From the first lap, the fight between you and Max was fierce. You knew every one of his tricks, every weakness, every strength. There were moments when the cars seemed to touch, pushing the limits of competition to the extreme.  
On lap 43, you attempted an overtake on the inside of Turn 1, but Max, in his trademark aggressive style, shut the door almost recklessly. Your front tires brushed his, and though both of you managed to maintain control, the incident was enough to set off commentators and social media.  
“This is unacceptable!” your engineer shouted over the radio. “We’re reporting it.”  
But you didn’t want to win the championship through a penalty.  
“Leave it. I’ll settle it on the track,” you said, with a determination that surprised even yourself.  
In the end, you finished second, behind Max, but the battle was epic. Fans were divided, some siding with you, others defending Max. But in your mind, one thought started to take root: maybe you’d had enough of this world.  
After that race, you decided to take a break. You flew back to your hometown to spend time with your family, seeking comfort in their presence. One night, sitting in the garden of your parents’ house, you opened up to your mom.  
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admitted, staring at the stars. “Every race feels like a battle not just on the track, but inside me, too.”  
Your mom, always wise and patient, looked at you with gentle understanding.  
“Then why do you keep going?”
You stayed silent for a moment, searching for the words.  
“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Since I was a kid, my entire world has revolved around racing. But lately… lately, I feel like I want something more. I want a normal life, a family. I want to stop fighting all the time.”
“What’s stopping you?.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what that life would look like, or who it would be with.”
It was the first time you’d said those words out loud. The idea of giving up Formula 1, of walking away from everything you’d worked so hard for, was terrifying but also freeing.  
You couldn’t help but think of Max. Even though your relationship was broken, and the rivalry had reached its peak, there was still something about him pulling you in. But the question that haunted you was: did he feel the same?  
Max was still with his partner, at least publicly. But his actions, his looks, even his comments during races, hinted at something more. Could you build a life with someone who seemed incapable of facing his own feelings?  
“Maybe it’s not Max,” you muttered to yourself that night, curled up on the couch in your childhood bedroom. “Maybe it’s someone else. Or maybe I just need to find myself first.”
When you returned to the paddock for the US Grand Prix, something had shifted inside you. You hadn’t made any final decisions, but you knew this chapter of your life was nearing its end. Still, as long as you were in F1, you were going to give it everything you had.  
In the pre-race interviews, journalists bombarded you with questions about your rivalry with Max.  
“Is it personal?,” one of them asked with a sly grin.  
“Everything in Formula 1 is personal,” you replied with a wry smile, offering no further explanation.  
Max, sitting next to you at the press conference, shot you a sideways glance but said nothing. The tension between you two was palpable, even in front of the cameras.  
That race turned into yet another head-to-head battle between the two of you. During the final laps, the radio chatter grew more intense.  
“He’s losing rear grip. Push him.”
“I already am!,” you snapped, pushing the car to its limit.  
In the last lap, you pulled off a risky overtake that left everyone stunned. You won the race, and as you stepped out of the car, you felt a mix of euphoria and exhaustion.  
While celebrating with your team, your thoughts drifted back to your conversation with your mom. Maybe this was the ending you’d been searching for, or maybe it was just the start of something new.  
Max watched you from the podium, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t decipher. In the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder: could you ever leave it all behind, even him?  
The next race, under the scorching Qatar sun, felt heavier, both in the air and in the paddock. Everything about this second-to-last race of the season felt like a countdown to something inevitable. You and Max were tied in points, both neck and neck after a season of epic battles, controversies, and moments that had pushed you to the edge emotionally.  
The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable. Though your relationship with your team was excellent, you knew the pressure was on you. Lando tried to lighten the mood with his usual sense of humor, but even his energy couldn’t cut through the wall of your thoughts.  
“Come on, don’t be so serious. We could both use a win today,” he joked while adjusting his gloves.  
“Sure, but if you win, I won’t complain,” you replied with a faint smile, though you both knew that wasn’t true. This race meant everything to you.  
Meanwhile, Charles had sent a message that morning: ‘Remember, one race at a time. You can do this. You’ve already proven you’re the best.’ His unwavering support had become one of the few things keeping you mentally afloat during this emotional rollercoaster.  
From qualifying, it was clear this race would be another direct battle between you and Max. Both of you blocked every attempt the other made to set the fastest time, ending up on the front row: Max on pole, you in second.  
The start was clean but intense. From the first corner, Max showed his usual aggression, shutting you out in an attempt to stay ahead. But you knew this game; he had taught you how to play it. You used the slipstream on the main straight, and on lap five, you overtook him with a surgical move in turn 6.  
For a moment, the world seemed to stop as you led the race, but you knew the real battle had just begun.  
Midway through the race, things heated up. Teams began to play with strategies, and tire choices became crucial. On lap 32, as you exited the pits after a tire change, Max appeared beside you. The overtake that followed was so tight the two cars brushed slightly, sparking an explosion of shouting over the radio.  
“That was way too close!,” your engineer protested, but you were too focused to respond.  
Max didn’t back down. In the following laps, he kept relentless pressure on you, looking for any weakness in your defense. On lap 48, he attempted an inside overtake on a tight corner, but you managed to hold your position with a move that left everyone on the edge of their seats.  
In the final laps, your mind was torn between the adrenaline of the race and the mental exhaustion you’d been carrying all season. Max was glued to your diffuser, but he made a small mistake on the second-to-last corner, giving you just enough of a margin to cross the finish line first.  
Your team’s shout over the radio was deafening:  
“Victory! You’re incredible, what a race!.”
But you didn’t have time to celebrate. As you parked the car in parc fermé, reality hit you: this victory only meant you were still tied in points, and everything would come down to the final race.  
The journalists were in a frenzy. In the post-race press conference, the questions came at you like bullets.  
“How do you handle the pressure heading into the last race?.”
“Calmly. One race at a time.” you replied, echoing Charles’ words, even though calm was the last thing you felt.  
Max, sitting beside you, spoke after you.  
“I always knew this season would be decided in the end. I’m ready for it.”
His gaze met yours for a second, and in that brief moment, the tension between you two felt more personal than ever.  
Back at the hotel, you tried to disconnect, but it was impossible. Your mind raced, replaying every detail of the race and anticipating what was to come. Charles called to congratulate you but also to remind you to rest.  
“Don’t let this consume you, okay?,” he said, his tone serious but kind. “You’ve done an amazing job, and you have everything you need to win.”
“Thanks, Charles. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I don’t know what you’d do without me either,” he joked, managing to make you laugh.
However, when you hung up, you kept staring at the ceiling of your room, wondering if you were truly ready to face everything the final race was about to bring.  
Even though you hadn’t seen Max since the press conference, you knew he was just as restless as you. Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t help but think about him, about how this rivalry had consumed everything you once shared.  
Is this really what you wanted? To keep fighting, keep competing, keep losing yourself in the process?  
You closed your eyes, trying to calm your thoughts. Just one race left. One final battle. And after that, maybe you’d finally have the answers you’d been searching for.  
The last week of the season was a whirlwind of emotions, preparations, and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The entire paddock was on edge. Everything would be decided in Abu Dhabi.  
Escaping the media’s attention was impossible. Cameras followed you everywhere, looking for any reaction that could turn into a headline. The atmosphere at McLaren was optimistic but tense. You’d brought the team to its highest point in years, and that was already a monumental achievement. But for you, it wasn’t enough. You wanted that title.  
During the press conferences, the questions were relentless. You and Max were the center of attention. Though both of you kept calm outwardly, the discomfort between you was obvious. Every word, every gesture was analyzed by the journalists.  
“How do you feel heading into this decisive race?” they asked you during one of the press rounds.  
“Focused. This is what we’ve worked for all year. I just want to do my job and see what happens,” you replied diplomatically, though inside your heart was racing.  
Max, sitting next to you, simply said:  
“I’m focused too. We both know what’s at stake. May the best win.”  
There was a moment when your eyes met, but it was fleeting. There were so many words left unsaid between you, and the weight of that silence felt unbearable.  
In the final strategy meeting with your team, the tension was palpable. You knew every decision would matter, every detail could be the difference between winning and losing. Your race engineer, always meticulous, reviewed the plans calmly, but even you could tell he was nervous.  
“I believe in you. You’ve proven you can do this,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder before you left the garage.  
Lando, on the other hand, tried to lighten the mood with a joke.  
“If you don’t win, can I keep the consolation trophy?” he said with a cheeky grin.  
“There won’t be a consolation trophy,” you replied with a smirk.  
That day, Yas Marina Circuit was lit up like a jewel in the desert, and the atmosphere was electric. Before getting in the car, you took a moment for yourself. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and visualized every corner, every move. You knew you had to give it everything.  
The anthem played, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. Max was beside you on the grid. Though you didn’t speak, you could feel his presence, his energy. You both knew this race wasn’t just about the championship but also everything that had happened between you.  
The start was flawless. From the first corner, you and Max were locked in an intense battle. Neither of you gave an inch. Every lap was a fight, every overtake a statement. The rest of the drivers might as well have been racing in a different category; it was as if this championship was meant to be decided between just the two of you.  
On lap 35, a slow pit stop almost cost you the race, but you quickly recovered, overtaking Max in a spectacular move on lap 42. The crowd went wild.  
But Max wasn’t going to give up. On lap 50, he took the lead back, forcing you slightly off the track. It was an aggressive move, but clean—classic Max.  
In the final five laps, both of you were at the limit. Your hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline, but your focus was unshakable. In the penultimate lap, you found a gap on the main straight and passed Max on the inside. This time, he had no answer.  
When you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to stop for a moment before exploding in celebration. You’d done it. You were a world champion.  
Your team screamed over the radio, their voices full of tears and joy.  
“You’re the world champion! You did it!”  
As you climbed out of the car, the emotions overwhelmed you. Your team surrounded you, celebrating. Lando was one of the first to hug you, shouting:  
“I told you! I knew you’d do it!”  
As you stood with your team, your eyes instinctively searched for Max. He was there, watching you from a distance. Slowly, he approached, his steps a mix of pride and resignation.  
When he reached you, he extended his hand.  
“Congratulations,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.  
“Thanks, Max,” you replied, shaking his hand. For a moment, his eyes reflected something that looked like regret, but he said nothing more. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.  
That night was magical. There was laughter, tears, toasts. The tension of the entire season melted away in a whirlwind of emotions. Charles called to congratulate you, and his genuine happiness was like a balm to your heart.  
“I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.  
As the celebration went on, you took a moment to reflect. You’d reached the pinnacle of the world, but you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your life. The future was full of uncertainty, but that night, you decided to enjoy the present, savoring every moment of your triumph.  
The emotional hangover the next day was overwhelming. It wasn’t physical, nor from the celebration, but a deep emptiness you hadn’t expected to feel after achieving the dream of your life. You’d won the Formula 1 World Championship, the peak of your career, but instead of feeling complete, you felt lost.
You woke up in your hotel room, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Around you, there were remnants of the celebration: a half-empty champagne glass on the table, the dress you wore last night carelessly thrown over a chair. The trophy, shiny and imposing, sat on the nightstand, but as you looked at it, you didn’t feel the euphoria you’d imagined for years.  
You got up and walked to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was different from the one you were used to. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion from the season; it was something deeper a sense of disconnect with yourself.  
You spent the morning avoiding your phone, even though you knew the notifications had to be flooding in. Messages of congratulations, articles from the media, videos of the highlights... but you weren’t ready to face it yet. Instead of feeling celebrated, you felt isolated.  
The idea had been lingering in your mind for weeks, maybe even months. The crash, the endless emotional struggles, the pressure to always be the best... it had all left its mark. And now, after achieving what you’d always dreamed of, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep going anymore.  
During breakfast with your parents, you decided to share your thoughts. You’d avoided bringing it up before, afraid of their reactions, but now felt like the right time.  
“I’ve been thinking about something... important,” you said, breaking the silence while fiddling with your coffee mug.  
Your mom looked at you with concern.  
“Are you okay? Does this have to do with Formula 1?”  
You shook your head.  
“No… well, partly, yes. Like I said, I’ve been reflecting, and I think... I don’t want to keep racing anymore.”  
The silence that followed was heavy. Your dad, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to speak.  
“Are you sure? You’ve worked your whole life for this.”  
“I know, Dad. But I’ve also given it everything I had. And now I feel like if I keep going, it’ll just be out of habit, not because I really want to.”  
Your mom took your hand.  
“We’ve always wanted you to be happy, no matter what you do. If you feel this is the time to stop, we’ll support you.”  
That conversation was the turning point. Over the following days, you talked to your team, Lando, and even Charles, who, although surprised, understood your decision. Lando tried to convince you to stay for one more year.  
“Are you really going to leave me here alone? We were just starting to have fun!” he joked, though there was genuine sadness in his eyes.  
“It’s your time, Lando. I’m sure you’ll do amazing things,” you replied, hugging him.  
Charles, on the other hand, was more serious.  
“I didn’t see this coming, but I get it. Just… promise me you won’t disappear completely.”  
“I won’t. I’ll always be here, even if it’s just as a spectator.”  
That same night, after hours of figuring out how to word it, you sat in front of the camera in your room. You were nervous, not about the decision, but about how the world would react. You wore a simple t-shirt, your hair tied back. You wanted the message to be honest, without distractions.  
‘Hi, everyone. I know this isn’t the video you were expecting after the incredible season we just had, but I wanted to share something important with you...’
You took a deep breath before continuing.  
‘I’ve decided to retire from Formula 1. This year has been the most exciting but also the most exhausting of my life. Winning the championship was a dream come true, but it also made me realize it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.’
You paused, letting your words sink in.  
‘This wasn’t an easy decision. Formula 1 has been my life for so many years that I barely remember what it was like before. But I also know I want other things. I want time for myself, for my family, to explore who I am outside of this sport.’
Your voice wavered slightly, but you kept going.  
‘I want to thank my team, my teammates, my rivals, and, of course, the fans. Without your support, none of this would’ve been possible.’
When you finished, you turned off the camera and fell onto the bed. It wasn’t immediate relief, but there was something freeing about putting an end to that chapter.  
The video was released the next day and, as expected, caused a storm. The media debated your decision, fans flooded social media with messages of support and gratitude, and some even expressed disbelief.  
Charles sent you a text:  
“I saw it. I’m proud of you. You’ll do amazing things, no matter where you go.”  
And Max, who had avoided talking to you since the last race, also sent a short message:  
“You were the best. I always knew it. I hope you find what you’re looking for and that you forgive me.”  
Even though his words were few, they left a lump in your throat.  
That night, while staring at the stars from your balcony, you realized that, even though the future was uncertain, you were ready to face it.  
Weeks passed since your decision, and life finally seemed to find its rhythm. The constant noise of racing and the pressure to be the best slowly faded. But deep down, you felt like something or someone was still missing.  
Your house, now quieter than ever, became your sanctuary. You spent those days focusing on yourself, resting, discovering what you truly liked outside the track. But even in the peace of your own thoughts, Max lingered in your mind. He wasn’t a constant thought, but you’d remember him, especially when news of his breakup with his girlfriend started circulating. That, unexpectedly, stirred something in you, a knot in your stomach.  
Late one night, your phone buzzed. The name on the screen made you hesitate for a second. Max.  
The message was short, direct.  
“Can I see you? I need to talk to you.”  
You didn’t think much about it. You knew this conversation needed to happen eventually. You’d been avoiding it, but now it felt like the universe was putting it in your path.  
You agreed to meet at your house the next day, and when the door opened, there he was. Max, with that intense, direct gaze that had known you for years. Now, though, there was something different something more vulnerable.  
“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual.  
You invited him in, and he settled on the couch like it was his own home. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unresolved emotions.  
“I don’t know where to start,” he began, with a nervous smile.  
“Neither do I,” you replied, sitting across from him.  
The two of you just sat there, watching each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Max spoke.  
“Breaking up with her... wasn’t easy. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t keep lying to myself. The truth is… I never stopped thinking about you.”  
Your heart skipped a beat, and a lump formed in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Max, always so sure of himself, seemed completely different now.  
“Max... I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been on such different paths. You… always so focused on F1, on competing… and me too. Things were never easy between us, and now… I don’t know if any of this makes sense.”  
He nodded, understanding what you meant.  
“I know. I’ve been an idiot. I thought I could keep everything under control, but in the end… I lost what mattered most.”  
He looked at you intently, and in his eyes was a sincerity that made you question everything you’d been thinking until that moment.  
“But that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about what we had. If anything, it’s taken me time to realize that… maybe there’s something here we never really figured out.”  
You stayed silent, processing his words. The tension was thick, but something in his voice made you want to listen, even though you knew the situation was complicated.  
“And what is it that you want, Max?” you asked, your voice a bit shaky.  
“I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, sad smile. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or to go back to what we had. But I think… we should at least try. Not now, not right away, but… maybe we can see what happens, without the pressures of F1, without everything that kept us apart.”  
You got up and walked to the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. Max watched you from the couch, waiting for your response. The atmosphere between you had shifted somehow, and for the first time, it felt like you had both let go of the fight to always be the best.  
You turned to look at him.  
“I’m not sure I’m ready to start something new. After all, I made the decision to retire for a reason, Max. I’ve spent so much time on F1 that now I need to rediscover myself. And I don’t know what I want.”  
Max got up from the couch, slowly approaching you.  
“I get it. I’m not expecting it to be easy, or for everything to be resolved right now. But I want you to know I’m not pressuring you. I just… wanted you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll be here. And if someday you decide what we had is worth another shot, I’ll be ready to try, no matter the past.”  
A deep silence followed his words. You knew there was still so much to figure out between the two of you, but something about his attitude, about his willingness to wait, struck a chord within you.  
You didn’t say anything else. You walked toward him, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. The look in your eyes said it all. Still, there were no promises, no certainties just a silent understanding that, maybe, the future could be different. Maybe even together.  
“We’ll see what happens,” you finally said.  
Max nodded, not pushing, knowing that time would have to decide the course for both of you. And with that response, the future remained suspended between you, open, uncertain, but carrying a possibility that hadn’t existed before.
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scarlethexelove · 1 year ago
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Your newest fic was amazing!! It hit me right in the feels. Is there a possibility of doing a part 2 where R is healing and struggling with having Wand and Natasha back in her life? A happy ending would be nice.
What About Now?
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Pairing: WandaNat x Reader, Carol Danvers x Reader
Word Count: 3590
Warnings: A bit of angst(I guess), Fluff, Medical stuff that may not be right, mention of not wanting to survive
Part 1 I Don't Even Know You Anymore
A/n: Ok so finally got this done. It has some unspecified time jumps. I wanted to kind of leave it a surprise on who Reader will choose so you will just have to read to find out. Hopefully it's good.
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN
It’s been a week since you woke up.Your mind reeling at the news that you will never be an Avenger again. Your injuries were extensive. Your head injury with your new found stutter which you are really hating. Doctors believe that those effects can be reversed with speech therapy. Along with that it was discovered that a bullet had grazed your spinal cord. While they did test your reflexes they came back weak. Your lower half is feeling slightly numb and tingling. With physical therapy they are hopeful for improvements but with the prognosis things will be difficult. There was also nerve damage that will cause ongoing pain. It comes and goes and some days are worse than others. But you’re alive and that is all that matters. 
Your mind goes through all the questions you have in your head. Will Tony make you leave? How do I tell everyone? How do I stop the pity? Was I better off not surviving? All these questions and you have no answers. No one knows of the news you got today leaving you alone with your thoughts but with this news you prefer it. 
As your mind plays through all the questions you don’t even hear the door open. But you're drawn to it when it shuts. You look down at your hands not meeting the eyes on you believe it is Wanda and Natasha who have visited frequently. “P-please leave. I c-can’t with this to-today.” You fiddle with the ends of your sleeves. “Well I did travel across six galaxies to see my best friend but I guess I’ll have to come back later.” Your eyes snap up and you're met with a soft smile from your best friend. “Ca-carol?” The tears start to well up in your eyes before a broken sob breaks through. Carol is quick to move towards you. Climbing onto the edge of the bed and pulling you into her chest. 
You sob for what seems like hours until your sobs turn to soft sniffles and hiccups. But Carol never leaves hugging you tightly against her as she rubs your back and kisses your head softly. Cooing in your ear to help calm you down. “Y/n/n do you want to tell me what is going on? I heard you were hurt so I came straight here.” You nod, pulling away to look at her before letting it all out. Telling her what happened from when you got back from your mission all the way until earlier today. She intently listens to you and lets you speak. There is no pity in her eyes, only love and compassion, no malice even when talking about what Wanda and Natasha did to you. Only concern for you and your wellbeing. That was why she was your best friend. She knew you better than anyone. 
Once you are done she finally speaks. “I wish I was here. I wish I could have been here for you, to take care of you but I’m here now.” She kisses your forehead again lightly. Her lips linger just a little longer than they should but you don’t mind. Her warmth comforts you. “W-what about m-mi-mission?” She shakes her head. “I’m here for you. Y/n/n you come first.” Your heart melts. “Nick granted me time off.” She smiles brightly at you. Your joy and excitement to have your bestfriend back. 
From all the events of the day and crying your eyes out you start to get tired. You're nuzzling into Carol's chest as you let out a yawn. “Get some rest sweetheart. You need it. I’ll be here when you wake up.” She kisses your head again and pulls you closer to her. You give her a gentle nod nuzzling closer to her before you close your eyes. Drifting off into the most peaceful sleep you have had in almost a year. 
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In the months since waking up from your coma and Carol’s return you have grown even closer to Carol. Tonight just like any other night or so you think. You and Carol are sitting in your bed watching a movie for your weekly movie night. Your head is laying on her shoulder, her arm wrapped around you tightly keeping you close. You let out a giggle at something in the movie causing Carol to smile at you. What she does next you don’t expect. She places a finger under your chin gently directing you to look at her. She leans in and gently kisses your lips. You're too shocked to kiss back at first. But once the shock wears off you start kissing her back. It feels strange but good. The kiss deepens her hands cupping your face as you grip at her waist. You didn’t even realize how long you two had been kissing until you're forced to pull back panting and catch your breath. Her forehead pressed against yours as your breaths mingle. 
You don’t want to admit that your feelings for Carol have grown with the more time you have spent with her but you're not sure if they are romantic or not. “Carol” You whisper between you two. You lean your head back and look into her eyes. “I-I don’t know. I’m not ready. I don’t know how I feel. I’m sorry.” You look down disappointed in yourself but you know that you need to understand yourself before you can decide anything. Natasha and Wanda are still trying to prove and make up for everything they have done. You still have love for them but you also have love for Carol even if you aren’t sure what that love entails. 
Carol gives you a soft smile. “It’s ok Y/n/n. You don’t have to explain. I just wanted to kiss you so bad and I couldn’t help myself.” You blush at her words. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” She adds looking at you, her smile turning sheepish. “No it’s ok. I-I liked it.” You tell her your cheeks are still dusted with a light pink. This was not how you expect your night to go but it was a nice surprise. “Do you want to keep watching?” Carol asks. “Hmm oh y-yeah, of course.” You say turning back to the movie. Your head back on her shoulder and her arm wrapped around you tightly. 
So far the only people who know about your prognosis are Carol, Tony, Bucky, and Steve. You have asked  them to not tell anyone else until you are ready. Tony has let you stay in the tower citing that you have given up enough of your life and you deserve to keep your home. You are grateful for his kindness. No matter what people say you know Tony has a big heart and cares more than he lets on. 
As for Natasha and Wanda they have been helping you as much as they can even if you don’t always want it. They are trying to prove to you that they are truly sorry for what they have done. They even started to go to therapy in hopes of proving it to you. They have even invited you to multiple sessions. At first you didn’t want to go but you wanted to see if they had actually changed. So you tagged along after turning them down a few times. But now that you have gone you have joined them multiple times. Seeing that they are trying. 
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Currently Carol is away for a small mission. Fury forced her to go but luckily this one is on Earth so she shouldn’t be gone for too long. You're in your bathroom when you feel a sharp pain in your back which causes your legs to give out. You fall to the ground with a loud thud and a cry of pain. You try to get up but a shooting pain runs through your hip causing a small whimper to fall from your lips. When you can’t get up you love to sit against the counter. 
“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” You call out. “Yes Miss.Y/l/n?” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s robotic voice is heard above. “I-I need help.” You say back. Shortly after F.R.I.D.A.Y responds “I have informed your emergency contact. Miss.Romanoff and Miss.Maximoff are on their way.” “W-wait, N-” You’re cut off when the door slams open, Natasha and Wanda with a frantic look on their faces when they see you on the floor. You had forgotten to change your emergency contact from the two after everything, but it’s too late now the women are here. 
“Oh Milaya, what happened?” Wanda kneels down next to you. She hesitantly reaches out for you and when you don’t pull away she takes your hand in hers. “I-I fell and I can’t get back up.” You mumble looking down. You expect to see pity from the woman so you can’t bring yourself to look at them. Natasha makes you look at her with a soft smile. She holds out her hands for you to grab and to help you up. You place your hands in hers, she starts to try to lift you up but you cry out in pain. There is a terrified look on her face in fear that she may hurt you somehow. “I’m sorry Y/n.” You shake your head. “Not you. I think it was the f-fall.” You tell the woman. “We’ll take you to the med bay. We need to make sure you are ok.” Natasha scoops you gently in her arms and takes you towards the med bay. Wanda close behind the both of you.
Once the three of you are there Natasha puts on the exam table in front of Bruce. He was luckily already in the med bay when you got there. “What can I do for you?” Bruce takes off his glasses looking at you three. “I fell and I think I hurt my hip.” You tell him and he nods. It is a short time before he is done with his scans. Natasha and Wanda never leave your side throughout the process. Bruce moves to look at your chart and scans. You watch him as he reads through. You can see the slight change in his demeanor and the quick glance he gives you before looking back down quickly. You know what he just saw. 
There is a gasp that draws your attention. You look over seeing Wanda with her hand over her mouth shocked and a sad look in her eyes. “W-Wanda.” Your voice quivers slightly. “You weren’t supposed to find out. Not this way.” Natasha looks confused as she looks between you and Wanda. Bruce shrinks back trying to blend in with the wall. “I-I’m sorry. His thoughts were so loud I didn’t mean to hear.” Wanda pleads, a look of remorse on her face. “Will someone tell me what is going on?” Natasha asks finally and you sigh knowing that you can’t hide it from them anymore. “W-when I got hurt my injuries were more extensive than what was originally thought.” You gulp down the tears that threaten to fall. “I won’t be an Avenger again.” A tear rolls down your cheek as you look down. 
The room falls silent with the news until Bruce breaks the silence. “Y/n I have your results. It looks like you have a hairline hip fracture. It should heal on its own with rest. You will have to stop your physical therapy for a few weeks but then be able to continue.” With Bruce's words you nod, willing the tears from the previously intense moment to go away. Bruce gives you some pain medication to help before taking his leave, leaving the three of you alone in the room. 
The tension in the room could be cut with a knife until you speak. You explain everything to the woman. Tears rolling down your cheeks as they comfort you. It’s an emotional time as you tell them. Their comfort in this moment means the world to you. It is something that you have missed dearly. They vow to help you in whatever way they can. They help and comfort making you feel loved. Making you question all of your feelings for them and for Carol. 
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It’s been a few weeks and you're healing. You can move around again albeit slow and with the help of a cane. You're making your way to the common room when you stop at the entryway. Leaning on the wall watching all of your favorite people in the room. No one has noticed you yet as you watch. Your eyes landing on Carol as she laughs and talks with Thor. A smile on your face watching the two interact. Your gaze then makes its way to Natasha and Wanda who are cuddled up on the couch. They are playfully arguing with Clint. The sight widening your smile. You see that Carol’s eyes land on you with a giant grin on her face. At the same time Wanda and Natasha spot you giving you a warm and inviting smile. And in that moment you know that you need to make a decision. To either take a chance with Carol or forgive Wanda and Natasha. To build a lasting relationship with either the pair or your best friend. It will be one of the hardest decisions of your life and one you never thought you would have to make. 
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The door swings open as the keys jingle in the door. The sound of feet padding on the ground, wails of glee from the kids. “Mommy! Mama!” Three children yell in unison. Their attention is drawn to the open door. Their bodies smashing into the woman causing them both to laugh before crouching down to their heights. Holding them closely to their bodies. A blonde falling back into the couch with a huff watching on. Green eyes landing on the woman and giving a nod. The blonde nodded back. 
The kids pull away and look at the woman. “Where’s Momma?” Natasha asks, her green eyes looking at her son. The boy shuffles a bit with a sad look. “It’s a bad day. Momma called Aunt Yelena to help.” Natasha kisses his head, she knows it is hard for the kids to see you in pain just as much as it hurts her and Wanda. She looks to Wanda who gives her a sad smile. “Have you been good for Aunt Yelena Billy?” She smiles down at him trying to brighten his mood. “The niblets have been just fine.” Yelena interjects from the couch. Natasha raises her brow at the word. “What? I heard it on the tiktok.” Yelena says with a wide grin proud of herself. Natasha rolls her eyes and puts her attention back on the kids. Billy, Tommy, and Alexandra nod along with Yelena. Causing both women at the door to laugh. Wanda kisses Tommy and Alexandra’s head. “Thank you for being good for your Aunt. How about we…” Wanda ponders for a moment. “Pizza for dinner.” The kids erupt in cheers which brings a smile to their faces. “How about you three go play while me and Mama go check on Momma?” The three nod and scurry away. The two women stand up and start making their way towards the bedroom. “Thank you Lena. Are you okay still watching them?” Wanda asks before leaving. Yelena waves her off as the kids pounce on her and she laughs. “I’ll make you some mac and cheese later.” Wanda yells from down the hall. They hear a loud yes from the woman causing them to laugh as they make their way into the bedroom.
It’s dark as they enter the room. They can see your form on the bed cuddled under the blanket. They see your shoulders gently rising and falling as you breathe. You must be asleep as you don’t hear them enter. The woman takes their shoes off before joining you in bed. Wanda slides in behind you, her arms wrapping around you gently, not wanting to cause you any added pain. Natasha shuffles in front of you. Moving your hair from your face. She smiles as you start to blink your eyes open. “Natty? Wands?” You question as your eyes begin to focus on the woman in front of you. Wanda gently kisses your shoulder as Natasha kisses your forehead causing you to let out a small giggle. “ You’re home early.” You say sleepily moving your head to nuzzle into Natasha’s neck. She smiles, running her fingers through your hair. “Mhmm we couldn’t wait to get back to you and the kids so we worked quickly.” Natasha kisses your head again. 
“Billy told us you’re having a bad day.” Wanda kisses your shoulder again gently. You let out a small hum. You hate to admit it sometimes but you know your family just wants to help. “How about we get you in a nice hot bath. Yelena is still watching the kids. We can then have a nap with you.” Natasha smiles at you and you nod. “Wands also promised the kids Pizza for dinner and mac and cheese for Yelena.” She chuckles as Wanda pushes her shoulder which causes you to giggle at them. 
Natasha and Wanda slide out of the bed causing you to whine at the loss of their bodies.  “Shhh detka.” Wanda says softly, helping you up and picking you up into her arms. You wrap your legs around her waist and bury your head in her neck. You let out a small whimper at the movement. “I’m sorry milaya devushka.” She holds you close and you nuzzle into her neck causing her to smile. “N-not your fault.” You mumble in her neck, placing light kisses on her neck. “I know. I just don’t like seeing you in pain.” She kisses your head as she takes you into the bathroom. Natasha is already in there and has started the bath. Wanda sets you down gently before helping remove your clothes. Natasha finishes getting the bath ready with an added bath bomb. Both women take turns stipping down to join you, one always being there to give you support. 
Wanda steps in the bath and sits down. Natasha then helps you in. Your back pressing against Wanda’s front before Natasha sinks into the water in front of you. You give Natasha grabby hands and she moves closer to you. The three of you settled into the warm bath. Nothing sexual, just love and understanding between the three of you. After a bit of soaking the woman help wash you and your hair before focusing on themselves. 
Once you're all done they help you out and dry you off. Natasha goes and gets clothes for all three of you. She puts you in a pair of her sweatpants and one of Wanda’s hoodies. You inhale the scent of Wanda on the hoodie letting out a content sigh. Natasha then lifts you gently into her arms and takes you to the bed. Helping you before getting in herself. You snuggle up to her and nuzzle into her chest. Wanda sliding in behind you. The moment was so soft and sweet. The women are still kicking themselves for what they did to you all those years ago. Thankful that your kind soul forgave them and gave them another chance to earn your love and affection. Now you're all a big happy family with three beautiful kids that mean the world to you all. 
The silence is peaceful as you relax feeling a wave of exhaustion. Natasha breaks the silence, her voice soft and low. “Detka we have some news for you. A surprise of sorts.” You lift your head from her chest and look up at her. A glint of excitement in your eyes as you wait for the woman to continue. She smiles gently before continuing to speak. “That was our last mission.” You sit up slightly ignoring the twinge in your back. “What?” You question. You hope this means what you think it means. “Dorogaya we are retiring. That was our last mission. We want to be here with you and the kids. We are done with that fight, all we want is your love.” You turn to Wanda as she speaks, happy tears filling your eyes. You can’t help as the tears fall and you hug them both tightly. “I love you both so much.” You let the tears fall. Your family is complete and you can all have the life you have always dreamed of. It isn’t what you expected it to be but with these women you can do anything. Over the years they have loved you at your best and at your worst. Stuck by you through every bad day. Your love grows for them every single day that you are together and you wouldn’t change it for the world. 
Each of them kissing your head. “We love you too.” They say together. “We want to spend the rest of our lives with you. Making up for our wrongs and earning your love.” Natasha gently kisses your lips. “Y-you already have.” You kiss Natasha before turning to Wanda and kissing her. The day started out terrible but the two women you chose to hold your heart one last time have proven that you did in fact make the right choice. 
A/n: I know that some if not most will not be happy with my decision to have WandaNat as end game. I went threw a few different idea's and always came back to them. So even if it is hated it is what I wanted in the end. Thanks for reading though.
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waywardxrhea · 1 month ago
Text
Won't Give Up - Spencer Reid
Heart's Desire (pt 1) / Soon You'll Get Better (pt 2)
pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader
word count: 7,584
Going to a routine follow-up appointment with Doctor Rubio lands you where you least expected it: back in the ER.
content: ANGST, lots of medical stuff (vomit mentioned as a warning for those who are queasy), canon typical themes - mentions of threats to safety and guns (it's a criminal minds fic, what can you really expect?), some inherently political topics (death row and guns - nothing to sway one way or another, they're just mentioned), fluff at the very end
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“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Spencer asked as he gathered up his belongings in order to head to Quantico for the morning. 
“I’m sure,” you replied before kissing his cheek and handing him a to-go cup of coffee, just the way he liked it, of course. “I’ve dragged you away from work and the team enough already over the last few months. It’s just a routine follow-up and test to clear me for field work again.”
“But, what if-”
“Ah, ah, ah!" you interrupted him with a quiet laugh following. A fond smile made its way onto your lips, and you ghosted your knuckles over Spencer's jawline as you told him, “I love you, and I appreciate your concern for my health more than I can ever express, but it’s okay for you to not be at every appointment.”
“I just worry…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you in for a hug. 
“I know you do,” you mumbled into his chest. “I’ll call you when the appointment is done, though. Should take around three hours for everything.”
“I wish they would have just had you do an exercise stress test. You’re seeing if you’re cleared to go back into the field, so why not do it with something that would mimic that?” 
You shrugged as he released you from the hug, telling him, “I guess because of how volatile my case was, they don’t wanna risk me falling out at the appointment.”
“That’s fair…” Spencer relented with a sigh. 
“Now go, before you’re late to work!” you said with a quiet laugh, one last kiss for the road landing on his lips before he turned toward the door. “I love you!” you called after him.
“I love you too!” he replied, the boyish grin returning to his features. He never tired of hearing you say those three little words. He had heard you say them in a manner of different ways over your time spent together as a couple, and each one made him happier than the last. As he made his way to his car, he couldn’t help his mind from wandering back to daydreams of the, hopefully not so distant future, he had been having recently…
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You looked up as your name was called by the receptionist, and the nurse who would be taking you back gave you a smile as you approached her. “You ready?” the bright young lady asked as she held the door open for you.
“As I’ll ever be,” you told her, now following her down the small hall and into a room. 
As you got settled onto the table, the nurse started up the machine to take your vitals. You sat quietly as she took them and told you, “When we’re done with this, I’ll hook you up to the cardiac monitor so that we can track what’s going on in there as Doc gives the meds.”
“Sounds good,” you told her.
After hooking you up to the monitor, she opened a cabinet nearby and grabbed an IV kit and got started on giving you an IV so the doctor had access to give you the medications. When she finished and made sure it was working, she exited the room, telling you that she was going to grab the medications for the doctor.
When you were alone in the room once more, you got comfortable on the table as you took some calming breaths when your anxiety began to spike. You told yourself that you were going to be fine, that you would pass the test and be cleared for field work by the end of the week! Your positive thoughts were interrupted, though, and you had to sit up as you felt a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere, a dizzying feeling taking hold as you positioned yourself upright. 
You jumped at the sharp knock that the nurse gave before entering the room, your heart racing in your chest as she opened the door to reveal herself with some medications in hand. She looked you over and asked, “Everything all right? You’re looking a little queasy.”
“Just got really nauseous all of a sudden,” you replied, a slow breath being blown out of your pursed lips. 
“Oh! I’ll go ask if we can get you some Phenergan real quick!” she said, making a quick exit from the room. 
When she returned, it was with the doctor, and she gave you a dose of the nausea medication through your IV. As the doctor washed his hands, another wave of nausea hit you before promptly being knocked away by the medicine. “Better?” the nurse asked quietly, concern evident in her voice. Finally being able to take a deep breath, you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes, nodding while you did. 
There was a beat of silence that filled the air before Doctor Rubio cleared his throat and said, “Becca, I just got a message from the front desk saying that they need you to help with rooming other patients. The other nurse got stuck in a room. I can take it from here.”
“You got it,” she told him, taking off her gloves and heading out of the room. 
When the door clicked shut, Doctor Rubio turned toward you with a syringe in hand that was filled with a milky white substance, and said, “All right, this is the first medication that we give for the stress test. Are you ready?”
“Yes sir,” you replied, adjusting yourself on the bed so you were laying down. 
You felt a cool sensation as the doctor attached the syringe to your IV and began pushing the medication, and within moments your eyes were becoming heavy and your mind started to cloud. Before sleep could overtake your body, you heard his voice close to your ear as he said, “Sleep tight, Agent… Smile when you wake up, you’ll be on camera.” 
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When you woke up what felt like seconds later, you squeezed your eyes closed when they registered the bright lights shining at you from above, a noise of discontent leaving your throat. There was a stinging pain in your arm that had the IV in it that you tried to ignore while you figured out what the hell was going on. In the brief seconds that you had your eyes open, you saw some of your surroundings. You were in a room that mostly empty other than some equipment that was still covered in plastic. You must have been in the new wing of the hospital… Not that knowing that helped you at all…
A few seconds later, you turned your head and tried opening your eyes again. What you saw when you opened them was Doctor Rubio sitting at a laptop as a camera was trained right at you. When your eyes made contact with the logo on the back of the laptop, things started to click together. The logo matched the tattoo you noticed on his arm before. It was the very same one that was the symbol of a gun running group you took down when you worked for Homeland…
“Ah, you’re finally awake!” Rubio said as he stood up from the laptop and began approaching you. While he did, you tried to sit up, but couldn’t when you realized that you were restrained to the hospital bed he had you on. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” he said in a dark tone, and you were sure he was giving you a sick smile under the mask he was wearing, judging by the crinkles by his eyes. He leaned in close and said quietly, “And I wouldn’t say anything either, if you knew what was good for you. Every time you do, your time is cut even shorter.”
“See this?” he asked as he stood back up to his full height and gestured to a bag of fluid that was currently flowing into the IV in your arm. “This is potassium chloride. The very drug that they use on Death Row to stop people’s hearts.” 
When he said this, your eyes widened, and he chuckled as he said, “I think you know where this is going, Agent.” There was a brief pause before he continued, saying, “Four years ago, before you worked for the FBI, before you joined the BAU, you worked on a special task force at Homeland Security. That task force was charged with taking down a group of people who worked under a man they called Schütze.” He flashed you the tattoo and added, “Schütze stood for our freedom. Our rights! And you got him sent to Death Row!” You had tried to ignore the part of your past, but you did remember that sometime within the last year, one of your old friends from Homeland had told you that Schütze had been given the injection...
Anger filled your chest when he said this and reminded you of the fear you faced during that takedown, and in a moment of rage, you bitterly told him, “Schütze didn’t stand for freedom, he stood for chaos and murder. The guns he smuggled into this country were responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths!”
“He stood for the second amendment freedoms that this country is trying to take away from us!” Rubio shouted. He tsked as he made his way to the IV pole and rolled the dial on the clamp so that the fluid ran just a little faster into your bloodstream as he said, “He knew that the only way for us to keep our weapons was to make sure they couldn’t be traced. He knew that one day, they would come for us all. He knew that with his product, we would be able to raise an army of freedom fighters to protect our rights!”
“You’re delusional…” you muttered as you took in the wild look in the man’s eyes. 
“Tell that to the thousands of people watching the stream right now. They’re all here to watch you die,” he said while gesturing toward the camera. The roller on the potassium was opened up a little more as he told you, “When someone gets the lethal injection, they’re first given a large dose of a sedative so they’re unconscious. Then, they’re chemically paralyzed with just as large a dose of a paralytic. After that, they’re injected with potent potassium chloride, and their heart stops within a minute.” Rubio gestured toward the camera again as he said, “These people, though, want to see you suffer. I do too, if I’m honest. You see, ever since I brought you back here and you took a little propofol induced nap, I’ve been loading you up with potassium. As time passes, you’ll experience more symptoms of hyperkalemia, and we will all revel in the joy that comes with watching someone you hate slowly die.”
All throughout this time, you were struggling against the restraints holding you down, but as he neared the end of his monologue, you began to feel a staticy sensation in your arms and legs, as if they were falling asleep. To combat it, you opened and closed your hands to try and regain the feeling in them, and Rubio only chuckled as he said, “You’re already starting to feel it, aren’t you? That numbness you’re getting right now is one of the early signs.” 
He sat back down behind the laptop before saying, “While that infuses, let’s read some of these comments from other followers of Schütze, yeah?” A sick laugh left his throat as he read, “‘If I knew the bitch was practically in my backyard, I would have shot her in the head myself.’ I wonder how close that one lives to you and your lovely boyfriend, Agent.”
“Leave him out of this,” you told him in a dangerous tone.
“Ooh these ones are asking who the lucky man is. Where they can find him. I do know where you live. It would just take a few keystrokes and they would all know too…” Rubio said with a sneer. 
“You wouldn’t dare!” you snapped, which caused him to stand up and approach you with a dangerous look in his eye. He turned up the rate again, and this time you couldn’t even feel the sting in your arm as he did. Looking down at it, though, you saw how irritated it was becoming, and you knew that something was wrong if you could no longer feel the pain. 
“Oh, I would, though,” he told you as he stooped down and began undoing your restraints. “If you can get out of here, be my guest, but I have a feeling you won’t be able to.”
With your arms and legs free, you wanted to rip the IV out of your arm and get off of the bed so you could make a break for it, but as you willed your arm to reach for the IV line to rip it out, you couldn’t even move it more than an inch. Your legs were no different, and in your attempt to get off of the bed, you just managed to flip over onto your side, facing the camera fully as you gave in. There was no way you were getting off of this bed. There was no way you were getting that IV line out. It was likely you would be dying in this room, in front of that camera. 
As Rubio sat back behind his laptop and began reading more hateful and threatening comments to you, a wave of nausea far worse than before hit you. You tried to breathe through it, but couldn’t as the discomfort only increased as the seconds passed with no end in sight. You wished the medicine they had given you earlier was still in your system, but it seemed to be nowhere to be found as nausea took over and your stomach began to heave. You begged your body to hold on, but you couldn’t any longer, and it took all of your core strength to move yourself closer to the edge of the bed as you emptied your stomach onto the floor. 
Hot tears began to flow from your eyes when you finally stopped throwing up after nearly a minute, the nausea still ever-present as you closed your eyes and tried to keep yourself from completely going into a panic attack. You felt humiliated. Broken. Defeated. You wished that Rubio would just get on with it. Kill you himself with one of those ghost guns he was so proud to support. Make it quick. But that wasn’t what they wanted… They wanted you to suffer.
And suffer, you did. 
Another wave of nausea hit you, and you threw up again, but this time when you were finished, you could barely catch your breath. Your breathing was ragged as you tried to get oxygen into your lungs unsuccessfully, and the room began spinning around you the longer you kept on like that. 
Panic set in soon after, and you could just barely hear Rubio’s commentary over the ringing in your ears. Not a coherent thought ran through your mind, and everything began to blur together. What you were sure of though, was the sudden pain in your chest as you felt your heart kick into arrhythmia. This one you were unfamiliar with, though. It was different from the one you were diagnosed with.
Even as you continued to find yourself in the midst of a panic attack, you felt your heart rate begin to slow over the next few minutes, going even more sluggish than your normal rate as time passed. Soon, black started to dot your vision and everything started to slow down as consciousness began to slip away from you. Through your clouded thoughts, you forced yourself to picture Spencer. If these were to be your last moments on this planet, you would at least be thinking of him. A tear slipped out of your eye as you pictured him smiling at you, and you swore you heard his voice as your thoughts began to fade…
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Earlier…
One o’clock rolled around, and while he was sitting down to eat his lunch, Spencer checked his phone to see if you had called with any updates. When he didn’t see anything, he decided that he would call you instead. Maybe you had been given some anxiety medication for the procedure and didn’t remember to update him… Three calls going unanswered over the next hour began to worry Spencer, so he spoke with Hotch and told him that he was going to the hospital to check on you. 
When Spencer arrived at the front desk of the cardiology center, he gave them your name and asked if you were done with your procedure yet. The clerk typed into her computer and told him, “It shows she hasn’t checked out or made her second follow-up appointment yet. The procedure should be done, though, so let’s go see how she’s doing.”
“Thank you,” Spencer said as he followed her toward the nurses’ station. 
When they arrived in the area, their presence was unnoticed as a nurse who looked distressed was being spoken to by two people who looked like administration. “I don’t know what to tell you, Becca! The machine records show that at nine forty-eight, you took out three bags of potassium and a vial of propofol!” 
“How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t do that? Check the cameras if you have to! What patient was it even for? No one I was rooming today had low potassium. If they were that critical, I would have sent them to the ED!” 
“All I know is that those meds were taken out under your name with an override by Doctor Rubio! I just need to know why! As for who it was for…” she said the last part as she ran her finger over the paper and stopped when she found what she was looking for.
Spencer felt like everything stopped when she read off your name. Had something happened? Why did you need that much potassium? Propofol was a potent sedative…why did you need that for the stress test? Before he could think, Spencer walked up to the small group and said, “Excuse me, I’m the medical POA for the patient you just mentioned. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Go ahead,” the stern woman told Becca.
“I got her to the room, took her vitals, and started her IV. When I came back with the meds for the stress test, she was super nauseated, so I got Doctor Rubio to order some Phenergan and grabbed that from the machine. I…” she paused for a moment as she thought through the story carefully. “I don’t remember hearing the exit tone for the computer… Doctor Rubio was right behind me and told me to wait for him to go back into the room. Maybe…”
“You better be damn sure of that story before accusing the doctor of something like that,” the other person said in a huff.
“Well, is she still in the room?” Spencer asked urgently as he started to piece things together. 
“Let’s go see,” the clerk said as she began leading Spencer toward the room you had been taken to earlier. 
When they got in, Spencer saw your purse on the chair in the corner, but no you in sight. Rage and fear gripped him tight, and his voice raised nearly to a shout as he asked, “Where is she?”
“I-I don’t know!” Becca said from behind Spencer. “They needed my help out here, and it got busy!”
“Where’s the doctor?” Spencer snapped as his mind raced a mile a minute. That was nearly four hours ago! Who knows what could have been done to you or where you even were!
“Sir, please don’t raise your voice or else we’re going to have to get security to remove you,” the administration worker told him as she approached, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she did so she could dial security. 
“Remove me?! My girlfriend is suddenly missing from the procedure room she was supposed to be in after a sedative was taken out under her name along with a lethal amount of potassium! You need to be working on getting security footage of where she was taken!” Spencer shouted. He fumbled for his badge in his pocket and flashed it to her as he said, “She’s a member of the FBI, and if you don’t start working on helping me find her, we will charge you with aiding and abetting the abduction of an FBI agent and, so help me if it came to this, murder!” 
“Agent, you need to calm down, you’re causing a scene!” the woman snapped at him, skepticism obvious in her eyes as she looked at Spencer's badge.
“It’s Doctor,” Spencer told her as he pulled out his phone and dialed Hotch. 
“Everything okay?” Hotch asked as he answered the phone. 
“She’s missing,” Spencer told him quickly. “The doctor took out a sedative and a lethal amount of potassium and she hasn’t been seen since. I need the team here to help me find her.”
“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said.
“Get Garcia to look into Doctor Jordan Rubio. He’s the one who might have taken her,” Spencer said before Hotch hung up and began briefing the team on what was going on at the hospital. 
The rest of the team showed up right as Spencer was arguing with security, telling them, “The longer this goes on, the less of a chance we have at finding her! Do you really want-”
“FBI, what’s going on here?” Hotch asked, flashing his badge as he approached the group still standing in the hallway. 
“You-you’re actually?” the administration lady said wearily as the team approached. 
“Yes, he’s actually FBI, and so is the agent that is missing from that room,” Hotch told her sternly. “Now, what you’re going to do is take me to where I can see the security footage of the last five hours, and we’re going to figure out where she was taken.”
“Y-yes sir,” she said timidly as her eyes turned down toward the floor. 
“JJ, Rossi, split up and start searching. Morgan, you’re with Reid. I’ll tell you if there are any updates from the security cameras,” Hotch directed, sending a look of concern Spencer’s way. 
“There’s a brand new wing being built, we’ll head that way,” Derek said before gesturing for Spencer to follow him as he hustled away. 
Spencer nodded and started to follow, worry evident in his voice as he began to say, “Derek, what if-”
“There’s no what if. We’re going to find her,” he told him firmly. “Now come on, we’ve got seven floors to search.”
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Back in the security area, Hotch stood behind the person at the computer who was accessing the footage of the last few hours when his phone began to ring. “Talk to me, Garcia.”
“I was looking into the doctor and found some pages that he follows under a pseudonym on the dark web. They’re all in support of Schütze, the man she took down when she worked at Homeland, and-” 
She cut herself off abruptly, and Hotch heard the gasp of air that filled her lungs, so he asked sharply, “What is it, Garcia?”
“He’s live streaming right now… He…he’s… Oh, God, it’s awful, Hotch.” She swallowed hard before saying, “The stream is titled ‘Killing a Killer - Justice for Schütze’”
“Oh, God…” Hotch whispered, grabbing the back of the office chair in front of him. “Does it look like he has her in the hospital?”
“Yes, yes, there isn’t much in the room, but it looks like- Oh my God!”
“What?!” Hotch asked sharply.
“She’s-” Penelope had to turn away from the stream as she told Hotch, “She’s throwing up and it looks like she's having a hard time breathing! Oh, God…”
“Focus, Garcia! What’s the room look like?” 
“Right! There isn’t much in the room, it looks like it hasn’t been worked in. In the corner of the shot, there’s a cabinet that’s still got factory packaging covering it,” she replied after taking a few deep breaths to settle her own stomach. 
“Send me a picture of that video. I need to confirm with the staff that it’s here.”
“Sending it your way… Now,” she told him as she sent him the screenshot. 
Hotch’s phone rang with a notification, and he quickly looked at the photo. Sadness and rage began to pool in his chest as he shoved it under the security officer’s nose asking, “Is this here?”
“Oh, God…” the man whispered as he looked at the photo. He was quiet for a moment before he nodded and said, “That’s in the new wing. I couldn’t tell you which floor, though.”
Without a further word, Hotch turned and started running down the hall, pulling a walkie off of his belt and radioing the others. “She’s in the new wing! JJ, Rossi, get there now! I’m heading there too. Morgan, Reid, what floor are you two on?”
“We cleared the first floor, she wasn’t there. Heading to the second now,” Derek responded. 
“Okay. JJ go to the third, Rossi to the fourth, and I’ll take the fifth. Work fast, there are still two floors above those,” Hotch ordered as he rounded a corner and pushed open the new wing’s stairwell door. 
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“Three more doors, Reid, come on,” Derek said as he once again quietly closed a door so they wouldn’t give themselves away. 
“Wait!” Spencer exclaimed quietly, holding up a hand for Derek to stop what he was doing. “Do you hear that?”
Derek strained his ears to hear, and after a few seconds heard what Spencer was. Two doors down, they both heard a male’s voice speaking and then…laughing. White, hot rage filled Spencer’s entire being when he heard the laughter, but before he could make a move toward the door, Derek held out an arm in front of him as he said, “Look, I get that you want to get to her, but we need to be smart about this, man! Treat it like any other case. I’ll go for the unsub and you go to her. Got it?” 
“Got it,” Spencer said with a curt nod as Derek lowered his arm and raised the other to hold his firearm up as they approached the room. 
Spencer’s heart was racing as they approached the door, and as they got closer, the voice of Doctor Rubio was unmistakable. The things he was saying were vile… Of people wanting to hurt you. Stalk you. Kill you. It was all too much for Spencer to hear those things being said about you, and he almost missed Derek’s queue to bust into the room. He zoned in just in time though for Derek to swing the door open and announce, “FBI! Hands where I can see ‘em!”
“You hear that everyone? The FBI’s here to arrest me! If you see their faces, they’re targets too!” Rubio shouted as he stood up from the chair he was sitting in after hitting a few more buttons on his keyboard. 
“Jordan Rubio, you’re under arrest for the abduction and attempted murder of a federal agent. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law,” Derek started to say to Rubio as he shoved him against the wall to begin cuffing him. 
Spencer paid no mind to what Derek was saying, though. The second he was in that room and saw that you were there, he shouted your name as he darted toward you. Taking a quick glance at the scene, he saw the IV bag of potassium pouring into you and grabbed for it, disconnecting the fluid from the line as quickly as he could. He saw your eyes closed and your body motionless on the bed, with only shallow breaths moving your chest up and down. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Spencer whispered as he stepped carefully to avoid the sick on the floor. He gently tapped your cheek to rouse you, and when you didn’t stir, he checked your pulse, shouting, “She isn’t responding and her pulse is 47! Morgan, radio Hotch and tell him we need the ER team here now!” 
“By now her potassium level is likely nearing seven at least. That’s lethal. If she isn’t already gone, she doesn’t have much time left,” Rubio said with a sick laugh. 
“Man, shut the hell up!” Derek told him as he pulled his radio off of his belt and informed Hotch of the situation. After he radioed Hotch and got confirmation that the ER team was on their way, he turned toward the computer and hit the mute button as he dialed Penelope. When she answered, he was quick to say, “Hey, Baby Girl. I’m sure you already found this stream, but before I shut it down, I wanted to make sure you don’t need anything from it for evidence.”
“Shut it down, I've already got everything I need,” she told him promptly. He did so, and after a few keystrokes, the thing was shut off. “Now get that sick son of a bitch away from her.”
“Already on it,” Derek said as he hung up the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, grabbing Rubio by the cuffs and nudging him out of the door. 
When he got into the hallway, he had to jump out of the way of the ER team with their stretcher, who were quickly followed by Hotch, Rossi, and JJ as they all converged on the scene. “Is she gonna be okay?” JJ asked, out of breath from the run she just went on up and down the stairs. 
“I hope so,” Derek said, shaking his head sadly as he watched you being stretchered out of the room. The team had a bag mask they were using to help you breathe, and a crash cart was on the bed just in case the worst happened as you were being transported. Spencer trailed behind, rattling off your medical history and what he knew about what happened as they went. 
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By the time you were in the emergency room, you had a team of nurses, a respiratory therapist, and a doctor surrounding you. As much as Spencer wanted to be by your side and hold your hand through this, he knew he would just be in the way, so he stood in the corner, helpless. One nurse who had run out of the room came back in, telling the doctor, “Her potassium level is 6.8.”
“We gotta K wash her. Courtney, put in orders for 80 milligrams of furosemide IV, ten units of regular insulin IV push, D50 IV push, and calcium gluconate IV. Order to recheck labs in an hour. Get a couple new IVs in her, this one’s badly extravasated. We'll some procaine hydrochloride 1% and lidocaine on board as well. She also needs a foley to monitor her output.” 
“On it,” the nurse at the computer said before she began rapidly typing into the computer to get orders in. Other nurses began carrying out the other orders, working together to get everything done before the medications arrived. 
Spencer took solace in the fact that after they gave you the medications, your heart rate started to head toward a normal rate, although the rhythm was still funky. When everything that could be done for the time was finished, Spencer was able to move from the corner, pulling up a chair beside the bed and lacing his fingers in yours. He let out a shaky breath as he lifted your hand to kiss the back of it, tears beginning to fall from his eyes when you didn’t show any sign of a response to him. “I’m sorry… I’m so…so sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken with emotion. 
“It’s not your fault, you know,” came Hotch’s voice from behind him as he entered the room. 
“I should’ve pushed to go with her to the appointment,” Spencer said, not turning to look at his unit chief because of the shame that filled his body at the fact that something like this even happened. 
“How could you have known?” he asked softly. “That brain of yours is capable of many things, but telling the future isn’t one of them.”
There was a silence that filled the air for a few moments before Spencer said, “He has a tattoo. On his wrist. It’s the logo of the group Schütze ran. It was on the laptop he was streaming with.”
“Had you seen the tattoo before today?” 
“No…” Spencer admitted. “I think she had though. The day we went to Rubio to get her diagnosis, she was distracted when he came into the room and washed his hands. He…” Spencer’s breathing picked up as he talked through the story and anger started to build inside his chest once more, his voice raising slightly as he said, “He even acknowledged that she saw it!” He finally looked toward Hotch, and he saw the anger in Spencer’s eyes as he did, a pang of sympathy resonating in his chest as Spencer plowed forward, telling him, “But she never said anything about it. Maybe she didn’t fully recognize it. The human brain tends to block out certain things as part of a trauma response, especially in cases like hers where she was threatened by the group’s followers for a while during the court proceedings. They stopped after a while, so she stopped worrying about them. Filed it all away in the back of her mind...”
“So, do you blame her?”
“W-what?” Spencer asked, shocked at the question. “Of course not!”
“Then don’t blame yourself, either,” he told him, a light squeeze on Spencer’s shoulder as he did. Before he turned to go, Hotch added, “The bureau's got US Marshals on the way to keep watch over the two of you. With the threats that were coming from that stream, safety is a vital concern right now. Until then, Morgan is going to stay here with the two of you, and a thoroughly vetted police officer will be posted outside of the door.”
“Thank you,” Spencer said with a short nod. 
“I’ll be checking in, but for now I think you need to focus on someone else,” he said with a small smile on his lips as he nodded his head toward you. 
When Spencer turned back toward you, he saw your eyes fluttering open, and a wide smile made its way onto his lips as he whispered, “Hey.”
“Spencer?” you asked wearily. A quiet sob fell from your lips before you said, “You found me…”
“Not just me, Derek too,” Spencer said as he grabbed your hand once more, right as the door opened to reveal Derek walking in. He squeezed your hand as he told you with all the sincerity in the world, “I would never give up on finding you. Ever.”
A smile made its way onto Derek’s face when he saw your eyes open, and it was evident in his voice as he said, “Hey, Sunshine!”
“Did you get him? Doctor Rubio?” you asked. 
Spencer looked to Derek for the answer, and he nodded, telling you, “He’s in custody right now. Charged with the abduction and attempted murder of a federal agent. He should get 25 to life without the possibility of parole. We just gotta do the work to make sure he gets life.”
As you nodded, you suddenly cringed at the pain in your arm, a sharp breath being sucked in as everything hit you at once. “Well, I can feel my limbs again…” you muttered as you leaned your head back onto the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed for some sort of relief that didn’t come. 
You were quiet for a few moments before tears began to spill from your eyes as you said, “I’m sorry, Spence… I… I should’ve known, I just… I couldn’t remember where I had seen that tattoo before. I was feeling sick right before he came in, and it got worse when I saw the tattoo again, and I-I should have just left. I should’ve just gone home and-”
“Hey, hey, hey, this isn’t on you,” Spencer told you, remembering Hotch’s words to him only minutes before. 
“Yeah, you can’t blame yourself for someone else’s actions. Especially those of a sociopath,” Derek reminded you. 
You barely heard their words, though, as a wave of nausea hit you. It wasn’t as strong as before when you were in that room with Rubio, but you practically felt the color drain from your face as your stomach lurched a bit. “I need a nurse…” you managed to whisper as you covered your mouth. 
Frantically looking around the room, Spencer spotted a package of alcohol swabs and grabbed one after hitting the button to summon a nurse to the room. He ripped it open and put it under your nose as he said, “Just breathe for me. In through your nose.” 
“What are you doing?” Derek asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he took in the scene in front of him. 
“Smelling isopropyl alcohol helps relieve nausea. There are a few theories as to why, one of which has to do with chemoreceptors in the brain, and another to do with the body naturally reacting to the strong smell by breathing in a way that helps reduce the nausea,” Spencer told him as the nurse entered the room. “Can she have anything for nausea?” he asked when she made their presence. 
“Yes, and I have to draw labs again to see what her potassium is, so I’ll do all that when I come back with that medicine,” she said, turning around and heading out the room. 
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The results of the lab draw were still critical, so they transferred you to the ICU in order to receive aggressive treatment to bring the level down to normal. As the evening dragged on, your symptoms waxed and waned, with occasional heart palpitations and nausea being your biggest complaints. 
You were surprised that no one from the Bureau had come to question you about what happened. You were sure that it was heavily influenced by Hotch, who, you had no doubt was trying to give you time to heal before the barrage of questioning came. Your time to heal seemed to be up, though, when in the morning, there was a knock on the glass door and in came three people: Hotch, and two people who introduced themselves as agents from the Bureau and the US Marshal’s office respectively. 
Hotch sent you an apologetic look as they pulled up chairs and the bedside table so they could take notes and fill out forms as they talked with you. The hospital staff were informed that they were not allowed in the room unless there was an emergency, and the questioning began. 
During the line of questioning, you obviously had to inform the Bureau official taking your case about your relationship with Spencer, which earned a look of disapproval until Hotch pulled the papers you both signed out of a briefcase he had on the cabinet beside him. You took the agent through everything you felt was important to the case, telling him everything you could remember up until you blacked out. 
When he was done with his questions, the Marshal agent straightened up some papers on the table as she cleared her throat. “Now, I know that you recall some of the comments that Doctor Rubio read to you while he had you down there, but we went through all that Agent Garcia archived, and we have some concerns.”
“Concerns such as?” Spencer asked.
“Well, we’re concerned that, even after the case is tried, there will still be a threat to her safety,” she told him. She turned back to you and said, “There were numerous threats for stalking, killing, and even sexual assault. Even more so than during the trial for Schütze. And we've already stopped a few trying to get into the hospital. From now through the trial period, you’ll have the full protection of US Marshals 24/7, but we would like you to go into witness protection afterward. There are thousands who still practically worship Schütze, and now that Schütze's been given the injection, and the man who tried to hurt you because of it is in custody...”
“I’d never be safe again…” you whispered, your eyes closing as a soft sigh left your lungs and a few tears fell from your eyes. 
“Wait, wait, wait, you wanna put her into WitSec?” Hotch asked sharply, his hands going to his hips in a stern manner as he loomed over the agent. 
“Agent Hotchner, I know that you have your reservations about this, and what happened with your ex wife was a total failure on our part, but-”
“But nothing! She-”
“She needs to be protected! End of story, agent!” she said sternly. “There are thousands of people out there, claiming to have these ghost guns that Schütze brought into the country, threatening her life. Trying to get into the hospital! If she isn’t put under the protection of the US Marshal’s office, she is going to die. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but that’s just how it is!”
“I’ll do it,” you told her, making a hush fall over the room.
Did you want to? No. Going into WitSec meant leaving everything behind. It meant leaving your family behind. But it also meant that you had a chance of living. And you couldn’t take that for granted. 
“I’m going with you,” Spencer said immediately after you gave your consent. 
“Woah, woah, woah, Spence! Think about this for a second. You’d be leaving everything you’ve made for yourself behind. What about your mom?”
“She’s immediate family, she’d be able to go into the program too,” he replied. 
The agent cleared her throat once more before saying, “The problem with that, though, Doctor Reid, is that you aren’t immediate family.”
Without missing a beat, Spencer grabbed your hand in between his and said something that completely shocked you. “Marry me. Before the trial’s over. We’ll have it in Rossi’s backyard. One last celebration as a team…as a family before we go. We’ll be legally married before you have to fully enter the program, and-”
“Spence-” you started to say, but were interrupted by him barreling forward with his thoughts. 
“And before you ask, no, this isn’t a rash decision. I’ve had a ring for months. When you had your first scare in Tennessee, I realized that I can’t live without you, so I went with Penelope to pick out a ring for you pretty soon after. Why do you think I freaked out the other day when you were using that step stool to find something in the kitchen cupboard?”
You laughed quietly before saying, “I just thought you were being overprotective again.” Shaking your head and getting back on topic, you couldn’t help the smile on your face as you told him, “But yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Really?!” Spencer asked, tears welling up in his eyes as a wide smile made its way onto his lips. 
“Yes, really,” you told him, leaning in for a quick kiss on his lips that he deepened for a moment before realizing that there were still three other people in the room. 
“Sorry…” he mumbled sheepishly as he sat back in his chair. 
“Well, I guess that settles it then. As long as the two of you are legally married before the court reaches a verdict, Doctor Reid and his mother will go into WitSec as well,” the agent said. “Since your face was on the stream too, you are also getting threats, Doctor Reid, but not to the same extent. There was going to be a separate conversation about that more privately, but…” She stood up and straightened out her blazer before saying, “Congratulations. Just tell the marshals when you plan on having the wedding, and we can get some extra protection for the night.”
“Thank you,” you and Spencer replied in unison as she and the bureau agent turned to leave the room. 
When the door closed once more, Spencer looked over and said, “Hotch, I’m sorry, I-”
Hotch put his hand up to stop Spencer, telling him, “Don’t be sorry. Agent Monroe was right. I should be apologizing for how I acted. It was selfish to project my past onto others. Especially when it comes to something like this.” A smile started to make its way onto his lips as he said, “Now, it’ll be hard to find replacements for the likes of you two, but I’m happy to see you engaged. It’s a hard job to keep a stable marriage in, so I’m glad that you two will get the chance to make things work. You deserve it.”
“Thank you,” you whispered, a smile on your lips, but mixed emotions running rampant through your mind. Happiness prevailed though, and you couldn’t help the giddy feeling you got at the thought of being married to Spencer. 
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a/n: well that was a wild ride, now wasn't it? Spencer and Reader get to get married, but at the cost of losing their identities because of psychopaths who worship Schütze. the angst in this one was real, but so was the fluff when it was there! stay tuned for the fourth (and final) part of what's turned into a mini series! i'm gonna be so honest, i don't know when i'll have time to write it, but just know that it will happen!
also little disclaimer obviously all of this is made up. if there is a real person who goes by Schütze and runs a gun smuggling gang, that's a whole ass coincidence lmao
taglist: @reidmarieprentiss @i-live-in-spite @readingandbaking
dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws
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broadwaybalogna · 9 months ago
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Times I’ve inserted myself onto Zuko or Katara and helped myself.
I JUST made a post about self inserting on Katara and also Zuko and how it’s okay. This post will go over times I’ve done it and how I was able to help myself through rough times.
1. An except from “They Say Beauty is Pain”, a fic I wrote surrounding body image and dysmorphia.
”I don’t know. I guess I just…” she struggled to find the words to explain her feelings, “for lack of a better term, wish I liked my body more?”
[…]
”I think there are parts of ourselves that we all fail to understand and accept,” he finally began after a long pause. “I mean, look at me. I have a huge scar on my face but you sit next to me and tell me how beautiful it makes me. […] The same goes for you. […] Whatever you may dislike about yourself, I know I love it more than you could imagine. […] We all have things we’re insecure about, yeah. But I think the opinions that matter most are those closest to us and can best shape us to love ourselves the most. If that even makes sense.”
This entire one-shot was me writing about my experience with my body. As a firm hurt/comfort lover, I had to find a way for Katara (or me) to be comforted. This can go for my readers as well, people who may associate themselves with Katara and also suffer from body image issues can (I hope) read this and feel comforted about themselves.
2. An except from “Sleep When You Can, My Dear (I’ll Be Here When You Wake)” a fic I wrote about taking meds and the effects it can have on a person.
”For a long time, I didn’t know who I was without my trauma. It shaped my entire personality to who I am today. Every piece of me became what it was because of my own suffering. I didn’t know how different I would be if I… healed. The idea of a version of myself that wasn’t who I was in that moment was scary… But I realized, over time, that even though those moments will forever shape who I am as a person, they don’t have to define me. I am not some girl who lost her mother two years ago and goes to therapy for it. I’m more than that. And you’re more than the boy with father issues who needs medication. We improve ourselves each day by living and accepting that we can be better. And I look forward to knowing that the next day, I’ll get new experiences that will shape who I become.”
Guys, I can only write stuff like this by putting myself into the characters shoes. I actually technically inserted myself into BOTH Katara and Zuko to write this. How would I react to someone saying this? How would I comfort my partner (if I had one)?
3. An except from “The Psychology of a Test” which is about finding a balance between school and life.
“Zuko,” Katara finally said, lowering her voice and finally becoming more calm, “I don’t really know much about your relationship with your dad- or school. But it was so nice seeing you actually happy and talking these past few days. It really put things into perspective for me. I realize that I’ve been studying so much all the time, that I never thought about how it affected you. I’m sorry.”
“What? No, don’t be sorry. My relationship with school is.. complicated at best, but in no way is any of it your fault,” he sat up to face Katara, “but I have realized how much more I like being free. I just need to find a balance.”
“Could I- could I help you find it?” Katara asked after a short moment has passed.
“I’d love that.”
Many published authors will say that what they write is based on real experiences they have gone through. Why is it okay for published authors to do this and not fanfiction authors?
Don’t let ANYONE tell you that you can’t write characters to connect with you.
You CAN.
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simslegacy5083 · 4 months ago
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Today's (10/23/2024) Episode: Take A Breath
When they arrived at the medical clinic Luigi and his family were whisked quickly to the private room they’d requested.
“Thanks so much for protecting our privacy” Luigi told the medical assistant when she arrived to begin the exam.
“Not a problem Mr. Lawbourne” she replied, “We’re always happy to help.” She pulled up Skye’s chart on the computer before turning to her patient “I see you’ve been having some trouble breathing lately. Can you tell me a little bit more about how that feels when you notice it?”
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“Every time I teleport my chest feels funny, and I start coughing a lot.” Skye frowned “It happened one time when I was playing tag with my friends at school too, but I don’t like to do that anymore.” Noemi and Luigi exchanged a glance then but didn’t comment.
“I’m sorry to hear that” the assistant smiled kindly. “Thank you for the fantastic explanation! Today we’ll run some tests, I promise they won’t hurt, and hopefully help you feel better. Does that sound good?” Skye didn’t look up but nodded slightly and let her get started.
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At the end of his examination Skye was diagnosed with Asthma.
The doctor did his best to explain the disease in a way the young sim could understand: “With asthma, teleporting or exercising can cause your lungs to start making thick sticky stuff called mucus” he said. “That’s why you start having trouble breathing. The good news is we have medicine to help you feel better fast when it happens.”
“Mom, Dad” he went on “I’m going to give you some resources to review so you can learn how to help Skye manage his new diagnoses.” “I know a bit about it” Luigi told him “my great great grandpa Don has dealt with it for centuries.”
"It isn’t uncommon for asthma to run in families actually” their provided smiled “though in your case it seems like it skipped a few generations!”
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Luigi and Noemi talked with Dr Anderson for awhile, learning more about next steps for follow-up and things they could do, such as creating an Asthma Action Plan, to help others know how to help their boy in case of an attack. Afterward he asked: “Now Skye, do you have any questions before I go?”
Skye hadn’t really understood everything they’d been discussing, but he did have one important thing to ask “You said the medicine will make me feel better. Does that mean after I take it, I won’t have asthma anymore?”
The adults in the room frowned. Luigi reached out to place a comforting hand on his son's shoulder as the doctor answered, “Unfortunately there is no cure for asthma, so you’ll always have it, but as long as you keep your inhaler in your inventory it should make you feel better quickly next time you have trouble breathing.” Skye’s face crumpled at his answer. He buried his head in his dad’s chest; big fat tears falling freely at the news.
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The doctor left then to see his next patient, telling them as he went “take all the time you need before you go; we have plenty of other exam rooms.”
Skye calmed down slowly as Noemi moved to sit across from him “I know you’re worried, but we’ll do everything we can to help you adjust.”
“Now that we know what’s wrong” Luigi continued “we’ll be able to help. When I was your age, I learned I had Eczema. Once we understood what was causing my issue, my dads got me that special lotion you see me use and it made a big difference, just like your new inhaler will do for you.”
“We love you so much, and we promise you won’t have to go through this alone.” Noemi finished, finally earning a smile from her glum little boy.
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“Well, that was awful” Luigi lamented as he and Noemi waited for Skye to come out of the restroom “I know what he’s going through, and it sucks.”
Noemi nodded “I was really hoping it was just some short-term infection but given his symptoms I’m not really surprised.”
The pair fell silent when Skye rounded the corner. As they left the medical clinic, heading towards the vision center a short walk away, Luigi took Noemi’s hand in his. Squeezing it tight he silently hoped against hope that Skye wouldn’t get anymore bad news at his next appointment.
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View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here
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merrhea39 · 1 year ago
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Trans masc Dominik chapter 2-2
Dominik and Rey got to medical where they were watching the rest of the show covered in ice packs, until they saw Damian and Finn on the screen again. “The world just saw first hand that for all of Dominik Mysterio’s ‘potential’, he’s just not made of the right stuff. Today Dom, congratulations you failed the test.” Finn spoke first then Damian spoke. “Dom we saw right through you man, we knew the only reason you ‘joined’ the judgment day was to save your dad, well instead of saving him you should’ve grabbed the chair and cracked his skull. Just like we cracked Edge’s skull when he got in our way. Next week Madison Square Garden 20th year of your father being here in the WWE, we finish what we started. The Mysterio’s will fall and the judgment day will rise.” They both laugh as the camera switches to the upcoming match but both Dominik and Rey were entirely distracted about what they had just said. “Get up, we're doing an interview.” Rey said to Dominik who agreed wholeheartedly. Next thing they knew they had a camera shoved in their face for the interview. “Let me start dad.” Dominik said with confidence. “Ok mij… jo” Rey seemed to stumble on his words but Dominik didn’t notice as the red light indicating that were live turned on. “Finn, Damian, did you actually think I'd ever join the judgment day? honestly, I may have failed your so called test but at the end of the day I lived up to the Mysterio name and the judgment day don’t know a thing about the Mysterio’s.” Once Dom finishes Rey speaks. “You guys think you’re the first ones to threaten the Mysterio’s? Hell you ain’t even the first ones to try and tear up this family, and you sure as hell won’t be the first on trying to do so. Check this out, next week at Madison Square Garden I’m gonna celebrate 20 years in WWE, Dom and I are gonna cap off that celebration by excitedly showing you, the judgment day, what it means to be a mysterio. Orale arriba mi raza!” Unknowingly to the 2 someone was listening from within earshot but out of sight, Rhea was stalking them like prey waiting for them to separate once more. Rey went back to medical for more ice and the camera crew left leaving Dom alone in a locker room. Dominik quickly went to his phone for a quick distraction as Rhea quietly entered the room then shut the doors. “I see you didn’t listen to any of us.” The familiar Australian voice makes Dom jump a bit. “Wh-what are you doing here?!” Dom said, almost frightened. “You notice how your dad almost called you mija earlier?” Rhea said, questioning Dom. “What?! What are you talking about?.” Dom was practically yelling at her. “I guess you didn’t… next time you talk with him pay attention to him saying it…” She said in a matter of fact tone. “SHUT FUCK UP GET OUT OF-!” Dominik yelled before Rhea gently caressed his cheek. “I’m not trying to rile you up… You should calm down and listen to us okay? Or… I’ll have to hurt you too.” Rhea said to Dominik who tried to speak back but Rhea put a finger to his lips and left without another word.
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from-memphis-with-love · 10 months ago
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Gambling on Your Love - Ch. 3
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Summary: Colonel Parker's sudden entrance and news of on-set rumors worry Elvis, who tries to ignore them. Francesca, though falling for Elvis, fears getting too close. Their love, tested by fame and personal wishes, reaches a peak during a romantic night where they share their true feelings. Facing a potential turning point, one has to ask: Can their love withstand the challenges of their public lives, or will the spotlight's glare be too much?
Read chapter one and chapter two to get caught up. Word count: 9,400 Warnings: Intense romantic and sexual situations; medical emergencies; substance abuse; emotional vulnerability.
Colonel Parker stormed into the dressing room. He had a penchant for crew-blindness. If someone wasn’t a star, he simply didn’t acknowledge them. As far as he was concerned, the extras weren’t even there. 
So, he didn’t have any qualms about laying everything out in front of the nice makeup girls, who did their very best to pretend they definitely didn’t hear a word Elvis and his agent were saying.
“Did you see what she said? In her little press blurb?” He slapped a gray, rolled up newspaper on the desk, rattling the brushes. 
“What who said?” Elvis half-heartedly passed a glance to the unfurling paper. It was just a local paper, who cared what some reporter had to dress up and slant and make malice? That’s how most of them were. Twisting words to suit their stories, to sell their articles. But when the Colonel flipped a few sheets in, to a long article filled with quotes, Elvis couldn’t help but check again, even if his eyes couldn’t discern the lettering.
It read, “An anonymous tipster has it that Elvis can be a challenge to work with at times due to his overwhelming presence on set, and that some of the female members are finding friction alongside their co-rockstar, and not in a good way.”
“Well, what’s that supposed to mean?” Elvis laughed. He didn’t care. He wasn’t concerned. He wasn’t wondering which female members. What friction?
“It goes on. I mean...” the Colonel’s voice was high strung. Insinuating. “There’s some nice stuff in here. Most of the crew seems happy, but it just looks like whoever spoke to the reporter might not be. Hm.” Like he was pondering on it, in a thoughtful way. “Best to take care of that. You don’t want directors thinking you’re hard to work with or even too wild on set. They don’t like that kind of party animal stuff on the clock no more, my boy. What you do at home is your business. But while you’re here, you might as well try and take it seriously. It’s what you wanted, isn't it?” He kept his tone light, almost consoling.
Elvis’s fists balled on the studded leather arms of the make-up chair. Application of his pancake makeup had petered off as the girls nervously fidgeted, pausing awkwardly before continuing with the finishing touches. 
“Gonna pat your face all over one more time, Mr. Presley.”
He shut his eyes in anticipation and exhaled, getting locked into place.
“Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal, but I’ll make sure everything’s running smoothly. I’m agreeable. You know that.” He diffused, diverted, decompressed. Always the one that had to tactfully take up for himself while simultaneously maintaining the peace (which usually meant kowtowing to whatever it was his heavy-handed agent wanted).
The Colonel put his stony hands on Elvis’s shoulders, encouragingly in his bumbling way. “I just don’t want to see you make a fool of yourself.”
Elvis nodded, but in agreement with the decision to remain steadfast in his calm. If he blew up now, it would just make things worse. And he wondered. That reporter had been hawking Frannie, waiting for the moment to strike. Had she still been mad at him at the time? Had she let something unseemly slip? That just… didn’t seem like her. She was so humble, so reserved in her professionalism. Glamour and grace, she was the essence of class. She never said a bad word about anybody.
He just needed to talk to her, smooth things over like he said. That’s all.
“Good luck out there kid, better get crackin’.” When the Colonel left, Elvis’s mind was truly left to ramble. The paper had been left open. That wasn’t all she said. 
He feathered the pages between his fingers, bringing it up to read.
"Some say more than sparks are flying high on the set. Are tensions mounting as well? When social lives dance with professionalism, can everything truly be conflict free?"
He rolled his eyes. The drama. Like conflicts in a movie set were the most headline worthy bits of news to grace the media. When did journalism become more sensationalism and less reality? Pushing the papers away wasn't enough; he plunked them into the trash, dusting his hands.
*
There was a spring in her step, a lightness that lifted her clean off the ground. Francesca was floating—cautiously, carefully—on the surf of infatuation. It was a giddiness that followed her throughout the day. It drew patterns that she otherwise wouldn't have noticed. Young couples seemed more affectionate as she glanced at them on the street, leaning on one another, hands clasped tight. The sun felt brighter on her face. But she wouldn't use that accursed, powerful four-letter word, even if her mind whispered it like an omen.
You're falling, falling fast.
Elvis surprised her the other night, classic pebble-against-window style. He had the Mafia in tow, whooping, spilling out of the sides of the pink Cadillac. She’d opened her window to hear them loudly, chittering and then shushing one another.
"Heeeey, Francieee," Billy waved, hiccuping and covering his mouth.
A bunch of unchaperoned young kids, giggling drunk with Elvis the sober pilot.
"To what do I owe this star-crossed meeting?" She laughed and called down, the night wind catching her dark curls. Stories away and she could see the twinkle in his eye from up above. Elvis waved and then reached down beside him, pulling up the neck of his guitar.
Oh, no. He didn't. He was going to wake everyone on the street! The moon was high, and the city seemed to hush in a quiet whisper, anticipating the tinny strum of his acoustic guitar. The sound was haunting, like a dove cooing his loneliness.
Francesca was a proper Juliet, waiting to be serenaded.
"Any requests?" He asked, tickling the strings, adjusting the tension. 
"Leeeet me call you sweetheart, I'm in love with YOU!"
"Billy, goddammit." Red bickered.
Frannie grinned. "Oh, I do like Bing Crosby," she said, watching Elvis's shoulders roll back.
"Hmp. Well, I've got something better than that," Elvis retorted, clearly a nerve twinged. Was he jealous? He fanned the strings hard, kicking the neck up. He pointed right at her, announcing to a made-up crowd with a fake mic gripped in his hand, "This song is for a very, very special little lady."
“The summer wind came blowin’ in from across the sea. It lingered there to touch your hair and walk with meeee.”
Call it corny, but she had to admit it made her heart melt. 
*
Today, they were filming the scene that set the mood for the film’s romance: when Josephine and Jake first meet at the casino under the overwhelming sun of the dazzling lights.
Her hair couldn’t settle right; it kept tickling her face and she’d have to brush it away. And maybe the new air conditioning system was stirring up a lot of dust. She blinked, rubbing the corners of her eyes, trying not to muck up her make-up. The first chapter of filming early scenes consisted of a lot of retakes and so far in, her co-star had been surprisingly… good. He didn’t bring his little gang of rowdy boys in tow with him on set, even if they waited outside for him some days, revving to go. He’d actually been practicing, rehearsing his lines in his alone time. She’d caught him once or twice after hours, taking up the stage to practice his part. 
In the script, his character was supposed to be somber. Low-key. Indistinguishable from the next guy. But Elvis couldn’t help but exude a humble confidence that somehow brought his character to life. He wasn’t method acting, he was bringing himself to the table. There was almost a vulnerability in how he was playing. She had to admit that some days, he might even be outshining her. Well, most days he outshined her in his own way. No one had really gotten used to having him on set yet and they were already a good few weeks in. He was still waited on hand and foot, every female extra and crew hand stirring for a chance to snag his attention.
They played it cool. “They” being a rigid definition for what Frannie and Presley were. “They” were just having fun. Fun that had to be secret from the prying public eye. She wasn’t ashamed of dabbling in under-garment petting with a guy she was going steady with. It was a high-strung tight rope that she balanced with her own spill of emotions. Like a vase filled with water on her head. One wrong step and it would all come tumbling out. She wasn’t ready to commit her heart to anything, to anyone—especially someone as… carefree as him. So, she just relied on the safe alcove of fun.
He was talking to Cassandra now. The director was showing him the photos of her and her friends on vacation in Italy and he glanced over at Frannie with a polite, silent scream in the form of a forced smile. She snickered, trapezing her way towards him.
“Did you see the photos of her holding up the leaning tower?” Frannie came to his rescue and his face instantly softened. He smiled at her.
“Yeah, I always wanted to take a trip and do that one myself,” he lied.
Cassandra belly laughed, flipping to another photo of her and her closest friend in a tiny boat floating down the canals. “You have to try it out. We wanted to book a river cruise back home but there’s just nothing to do on those things. Nothing but old geezers shambling around in their robes drinking martinis. You guys have to go. It’s beautiful. And the locals are so darling.” She flipped to photos of a glass maker and Frannie recognized from her own time in Cassandra Conversation Penitentiary that they were near the end of the bulging photo album. Poor Elvis had been trapped here for a good ten minutes at least, hunched uncomfortably with his hands in his pockets. She glanced up at him and stifled a laugh.
“Ready to get this show on the road? I’m sure Cassandra would love to get started instead of entertaining you, Mr. Presley.” She put her hands on his shoulders to gently steer him towards the casino set.
He nodded along in an apology to Cassandra. “Oh, I’ll talk your head off if you let me.” 
Extruding himself from the conversation with a long-held sigh, he leaned down to whisper to Frannie, “You think they’ll let you take that dress for a spin off camera?”
She shoved him playfully, her face flushed. This was a pretty hot red dress. It pushed the girls up and squeezed her midriff, cascading halfway down her thighs with a pair of nice gold heels to tie it off. Josephine liked glitz and glam, the inescapable lure of high rolling her shots, risking it all.
Grabbing at the choker around her neck, she fiddled with the clasp of it, loosening it a little when it started to get noticeable, a bit harder to breathe even. She coughed, finding that her throat wasn’t clearing. Her eyes started to water. Her mascara, surely it was running. She coughed into her fist and turned away, embarrassingly fanning her face. What on Earth was she choking on?
Frannie could hear Elvis worriedly saying something to her. His hands were on her upper arms. “Hey, you’re awful red, Frannie. Do you need to sit down?” He swiveled his head. There was a stir from onlookers, spotting her distress.
She tried to tell them that everything was okay, but when she spoke, her throat was dry and tight. She wanted to clear it, but every tickle made her throat painfully raw. And she was itchy. So very itchy. It was like her hair tickled her face but every stray, frustrated swipe brushed bare skin. She rubbed her face with her palms to soothe some of the itch. A seat found its way underneath her rump and she sat in it. Her mind was absolutely awhirl. What was happening? Was she allergic to the makeup? She’d worn it yesterday just fine. The brushes, were they infected? The air conditioning couldn’t be ruled out.
“I just can’t quite—” she rasped, trying to swallow. Her tongue was swollen. Now real panic had begun to set in. Someone put a glass of water in her hands and although she tried to get some down, she merely sputtered and choked more, giving it hastily back.
“Is she choking on something?”
“She was just talking to me fine and now she’s—now she’s like this,” Elvis hurriedly explained. “Someone get an ambulance, it looks like she’s been stung or something.” He put the back of his hand to her forehead. “And she’s burning up. We need someone here, now! Isn’t there a medic on set?”
People were scrambling. Her heart was racing. She focused on her breathing, slowly dragging in and out, doing her best to ignore the overwhelming urge to scratch at her face, her neck, the lobes of her ears.
“My god, Frannie…” Elvis murmured, petting her head. “It’s okay. Someone’s on the way to help. Did you maybe eat something or…?”
She shook her head, loosely pointing to her face, tongue too swollen to talk. She didn’t have any allergies that she was aware of. Whatever reaction she was having had plateaued. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears like a machine. Whoom. Whoom. Whoom. She was gripping Elvis’s hand so tightly, but he didn’t complain. 
It felt like ages for medical personnel to arrive on set. Cassandra had a shirt tied up full of ice she was using to try and keep the swelling down, the cool actually soothing some of the flare. 
The paramedic whistled, dragging up a rattling military green can of oxygen. The mask was fitted over her face and she eagerly inhaled the cool, sterile air. It breathed in easier and she managed to sedate some of the race in her heartbeat. But she still clung to Elvis while they assessed her, escorting her into the back of the ambulance on a stretcher. She was able to remain sitting up and managed to eke out, “You don’t have to—”
“Save it,” he assured her in two words, a finger held up before his caring smile. He was stricken with worry. It was cutting lines in his brow, darkening his handsome face. He leaned over her, helping her loosen the side zip of her dress so that the paramedic could see how far down her redness went. She glanced down, seeing it taper away. 
“You must have gotten into something, sweetheart. You maybe mess around with any poison ivy? Get any chemicals on your skin?” the paramedic asked. His blue gloved hands uncapped an indiscernible bottle of pills that at first Frannie adamantly avoided, turning her head to the side.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright. It’s just an antihistamine. It’ll make you feel better,” Elvis cajoled, turning her head back so gently. “S’okay. They’re gonna take care of you.” She could hear it in his voice.
Somehow, she managed to swallow down two tiny red pills that clung and clawed at her throat. She felt them plunk all the way down into her stomach. She went through her entire day, nothing different, nothing out of the ordinary. But the one thing she could parse that’d touched her face the most had been the make-up, the brushes, the working hands of the ladies. She was starting to lose sight, her cheeks swelling up and pushing against her eyes. She squinted, blinking slowly.
After a grudgingly slow ambulance ride and a few fumbling medicinal tryouts—Ana-Kits were more painful than she’d thought they’d be—the doctors finally surmised that somehow she’d crossed paths with poison ivy in some way, shape or form. Although she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been traversing anywhere near wild foliage that wasn’t picked, shorn and manicured at a public park. She had an immediate, gut sinking thought. That someone had tainted her make-up. Before, it’d been a tiny sewing needle in her red lipstick, and now it was poisonous extract meant to make her very face look as unappealing as possible. Someone was trying to sabotage her!
For fear of not being believed and for tipping off whomever was tormenting her, she kept the secret tight lipped. She wouldn’t tell anyone, not until she had evidence along with her suspicions. She needed to confiscate that make-up before it could be tossed out.
After a few hours, the swelling had gone down immensely. She touched her face, shoulders sagging with relief. If she’d had to perform looking like this… she shook her head. It was entirely out of the question. She could tell that her skin was already flaking and dry, it was so tight against her skull.
Cold salve was applied to her skin, painted down to her chest, thick and sticky like tar. It melted with her body heat, magnifying her discomfort as it tickled her skin, running down in rivulets into the swathes of bandage they used as a levy. Never had she felt more unappealing and yet, steadfast by her side: sleeping Elvis. He was propped back, legs kicked open, head canted to the side, hands steepled in his lap. A glance at the wall said it was near a quarter till ten. And an anxious peapod stack of faces at the door said the Memphis Mafia was woefully a man down. She could hear them talking amongst themselves.
“What do you mean ‘he’s asleep’? You mean Frannie or Elvis?” Red West asked.
“You deaf? He. He’s conked out in the chair, upright stepdad style. Probably drooling and everything.” Marty quipped back.
“Is Frannie awake?” Jerry peeked through the glass.
“Yeah, she’s looking at me.” Marty said.
“Like, looking, looking at you? She’s awake? Coherent? Alive?”
“Get the hell out of the way.” They all tumbled into the room. 
“I’m the only one who even checked in. See, Frannie. Look at my visitor’s pass. Heh, told ‘em I was your cousin from Brooklyn ‘cuz we both have New York accents,” Marty said.
“The resemblance is uncanny,” Frannie laughed, her voice stuffy in her ears.
The boys laughed, the sound rousing Elvis instantly with a snore. He cleared his throat, blinking at them, his head snapping to her, eyes wide, scanning. His hands balanced on her bedside as he stood up, looking over her. 
“Francesca, are you alright?” He looked like he’d had a bad dream. Spooked. Displaced. He touched her, seeming to ground himself. “How do you feel?”
She was sheepish to be in the spotlight thusly. Without letting on, she said passively, “I must have had a reaction to the foundation.”
“How long do you think you’ll look like…” Jerry trailed. “Like you’re hankering for some aloe vera.”
There was a stirring of snickers. She licked her teeth and grinned. “Well, about two or three weeks. In the meantime, I have to stay out of the sun. I can’t have any beauty products on my skin for at least a month, even after I’ve healed. They’re worried I might develop an allergy to any irritants. So, it’s safe to say I won’t, uh—,” She swallowed, feeling a punch well up in her chest. But she didn’t cry about it, no sense in that. Just keep pushing forward. She blinked away the tears, the room stark silent. Still.
“Chess, it’s alright. You don’t even have to worry about that. Cassandra will put everything on hold for you.” Elvis, sweet Elvis assured. 
Chess. That was a new nickname; leave it to Elvis to shorten Fran-ces-ca to Chess. She loved it, even in her blurry antihistamine haze. And although she knew he was only trying to comfort her, assuage some of her deepest concerns mid turmoil, she was in pain. Someone was messing with her. On what should be her red-carpet debut film. She thought of her mother, of her warm, round face in the sun, telling her to make a wish on her birthday as a child.
“What’d you wish for?”
“For dance classes, Mamma!”
“I don’t want things put on hold for me. I want everything to be perfect, despite knowing very well that it isn't realistic. Filming has its flaws, critics have their teeth, ticket sales can disappoint. And sometimes the leading actress can turn into a crawfish days into filming.”
Elvis patted the back of her hand, urging her to peer up at him. “Well, prettiest little crawfish I’ve ever seen. Ain’t that right fellas?”
“Oh, you bet, boss.”  “Most gorgeous crawfish.” “I ever tell you guys that crawfish are my favorite food?” “Boys, get a load of that.”
They were all talking over one another in a cacophony and she was stuck laughing at them, those tears she fought off rearing their vengeful heads, blazing down her sensitive cheeks, out of sight before anyone could catch them. 
*
Filming commenced almost like usual. It could always be done in any order. Cassandra was more than happy to wait out Francesca’s bout of illness and told her not to push things, to return when she was good and ready after much needed rest.
The entire collection of makeup had been trashed and there were lacquered, shiny new replacements all glimmering in their place. Brushes and applicators were all replaced, leaving no wiggle room for cross contamination, just in case. Frannie had informed everyone that it was an allergic reaction, but Elvis knew what he’d heard. That EMT spotted it dead on, and even he recognized it when it was pointed out. The clouds of red, raised gooseflesh. The itching, the swelling. It was poison ivy. And a really bad reaction to it, at that. 
Had someone tainted Francesca’s makeup? Elvis absently touched his face. Surely a brush would have displaced some of that residue onto him, no? She’d gone to makeup after him, even. Things were starting to seem odd.
“Hey, Mr. Presley!” Eddie wretched him out of his pondering. He waved his newly healed arm flawlessly.
“I told you, Eddie, you can just call me Elvis. I’d prefer it if you did.”
The young man had come down to earth a bit, seeing Elvis humanized in his presence and not just some ideal. It was a nice, slow change of pace that he rarely got to experience with people unless on the set of something. He could get to know them, the real them. Sometimes that was nice. Other times, it could be daunting.
With Eddie, it was just pleasant. He was a nice, shy kid. But there was something there, a somber turmoil lying just underneath. The kid had sad eyes—his smile just didn’t quite reach them. 
“How’s Frannie? She looked real bad in the hospital that day.” He shook his head while heading up the scaffolding ladder to adjust a shoulder high light. 
“Better than ever. She wanted to come back today, but her agent wouldn’t let her.”
“Well, that’s probably for the best. She pushes herself so much already.” A live bulb popped in his hand and he barely flinched, taking another from his utility belt to replace it.
“She asked about you, wanted to make sure you weren’t getting into any trouble.”
“Only all the time, Mr.— Elvis.”
Speaking of trouble, he was thinking about getting himself in some tonight. Only the good kind, though. Francesca was feeling better. Although he hadn’t given a damn about some dry skin, her self image had taken a plummet. 
“Just when we were really getting to know each other…” She’d lamented over the phone, her velvet voice stroking his ear through the receiver. He missed spying on her dancing. He couldn’t wait for their moment to film a love scene together. One with some pretty smoking lines and heavy petting. It would be a short, passionate foray to leave the audience enticed, roused, wanting more. 
He’d shown up at her loft with gifts each day, fistfuls of tiger lilies and gladiolus, jewels to compliment her eyes, sweets to grace her mouth. He lingered in her doorway, where she wouldn’t let him in. Her apartment was gorgeous. Feminine. Art nouveau in black, gold and pink. 
Elvis asked her on a date. A date date. Somewhere he knew they wouldn’t be bothered with paparazzi, a fancy restaurant where other A-listers mingled under the pretense they wouldn’t be hounded by cameras while they tried to enjoy a pleasant meal.
“What’s this place called again?” Francesca asked.
“The Experience.”
The upgrade from waiting out on the street to waiting in her apartment hallway was drastic. He felt ten feet tall and bulletproof, and that was before she peeked her towel-wrapped head from the door and asked, “Would you like to come in? I still need to curl my hair, if you don’t mind waiting.”
“Not at all.” He practically jumped at the chance. He felt a giddy sense of boyishness to have achieved the feat of passing into her domain. It was so very Frannie inside, decorated lavishly with a touch of class. Everywhere his eyes fell, there was a new painting or statue to admire, a new glass menagerie of animals to be mesmerized by, a fluffy white cat nervously darting past his ankles! 
“That’s Stella. She’s shy. Don’t try petting her though, she’ll just bite you.” Frannie warned, while said “shy” girl looped in between his ankles, purring like a tractor. “Oh, well that’s new. She probably smells you on me.”
Elvis watched Frannie disappear into the bathroom. She had an Italian record playing. He had no idea what the lyrics were saying, but the song was warm.
É l'uomo per me,è sicuro di sé,da uomo so già,
i progetti che ha,i sogni che fa...Ma ciò che amo in lui,è il ragazzo che,nasconde in sé...
When she emerged, her dark brown hair in shiny gun barrel spirals, her body poured into a black wiggle dress, dainty feet strapped into red pumps. Stunning. She wore a pair of ruby studs in her pretty ears, ones he’d bought for her. On her neck, a string of gold adrip with a heavy blood garnet, another gift to her. It gave him a furl of pride, having her draped in his fineries. His gifts. He was growing erect just thinking about her parading about in lingerie he purchased. His mouth ran dry. Did she even know what she was doing to him?
“You know, you’re lucky I don’t feel like getting my bike out of storage.”
“Why’s that?” He asked, staring at her approach. Her hips swayed when she walked, her natural gait alluring him.
“Hmm, because I’d smoke you. And I don’t know the way. And I’d lose you and therefore, get lost out in the city. Probably have to ask for directions. Hey, has anyone seen Elvis come by here? Probably making this shocked face because his date made him eat her dust?”
Elvis laughed. “Alright. Alright. I’m intrigued. You know you’re going to have to show me up one day. You do have an unfair advantage though, being so small. The bike probably barely touched the road with you flying on the back of it.”
She tucked her arm in his, grabbing a dark leather jacket before scooting out the door with him. He admitted that he wanted to toss her over his shoulder then and there, find out firsthand what her bedroom looked like. But instead, like the true gentleman he was, he presented her with her own helmet and off they went, uptown, into the blinding lights where it looked like day.
An added bonus of the helmet meant that his identity was concealed up until the very moment he rolled up to the flabbergasted valet.
“Eh—El-Elv—,” his eyes were wide with shock and then his expression disappointedly fell. “Oh, I… I can’t drive one of those, sir. We have a gentleman who can, but he’s off tonight, you see.”
“Say no more, we can park it ourselves.” Not a bother. But it was a portent for things soon to come.
They were met with absolute professionalism; the star-struck gaped jaws stopped at the door. There were whispers, eyes, and head tilts once inside but nobody outright said anything. Still, he wondered if this was a bold, careless move. Would word get out? Did he mind? He minded if it bothered her. He checked her intermittently as they waltzed through the opulent dining room beneath a cascade of golden chandelier light. But she never seemed distressed. In fact, she appeared happy, with her hand in his.
The waiter took their orders with haste, showering them in complimentary drinks that mostly went undertaken. She sipped a sunset-colored drink a bit, already feeling a little flushed halfway down the flute.  
“Mr. Presley, your prime rib. And the chef sent these for you and your lovely date, on the house of course. We do hope you enjoy them.” He set out a sparkling pewter tray with a modest hunk of steak. Not exactly a belt adjusting meal, but he wasn’t about to look unrefined in front of his date.
That was until her meal arrived.
“Your Peking Duck, ma’am.” The waiter sat down a gleaming silver down, uncapping a waft of steam that revealed a marvelously pitiful cut of greasy, dark duck against a wilted pile of steamed vegetables. A ruby sauce cut across the two-bite meal and Elvis was glued to Francesca’s stunned expression.
Frannie’s eyes widened. Her lips thinned. The corners pulled up in the barest hint of a smile. She was struggling not to laugh. They’d waited over an hour for that little poot of fowl.
The waiter rubbed his gloved hands before reluctantly extracting without another word, hurrying off to avoid explaining exactly where all that money had gone. Elvis wasn’t a stranger to fine dining (though he always preferred the down home Southern cooking of his youth), but these portions were almost comical.
He looked at her and caught her staring right back and before either could say anything, Francesca burst out laughing, immediately covering her mouth, but nothing could cage that birdsong. She snickered, cutting her serving in half and offering him a spoonful. “Well, would you like to try a little of mine? I don’t think I’m going to be able to finish all of this on my own.” She sighed, picking at it playfully. Her foot glanced against his. He felt heat rush to his face. Been a long while since he felt such butterflies.
Elvis took her offering with gusto, but the bird was as greasy as it looked and the breading was staler than the salad croutons. He swallowed it down with a little choke, comically thumping his chest and taking down a gulp of seltzer water. Was the kitchen just having an off night, then? Did he crack wise about it? Was this the norm and he wasn’t aware?
But no, Francesca was almost in tears, taking her time with making a show out of slicing little slivers off to eat. Her eyes sparkled when she saw the complimentary desserts though and she gladly scooped up goopy, white panna cotta, reflecting that it tasted almost as good as her grandmother’s recipe. Strawberry dripped after her on the white tablecloth and she flinched, glancing up at him with an expression that said it all. His heart lurched in his chest. She was so… cute. Real playful like. The panna cotta, she ate with no qualms, no snickering. She even staked out his portion, which he gladly forfeited saying, “Like I said, already full up.” He patted his stomach, finishing the frustratingly teensy dish he’d been served. His stomach lurched, growling loudly in contest to the brassy piano.
She heard it and leaned forward. “I know this killer burger joint just a couple of blocks away from my apartment. I mean,” she made a gesture with her hands, showing how big around these sandwiches had to be. “Let’s get outta here. Leave that poor waiter a nice tip.”
“I’m already on it,” he flagged down the check and wiped his mouth, tossing down a wad for the waiter who nervously peeked at them from the kitchen door window. He waved, happily grabbing Frannie’s coat and draping it over her elegant shoulders. He got a heady waft of her perfume and it almost took him to his knees. The effort not to lean into her was grand, but he managed.
Out the door they went. The rain cleared, leaving just a misting in the air that glittered like diamonds in the streetlights. He watched her stroll towards the valet, he watched her settle on her helmet, he watched her lithe wrists slipping in under his elbows to cradle his waist, to hold tight to him while he rode with her. Never had he driven so slowly, so carefully. He made each stop with precision, gingerly pumping the brakes. 
The full moon followed them on a journey with no real destination. He just wanted to extend this moment with her, make it last for as long as he could. He didn’t want to go home yet. Not when nights could be spent like this. He felt her rest her head against his back. He felt her trusting him.
“You know,” she said above the rush of wind, “I’m not made of glass, Elvis. Unless you’re scared of going any faster? Pump it.”
Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing, stirring him up like that. He gripped the bars, feeling the smooth stretch of highway extending into the star-studded night. The wind through his hair. The spray of cosmos fanned above them like God’s hands, brighter the further they drove from the city. Passing cars thinned until there were only a set of headlights every ten minutes or so. Out in the country, where all would be black if not for the milk light of moon, the prairie was lit up, cast in jagged mountain shadows. Streetlamps bounced like marbles in the distance, disappearing from sight.
He strolled the bike to a stop, pedaling his feet against the asphalt. Dismounting, giving her his hand, he’d brought her out to a retired cow pasture, left to see wildflowers and clover for the soil in the future. Probably not the ritziest location, but it beat a hell of a lot of other shit he’d been getting up to.
For the first time in days, he wasn’t itching for anything but time. More time with her.
She hadn’t said anything yet, she was just taking in the view, wide eyed and maybe even a little skittish. He helped her down a thrushy knoll, leaving the road and any hint of civilization behind as they danced through open terrain. It was like walking in a dream.
“Where are we going?” She asked curiously, watching him as they passed brambles. He stomped down the sagging barb-wire fence enclosing the wide, wide pasture and escorted her over.
“After you.”
She patted his shoulder and he could see the moon on her red, smiling lips. So beautiful it made his heart ache. “Such a gentleman. And they say chivalry is dead.”
“Alive and well, Chess.” He guided them deeper in. 
“Where did you find this place?” she asked.
The wind had picked up and in the hills they could hear the wail of coyotes intermittently yipping as they cut across the dark, unseen. “It’s a long story. It was the first time I went to Vegas with the boys, and I got drunk out of my mind. I mean, if someone handed me a beer or something that night, no questions asked, I was drinking it. I don’t even know why; I never drink. Anyway, so I wake up, completely alone, completely naked—”
Frannie snorted, spinning, crouching, pointing. Sweetly joyous at his expense. “No!”
“Yeah. Had my socks and my shoes on, but nothing else.” 
She couldn’t stop laughing. “What car?”
He gawked, “That! That’s what you ask me?”
“I just— haha!” She had to lean against him for laughing so hard. “I just want to picture it accurately! Were you working on your tan with the top down in the Cadillac?”
“No, no. I was driving this, okay, it was a Cadillac, but an “Eldorado Biarritz”. I hated that thing. The top leaked, she steered like a boat. There was this smell, like syrup had been spilled somewhere and I want you to know I got on my hands and knees smelling the inside of that damn car, trying to find what that smell was. Never did. But anyway. I’m naked, yeah, sprawled out like I’m tubing.” He posted his arms up, kicking up one leg. 
“You’re killing me!” She squealed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. They’d stopped now and they were both unafraid, undeterred by the darkness around them. Like no one else, like nothing else existed right in that moment. “So, you wake up absolutely cooked, right?”
“Bingo. Like a lobster, from head to, well, ankle. And I’m out of gas. I can’t even get her to turn over, I must have left it running in park, because I’m neatly pulled over in the shallow ditch. Just like the one we walked across now. I have absolutely no idea where I’m at. I’m thinking that I could start walking that way, or maybe that way. Don’t know where I’m about to end up. I could probably hitchhike, but I hadn’t seen any cars pass. I’m absolutely dying of thirst, my mouth was just like this.” He opened his mouth comically wide. 
She grinned, rapt on his every word, bundling up in her jacket. “Well, obviously someone comes to your rescue.”
Elvis pointed dead ahead to a fissure in the ground, a tiny creek carved its way, whispering through the meadow. Large, low flat boulders peeked from the ground.
“I keep walking, but I don’t take the road. Cause to my right, I see all the cows. Chewing, looking at me with their big ol’ sad eyes. At this point, I’m talking to the cows. Asking where their handler is and lo and behold, like some John Wayne yankee doodle comes down from the heavens with a canteen and a way to get me back to town, but only if I helped him out around the farm a little bit before I left.”
She tilted her head in that curious, bird-like way. “You’re kidding. Elvis Presley, rolling up his sleeves to lend a little elbow grease? I’m charmed by this new side of you.”
“Well, don’t fall in love yet, ‘cause I made that up. The boys and me just wanted a low-profile place to mingle a little uh, more…” He coughed. “Intimately with the ladies. Or just partying it up on a more reserved scale.”
His vision had adjusted to the dark and he watched her roll her eyes. “You’re unforgivable,” she said forgivingly, brushing her index finger down his nose. “You should direct something.”
“I’m not into that whole part of the deal.”
She shrugged, “You have a knack for storytelling. I was hooked on every word. You know, I’m still gonna tell people this story like it was true.” She laughed, clearly joking, but at the mention of her telling stories to anyone, he felt his collar constrict, his throat dry. Did she find him hard to work with? Was he making something out of this that he shouldn’t? He had to make it up to her then. If she saw him that way, it was up to him to change that, right?
Elvis looked along the creek bed a minute before spotting what he was looking for. He’d been up here just a few months ago, doing donuts in some cars and lighting fireworks with the boys. But now, he wanted to enjoy this with her.
A weary little woodshed housed dry twigs and branches. More than enough to build a small campfire. There were remnants of the old bonfire here, charred bottles and Roman candles laying in the ashes. Surrounding the pit were large rocks, hand-picked and tirelessly rolled up the embankment to make for rustic seating. She sat on one, looking like some fairy queen, moonlight a diadem on her dark locks. Heavenly.
He used his zippo to spark some leaves and within minutes they had a nice bundle of flames licking the damp wood, crackling moisture into the embers.
“Red found this place. He had to keep telling me that I was driving the right way. He used to work for the rancher that owns all this and got permission to search the cow patties for them magic mushrooms. But it’s also just a pretty clean spot just to unwind.”
He grew bored of clubs quickly. Parties were best thrown at his own place, and he didn’t feel like planning any damn parties lately. It was frustrating and tenacious, pushing away efforts for social interactions, even if he deeply craved them. He’d almost fallen into a rut lately. Flop after flop. But with Frannie, something was markedly different.
Breathing was easier. Going to filming on time, easier. Sleeping at night, knowing he’d get to see her again in the morning, like the sun rising, like the sun setting. She was always with him. It started with infatuation, tapering into obsession, and now he felt something roiling like a wild maelstrom inside of him. Feelings that left him unsure of what to do with himself, so he could only gaze at her, wringing his hands, wishing they were around her waist, pinning her wrists, caressing her face. He wanted to be so much more than a fun time to her.
“I really like it here, Elvis. When I was a little girl, I was in one of those programs where they’d take the poor city kids and plunk them into the country for a few weeks in summer. Y’know, to show us there was life outside the concrete jungle and stuff. That’s how I used to go on camping trips all the time. When I started making a little money and my career was just taking off, I’d take my family out to scenic places with me for every occasion. It was my go-to, pick-me-up. My kid brother got good grades in school. Road trip to Nevada! Mom’s birthday? Niagara Falls! Dad came down with the flu? How about spring break in Yellowstone?” She didn’t lose an ounce of her humor, even in telling him such vulnerable utterances. He didn’t know. “When I was little, I didn’t realize that I was so poor, and a tent and some cans of chicken noodle were maybe all my parents could afford to send me off with at the time. They were immigrants, you know. But they always made the most of it. I lost my mom a year ago.” She winced. Elvis understood how she felt, for he too was exceptionally close with his family—his late mother most of all. “And my dad is getting older now. Even though now it’s much harder for him to get around, he still sits in his garden back in Brooklyn, greeting all the new cicadas and weeding his veggie beds. He taught me how to can tomatoes. Which berries were safe. Did you know every multi-bulbed berry in North America is edible? All of them!” She was alight, sharing these things with him. He didn’t know it when he brought her out here, but maybe this was the best date he could have picked.
“So, you’ve been to Yellowstone?”
“Never. I was just joking about that one. My Mom actually wanted to go before she... anyway, I never got to go.” 
“Let’s go. As soon as filming is wrapped up. Ditch the red-carpet premiere and—”
The look she cast upon him made him icy at once. “It’ll be my first. I wouldn’t dream of missing the premier. My family will be there.” She blinked slowly and he realized that he’d made a mistake. “Sorry, I just…”
“No, no. Nothing to apologize for. I didn’t mean to make light of it. I know what a big accomplishment this is for you, Chess. I’ll share that moment with you. Promise.” He looped his pinkie finger in hers, making amends as quickly as he could, steering them back on course. Don’t fub this now, bozo. “But as soon as our butts are out of those seats, we’re taking a road trip straight to Yellowstone. I’ll bring a boatload of film, we can take all the pictures, make all the memories.” Was he rambling? Losing her? Floundering? 
“So, how much of that story was true? They say there’s something genuine in every imitation, an artist can’t help but leave a piece of himself behind.” She kept taking pieces of his heart, one stunning smile after the other, leaving her calling card in the wake of her theft. Did she know the effect she had on him?
He leaned in, telling her honestly, “Okay, I did wake up naked with nothing but my shoes and socks on one time, but no one knows how I got there or how the car got to the Denny’s parking lot.”
“See, that wouldn’t have been nearly as glamorous as an abandoned cow field.”
“I do have a way with these things,” he puffed up his chest and she deflated it with a push to his sternum. When he exhaled, his lips pursed, she closed their distance suddenly with a quick kiss. Her lips were soft in that moment, pressing against his. He was stunned when she retracted and he almost forgot to breathe. They were alone, out in the dark of night beneath pale moon beams aside a crackling bonfire, their desires stirred; he knew that the moment this started, it would be near impossible to stop. He didn’t trust himself to have the self-control necessary to curb his arousal. He wanted her. Badly. Deeply. 
“You look intense, Press,” she teased. “Are you worried you might mess this up?”
Press and Chess. He liked the sound of that. His hands instantly magnetized to the dip of her waist. His forehead was pressed against hers. Licking his lips, he told her, “If I’m honest with myself, I’m not even sure what “This” is.” To me. To you.
“What’s it feel like?” She asked, her breath fanning him, sweetly scented like rose water candies. Her fingers played with the baby hairs on his nape, breaking pleasant shivers along his flesh. 
“Feels like one wrong move and I could mess up a real good thing.” If his dream grew too fanatical, he’d jolt awake, dripping with a cold sweat, clinging to the sheets just to realize it wasn’t real. That it never had been, even if it’d earnestly felt that way. Touching her now grounded him in that reality. She’s here and she doesn’t seem like she wants to run for the hills. 
Francesca whispered, even though for miles and miles, only they remained. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”
But he of all people knew how easy it was to fall out of that hazy paradise of affection and into bleak, tolerant monotony.
Elvis could see it in her eyes. She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. And if that was the case, she wouldn’t have any complaints if he dipped in for another smoldering kiss, taking her breath. She gasped, letting him gather her into his arms. Her fragrance wafted over him, suffusing him. He was dizzy, inhaling her, burying his nose in her neck when he kissed her gorgeous nape. 
Frannie couldn’t hide the shy pull of her shoulders. He knew she was still self-conscious about the poison ivy that’d marred her skin, but even without his love-struck bias, he could hardly see anything beyond a flush of pink, hidden beautifully by her own rosy glow as she bloomed underneath his ministrations. She was like sugar, melting into his touch. 
He laid her down by the firelight, the sway of flames painting them in dancing shadow. They were about to join in an atavistic way. Her kisses became feverish when he had her pinned. Intoxicated on a whole new kind of high, he couldn’t get enough of her. She tasted divine, better than any ambrosia. He licked his tongue against her, cajoling her to join him. Eliciting a little whimper, she did, canting her head to the side, lashes fluttering shut.
Elvis learned that Frannie’s ears were sensitive. His nose brushed across one and she shuddered beneath him, her nipples straining against her dress. She wore no bra. Kissing her ear, nibbling the curved shell, she was wiggling, sinking him like quicksand, till they were hip and hip like in her dressing room. He beat off to that on more than one occasion; it kept him company when she forbade him from seeing her healing face.
The real deal couldn’t be beaten. He was enthralled, wrapped around her finger. He wanted to coset her, give her anything she could ever ask for. Her dreams were great and if she wanted to be a star, he would do his utmost to manifest that with everything he had.
He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to ruin this moment or break the spell. Maybe he would wake up in his bed, alone. Maybe this was a dream after all. But Francesca felt very real in Elvis’s arms, returning his kisses, rocking her hips against him. He felt her heels on the backs of his thighs and it made his dick pulse unreasonably hard. She felt it, purring, tossing her head to the side.
“Push that against me,” she rasped, spurring him with a nudge. 
He happily obliged, thrusting against her. Heaven. He caged her beneath him, tongue in her mouth, cock throbbing against her silk panties. The clanging of his belt was muffled by his heartbeat. She freed him, her soft palms cradling his cock excitedly. Her eager eyes laid on him and she wetted her lips, amazed when a thick bead of pre-come beaded on his crown. She daubed her finger to it, bringing it up to her lips for a lick, almost absent mindedly, like she hadn’t realized what she’d just done. She was too erotic for her own good, pulling the thread and undoing him at her leisure. 
The fire tumbled, sending a shimmer of cinders into the air. Like the blaze she’d set in his heart, burning him from the inside out. He kissed her hard, hard enough to bruise and she didn’t glance away. Always step for step with him, perfectly in stride. She was unlike any woman he’d ever known.
He rolled her panties down and she helped, until she seemed to catch up with his own fervent pace and realize she might be going too far, too fast with him. Her words rang in his ears. 
No sex.
Elvis hadn’t done something so needy since his high school days. Feeding into her plump thighs, wedged in the snug warmth, he felt the tell-tell draws almost instantly, that lick of heat against the base of his spine. He was done for and not stopping to curb his indulgence one bit. He hilted deep, cock throbbing. When he started to thrust his hips, the tension coiled white hot with every drawn-out pump. Weight propped on his arms, he isolated motion solely to his pelvis, rocking against her in rhythmic strokes. 
“Ooh, I love the way you move your hips,” she stammered, holding onto him.
He sputtered incoherently, brows knitting as he slowed his roll to keep from spilling mid-sentence, mid thought when he said, “Now, just imagine how it’d feel buried deep inside of you.” 
Francesca moaned, turning to kiss him. With each drop, her hips rose up. He could feel her getting wet, could feel the heat radiating from her slick core. He couldn’t stop picturing it, just one adjustment and he could slam right in, would she hate him so much? Not a chance in the world he’d shatter her trust in him like that. But it was an amorous fantasy, Francesca begging for him to give it to her. His body was made for pleasuring hers, they were just so compatible.
She angled her hips and he felt his shaft glide between her lips. When he peered down at the dark thatch of curls, at the endless pink that did beg to envelop him, his resolve wavered. 
“Francesca, you’re going to ruin me.”
She signed his heart with her impish smile, acknowledging his agony with an eager pitch forward. If he let her move all on her own, she did so with serene grace, mesmerizing him with the sensual roll of her body. Her arms stretched up, her elegant back arched, her thighs drew him deeper against her. Even if she didn’t admit it, even if he busted clean across her pretty dress instead, he knew for a fact that she wanted him. She was glistening wet, cool air kissing his shaft the brief seconds their sexes would uncouple. 
It was the most intimate experience of his life and he wasn’t even having penetrative sex. He thrust against her and she cried out, “If you keep moving, just like that… you’ll make me see stars.”
Oh, that was the plan. He wanted her in the throes, cast out to choppy waters, he wanted her just as helpless for him as he was for her. He took measured lengths not to come, not until she got hers. His pace hitched and he sputtered, quickly getting back on track, listening to the even rise of her moans, strung deliciously together. Making music.
They held on, clinging to one another for dear life, kissing like young lovers, bumping teeth in excitement, lips mashing. Maybe he had fallen along the way, because he was losing himself in her.
“Frannie, you’re going to pull it right out of me,” he groaned, cradling her face in his hands while he plunged, losing grasp in one slip. But she was beyond words, her body arched on a soundless cry. She was beautiful in his arms, coming on him, because of him, wringing him dry across her creamy abdomen. Gorgeous, heaven sent, all his. He nosed her hair, he muttered sweet nothings, he kissed her damp brow. He wanted to tell her all the things he felt, about how he was both scared and elated that he was possibly tumbling deep into the maddening abyss of love. But he didn’t really know how yet and suspected that she might be the one to show him how to express it, to love someone. 
For now, he’d rest on his laurels, swimming in the tepid oasis of “fun,” where they might be something committed, but they weren’t an official couple. Like their names didn’t sound perfect together. His mind was a whirl one moment and then drained the next. He collapsed on top of her, holding his weight aloft while he just breathed her in, noting how her scent changed when it mingled with his.
“Did you see where my panties went?” She reached around on the ground but before they could both say anything, silently, they both spotted said panties go up in a hiss of flame, escorted in by the shifting wind. It was picking up now, getting colder, their breath clinging in the night air.
Frannie’s hair was mussed, her lips were parted, her dress was still askew (and now dirty on the back, but he wasn’t going to tell her about that part). They kicked dirt onto the fire, a haunting scene, leaving them to scurry back to the roadside with just the stars lighting their way. He felt her chilly hands trembling, but she told him later that it had been with excitement.
The moon was high in the sky and there was no telling what time it was. He didn’t care one bit as they saddled up, taking the scenic route all the way back to the city. Where the night sky all but disappeared under the haze of streetlights and skyscrapers, billboards and neon signs. It had an untamed beauty all on its own, the concrete jungle. 
“Tonight was amazing, Press,” Francesca said, kissing him goodbye, firstly on the cheek. “And you are an amazing experience, all your own.” Then she kissed his lips.
“You’re a once in a lifetime, Frannie.”
Elvis knew as he watched her leave that they’d have nights like this again and again.
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stealing-the-smp · 5 months ago
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Member 10
The Doctor
Aloe
Lives by the end: 1
Alignment: Neutral Good
Sides: Pogtopia(? Was mostly there because they were the underdogs so would need the most injuries patched), Hydra’s underground city(always has a place there), The Cult(mind controlled or wouldn’t join)
Age: Unclear but in their 20s
Species: Blaze hybrid
Gender: Nonbinary
Pronouns: Any
Sexuality: Pan and Poly
Morals: Helping others at any cost, Not hurting others
Goals: just help people given people on this server tend to get really banged up
Likes: Lemons, Medical stuff, Sassing others, Getting to sit on Sam’s back to avoid walking, Warm temperatures
Dislikes: The “Egg”(gonna change it eventually), Water
Allies: Demi, Sam, Mahogany, Vian, Hydra, Bee, Franklin
Enemies: tries to not make enemies it’s a bad idea
Family: None
Appearance: Aloe has dark skin and white hair and dark eyes which sometimes you can see little specs of yellow in if she’s emotional in some way(anger and confidence and happiness are really likely to do this meanwhile sadness and disgust and fear usually have the dark eyes staying normal) they also have yellow blaze like qualities on their hands and feet or at least hand given in the cult arc they lost their left arm at first at the elbow but it was ripped off so they had to amputate it to a little higher so it would heal better also you can often find them wearing a mask that only has their eyes revealed and is reds, blacks, and yellows
Quotes:
“Oh! I have medical knowledge I could help out!”
“Pssh my teenage crush was too embarrassing for anyone to ever know….”
“Oh! That’s just Dog my horse and that’s Cat my bee…. Shhhh don’t tell them that!”
“Oh I’m not approaching you to be allies I’m trying to date you…there’s a clear difference Sam”
“What if I called you Sammy? How would you respond Sammyyy”
“Oh this is Lemon tree it’s my home!”
“my home……”
“Sammy I’m just going to stick with you”
“What Sammy wants to say is he loves your idea he’s just not the best at conveying that”
“Sammy can you meow? You are a cat centaur thing after all”
“Oh I just like sitting up here Sam is cozy and the ground is ew”
“Pssh I don’t pick sides everyone needs help after all”
“Oh ok Sam you can protect me”
“Oh my the god teenage me crushed on….I’m gonna flirt with him….”
“Heyyyyy Demi you’re hot like hotter then my hands and I’m part blaze you could even hold my hands as proof”
“how did that work?”
“why do I have to pick a side this time? Ughhhh Sam we’re joining the Pogtopia side they’ll need more medical attention”
“Demi mind if I call you Dems?……YES”
“Pshhhhh Psshhhh Pssshhhhhhhh” <vocal stimming while thinking
“I’m starting to question the sanity of this nation….Like seriously I’m no therapist but I think everyone here needs a psychological assessment and a IQ test they are all IDIOTS most of the time”
“Oh shhhh it doesn’t hurt as bad as getting the injury idiot just calm down let me work”
“This was your STUPID plan??? I still gotta help”
“I’m sorry everyone….. he’s already gone”
“I need somewhere to stay Hydrangea can I stay here?”
“thank you Hydrangea”
“Well it’s time for me to leave…take care of yourself Hydrangea”
“what’s that sound? that voice?”
“I can’t let this take over no no no”
“SAM oh god I don’t have control over my voice!!”
“*evil giggling* Pssh Sam come here”
“OH FUCK MY ARM”
“SAM LET GO I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU”
“That was traumatic…..”
“I think I need to cut it a little higher so it’ll heal ehhh”
“I hate walking this much….please nothing cut my legs off because I complained about that…..”
“Oh yeah Muffins I can manage food”
“Wanna dance Sam?”
“You’ve a husk of your formal self as well you know Sam?”
“DEMI!!! wait I’m aware…STILL SHIT”
“Sam can you apologize for my arm? I think that was a little extra…”
“I accept your apology pshhh I love you Sam”
This character is replacing
Ponk
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whentherewerebicycles · 2 years ago
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time to declutter my brain by making some LISTS!!!! 
time available to me in the immediate future:
had amazing weekend in pittsburgh! am flying home tonight so will have about 5-6 hours of airport and flight time where i can work on whatever
i have only one meeting & one tiny work task on the agenda for tomorrow so i will have that entire day
wednesday morning is packed with meetings but i’ll be finished by 12 and then will have the rest of the day to run errands, pack, and do other last-minute trip stuff
thursday morning will be a bit of a mad scramble but then i will have 10-11 hours of sustained work time on the plane to use however i want
things i need to get done: 
pre-trip errands. i ordered a shitload of travel clothes & other stuff that all arrived this weekend, so i need to try everything on, decide what i’m taking with me, and drop off all returns before i leave. i also need to buy dog food, water plants, and pay some medical bills.
campus visit. i’ve gotten too far in the weeds with all the prep work and research, which is fine, like i needed to do that reading and thinking, but also now it’s time to step back from it a little bit and start thinking about the pieces i’m going to pull out for the actual talk. the sooner i can get a detailed outline together the less stressed i’ll feel, so i think i may spend tonight’s plane ride outlining by hand (since writing things out instead of typing helps me organize my thinking more efficiently). i want to think about several possible configurations for that hour, and then i also want to create a to-do list so i have a clearer sense of the stuff i need to prep or script in the next couple weeks.
i know i am going to put a lot of pressure on myself to do this “perfectly” or whatever, but i want to try to gently push back against that impulse. i am so prepared for this interview. the presentation doesn’t have to convey absolutely everything because i will have the entire day to answer questions and bring up things i want to mention. my goal is to not get lost into the details but to keep my messaging simple, direct, and compelling. i also read a bunch of articles in the chronicle this morning about how hard it is for universities to recruit and retain talented admin staff right now, and that made me feel a bit better about going into the interview. interviews are two-way evaluations and if they are interested enough in me for this role to invite me to campus, they are also going to be feeling some pressure to make this a positive experience and to convince me that this is the place i want to be.
IUI planning. i test tomorrow but kind of have a gut feeling this cycle didn’t work! i know i’ll be disappointed if the test is negative but i also think i’m so busy with other stuff that i’ll move on pretty fast and be ready to try again. i just need to reach out to my doctor before my trip to see what she thinks about squeezing something in around the travel and the campus visit - the timing will get a little hairy so it might not be worth it to try this month. we’ll see! but i have to do that before i leave as i need to know if i should take the meds with me & i also will need to set up my sister with the info to call the donor bank for me.
fic comments. lol my goal for this last cycle was to do 14 comments in 14 days and i only managed to do 4!! i will cut myself some slack here as when i set the goal i didn’t know about the job interview yet and didn’t anticipate that other stuff would fill all that open time. but i might try to do a few more on the plane tonight - maybe i can get to 7 at least. 
okay! there’s a lot ahead of me but honestly i think i did a ton of good work in march and that has prepared me to roll into a very busy april in a reasonably calm state of mind. i can handle everything that lies ahead. and wow i’m about to have a very cool travel experience too!! and basically two full weeks where  don’t have to think about my current job for even a second! i know i’ll probably be tired at the end of the trip but i hope it’s also a good brain break for me.
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radarsteddybear · 1 year ago
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Whumptober Day 11 - You Scared Me
Fandom: Original Fiction (H.O.U.N.D.S.) Prompt(s): water inhalation, "Just hold on." Rating: Teen Additional Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, friendship, found family, spy-fi, drowning
“Cassandra!” Minnow screamed, but Cassandra didn’t have the time to process the desperation in her voice before she slammed into the water.
The world became blurry and dark.  Cassandra floated peacefully in the silence for…she wasn’t sure how long until she suddenly remembered that she had to breathe.  She flailed, desperately trying to find the surface.  Her lungs decided they couldn’t wait any longer, and she took a huge breath of water that sent her into a coughing fit, her body desperately seeking air.  She couldn’t tell up from down, let alone calm her spasming diaphragm enough to propel herself in any one direction.
The world began to fade away.  On one level, she knew she was in trouble, but a sense of calm settled over her all the same, and she simply didn’t care.
She wasn’t sure what happened next or how much time passed, but the next thing she knew, she was coughing and sputtering in the wonderful open air.  As she worked on filling her lungs with oxygen and expelling them of sea water, she slowly became aware of something rough underneath her palms.  Finally, her coughing slowed, and she lay her head down, her brain barely registering that same roughness underneath her cheek.  She lifted a limp hand to her face to pull away the hair plastered to her skin.  She tried to open her eyes, but there was still water in the way.  She gathered her strength, still trying to catch her breath, and brought her heavy hand back to her face to clumsily wipe it away.  The sun was too bright, though, even through her closed eyelids, so she soon gave up.
Cassandra began to notice a sound off in the distance.  “Cass!  Cass, just hold on!”  It was growing louder, closer.  It sounded familiar–awfully familiar–but she didn’t quite have the strength to place it.
All of a sudden, like a bolt of lightning splitting the sky, there was a presence hovering above her, and a familiar voice calling her name.
“Cass!  Cass, can you hear me?”
Cassandra groaned at the invasion of noise into her peaceful little world and rolled over onto her back, wincing as it made contact with the rock that was acting as her life raft.
“Yeah, I can hear you,” she said.  Her throat felt like sandpaper.  She cracked her eyes open to see Minnow’s worried face inches from her own.
Suddenly, Cassandra started coughing again.  She turned to the side just in time to avoid vomiting sea water all over herself.
When she was finished, Cassandra scrubbed a hand over her face.  She opened her eyes to find her hand smeared with pink, and she had a feeling that her face didn’t look much better.
Minnow slid forward so that Cassandra could lean on her.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
“You tell me,” Cassandra said.  She coughed some more.  “You know more about this kind of stuff than I do.”
Minnow did a quick examination–checked her heart, her breathing, her skin.  Cassandra noticed that her hands were shaking.
“I think you’ll be fine,” Minnow said.  “You’ll have to take a trip to Medical, though, to make sure.”
Cassandra buried her face in Minnow’s shoulder and groaned.
“We’ll have to get back ashore before we can worry about that,” Minnow said, pointedly ignoring her partner’s dramatics.  She looked around.  “Maybe I can find a log for you to float back on.”
“Are you sure you’re ok to do that?” Cassandra asked.
“Why not?  I’m not the one who nearly drowned–”
Wordlessly, Cassandra held up Minnow’s still-trembling hand.
“Right.  Yes.  Ok, you scared me,” Minnow said, blushing.  She pulled her hand away.  “I’ll be fine.”
Cassandra watched as Minnow waded into the water and swam to shore.  She quickly found the promised log, tested its buoyancy, and swam it back to Cassandra’s rocky island.
“This should do,” she said.  “Get on.”
Cassandra waded into the water and clung to the log while Minnow pulled it back to shore.  Cassandra wasn’t sure what she would have done if Minnow hadn’t been there.  She probably would have ended up spending the night on that rock in the middle of the bay.
“All right.  Let’s take a closer look at you,” Minnow said once they were on solid ground.  Now it was her turn to take her partner’s hand into her own, and Cassandra noticed for the first time that her palm was all scraped up.  Cassandra looked at her other hand to find it in much the same condition.  That would explain the pink smears from before.
Minnow pulled her first aid kit from the pocket of her jacket, which was laying in the sand dry as a bone.  Cassandra hadn’t noticed that she had taken it off.
It didn’t take Minnow long to clean and bandage both of Cassandra’s hands.  She checked Cassandra over but didn’t find any other wounds that warranted much attention–which was good, because she was quickly running out of gauze.  Then, she twisted the gem on her communicator ring to open the channel.
“This is Agent George reporting.”
“Agent George.  Go ahead,” came the familiar voice of the head of H.O.U.N.D.S. Northwest, Mr. Thaddeus.
“Agent Jacobson has suffered a code 12.  Should we continue the mission or abort?”
“A code 12, you say?  How is she?”
Minnow glanced over at her partner.  “Exhausted and in need of observation.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
“Then continue the mission.  Take the rest of the day to rest and then resume tomorrow.  Stick together, if you can.  If Miss Jacobson becomes poorly, check her into a local hospital.  I’ll make sure she pays a visit to Medical once you return.”
“Acknowledged.  Over and out.”
Minnow twisted the gem in her ring to close the channel.  “I guess it’s back to the hotel, then.”
Cassandra nodded.  “At least we already have a hotel this time.”
“Always looking on the bright side, I see.”
“Well, one of us has got to do it.”
Minnow pushed herself to her feet and pulled Cassandra to hers.  “Off we go?”
“Off we go.”
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malinka-nostalgia · 2 years ago
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Juliette is on her way!
So here’s the story.
June 29. I’m 34 weeks, 1 day
In the afternoon I started feeling some cramping in my abdomen. Similar to period cramps. Also some fatigue. Felt like I just ran a mile. I went to bed way earlier than usual, like 9pm. Did not have a good night. Kept waking up to reposition and go to the bathroom cause I thought I had to pee due to cramps and increasing pressure on my bladder/pelvis. At the time I didn’t really know what contractions felt like, so I mayyy have had them but irregularly. I spent time going on Google/Reddit and typing in my symptoms to see if it’s normal. I saw a lot of people saying it looks like Braxton hicks. So I tried to call myself down that that’s what it is.
June 30. 34 weeks 2 days.
I did not feel better in the morning. If anything I might have felt worse. I though maybe my cramps are related to GI. I had some oatmeal and a cup of coffee. It was hard walking to the classes. Some people could tell I’m struggling and I let them know I may be in false labor. I shared my physical status in process group, so they are aware I may be in false labor and feeling like shit. I also cancelled my manicure apt with Edie, because I just had a bad feeling about what’s happening. Right after process group I went to the business office and got my sober link. My sweet roommate helped me with putting my stuff on a cart and wheeling it over to my car for my therapeutic weekend leave home. She looked really concerned for me since that morning.
My drive home was miserable and was getting worse by the minute it seems like. I may have started to realize what contractions are. My abdomen would tighten, hurt like a bitch, and relax after some time. But even after relaxing I still had baseline cramps which were pretty bad too. It got to the point that I started meaning out loud and breathing heavy. It was difficult to talk to Steve when he called and he grew really concerned and suggested I go straight to the hospital. I told him I wanna go home first and then call my clinic. After a miserable almost 2 hour drive home, I barely crawled out of my car and slowly climbed up to the second floor to our apartment with Steve’s arm around my shoulders for support. I went straight to the bathroom to pee and hope it would relieve some pressure. It barely did. I lied down with a heating pad, hoping it would provide some relief. But shortly after I had another big painful contraction. I called my clinic and they told me to go to labor and delivery triage. Steve drove me.
Got there a bit before 3pm. Based on my frequent, regular, and strong contractions it was determined I’m in premature labor. That scared me. I wanted to cry but I felt like if I did it would make the contractions even stronger. And they already hurt so bad. I was just about yelling every time I had one.
The doc who was great did a papa smear and strep B tests. He also said I’ll be gettin a medication to slow down the contractions. The triage nurse placed an IV. After 2 attempts. Then asked for help to get my labs done. Thank goodness. They also gave me a shot of steroid to help with Juju’s lungs. Shortly after I felt fluid gushing from inside of me. I verbalized somethings happening and that I don’t know if it’s pee or my water broke. The nurse looked and said my water broke. Change of plans. No need to slow down the labor anymore. Baby’s coming in the next 24 hours. The nurse warned me that the contractions will be even more painful now. Not sure if I needed to hear that.
I was transferred to the l&d unit. Changed out of my wet dirty dress into a how. The contractions continued to be horrible and frequent. About 30 mins later I finally got the epidural I was so ready for. The lidocaine hurt and burned real bad, but the actual epidural seemed like a piece of cake. Finally I started to calm down and feel so much better. I called my treatment program to let them know what’s happening. Got a call back later from my therapist and psychiatrist and they said to just focus on what’s happening and not worry about anything else and just keep them updated.
Steve went down to get some food. He was so hungry and mentally worn out. About an hour after the epidural the nurse came with her nursing student and they inserted a urinary catheter. Felt great bit to feel anything. Steve came back after that. Throughout the whole thing Steve had been so supportive.
My brain’s foggy now about everything. I remember later being checked for dilation and I was 3-4 cm. Progressing fast. They weren’t gonna check me again for a while because they didn’t want to risk introducing infection. But they told me to notify if I feel increasing pressure or feeling like I’m bout to poop.
Epidural worked amazing. I could no longer feel the contractions. At times I’d feel them a bit on my right side of abdomen but it wasn’t intense. Basically i had to spend more of my time on my right side because the gravity pulls the medication down like that. Steve pushed the couch closer to my bed so it felt like we were sleeping side by side.
Sergey came by that night to get our apartment key so he could feed Prince on his way to get my dad from the airport. He also dropped off some food for Steve. Shortly after my mom, Alyona, and Darina came by to visit and drop off some food from Renata as well as a care package from her with baby clothes, wipes, pads for me, snacks, nipple pads, and some meds to take home. I felt so spoiled.
Anyway, halfway through writing this the morning I actually ended up delivering it I’ll write that out on another post. This was my overwhelmingly crazy Friday that was also full of so many blessings.
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megwritesnstuff · 2 years ago
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I know I don’t have a lot of mutuals and stuff but this is my blog and I can post whatever I want and I need to. Talk about some stuff.
On the night of the 17th my little brother in law was involved in a really horrific, traumatic accident while on vacation. He was invited, along with their other roomie, by one of his roomates’ family to join them on their vacation to West Virginia. They own property up there and it was meant as good wholesome fun. Go relax in the mountains, ride some four wheelers, have a few beers, whatever. All three of the roommates are in trade school learning welding but they’re on summer break right now and, my little BiL specifically had been saving up to go on a trip anyway because theres been a lot of other stressful stuff going on in his/my partners family lately and so he decided to go.
But, while no one is exactly sure what happened, there was an accident and my lil BiL had to be airlifted to the nearest hospital. Basically, they were at a place that is for mountain bikes (I guess? idk much about this sort of stuff) riding the ATVs. There were some trees blocking sight of a bend in the track so no one who was at the scene saw what happened, but my BiL went around the track and just... never came back. A few minutes pass and his buddies are like. “Wow whats taking him so long? Lets go check” and they found him just
nearly dead. The four wheeler was on top of him and he was face down in the dirt. Aparently an animal ran out in the track or SOMETHING happened, and it ended up rolling end over end so he broke the fall all with his face and neck. They of course called emergency services and his parents, but because it was later at night his parents were already asleep and didnt answer/ So they called his brother AKA my partner. It showed up as an unknown number so we nearly didnt answer as well but thank GODS we did. We drove out as fast as we could, a four and some change hour drive, to be with him. I’m only family by marriage, not immediate, so I wasn’t allowed to go in to see him but from what my husband said he was... messed up really good.
He has twelve seperate skull fractures, broken jaw, multiple severe lacerations as well as an internal brain bleed and massive swelling. He had to have transfusions as well as a 12 hour, multiple surgeon team operation to insert titanium plates and screws and basically just. Reconstruct his face/head. Honestly, its a miracle he’s even alive. He even had a bone fragment get lodged in his brain that had to be removed. The situation is. BAD.
Or, well. It was. Thankfully he made it through surgery and the brain bleed stopped. Because of the massive bleed initially though, a lot of blood rdrained into his stomach and lungs so they inserted tubes to drain it out. He also had to be intubated to help him breathe, and he has a feeding tube since they had to wire his jaw shut for the time being so those titanium plates dont get shifted bu the movent (as well to stabalize his broken jaw). They had been keeping him sedated until today because every time he started to come to, he would try to rip out the tubes and fight off the medical staff. They weren’t sure if he was just in shock or what, but either way, without the breathing and feeding tube he would die so. Yeah.
Thankfully this morning, he started to come to but they were able to calm him down so that they could tell him what happened and get him to do some cognitive tests. He was able to wiggle his fingrs and toes according to the doctors prompting, so we know he can still hear. Also he isn’t paralyzed, which is obviously great. He’s still in a very delicate state and they’re keeping him in ICU, but it seems like he’s going to pull through. 
I am so, so grateful to the medical staff, the Gods, his friends for their swift response when they realized he hadn’t come back. All of it. I am honestly so happy he is alive.
But the weird thing about emergency scenarios, is that. It doesn’t really hit you until a few days later, you know? Like the whole time when my husband and I were on our way to West Virginia, the night we spent up there with their parents waiting to see if he was gonna basically live or die. I was so scarily calm. I am a very anxious person by nature, who was abused by my parents and even ten years later gets very easily triggered by certain things, has panic attacks, falls into depressive episodes, goes to therapy and takes medication... ect. It was. UNNATURAL. How calm and rational I was during the whole ordeal. I had to be there for my In-laws, my husband. I needed to be a rock for them because at that moment, it wasn’t about my feelings. Like, yes. I love my brother in law as if he was my blood brother. I am adopted and have no real connection with my biological siblings or my much older adopted brother. We didnt grow up together, and in the case of my adopted brother, he was so much older than me that he was already moved out of home by the time I came into my adoptive parents care. So, we barely know each other at all.
When I got married to my partner, and met his little brother, it was just like. I had a sibling for the first time ever. We got on great, had a lot in common, and arent that far apart in age. So he really became like family to me. So, yes. Of COURSE I was devastated when we heard the news. But I knew that for as much as I love him, my partner and his parents love him even more. They have known him his whole life. They have watched him grow. Thats- Thats their KID. Thats their little brother that they’ve stood up for and protected their whole LIFE. So, somehow in my brain, it was like an override switch. I was able to be there for them, let them cry on me, run the phone lines to make sure the rest of the family was aprised of the situation and didnt bother my FiL, MiL, and husband while they were trying to be there for him and... and basically say their final words to him, if he didnt make it through the night and his operation.
But now that we’re home, and we know Diego is gonna be okay, and he’s on the up and up with the start of his recovery its like. REALLY hitting me.
I’m so exhausted. I’m so panicked and jittery and upset as if it was still saturday night. Like, LOGICALLY i know now that he is fine. Time has passed and he is already showing signs that he’s gonna be able to pull through this just fine, even if it takes a while. But emotionally I cant get it out of my head
Diego has been in an accident. Diego might die. Diego might not ever be able to walk or eat or talk or do anything beside be in a vegatative state ever again. Oh my gods, please. Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay. PLEASE---
And its like. Not “dumb” but for lack of a better word, its dumb to be having this response NOW because. He’s okay! He can hear us! He can wiggle his toes! He can move his arms enough to be able to try to yank an IV out! He made it through surgery, and, even if he might not look exactly the same because of the facial reconstruction process, he’s alive and he’s going to be able to be moved to a hospital in NC in a few weeks so we can visit him! He’s pulling through!
So why do I still feel so terrified as if his life is still hanging in the balance, driving through the mountains of Appalachia in the middle of the night?
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kywaslost · 2 years ago
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Bakugou Dating a Nerd
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A/N: Hey guys! I’m going to try and get some writing done every now and then, but I’m not sure how often I’ll be posting for a while. Thanks for the cooperation so far though.
In this fic, reader is Aizawa and Hizashi’s adopted daughter who goes to UA but takes classes at her old high school. Idk, it’s just something I thought of during my Medical Intervention class.
“Red, red, green, black, blue, green, blue, red…”
“What is she muttering?” Denki asked from his seat at the counter in the kitchen, leaning over to Kirishima. The two were staring at you, eyebrows raised. As they watched you work. You were sitting at one of the study tables, working on something unknown to the two boys.
Kirishima and Denki made their way over to Bakugou, who was sitting across from you. He looked unfazed by your constant muttering. “Hey Bakubro,” Kirishima whispered so as not to interrupt you. “What’s she doing?”
“Some nerd thing,” he muttered. “For one of her science classes.”
“Red, green, blue, blue, blue, black, red, red, green. Umm, then, A, A, T, G, G, C, A, T…” you suddenly switched from colors to letters, tossing down your different colored pens and then a pencil, scribbling down on a piece of paper.
“Hey Y/N,” Denki said, catching your attention. You hummed in question, still muttering letters under your breath. “Whatcha’ doing?”
“Hold on,” you commented, muttering again before looking up and tapping your pencil on the desk. “Yeah?”
“What are you doing?” Kirishima repeated with a smile. “You keep muttering colors and letters and stuff.”
You smiled widely, and Bakugou noticed how your posture changed with how excited you were. It caused him to smile slightly. He watched your interaction with his friends. “I’m not actually sure what it is called,” you began. “I want to say it’s just DNA sequencing, but I’m not too sure.” You lifted up a graph that looked similar to an EKG or heart monitor. There were multi-colored scribbles across the large piece of paper. “Each color represents a different nucleotide. And so I have to read this graph thing, and then figure out what nucleotide each number corresponds with.”
You placed the big paper back down on the table in front of you and then picked up another paper. “I color coded this table so each number has the same color as it does on the graph so I can better read what number has what nucleotide. And then tomorrow I get to type all of this into a computer and something cool is supposed to happen. I don’t remember though, I wasn’t really listening.”
You lost Kirishima and Denki at the beginning of your explanation, but Bakugou just stared at you. He loved when you started rambling on and on about your science assignments, or just random facts. Before anyone could say anything, you began rambling again, but more to yourself. “I love genetics. It’s so satisfying doing RNA and DNA stuff, and then testing things like blood. Oh! And the Kastle-Meyer test! I love that kinda stuff. And punnett squares. I love those, too.”
Kirishima and Denki chuckled. “That’s so cool! What class is this for?” Denki asked. “Cause I’d never be able to do what you’re doing.”
“It’s for my Medical Intervention class,” you answered. “We’re looking at the DNA to see if there’s any diseases we can identify.” You began scribbling down on the paper again, muttering letters to yourself.
Kirishima and Denki turned back to Bakugou. He was staring at you, smiling softly. It was very rare to catch him this calm. “You’re girlfriend’s a nerd,” Denki whispered.
“I know,” Katsuki smiled. “But she’s my nerd, and I love it. She goes on and on about what she’s learning all the time, or how she doesn’t understand something. And she trips over her words sometimes and says them wrong, but continues to say them wrong because she just can’t pronounce them.”
“You’re in love, man,” Kirishima smiled, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. “You better keep her.”
Katsuki swatted Kiri’s hand away, scowling suddenly. “I’m not letting my girlfriend do your homework for you. Now get lost!” Kirishima and Denki laughed as they walked away, not missing the loving glance Bakugou gave you before returning to his own homework.
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copperbadge · 3 years ago
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storieswritteninthesand
Fwiw, you’ve mentioned those calming mental effects a couple times now, and they sound a lot like the impact anxiety meds had for me - releasing some of the anxiety mental load to make life more approachable. (Sorry if we’re still pretending that part of the diagnosis doesn’t exist!)
Well, not so much pretending it doesn’t exist, although I know I push back on it pretty hard. Part of it is that I still have no documentation regarding it -- last I heard the doctor who was meant to do the writeup said “I’ll have it for you this evening” and then nothing. I replied to her a few days later stating I’d still very much like it and nothing since, either. I’m trying to determine now if I should bother emailing again, if I should get insurance involved, or if I should just let it go. For what it’s worth, the psychiatrist gave me an anxiety screening that I actually scored quite low on, but of course he didn’t spend three hours in a room with me. 
So a few more thoughts behind the cut...
I did spend a lot of time thinking about it after I realized the Adderall was calming me, because there is a shift in mood and an accompanying physical reaction. I think...the problem may be that we use the word anxiety in two different ways in terms of actual mental health (instead of like, “I’m passingly anxious about this date” or whatnot).
There’s Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which is very specific and has a list of DSM criteria that you have to fit. Every time I go back to that criteria, I go “No, this isn’t me.” I simply don’t have enough symptoms. That’s me saying it myself, but I feel pretty confident about it, and the change when the medication kicks in doesn’t cause the kind of shift you’d see if those symptoms were alleviated. 
While ADHD medication can affect anxiety, I think it’s also important to note that I’m taking a stimulant, and anti-anxiety/depressant medications are not generally stimulants but SSRI/SNRIs and benzodiazepines. From my reading, granting I’m not a doctor, what I’m getting with the medication is dopamine, not serotonin. Dopamine and serotonin are both neurotransmitters but they’re transmitting different things, and if my dopamine balancing is what’s making me feel calmer, then it’s likely that Anxiety in the clinical sense is not what I was dealing with. 
But there’s a second usage of the word anxiety, a more casual one, that seems to encompass a lot of shit we really don’t have a good name for. Our vocabulary when it comes to negative emotion is limited, at least in English, and I suspect we don’t seek the nuanced language to discuss it because it’s scary and upsetting. So “anxiety” is possibly getting applied to a lot of stuff that I am in fact feeling but that I didn’t identify as anxiety, that is clinically not identified as GAD, and I was objecting because I hadn’t encountered that form of definition for it before. 
It’s unclear how I signaled anxiety to the evaluator, or what the word encompasses in my case. Could be stress from carrying an extra cognitive load, depression linked to exhaustion, lower-case-a anxiety because I couldn’t put my thoughts in order and so they felt overwhelming. Maybe even just worry I couldn’t get everything done because time blindness meant I could never tell if I had enough time to accomplish all my tasks. Being able to order my thoughts and execute tasks with more ease would indeed alleviate all of that.   
And also, you know...this sounds terrible to say but they gave me an IQ test and while they didn’t give me a number they did tell me I scored extremely high. That doesn’t signify much in the real world, but outlier scores like mine can mean we don’t react in expected ways to testing. It’s possible I just fucked the evaluation because I’m a weirdo. It’s one likely reason, my psychiatrist said, that I wasn’t diagnosed before now: my high cognitive scores were pulling my extremely low executive function scores up into normal range. 
So...I still push back on the idea of a GAD diagnosis, but I’m willing to entertain the idea that whatever is going on in my brain is something that people might realistically refer to as anxiety. And in that sense the Adderall is helping, so I suppose overall it’s a net positive :D 
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introverted-scribblings · 3 years ago
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Hiii friend! I have another request! So I'm in a lot of pain right now due to my period.....=_= and I was wondering if I could have Hc's about Tim, Ej, and Jeff's s/o on their period with bad cramps? Because I'm dying right now.....but thank you for your amazing writing! ❤
Oh no!! My friend!! I'm so sorry, period pains suuuuuck! I hope this will make you smile a little! Remember to drink lots of water!!
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Tim/Masky:
Oh, honey. This man would be at your every beck and call.
He feels so bad that you’re in so much pain. Mainly because he can’t make it just… go away.
He hates seeing you so uncomfortable, so he’ll do everything in his power to make things easier for you.
Whatever you want. Just say the word and it’s yours.
More pillows? Done. Heating pad? Already handing it to you. Something to drink? Here’s a glass of water and a mug of tea, made just the way you like it.
You’re craving a weird food? Name it and he’ll bring it to you, no questions asked.
HE PASSES THE BOYFRIEND TEST! You need pads and/or tampons? He’ll get them for you.
He’s not embarrassed in the slightest, either. He knows it’s natural and as long as you tell him what to pick up, he won’t have any problems. If anything, he’s too stoic about it which makes other people uncomfortable.
When it comes to cramps he actually does a fair amount of research, making sure he’s informed enough to actually help you. Finding home remedies to help ease the pain such as certain teas, avoiding too much salt, convincing you to try yoga, etc.
He’s always a little iffy on medication, not wanting you to go through what he has to go through. But if you insist, he’ll pick up some over-the-counter stuff for you.
But sometimes… You just want him to hold you. And he’s more than willing to do that for you.
He’ll let you curl up in his arms and cry if you need to. He’ll massage the area if you think it’ll help. All while telling you that he loves you and that he’ll always be there for you.
Overall, 10/10 boyfriend when it comes to caring for you.
Jeff:
This boy definitely used to make the “What? Are you on your period?” comments.
Keywords being “used to”...
The first time he made that comment to you when you were suffering the wrath of your uterus, you smacked him. Straight up.
After a screaming lecture from you, he stopped making those comments.
He has no idea how to help you. It feels like whatever he does is wrong, but it’s only because your hormones are making emotions run wild.
You’ll have to direct him practically every step of the way. I hope you don’t mind repeating yourself.
He’ll start to figure it out though, and once he does he won’t grumble nearly as much as he used to when it comes to your orders.
He’ll throw on a mask and get you pads if you need them, though he’d prefer not to. For several reasons, a big one being that he’s a wanted killer.
After his first experience with your menstrual cycle, he’d actually get better about it. He knows what to expect when it comes around again and is more prepared for it.
If you ask, he’ll hold you when the cramps get really painful.
He won’t say it out loud, but he feels really bad that you have to go through this.
He’ll hold you in his lap, arms wrapped around your middle as he throws on a movie or something in an attempt to distract you from the pain.
He’s not the best at this, but he’s learning! He’ll just need your guidance to get things right.
Eyeless Jack:
This man knew your period was coming before you did.
He knows your patterns down to a T, so when you start acting even slightly differently, he notices.
And seriously, with his sense of smell? He could tell what was going on based purely on your scent.
He’d be so sweet about it, too. Gently reminding you that it was coming up and you should be prepared.
Reminding you to pick up anything you may need in the upcoming days.
Once it actually hits, he makes sure he’s very careful with you. He doesn’t want the demon in him to hurt or take advantage of you.
So honestly, at least at first, he would distance himself from you. Just to make sure he wouldn’t lose control and do something he’d regret.
However, with your pleading, he would step up and be the best support you could ask for.
Medically? He has you covered. He knows what to expect, what signs to look for, what could be a problem, etc. And anything he didn’t know, he’d look up.
That and his more calm demeanor makes him perfect to have around when you’re struggling. As he knows all the tricks to help you feel at least a little bit better.
And when you ask, he’ll absolutely hold you. He’d be a little hesitant (again, wants to make sure he won’t hurt you) but wouldn’t be able to say no for long.
Man is a fucking giant, and would just cradle you in his arms as you curl up with him.
Ask him to read to you, it’s incredibly soothing.
He cares about you so much and doesn’t want to see you suffer, so he’ll do his damnedest to make sure you’re okay!
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