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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 4 years ago

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A World-- Unsure

dabi / f.reader

genre: real world to parallel world au? (is that an au? it’ll make sense dw), angst, pinning, fools to lovers? (or dabi is stubborn/scared as all get out)

warning(s): blood, violence/bar fight, descriptions of injuries, cursing (dabi and i both have a potty mouth oops)

w.count: 9.4k

synopsis: You were someone in the middle. You had no mega praise for heros to speak of, but you also had no ill will towards villains either- you had seen both sides. After a few years running a hidden, underground medical base for villains who needed treatment beneath the bar that you ran and owned, you’ve met your fair share of villains. It was odd to think of them as good people, since you depended on them a lot if you got yourself into a pinch. In fact, a lot of your patients became bar regulars on the public downlow. It’s not a big shock that you end up meeting Dabi.

a/n: teehee, first time writing for dabi! I’m pretty excited not gonna lie, since this idea was pretty interesting to think about. this is the first part of A World -- a two part series! I’ll be working on the next part asap, so hopefully it won’t be a horribly long wait- but we’ll see how my time management is in the long run lol. (also, the draft was like 8.6k, i dunno how i added a whole 800 more words)

-x-x-x-

You stood behind the bar, shining glasses as you set up the counter and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall just above the entrance of the small pub. You sighed as you set the glass down before taking the rag you were using and throwing it over your shoulder. It was quiet in the open room filled with circular tabs, rectangular booths and metal rimmed chairs- quiet except for the footsteps of employees prepping for opening.

Your black jeans hung on your waist as your white button up was slightly wrinkled, the long sleeves rolled as best as possible up to your elbows. Your hair up and out of the way so you wouldn’t be constantly fighting it when the rush started. There was a small, pocket apron around your waist with a pocket for a receipt book, a pen, some napkins and pain medicine just in case another headache walked in the door tonight and a few other odds and ends. The only other thing on your person was the new pair of steel toed boots you had indulged yourself to.

“Hey, Boss Lady,” one of your employees called. You looked around, seeing the one who called you peeking their head around from inside the rec room. The room itself was probably one of the most expensive rooms you’ve ever put together. A pool table in the middle of the room, dart boards on either side of the room, a small little entertainment center, a sofa and another mini bar inside run by a trusted bargirl you hired when you opened your pub doors for the first time.

“What is it?”

“Is the rec room rented out for the night? I heard some of the others saying it was.”

That was something else that was different about your little hole in the wall. Since you weren’t all that popular or big enough for a special vip area or an area in general for occasions like birthdays or anniversaries, your patrons could call and make reservations and get the rec room rented out. However, you only let the room be rented on Fridays, Saturdays and Wednesdays. The other days, it was open for anyone to come and go as they please so long as nothing is damaged.

It was Friday night. You couldn’t think of anyone renting it out tonight, but there was a group coming in tomorrow so long as they don’t cancel on you.

You shook your head. “No. It’s tomorrow when it’s rented. You’re clear to leave the dividing ropes put away.”

“Right on,” they thumbs upped you before retreating back into the room to prep and clean before opening.

7:45, a quarter ‘till eight- opening time. You cupped one hand around your mouth. “Hurry up and get your final prepping all done. Quarter ‘till!” Your employees all made some sort of response or sound back to you, signaling that they understood.

Part of you always felt a little guilty each opening night since you knew it wasn’t just regular citizens or the occasional hero off duty who frequented your pub. You knew of the bad people who walk in the doors, stay for a drink and leave without causing a ruckus. You knew of them, because, unknown to your employees, you had a second job.

A second job that had a lot to do with the large, concrete basement of your pub that you refused to tell them about. It wouldn’t be a great business move if you just told people you let villains sneak into your pub to go into the basement where you had a large array of (stolen) medical equipment to treat their injuries.

-x-x-x-

It was well into the midnight rush of the night when the door opened again. The loud combination of everyone’s murmurs and the smell of every type of alcohol someone could name off filtered through the air and almost made you pull out your medicine. After three years running this place, one would think you’d become accustomed to the smells combined with the noise. To no avail.

You had stepped back away from the bar, your back close to the shelves behind you lined with bottles, cups, glasses, and a small old-style antenna radio that, despite being turned on, wasn’t heard over the ruckus.

Heading to the opposite side of the bar after being paged by some random man for a neat glass of whiskey. You snagged a glass, grabbing a bottle of the cheapest brand you could find- because this man’s lack of manners towards a lady, bargirl or not, didn’t impress you. Pouring the liquor into the glass like it was second nature, you reached under the bar to scoop out a sphere of ice to drop into the glass.

Sliding it over to the already tipsy looking man, you were called- more politely this time- from another patron for a bottle of beer. Smiling at him and signaling to him that you heard him, you trotted over to the mini fridge under the bar and grabbed the brand he requested.

As you carefully, and skillfully, popped the tab off with the bar’s edge, you placed the bottle on a coaster and slid it over to him, tapping the bar top with your hand and serving him with a smile. He thanked you, which you were appreciative of, before he turned to his friend next to him and continued conversing.

Moving back to the middle of the bar, you noticed a few empty glasses in front of empty bar stools with bills pinned under them. Taking the bills and pocketing them, you took the glasses and stashed them below the bar in a small tub you kept in a metal cart for easily putting dirty dishes for later.

As you wiped down the bar top, you saw another person, clad in a full black get-up slide into a bar stool that was recently left vacant. They weren’t far from you, just a few feet, but you could smell the scent of smoke on them. You sighed, knowing exactly who it was. Anyone would think that the man who just sat down was just a heavy smoker- and he was, but not so much recently so he claims- but you knew better.

He lifted his arm to rest his elbow on the bar, his chin resting in his palm as you felt him stare at you.

You didn’t say a thing to him, only got a glass off the shelf behind you, mixed some coke with some rum and added a scoop of ice, before placing the glass on some napkins and sliding it towards him.

“Like usual?” You asked, retracting your hand as he had already started to pick up the glass to sip on it.

“Like usual,” he confirmed. This particular man had a deep voice, always laced with a small rough sound- more rough when he’s tired or just plain exhausted. It was a side effect of the smoking and other smoke-like quirks of his personality. “You seem busy tonight.”

“We’re always busy on Fridays, nothing unusual about that. It’s the start of the weekend, everyone wants to drink.” You threw your cleaning rag over your shoulder, shouting to a call of another bar sitting patron as you felt the black, clad, mask covered man’s eyes on your. “You gonna stick around all night, or are you gonna drink and go this time?”

He pulled his mask down to uncover his mouth, dark scars showing under the hood of his jacket just long enough to take a sip, and pull it back over his face. Setting the glass down, he let out a breath and circled his finger along the rim.

“I think I’ll stick around, just to annoy you.” You could hear the smirk on his face as you held back an eye roll for professionalism’s sake.

“How courteous, thank you so very much.” He chuckled at your reply as you left your place in front of him to tend to others paging you left and right. He pushed his curled hand into his cheek as he watched you pad back and forth behind the long bar. You should be grateful he at least planned on paying tonight.

He remained on his barstool the next few hours, only shifting to look around, take a short spin on the stool, or stand to stretch his hunched body before sitting back down. Each time his glass was close to empty, you’d knock your knuckles on the bar top- a signal asking if he wanted a refill- and he'd either knock back or keep the glass away from you as a form of saying yes or no.

Though, it wouldn’t be a proper Friday night mid-shift without something going wrong.

You weren’t sure why, but when 2 am started rolling around, you always grew weary of your patrons. It was the prime time for tipsy, or smashed, people to start trouble. Whether with you, or with other paying customers, or even your employees. Out of all options, you wished they’d pester you so you don’t have to deal with someone else being harassed. Though, even when it did happen to you- which was often since your place was stuck behind a wooden, polished bar- you didn’t ever appreciate it.

You glanced around the filled room and saw a few familiar faces of villains you had treated before who decided to stay in your good graces.

Them being there did make you feel a bit better about you own safety since you knew if something were to happen, they’d jump up to throw down on your behalf, even if you could handle yourself plenty well.

You were once again wiping down the wood of your bar for the gazillionth time this evening when some scumbag, a smashed man who was well over your age, stumbled his way to the bar and slumped himself into a stool and leaned over the counter like some hunchbacked gargoyle.

He reached over the bar to start to fiddle with the beer spigots that lined the end of it. Before he could create a giant mess in the tray beneath them and onto the floor, you rushed over and slapped his hands away.

Instead of hissing at your stinging slaps, he whistled at your actions to keep your property away from him grime hands as you rolled your eyes.

“Sir, keep your hands off of the bar tools.” You reached over and grabbed the half empty bottle of beer from his hands before you poured the rest of the alcohol out of it and tossed it under the bar into the bin where it clinked together with the other beer bottles you’ve tossed tonight. “I’m cutting you off. Sober up, leave your payment and get out before I have you thrown out.”

From down the bar, you knew the scarred man in black was watching you. Whenever this kind of scene went down, you could feel his and all the other familiar eyes on you. For villains, they sure were people of action and debt. Made you feel bad for calling them villains- if you didn’t think about the crimes they most definitely committed on a day-to-day basis.

The drunk man slurred what you assumed was probably something close to reluctance at you cutting him off for the night and your swift decision to kick him out after he paid what he owed.

Persistently reaching over to try and yank on the spigots again, you once again slapped his hands away, going a step further and grabbing his wrists and tossing them away back over to his side of the bar.

“I won’t ask you again, sir.”

Your familiar scarred man set down his drink, the contents in it empty as the remaining, semi-melted ice cubes fell together in satisfying clinks against the glass.

It was times like now where you wished the quirk laws would allow you to use your quirk publicly without a permit or license because of riffraff like this oh-so-lovely hammered gentleman. You were one to break the rules anyways, so you would if push came to shove regardless and you knew that your customers would keep their mouths shut about it.

You’ve gone many a night with bar fights and tassels and not a single cop was called because you could handle the situation yourself, or your trusty villain’s had your back. Your little pub and you were a bend in the rules with a great camouflage jacket over your head and trustful patrons willing to keep a secret or get so drunk they don’t remember what happened. Either option suited you well.

You weren't a hero, nor a villain. You were in the middle- a civilian with some spare time and no interest in sharing what you did the time you're not running your pub.

The man stood from his stool the moment you turned your back to him and not only did he shove his arm against three different beer spigots in a clumsy fall against the bar, but he partly climbed over the bar, reached towards you and yanked you back by your shoulder just so he could get a solid slap on your ass.

The shriek you let out wasn’t loud, it was more of shock of what was happening, followed by instant disgust. Your rear stung at the strength the disgusting man used to slap it before he was drunkenly laughing, his gross breath wafting towards you from his half climbed over body.

Before you could take care of the situation yourself, he was yanked back off to his side of the bar onto his wobbly feet. The instant his feet hit the tile and his chin even twitched to look around to see what yanked him back, glass shattered across his face.

The scarred man who had silently kept you company tonight- and previous nights before that- had grabbed the back of the man’s shirt, yanked him back and away from you as you righted the beer spigots that had already created a big enough mess and smashed his empty, rum glass against the side of his head.

The drunk man hit the ground, grabbing and holding his head as blood dripped from the side of his face and ear. The scarred man looked down at him, shaking his hand about, the purple scars of his wrist showing as he shook the limb. The glass seemed to nick his palm a bit upon impact, but nothing compared to the nasty wound on the drunk’s face.

As the drunk lay on the ground, groaning and bleeding, your defender bent to riffle through his pocket and nabbed his wallet. Pulling out both a card and a wad of cash, he held both towards you.

“What’s his tab?” His rough voice was stern as you just sighed.

You plucked bills from his hand, a handful of twenties, before you put it into your pocket. You looked around, seeing a table from the corner lift a bill in his hand before he waved it at you. You nodded- they were signaling they had his bill. They then held up four fingers and then a fist. A four dollar tab. You decided that you’d keep the extra as a bonus and maybe tip your workers as well for his behavior.

“He’s good to go.” You said as the scarred man put the card back into his wallet and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. He then picked the drunk off the tile and shoved him out the doors before making his way back to the bar.

He stepped over his glass and ice mess as he toed at a larger piece of glass that used to be the bottom of it. He then looked at you with a shrug. You could practically seem the smirk on his face before he spoke.

“My bad.”

Instead of saying anything, you placed a small plastic tub on the bar top and slid it towards him. You flicked your eyes down and he just sighed. Squatting, he picked up his mess of glass and ice the best he could before he gave the tub back to you to throw away. You had already gotten a start on the beer mess that made your nose twitch at the stench.

You always hated the smell of beer.

“Smells like piss,” you muttered to yourself. The scarred man heard you loud and clear though and he stifled a laugh at your annoyance. Once you had it more or less cleaned, you glanced at the closed fist of the man’s cut up hand. You saw small beads of red drop onto your bar. You pushed a handful of napkins towards him to squeeze into his palm. “Come down when we close. We’ll get your hand properly cleaned up.”

He didn’t argue. Just chuckled as he took a sip out of his water bottle you had placed in front of him as he shut the napkins in his grip tightly.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

-x-x-x-

4 am: closing time. You sigh as you bid your final employee farewell before you locked the door behind them. You sighed as you walked back to the bar, untying your apron from your waist on the way. You emptied the pockets and placed whatever was inside on the bar top. There was only one person left in the bar, in the same stool he had been in all night.

You thumbed through the bills in your pockets, rounding to behind the bar and unlocking the always locked money drawer just under the far end of the counter where a small card swipe sat for patrons not paying with cash.

Tucking your cash safely away and locking the drawer shut you stashed the key on the keyring with all your other keys in the pocket of your jeans. You pulled your phone from your back pocket and checked the time. About half after now.

“Okay,” you spoke, the man already standing. “Come around the bar and we’ll head down.”

He followed your lead, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his large jacket with his hood still on even in the new found privacy. You walked back into the kitchen and beyond to a small landing that had an unlabeled door and then a separate staircase leading upward past a different doorframe. He looked up the stairs, knowing full well that beyond them lays your apartment.

Part of him was envious that you lived in your place of work. Technically, he could live in his, but he had his own separate place of peace away for breathers. He could only deal with his comrades for so long in a single span of time.

You unlocked the unlabeled door that you told everyone who asked was just a closet for your personal belongings that didn’t fit up in the apartment. Opening it, another set of stairs that lead down was beyond it.

Descending them, the man followed and shut the door behind him. He locked it when it was shut at his back. There was a different entrance to the basement he was descending into outside the bar anyways for the people who knew it was there and needed it.

At the bottom, you flipped on the lights to the large, open room. It wasn’t a giant space, but it was large enough to move around and there was a sofa, a work bench you used as a counter for coffee and random objects, tables and chairs for your patients waiting comfortably. There were two rooms off two of the left side of the main ‘waiting room’ and one to the right- all solitary rooms for overnight patients. The furthest back room had no door and just past the frame was a storage room of medicine, wraps, gauze, antiseptics, salves- just whatever you could get your hands on.

You’re even occasionally gifted treatment items from past clients in hopes to repay the debt they feel they may owe you.

You point towards the long, hard top operating table in the back as you make your way to one of the shelves on the wall. You kept all the basic first aid out in the open since they were easy to replace.

“Go sit,” you direct as the man flipped off his hood and unzipped his jacket. His white tank top was wrinkle from being inside the stuffy jacket all night and he adjusted his belt to sit comfortably and not pull on his belt loops to dig into his hips. Ruffling his black hair, he made his way to the table to lean against it.

You were soon in front of him, hand out towards him asking for his own to inspect.

“You’re always causing some sort of scene every time you come by. You realize it’s getting old, right Dabi?”

The face stapled, scarred pyro-villain just grinned down at you, chest jolting with a scoff of amusement as you pulled the blood beaded napkins he held in his hand since you gave it to him away. Then, you poked around with tweezers pulling small pieces of glass away from his skin.

“Don’t lie. You love when I come by. Besides, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“I don’t need to be ‘kept on my toes’,” you tutted, making sure there were no pieces of glass left in his palm. When there appeared to be none, you started dabbing the small cuts with antiseptic as he just kept leisurely leaning on your table. “If you keep coming here and just to get all cut up, I’m going to start charging you for not only your drinks, but all the patching up I do to you too.”

“Oh, you’d never,” he mused. He knew you all too well and he also knew that even if he were here daily for scratching his knee or getting a paper cut, you’d never have the heart to charge him anything when it came to treatment.

Maybe he took advantage of that, maybe he didn’t.

It didn’t help that he knew you had the hots for him- I mean, you did tell him about how you felt weeks ago; straight o his face no less. He just brushed it all off, knowing good and well that he and relationships in general just didn’t work out. Besides, he was someone the public knew the face of and he wasn’t just someone to pass on the street and forget the face of.

Dabi rejected you, you knew he would, but he let you down as easy as he could. You just simply wanted to put your feelings out there so nothing would be awkward in the future. It stung sure, but you felt more open with your feelings not bottled up in secrecy.

You wrapped his hand in gauze and called it good enough, placing all your things back where they were. Dabi looked at his hand, flipping it back and forth as he inspected how neatly you’ve gotten at wrapping bandages since the very first time.

“Not bad,” he hummed. The first time he heard of you and came to get treated, you had to treat a nasty gash on his leg and you were clumsily with your bandaging since he was already covered in scars. You were so confused on if you could cover them or not and if you did, if there was a special way. You leaved quickly though.

“Not like you could do any better. You don’t really need any more stitches or staples than you already have.”

“Don’t act like you don’t think they’re sexy,” he teased as he stood up straight, plunging his hands into his pants pockets as he began to follow you around the basement room to room like a dog. You soon left your basement, going back up the stairs, opening the door and leaving before going up the second set of stairs leading up to your apartment.

Dabi followed you the entire way with a shit eating grin on his face.

You sighed as you unlocked your apartment door and looked over your shoulder and down to the burnt man just behind you on lower stair steps.

“Do you need something?”

“Yeah. Inside.”

You cursed under your breath, going inside and him following knowing that you couldn’t argue him out of it. He often did this, getting treated and then going up to your apartment. In fact, there was a time when he would pick your lock and let himself in, so you ended up making him a copy so he could just stop doing it.

He may not be good in relationships and definitely not looking for one, on top of rejecting you, but he could very well enjoy his evenings pestering you instead. they were two distinctly different situations.

Kicking off his boots and fumbling with his jacket, he hung it on the coat wrack- not willing to be yelled at by you for making your home a mess with his junk again- and let himself in. He immediately made a beeline for your living room and plopped himself on your couch like he owned the place and paid your bills.

You had ventured to the kitchen before you went to the living room and tossed him something. Catching it, he saw a poptart in his hand, still wrapped in it’s aluminum wrapping.

“Eat. I’m taking a shower.” He shrugged as you turned and headed to shower as he flipped on your television and let himself finally relax.

It was odd, being around you and in your home. He didn’t even feel this relaxed and loose in his own apartment by himself. Where he lived was nothing fancy and it was cheap, but it was his and the location was kept on the downlow just like he needed. Spending time with the league was fine and dandy, but they could be so damned irritating sometimes, so he didn’t dare even try and nap at the base.

He let his head fall back against the couch and he took deep breaths.

On occasions like this, he did feel a bit guilty. It’s not like he was actually taking advantage of your feelings or your kindness to do what he wanted, you were just too nice for your own good and let him. Don’t get him wrong, you would scold him if he did something you didn’t like- like leaving his jacket on the floor- so it wasn’t like you didn’t want him here.

Dabi could hear your shower running just barely under the sound of the tv’s noise. Sometimes, he’d find himself thinking back to when you told him how you felt and how easily you accepted the fact he said no.

He was just coming back from another stupid league mission and had a pretty nasty cut behind his left shoulder. You were cleaning the blood off his skin, trying not to snag your rags in any staples before you were smearing something onto the wound, making him sigh in of relief of the cooling sensation.

It was when you were pasting a gauze pad on his shoulder and patching it on securely when you blurted out that you liked him. All he did when you said that was laugh at you, to which your silence that followed explained that you weren’t joking and were in fact serious. He looked at you with a face you hadn’t seen before, a look of vulnerability for just a moment, before it shifted to one of seriousness.

“I’m not interested. Sorry, doll.” You nodded at his quick rejection. Though you accepted it fairly easily, he could still see the slight furrow of your brow and dip in your lips with his rejection. You may have even seen his rejection coming, but hearing it still had to be a blow to your heart.

He was glad the relationship between you two hadn’t changed regardless of how you felt and how he said no. You still put up with his bullshit and he still hung around like a fly you couldn’t smash under a flyswatter because it kept evading the strikes. It was still comfortable here- in your place.

Dabi stood from the couch, moving to your window only to lean out when he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. You had really gotten on his ass once when you caught him smoking in the middle of your living room without a window even open. You told him to smoke out a window, or go outside to contaminate his lungs claiming you dealt with the smell of smoke enough during bar hours.

Flicking a small, blue flame with his index finger, he lit the stick and huffed. Nicotine really accompanied his quirk- it was like he and cigarettes were just meant to be since he himself was a human-sized lighter.

He heard the door to your bathroom open and soon you stepped out with grey sweat and a cheap, cutoff shirt that just barely exposed your stomach on, towel drying your hair. You looked at him, water still barely dripping off your eyelashes and hair strands untouched by the towel.

“Glad to see you’re listening to me,” you told him as you nodded towards the smoke that he took a draw from. He puffed the smoke out the window as he turned around to lean against the open pane. His hand out the window to keep the crumbling ash from dropping inside.

“I can behave sometimes too, you know.”

You scoffed at him, turning to grab a water bottle from your fridge in the kitchen and returning to the living room. “Yeah, not likely.” You sat on the couch to mindlessly watch whatever channel the tv was on and once Dabi and finished smoking, he shut the window and rejoined you on the couch. His arm was resting on the back of the couch as you had pulled out your phone and began to scroll through apps and occasionally looking back up to the tv.

It was moments like this where the uncertainty really hit him.

It was this- these comfortable situations- that frightened him. He was a bad person, a person who’s done bad things and will continue to do bad things. He used to sit around your apartment and bug you with questions. Had you ever ratted anyone out? Were you really a completely secretive person when it came to your unofficial side job? Were you really someone to be trusted? Why did you do what you did in the first place?

Now, he didn’t ask anything anymore. He grimaced at himself. Maybe he was letting himself get too comfortable here.

“I’m going away for a while,” he suddenly blurted out. You glanced up at him from your phone.

“Have some big job or something coming up?”

“Yeah,” he lied, “some league stuff I gotta deal with.”

“Any idea how long you’ll be gone?”

“No idea. Probably a few weeks I bet.” Dabi couldn’t stop himself from lying to you and he got irritated at himself for feeling even the slightest bit bad for doing so. This was the only way though, the only way to try and get back to the rough, guarded villain he was supposed to always be.

Dabi had to get away from you for a while.

“Well,” you started, looking back down. He looked at you, seeing you frown just a bit- he bit his cheek. “Stay safe. If you need any patching up when you get back, you know where to find me.”

He lowered his chin, his eyes lidding as he hardened his resolve. His decision was final, and he had to follow through with it. He looked back to the tv, trying to bask in theses few final moments.

“Yeah, sure.”

-x-x-x-

Dabi’s irritated. He’s been irritated actually.

He’s sitting at the bar, not your bar, but the bar in the league’s headquarters. He sat slouched in a stool as Kurogiri- as usual- stood behind the bar. The glass of some brown liquor that Dabi had nursed for the past hour started to taste like static to him. He missed your bar’s liquor- the revelation made him more irritated.

The entire reason he’s avoided going to your pub and always looked around corners in the city to make sure you wouldn’t bump into him by accident was so he could squash whatever the fuck he was feeling when he was around you down into dust. Though, theses recent last couple days had proven that his plan was backfiring.

Instead of forgetting what it felt like to be comfortable and content and relaxed, he was missing it. He was missing the air of serene you always carried everywhere you went and he dared to say he yearned for it again.

Dabi clicked his tongue as he pushed his forehead into his palm when Shigiraki had walked into the bar from wherever he had been before. Seeing the hunched over excuse of a comrade, he groaned. The leader had often heard of your patchwork jobs for villains. He himself had even met with you once- not for any injuries he had sustained, but for a simple meeting to exchange greetings with potential allies. Anything helped for his cause.

Shigiraki also knew that Dabi often frequented your pub, and for whatever reason he hadn’t been recently. His sour mood as of late paired with his lack of attendance to your business and attention was too easy to put together.

“I’m really sick of you moping around here,” the leader complained. Dabi lifted his forehead from his palm and glared across the room to the leader who now took a seat one stool away from Dabi. “Go be a killjoy somewhere else.”

“Oh, piss off.”

His mood began to spiral rapidly when Toga and Twice had come into the bar as well, coming back from wherever the fuck they had been. Toga- trying her best to get on Dabi’s every nerve- was told by Kurogiri that his mood was unpleasant because he hadn’t been to a specific bar in town for some time now.

Dabi felt offended that Kurogiri connected his bad mood to the bar and not you.

“Maybe I should kick the crap outta you myself, so you can go back to what's-her-name and then maybe you’ll finally lose the attitude.” Okay, that one earned the hand-fetishist leader a growl from the pyromaniac. It only made Shigiraki scoff in a small victory, knowing that everyone around the league could see that his sour mood was solely revolving around you- or lack thereof.

Toga, ever on the hunt for new ‘friends’, immediately jumped at the idea of finally going to the mystery lady who heals everyone just because she has a kind heart. An idea that Dabi shut down without so much as batting an eyelash.

“But, why not!” Toga whined. Dabi rolled his eyes. Villain or not, Toga was just a high schooler with more than enough psychotic tendencies to warrant concern. If he had it his way- you’d never even get the chance to set your eyes on the blonde, twin-bunned psycho.

The constant chartering centering in on him and you began to grate on his nerves and before long he was stomping up to his feet and out the bar door. Shigiraki just scoffed as Toga pouted. Twice was simply mocking and jesting at the burned man who ‘just ran away’.

Dabi had had enough. He was going back to your pub- but it wasn’t going to be because he missed you. He just wanted a drink in peace and fucking quiet. At least away from those idiots.��

-x-x-x-

Dabi had slithered his way into your bar- pushing his way in with a group so that when you shouted from your place behind the bar to greet them in and to tell them to just find a seat, you wouldn’t recognize him. He had stopped by his apartment before making his way here to change into clothes he hoped you wouldn’t recognize him in either.

The large, indigo tinted turtle neck he wore was way too large on his torso. The neck was horribly stretched out and pulled up as far as it could be to cover his jaw and mouth so that he didn’t have to wear the mask he knew you would recognize.. He traded his normal jacket with a different one he’d kept around for city crawling as he had it half way zipped up and the hood flipped up to hide his hair and scarred ears. Keeping his chin down, he used the shadow of his hood and the shadows the pub lights casted to keep the scars just under his eyes more or less out of sight.

He grumbled at himself. Why was he going to such lengths to make sure you didn’t see him in the first place? In the past, he wouldn’t have gone to the lengths to stay on the downlow in public like this; he would’ve just gone back home and crashed or drank alone or something of the sort. You probably weren’t even under the impression he was back from the mission you thought he was on.

He slid into a booth in the back corner where he could still see you working behind the bar. Pacing back and forth, talking and serving patrons and just doing your general work. It felt strange seeing you work from all the way in the back instead of in his usual barstool, front row seat. He bit his tongue when he caught himself almost missing his up close proximity to you.

He was soon slid a bottle of beer- even if he didn’t really like the taste- as he nursed it. He’d occasionally scan the bar to see what kind of business you had tonight. When he wasn’t, he was scrolling mindlessly on his phone with glances up to the bar every so often. He felt uneasy when you weren’t in his sights, even with you so close by.

An hour after he had entered the pub, the doors had opened roughly enough to make tables turn their heads or hush up their conversations to see who had just made the racket coming in. Dabi glanced, pulling his hood back just a bit to see past the fabric of it.

A group of three men had walked into the pub. Gruff looking fellas, but nothing all that special. They started scanning the pub area, looking from tables, to faces, to chairs, all the way to the bar. The flame user didn’t appreciate the snarl on the middle man’s face when his eyes landed on you busting the bar top with your rag.

Shutting the door behind them, the three of them split apart, one heading towards the rec room and another heading in Dabi’s side of the bar. The middle man marched up towards the bar and instead of taking a seat- opted to lean on the bar between two already seated patrons. They ended up leaving their bills and scurrying out of the joint.

You took their payment and bit your tongue to keep from telling the obviously trouble-looking newcomer off for running off your customers. In fact, you completely disregarded him.

Once your bills were collected and placed into your apron pocket, you looked at the middle man leaning on the bar square in the eyes. You held unamused eye contact with him for a beat before you shut your eyes and easily turned away from him.

Clearly unhappy with the attention he so desperately wanted, he reached over the bar and yanked on the back of your work button up. You let out a shocked, choked gasp as you dropped the glass you had in your hand. The sound of shattering glass echoed around the pub as it became completely silent.

Dabi jumped from his booth, standing at his table instead of leisurely sitting like he had been as he watched the man reach out for your shirt. He growled under his breath when he yanked you back towards him over the bar.

This trouble-seeker was new to your pub, you could tell this the moment he came in with his two buddies. He didn’t know of the amount of eyes on him now that he had gained the attention he wanted. And he didn’t know how many of those eyes were villains ready to take him out.

You coughed as he tried dragging you completely over the bar just by your shirt collar. Your lower back pushed painfully into the wooden edge of the bar as your heels came off the floor, your toes being the only leverage you had left on your side of the bar top.

You wanted to swing your elbow back and pop the son of a bitch in the nose, but you had to keep all ten of your fingers on the front of your collar to keep it from painfully pulling against your throat. You attempted to unbutton the top buttons for a window of breath, but you didn’t get the chance to before you were dropped.

“Hey!” A voice you had recognized from a past medical visit came from behind you and the man yanking on your shirt. He had groaned as he dropped you, your unsteady toes combined with your heels slamming back down to the floor and your spine dragging down the edge of the bar all made you drop to the floor. You hunched over on the floor, gagging as you pulled on your shirt’s fabric away from your neck- the hemming all stretched out and well ruined by now.

The bar felt like walls that encased around your slumped over body and you soon felt someone hop over the bar and rub your back. Looking up with teary eyes from your lack of breath, you recognized the female criminal you had treated a handful of times before. She soothed you behind the bar as it sounded like pure chaos erupted from beyond the bar.

The short screams and shouts of whatever customer didn’t feel like fighting and fleeing.�� you even heard your employees ducking out- as you instructed them to do when bar fights broke out. You did not want to feel out accident reports, so your rules of running when things get nasty was non-negotiable.

You were content to just stay sitting on the floor, catching your breath until the fighting was done. You knew those who were fighting against the law were already defending you and your pub- they would take care of it.

It was their safe space and these thugs had just tried disrupting that space.

It was only when a plume of fire shot out from what looked like to be the back corner of your pub did you jump to your feet. Leaning against the bar with the villainess at your side, holding you to make sure you didn’t tumble over, you saw Dabi.

“Dabi?!” You were shocked to see him. He hadn’t been around due to his work (so he told you), and you were confused on why he was here now. Why was he wearing clothes you hadn’t seen before and when did he get here?

He was quick to jump into the fray, mixing in with forces to drive the stupid thugs out of your pub, but not without beating them within an inch of their life first. Between tables being thrown, chairs knocked over, fire bursting then dispersing and fist and legs flying- it was hard to keep up with what was actually happening.

What you did see though, was from the rec room someone coming out and pointing their fingers out towards your villains- your allies. Their fingertips started to open and sharp, needle like tips were ready to be fired out of them.

You climbed over the bar, the villainess calling out to you to not get involved. You stumbled into a chair, holding yourself up as you shouted over the commotion.

“Hey! Get behind a wall or table!” You pointed to the man under the rec room doorway. “Don’t let whatever he’s gonna shoot out of his fingers hit you!” You were ready to duck back behind a table when you were shoved in the chest by the third man you saw enter with the thugs earlier. He just appeared from no where it seemed when he struck you.

Knocking you into a nearby table, you slid onto it before it tipped and you tumbled off of it when it fell. Groaning, you cursed under your breath. You were getting really fucking sick of being pushed around tonight. You got to your knees to get yourself back to your feet when you felt something push against your back and wrap around your shoulders, keeping you down.

Whatever was keeping you down and covered was warm. It covered your back and kept your shoulders encased. Reaching up, it was an arm that wrapped around your and it was someone’s chest that pushed against your back. Looking back you saw his scarred ears and neck before you saw his face. Not to mention the blast of burning blue that shot out opposite of his outstretched other arm.

“Dabi,” you gasped as you felt his body start to push more into yourself. You whined, his weight beginning to crush you. “Hey, get off me,” you huffed.

“Oh, you so owe me,” he chuckled before he fell against your completely. His arm dropped and the one that wrapped around you previous fell limp and released you. Rolling off to the side awkwardly to try and catch his fall to the tile, you saw a small needle sticking from his neck.

“Oh, shit” you muttered. Turning, you lifted a table to cover your back while the rest of the chaos kept going on behind you. Pushing him onto his back, he was out cold. Looking him over, you didn’t see any worrisome wounds on him- in fact he didn’t look wounded at all. It was only that needle in his neck. “No doubt from that guy’s quirk,” you mumbled as you inspected it.

Did he cover you so you didn’t get hit with the needle instead? You didn’t want to work yourself up into a frenzy at the thought of him taking a shot for you- but no matter how you looked at the situation, that was exactly what happened.

It was a small, thin like a sewing needle with a ball point on the back of it. Whatever this needle is coated in obviously knocked the pyro out. You peeked over the table to see the same man ready to shoot a second round from his fingertips.

“Take out the needle shooter! His needles will render you unconscious!” Your shouted leadership to take out one of the three low-level threats was clear and it was probably 20 minutes later when the three thugs were tied up and unconscious.

You sighed, finally feeling safe again in your busted and destroyed bar. You groaned for the umpteenth time knowing it was going to cost a fortune to get the tables repaired. Not to mention the seared wallpaper that peeled from the previous heat and broken glasses, frames and damaged light fixtures. You would have to close your doors for repairs for at least a month.

As you looked around, you moved from your sitting position to instead kneel at Dabi’s side.

“Can someone help me bring him downstairs? And lock the entrance.” Dabi was picked up and was soon being carried back behind the bar and through the doors, waiting for you to come unlock the way down as someone else had safely latched your pub doors shut. Your employees would understand if you just shot them a few texts.

Before you went into the back, you pointed at the unconscious needle shooter. “Also, bring him down too, but keep him tied up. I need to know what his quirk is so that I know exactly why he did and how to treat it. Anyone else who needs treatment, you can come down too.”

An hour later, you had Dabi’s unconscious body hooked up in one of your rooms to small machines to make sure he wasn’t dying. Whatever the needle was- you concluded that it at least wasn’t poisonous. You had taken it from his neck and had it run for tests. It wasn’t coated in anything, but the tip of it had released a sort of potion into his body from where he had been stores in the ball point end; but you weren’t sure what it was.

You moved away from your laptop on the small desk you had next to Dabi’s temporary bed. You leaned your elbow against the wood and stared at him.

“Until I figure out what exactly happened, I have no idea when he’ll wake up.” You frowned as worry began to churn in your stomach. It eased you that his life didn’t seem to be in danger, but that didn’t really help anything else. He was immobile and unresponsive until further notice as far as you knew.

You sighed getting up and searching for his phone. Finding it in his jacket pocket, you plucked it out and began to go through his contacts. You were glad you watched him punch in his lock code one day and held it in your memory.

Finding a contact under ‘Childish Leader’, you immediately began to ring it. You knew who Dabi worked under, and who this so called ‘childish leader’ was- you did meet with him one time after all. When the line picked up, you were greeted with a sigh.

“What,” a strained voice annoyingly greeted.

“You’ll want to come to the location I’m about to send you,” you started. You swore you heard the frown and confused brow drip on his face when it wasn’t Dabi’s voice that was on the phone. “Want to know what happened to Dabi? Then get your wrap quirked friend to get you over here, Shigaraki.”

You quickly ended the call, letting out a shaky breath and feeling your heart pound in your chest. Dabi only ever really complained about Shigaraki, and you had only met hi that one time for general introductions, so you didn’t know much about him. You hoped that just telling him what to do before sending him your coordinates would be enough to just get him to show up. You’d deal with the rest later.

You stood from your chair as you looked down at Dabi. He always looked quite peaceful sleeping- it was odd since he was always scowling when he was awake. He’d smirk and tease, sure, but you don’t think you’d ever seen a real smile on his face before.

You chuckled to yourself, touching his hair just once before you stopped- knowing he didn’t like you touching him like that. He wanted to keep you at arms length because of your feelings and you knew that- so unconscious or not, you had to keep his wants at the forefront of your mind.

A knock sounded at the door when you saw one of your allied villains come in. “Some guys are in the bar, asking for you. Some freak with a hand on his face and a gimp looking dude.” You almost laughed at the villain's description.

“Tell them I’ll be up in a moment.” The villain left as you looked once more at Dabi. You smiled down at him. “Thanks for the save, you reckless idiot.”

-x-x-x-

Dabi groaned as he rolled from his back to his side. He was only vaguely aware he was previously on his back ,which already annoyed him- he was not a back sleeper. He peeked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling above him.

That wasn’t his apartment ceiling? Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and taking a breath. His head pounded and he opened his eyes back up to see the room he was in. It wasn’t his apartment at all. He was in a bedroom, but he hadn’t seen this room before.

The last thing he remembered was jumping into a bar fight at your pub and then covering your back when that finger-freak tried shooting something out of his fingertip at you. He didn’t even realize his body moved until he felt the needle meant for you dart into his neck.

Rubbing at his neck, he felt no pain. Getting up, he looked around the room.

This room wasn’t yours- he’d seen it before- and it wasn’t anyone else’s he knew of. He wasn’t at the league HQ either, that run down place didn’t have rooms as well kept at this one. Surely you wouldn’t have pushed him off to some random villain until he woke up and this was some stranger’s room... right?

After a moment, he started getting nosy. As he opened more drawers and books and notepads, he got more and more confused. These were all things he was interested in. All the notebooks had his handwriting in them and his name was signed on papers and sticky notes scattered on a corkboard hanging on the wall. The phone on the bedside table and he unlocked with his passcode and started going through it- it was all his information just like normal, but something was off.

He felt off. He looked at his palms, the scars he’s had since he was younger still showing on his skin. Something nagged in the back of his head and he knew that he had to get answers and the best way to do that is to track you down.

Grabbing a jacket and zipping it up to his chin and placing sunglasses on his face, he left the room that was filled with, presumably his own things, but definitely not his things.

The roads and buildings all around were the same as he remembered. However, when he came to your pub’s building, it looked different. Shabby almost. Trying to go inside, the door was rusted and jammed. Jostling with the door wasn’t getting him anywhere and he knew if he tried to bust it down you’d have his ass on the wall for the damage.

Looking up, he saw the window that lead into the living room of your apartment. Walking around the building he started up the fire escape and carefully treaded the side of the building to the window before he shimmied it open from the outside and hopped inside.

“What the fuck?” The apartment that was once filled with your furniture and belongings was empty. Not just empty, but it was dusty, barren and isolated like no one had been in there for years. Jogging downstairs, he ran into the bar to find it the same way: empty.

No tables, no chairs, no booths. No bottles lining the dusty shelves and no frames of art or recreational items in the rec room. it even still had the old, tacky wallpaper instead of the wallpaper he remembered. The stench of dust filtered through his nose and made his throat burn- it was apparent that the place hadn’t been aired out in years.

Turning back, the door to the basement he had been in so many times wasn’t even there. When he left the building to go to the basement the backway, the backway in didn’t seem to exist either. It was like the basement he had spent so much time in with you patching him up was never there to begin with.

“This is fucking crazy,” he mumbled as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He wasn’t used to feeling whatever was bubbling in his chest. It was painful, like caltrops tearing apart his stomach and chest as he searching for your number in his contacts. He began to start walking back to where your apartment use to be, to go back inside the abandoned pub, when he dialed your phone. He was soon stuck in his tracks when he caught sight of his reflection in a window.

The window’s glass was cracked, barely held in place in the frame as he stared back at his reflection. Reaching up, he ran his scarred hand through his hair. His hair that wasn’t dyed black; his hair that was as white as his mothers.

“Where the fuck am I?” He breathed as he heard the monotone voice over the phone.

-I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed does not exist-

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jbbuckybarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Scared & Sacred - Ch. 2

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Description: The Mandalorian had helped you while you were hunted for your family name and you had grown a little closer over the months, but you didn’t expect THIS. How was this possible after just three times of getting so close to him. You had to find a nurse as fast as possible. Warnings: pregnancy, angst, lots of emotions, canon typical violence, fighting

M A S T E R L I S T

Chapter 2 - The Letter

Every night you prepared some more food in little portions to keep you alive on the journey you would start soon. You had three pairs of every clothing in a compartment that you would put into a bag, bought another bag on the last planet to put the food, water and a blanket in. Even got a cheap med pack on the last planet. On the next planet you‘d leave. You‘d find someone to bring you back to that harmonic place where the nurse droid told you that you were expecting.

„Cyare?“ You closed the compartment as you heard him come closer. „Hm?“ You looked up at him in front of you, holding a fuzzing Grogu. „Something‘s upsetting him.“ Arms reached up and grabbed Grogu out of Din‘s gentle grasp. „Hey, sweetpea, you‘re safe here. We won‘t let anything happen to you, yeah?“ You tried to calm him a bit. It worked a tiny bit, but he wiggled free again to sit on your lap and nuzzle into your belly. „Better?“ You chuckled and got a coo of agreement, making you chuckle. Eyes wandered up to the Mandalorian again, „It‘s okay, he can sleep here.“ It would be a nice last night having Grogu sleeping right on top of you, showing love to his sibling. You started to notice that region of your body growing harder to the touch. „Do you mind if we share?“ Din‘s modulated voice reached your ears. „I‘d prefer sleeping alone, if I‘m being honest.“ You answered softly, shutting him out of your heart and bed. „Did I do anything to upset you? You‘ve been very distant since we left Arcaro.“ That was the harmonic planet, you saved the name internally. „I miss your touch.“ „Oh, no no. Just having a lot on my mind at the moment. Going through memories of my childhood and all.“ That was only half a lie, so you didn‘t feel very bad. „If you need to talk, you know I‘m there.“ You nodded softly, starting to hear Grogu snore. „Get some sleep, Din. You have people to hunt tomorrow.“ You smiled and saw him nod before heading off to his cot.

You couldn‘t sleep with the journey ahead on your mind, so you grabbed a piece of flimsy and started writing a letter to Din that you would leave behind, attaching your soup recipe that the kid liked the most. You put it in an envelope and put it between your pillow and the mattress. Shortly after the exhaustion of the day got you to fall asleep for a few hours.

Din and Grogu were hunting for a Corellian woman while you got the last important pieces for your journey and the ship. You filled up the food supply, bought another melee weapon and you found a very used vest that would hold off blaster shots that you put on under your gown. Once all of that was done you checked through your backpack and side bag and put them on your body. A deep breath went through you as you looked around one last time. This was a great home and protection for a while, but it was time for another chapter in your life. You‘d miss Grogu a lot, as well as the beskar armored man with the patience of a Jedi.

You headed down the main street of the city to find a ship you could fly with all the way back towards the planet of Arcaro. You ended up meeting a woman that used to be a fighter for the Republic. Hated the Empire and thought bounty hunters are annoying. Seemed safe enough. As you took off she asked, „What‘s your business here?“ „Leaving behind the people that helped me run from the people that hunted my family because I‘m with child and they weren‘t ready to accept that kinda life.“ You kept it short but clear. „Damn, that sounds like a lifestory if I ever heard one. Who knocked you up?“ She was direct. Reminded you of Cara. „The man that protected me for the last months. Very kind, kind of emotionally incompetent, definitely wouldn‘t take the news well.“ „I see.“ She nodded before jumping into hyperspace. She knew you had the credits to pay her, everything else was just listening to your interesting story and getting a good tip for a market.

— POV CHANGE —

Din stepped into his ship with Grogu. It was dead silent, not completely unusual. What was unusual was the fact you didn‘t react when he called out „Cyare?“ The child in his arms cooed in confusion and looked up at him with a frown. „She might still be caught up on the market. We‘ll wait.“ But even that plan fell away once he had fully arrived home and opened the compartment that you had fully stocked before leaving. „Oh, I‘m having a bad feeling about this,“ he whispered to himself as he closed the compartment and put the scanner on his helmet on. Only your footsteps, no others in sight. That didn‘t make sense. She never really went on walks, when she did she always was back in time to welcome him. He followed the steps and arrived in another hangar. „Hey, you there!“ He pointed at the slightly intimidated man near the hangar. „Y-Yes?“ „Have you seen a human woman in white and blue gowns, a green bag and braided hair? This big, cloak is blue too, with white details on it.“ „She went through here, yes.“ „Did she seem afraid?“ „No, she was acting normal. Talked to a woman that frequently takes travellers with her to other places. Seemed to be ready for a trip.“ „Dank ferrik! Thank you.“ NOW he was a different type of concerned. Why did you leave? Willingly! He scanned over the holopad the man held, taking in the information on it that he hoped was about the ship you were in.

When he got back he noticed one of his weapons missing in his arsenal, your blue blindfold on the co-pilot seat and everything neatly cleaned and organized in the kitchen. This was starting to kill him from the inside out. What had happened? What would make you get up and leave on purpose? From the man you loved and the child you cared for so much? He checked your bed. It wasn‘t made. The only thing in here that wasn‘t neat and tidy. And there he saw it, something sticking out from under your pillow. His mind went back to the time he found a little booklet there. A booklet about human children, medical stuff. He took off his gloves and grabbed the flimsy, opening the envelope he held in his hands shortly after and noticed it was a letter addressed at him.

*Dear Din, I know this might be confusing. That I‘m gone now, that I went without telling you. I know it‘s dangerous out there and that you are a big reason I‘m still breathing, but I couldn‘t bear the idea of making a decision benefiting you and leaving me lost. When you told me you weren‘t ready for a child, I knew I had to leave. I won‘t decide against it and I didn‘t wanna hear from your voice that I shouldn‘t keep it. I‘ll miss you. I‘ll miss Grogu. He‘ll miss his unborn sibling too. I know how excited he was for it. I‘m content with knowing that the child was created out of love. Two months and about a week ago. I hope that gives you rest about the situation. I‘ll go back to Arcaro. The place with the beautiful market and one of the best nurse droids I‘ve ever met. I‘ll figure out where to go and how to be on my own from there. I hope you don‘t mind that I took one of the weapons you barely used in the last months. Have this recipe for Grogu in return, he loves it the most and sleeps the best after eating it. Love, Y/N*

Din was drowning in an ocean of feelings. He wanted to cry, scream, beg, jump in happiness and yearned to have you in his arms. Oh, how much he wanted to have you in his arms right now. How much he wished you would‘ve told him that day. He would‘ve pushed away all your doubts. He would‘ve worshipped you, your body, the wonders happening inside of you. Instead you were running from him like he was some disgusting monster.

He sat down in the pilots seat with Grogu on his arm and the letter in the other hand, setting it down gently and punching in the coordinates to the planet you mentioned. You‘d arrive there after him if he did this trick right.

— POV CHANGE —

You gave the Republic lady a big tip and a hug. „It‘s rare to meet someone to talk to like this. Thank you for the ride and the long talk.“ You smiled at her and she grabbed both of your arms gently. „I land here every now and then, so if you ever see this piece of metal land, say hello.“ She grinned and let you go.

You stepped down the ramp of her vessel to see the market you loved so much fairly empty. It was really early in the morning on this planet. You got closer to the market and saw how some vendors currently refilled their little shops. „Where do you think you‘re going?“ A dark voice was audible behind you. It was familiar. „Kuuvi?“ You turned around to the man that has been hunting you for a year now. He used to be a good friend. „Yes, it‘s me.“ You turned around to him with a smile. „How have you been?“ You asked as if he didn‘t have the capacity to kill you right there. „Eating good, having a nice ship, good people around. How about you?“ He shrugged. „Except for the nice ship I can only say the same.“ „Where is your tin can?“ „Oh, he‘s just getting some supplies. Looking for a better ship at the moment. Razor Crest is great and all, but it gets crammed in there.“ You chuckled. Being royalty made you a master of lies sometimes „Twi‘ku still wants you on his doorstep.“ He gave a dirty grin. „You still work for that half-rotten idiot with bad rates? Moff Gideon would pay you so much more, I mean he‘s the source.“ „Either would pay me enough to retire if I deliver you.“ „Well, would be against the code of any guild.“ „Huh?“ „Pregnant women aren‘t allowed to be hunted.“ With a sweet grin you watched him realize the information you had just dropped and frown, enough distracted time to run one of your knives through his throat. He grabbed after you, getting out his vibroblade, but you had a gun trained on him in return, stepping on his lung and taking out the knife. „Traitor!“ You pulled the trigger and burned a hole through his heart. Two more men were running at you, one got a blastershot to the throat and the other got your new staff punched over the head.

You looked up to see people around the market hiding behind stuff, before hearing a saber lighting up behind you. „It‘s nice to see you alone for once.“ Moff Gideon. You were dead. You were so damn dead. „What do you want from me?“ you growled and heard him chuckle. „Not much, you just took something from me that you can‘t give back.“ „My brother killing your daughter isn‘t something that involves me!“ „No, but I overheard you are with child, so we might as well call it even.“ He charged at you with his dark saber, but just before it could hit you there was something big landing between you both.

„Nobody hurts my child.“ You heard his possessive and protective voice. „Oh, how sweet.“ He attacked Din ruthlessly, making you both step back further and further. Troopers came at you from left and right and you took out the second weapon you stole from Din, shooting left and right while leaned against his back. Behind you the saber strained against Din‘s arm guards. „Give up. You won‘t win this.“ Gideon hissed at him. You heard more jetpacks land behind you. Three blue Mandalorians landed in Din‘s sight behind Moff Gideon. „You have something that‘s mine and you better give it to me.“ You heard a familiar female voice. „Bo-Katan Kryze.“ His voice was somewhere between a chuckle and an unsure shakiness. There were no living stormtroopers anymore in just seconds and the four Mandalorians closed in on Moff. His saber not working on their armor. „Any last words?“ Bo-Katan asked with a serious voice. „They‘ll never stop coming for you. For your children, your family, your friends, your religion. They will always watch.“ Din put a blaster shot through his head from a low angle, „Psycho.“

He turned around to envelope you into the safety of his arms, „Cyar‘ika!“ You were shaking and gripping onto his cape, „I‘m okay. We‘re okay.“ „You can‘t just run off like that.“ He sounded wound up, probably thinking about what would‘ve happened if he hadn‘t arrived in time. „I thought-“ „Your thoughts aren‘t the reality. You really thought I‘d tell you to get rid of your unborn child. I told you children are seen as sacred in Mandalorian culture.“ You looked behind him and got a nod from a helmetless Bo-Katan, „We‘ll get this done, go talk.“ Din tightly put his arms around you and you shot up into the sky before landing on top of a building. His hands, freed from gloves, wandered over your cheeks. „I wish you would‘ve told me. I wish so much that I could‘ve been able to tell you to stop worrying and I wish you would‘ve been able to see me jump in joy at the news. I know we don‘t talk a lot, but this was the time you should‘ve talked. If I had said something negative you still could‘ve left.“ Your lip started trembling, he was right. You were so dumb for doing this. „Hey, no no, I understand why you did it, cyare.“ His helmet touched your forehead. His hands wandered down your sides, „Can I?“ You nodded and felt his hand wander over the hardened skin on your lower belly. He went on his knees before you, hands on your hips before they wandered to his helmet. „Din, no.“ You whispered and heard the hiss. „I thought about this for a long time. There is not one way, there are multiple ways that all have the same core. Look at Bo-Katan, Boba, all these people we met. I grew up in a version of this religion that doesn’t work for me anymore, I don‘t want that to be our child's life too. I want to live it our way.“ And with that the helmet came off. „They are gone, no one can hurt you two and Grogu anymore.“ „But the Empire.“ „We‘ll deal with it.“ The helmet went down and you could finally see his face. Soft face, with harsh features, smiling, „Besides. You looked pretty hot fighting off those idiots.“ „Wait till I break your hand while delivering the child.“ You chuckled with tears streaming down your face. He was so beautiful, so gentle. His nose pressed against your belly, his grip on your hips tightening just enough for you to feel even safer. „Where‘s Grogu?“ „On the ship, probably eating all the supplies.“ You both chuckled and enjoyed the moment for a while longer. „I can‘t wait to meet you, ad‘ika,“ he whispered to your unborn baby. There was so much love in his eyes that you started crying again. „Oh, cyare.“ He took your face in his hands with a caring frown on his face. „Don‘t mind me, just hormones.“ You chuckled to lighten up the situation. „My riduur.“ His bare forehead met yours. „Huh?“ „It- It means partner.“ He said it with such an innocent unsureness that you had to whisper a small, „Oh, baby.“ „I‘ll open up to you more, yeah? We‘ll find a good planet to stay.“ „I like this one so much.“ „I know, cyar‘ika. But maybe we should go to Sorgan for a while before coming back here. Grogu will have children to play with and you will be able to relax.“ His thumbs still caressed your cheeks. „Okay, my knight in shining armor.“ You smiled and kissed his nose, before taking his helmet and putting it back on his head.

You flew back to where you had fought, finding Bo-Katan with the dark saber. „I can rule over Mandalore again and you both are more than welcome there once it‘s done.“ She sent you both a smile. „We might take you up on that.“ You smiled back at her. „We‘ll clean this up and make sure nobody else is hunting for your children. We owe you for finally having this in our hands.“ She held up the saber. „Thank you,“ Din said sincerely and nodded before you said your goodbyes and went back to the ship.

You found Grogu arms deep in a jar of nectar. „Oh Grogu.“ You giggled and he turned around with his signature coo, ears falling at being caught. „It‘s alright, but don‘t do it again. You wanna see your dada‘s face?“ You asked picking him up, cleaning him with something from one of your bags. His eyes got wider and his ears perked. You let down both your bags and the cloak before turning around to Din. „Ready?“ You smiled and he nodded before taking off his helmet. The child gasped and reached for his face, so you held him up to it. He babbled while touching all over his face, Din chuckling and intently listening. Had he always looked like that beneath the helmet when talking to Grogu? „Dada.“ His and your eyes widened at that. You turned Grogu around to look at you and praised him, „Good boy, you love your dada so much, don‘t you?“ A tiny giggle came from his body before he wiggled again. „You wanna say hello to your sibling?“ Another squeak. You sat down on the floor, so did Din while also losing some parts of his armor. He watched as the child put his hands on your belly and closed his eyes, you felt the gentle tingle again. His tiny green nose nuzzled into your skin right where he felt his sibling through the force. „You‘ll see it in a couple months.“ You smiled down at Grogu and gently touched his ears. He could sense that good things happened. That you both weren‘t as worried as you usually were. „Let‘s go to Sorgan and meet the children you like playing with, yeah?“ Another happy squeak came from the green child. „Ner aliit.“ Din murmured softly. You understood without asking. You were his family now and he was yours.

___

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gloryofluv · 3 years ago

Text

Order Up! (Coffee Shop AU) Chapter 10

Oh, Alex, you always find commonality in kindred spirits! The broken tend to look for each other, don't they? (picture brought you by my awesome brain fucking around with filter on a stock photo)

Previous Chapter

Alex was standing outside on her break on the phone and nearly growling as she stood by her car. Of all the frustrating, stupid fucking things. She rolled her neck. This was truly ridiculous. Routine. That’s all she wanted. Applicable routine!

The call came off hold. “Miss, I just spoke to the doctor. She said unless you schedule an appointment, we can’t refill your medication.”

“What do you mean? I’ve been taking these for years?” Alex snapped and shifted her hips. “Why? This is the first time I’ve had to come in. She knows how I feel about doctor’s offices. We’ve always done tele appointments when it’s needed.”

“Miss, I’m sorry, but you haven’t had a physical in several years, and our policies are changing. We have to be sure everything is working together well. I’m sure you’ve received your email or letter,” the receptionist told her.

“Ok, but I’m out of it this weekend. I have severe ADHD. It’s in my file. Can’t she fill it for just the weekend? I have tons of things to do, and I doubt you make evening appointments,” Alex breathed and rolled her neck. This wasn’t what she liked. She definitely didn’t like someone poking at her and saying what was wrong with her.

“We have an appointment available at three tomorrow if that’s late enough,” the receptionist declared.

“Do you have a Friday morning available?” Alex questioned while tightening her jaw.

“No, we have a two o’clock on Friday,” She responded.

“Okay, do you have a morning appointment tomorrow?” she asked while running her fingers on her driver’s door. Alex was bouncing on her feet and swishing her hips. She despised this.

“The earliest we have is ten o’clock.”

Alex breathed and rocked her head. “That works. Does she need me to fast so we can do blood work?”

“Yes, that would be best. She’ll want to do a full workup. We can schedule a pap at the time if you like.”

Alex grimaced and breathed. “Yes, fine. Whatever it takes not to have to come in for a while.”

“I understand completely, Miss. I don’t know anyone who likes clinical visits,” the receptionist giggled.

Alex smiled and rocked her head. “Okay, tomorrow at ten. Got it. Should I bring in my other medication?”

“Ah, yes, please. It will make the visit swifter.”

“Thank you so much. I apologize for my frustration,” Alex murmured.

“Of course, we shall see you tomorrow.”

Alex hung up and rolled her neck again. “I hate this. Ridiculous unneeded shit.”

“I never liked doctor visits myself.”

Alex pivoted and blushed. Diavolo was standing there smoking some sort of vaporizer. “Hello, Diavolo. How are you today?”

Daddy Diavolo was in a pinstripe suit and looking sharp. What? Dammit, Jordan and his wicked nicknames for people. Alex licked her lips and ran her thumb over her fingernails.

He puffed and smiled while the cloud left his lips. “I’m doing pretty well. Barbatos went to snag us drinks while we were in the area. Business prattle irritates me occasionally. I needed to see a friendly face.”

Alex relaxed against her car and smiled. “That’s great that you at least are getting a caffeine bump. I have a few more minutes on my break if you want to chat.��

He tilted his head and shifted on his frame. “Lucifer told me you were going to rent a room from him. I think that’s fabulous.”

The pillow talk between them must be oddly stiff. Oh, god. What the fuck was wrong with her today. Alex had to shake off the image and rubbed the side of her neck. “Yes, it makes sense. I’m going to buy Jordan’s family home for them. I’ll find someplace to rent after the sale. It’s all in the works. Thank you for the stellar recommendation for the agent.”

Diavolo took the device to his mouth as he smiled and the vapor poured from his nose. “You’re welcome, but it’s quite deserving. That’s quite intelligent and loyal. Oh, what did the ocean say to the beach?”

Alex’s smile grew. “What did it say?”

“Nothing,” Diavolo snorted and then smiled. “It just waved,” he chuckled and waved his free hand before sliding it in his pocket.

Alex giggled and shook her head. “That’s ridiculously good.”

Diavolo laughed and nodded. “I thought so too! How do you feel about traveling?”

Alex shrugged her shoulders. “I always wanted to, but I didn’t get the chance when my parents died.”

“I, unfortunately, can’t say the same,” Diavolo shook his head. “When my father died, I visited three different countries to meet the regional operators in a week. I didn’t go very many places when I was younger because he was always working or traveling for business. However, I understand his plight now. Sometimes I just want to be home.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” Alex nodded.

Diavolo smirked and stepped toward her. “I know how you feel about your medication. It’s funny how one little pill eases the worst symptoms, huh? Science. Who would have thought?” he laughed.

“Yeah,” Alex puffed and shook her head. “I’d be more of a mess without it. I think I do alright now, though my doctor keeps telling me I need to see a therapist.”

He gestured to her. “Do you suffer from insomnia as well? What about stimming?”

Alex laughed and nodded. “I often play with my apron at work. At home, I mess with my hair more. I have plenty of object blindness, so that kind of helps living with all my parents’ things.”

“Masking?” Diavolo questioned.

Alex rocked her head. “All the time. Jordan calls it my alter ego. He thinks it’s some sort of superpower that I perfected with his encouragement.”

“I have a selection of 8D music I’ll send you for focus,” Diavolo nodded. “If you have any recommendations, I’m open to seeing. I’m always trying to explore new avenues.”

“That’s the dopamine search,” Alex laughed and nodded.

Diavolo let out a stream of laughter and rocked his head. “Yes, it certainly is, isn’t it, Alex.”

Alex checked her phone and breathed. “I have to go back inside.”

Diavolo gasped and held up his finger. “Here, I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” He dug in his breast pocket and handed her a small pin of a red devil smirking. “I’ve noticed you wear them on your hat, and I quite like that. My contribution,” Diavolo nodded.

She beamed and pressed her fist to her chest as she held it. “Thank you, Diavolo.”

“I will be texting you later when we’ll schedule our little date for your dress if that’s alright. If you want, I can email you instead of for formality,” He said while tilting his head.

“Text is fine. I just hate talking on the phone,” Alex giggled.

“Me too,” Diavolo groaned and grinned.

Alex laughed and shrugged. “I suppose we all have our mountains to climb.”

“Indeed. Enjoy the rest of your day, Alex. You added a bit of pep in my step.”

“Same, thank you,” she beamed and bowed her head before walking toward the cafe.

Well, you learn something every day. Diavolo, CEO and superpower in the world had ADHD? Well, that explains the goofy persona. That actually made Alex feel ten times better. She passed Barbatos and waved. He nodded at her with a small smile, and she skipped behind the counter.

Jordan arched his eyebrow as she snatched up her apron. “What did Daddy want today?”

Alex glanced out at him, taking another puff before meeting Barbatos in the parking lot with a bouncy stride. “To chat,” she settled with as she washed her hand at the sink.

“Interesting,” Jordan hummed.

Alex pocketed the pin and nodded. “Completely.”

“And did Daddy give you something special?” Jordan teased with an arched eyebrow.

“Can you stop with this? It’s really screwing me up, J,” Alex puffed with red cheeks. “I swear it. I’m going to accidentally call him that, and then I’ll be fired for sure.”

“Or taken to dinner,” Jordan laughed and shook his head. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, for now. When are you moving in with the crazy terrors of the seven plagues?”

“This weekend,” Alex expressed as she went to the pastry case and began organizing what was in there with tongs. “Hey, Jordan, I have a weird question.”

“Shoot, babe,” he said while changing out the coffee and brewing a fresh batch.

“Do you think it’s weird for me not to date?”

“Yes, hun, I do, but don’t listen to Asmo. He’s surface energy until you get to know him. Any progress with Mr. Black Coffee?” Jordan asked.

Alex exhaled and shook her head. “I recently found out he’s unavailable.”

“Oh, that is a pity,” Jordan scrunched his nose. “I was really rooting for that. He seemed so into you.”

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled over at him. “I wasn’t that invested in it.”

“How about Sugar-free Vanilla?” Jordan asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t engage in any sort of drinks that I’m going to be in proximity to anyway,” Alex voiced as she set out more scones in the case.

“I suppose,” Jordan laughed as he leaned on the counter. “Oh, looky here. Here comes trouble . Sin never looked so tasty. If that boy were ever into experimenting, I’d be there in a hot second for that meal.”

Alex glanced at the door to see Beelzebub climb out of his car and pull on his shirt while Belphegor and Mammon soon joined. They all threw on shirts, and Alex had to scowl at that. What the hell did they do that they were shirtless?

The trio walked into the cafe, sweat still beading on their faces. Alex moved to her register and beamed. “Hey, boys. What have you been up to?”

Beel grinned as he wiped his forehead with his arm. “Alex, we have something exciting to tell you.”

“Yeah, but let me!” Mammon puffed and rolled his neck. “Ya, see, it was my idea, so I get to tell ya how great I am!”

“Okay, I’m listening,” Alex nodded.

“We broke into your house and cleaned out your backyard,” Belphegor snorted.

Mammon growled and shoved him. “I wanted to tell her. Why ya gotta be such a dick?”

“Oops,” Belphie smirked.

“But we found something,” Beel added.

“Yeah, we did,” Mammon snapped. “I did. I found it.”

“And then you tried to pocket it for money,” Belphie rolled his eyes.

“I did not!” Mammon huffed.

“Okay, guys, calm down. What did you find as you did your weird B&E? I’m not going to even go into how many people would be asking for you to break in and do the same.” Alex laughed as she shifted on her feet.

Beel dug in his jeans and produced a necklace with wings in the shape of a heart and a topaz. It was delicate, small, and a little dirty. “Oh!” Alex gasped. “That was my grandma’s from when she was little. Where was it?”

“In a tin box in the shed. It looks like someone put it in there to do yard work,” Belphie shrugged.

Beel offered it to Alex, and she beamed. “Thanks, you guys. My mom used to garden and must have set it in there when she had to turn the soil.”

“So, uh, that’s like really important,” Mammon hummed as he fixed his glasses. “Which means we did ya good.”

“Yes,” Alex beamed and placed the necklace in her pants pocket.

“So, we’re gonna wait for you,” Mammon smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest in a lean.

She shrugged and leaned on the POS screen. “How about all of you get a refreshing drink, and I’ll be done in just over an hour.”

They all were nodding, and she imputed their orders. She enjoyed their little bickering back and forth before they sat down with food and drinks. Jordan approached and leaned on her shoulder. “Doesn’t hurt to have weird friends, does it?” He whispered.

“No, I’m starting to see that,” she beamed as she glanced at him.

“Babe, I’ll never leave you, but I just want you to be loved, okay? You deserve it. I did plenty of checking when I hung out with Leviathan. They’re good guys.”

“I see that,” she voiced. “Thank you for being my misfit brother, Jordan.”

“Of course, Alex. You’re my little sister. Always,” He chuckled and kissed her hat before walking back over to the espresso machines.

@rsmrymnt-tea@otome-scribbles

#om! fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me au #obey me humor #obey me fluff #coffee shop au #om! lucifer #om! mammon #om! leviathan #om! satan #om! asmodeus #om! beelzebub #om! belphegor #om! solomon #om! luke #om! simeon #om! barbatos #om! diavolo

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celosiaa · 4 years ago

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hi me again 🥺 sorry for making you tear up even if it was in a good way (hopefully?) 💕 i don’t mind the wait at all, i completely understand and it’s 100% worth it (honestly i get so excited whenever you post a new fic)!! soooo... i was doing some research for a project on epilepsy and i got thinking about epileptic martin?? like particular in s1 maybe he didn’t tell the other archives crew as he didn’t know them that well/hadn’t worked closely with them before (ok sorry tbc as i am rambling)

hello friend!!! I am so sorry that this took me a literally unreasonable amount of time to write! I really enjoyed the research I did for this, and I love this hc forever. And I hope this is what you were looking for <3

CW seizures, nausea, misgendering

Focus.

Just focus.

For god’s sake.

It’s been nearly an hour of Martin sitting at his desk, trying desperately to rein in any sliver of concentration he can muster to look at the laptop screen before him. He feels awful doing it, but every time Jon has passed by his desk that day, he’s found himself pretending to click around or to type—though he’s got the brightness set so far down there’s no way he’d be able to see it anyway. After a few attempts at turning it back up, he’s had to immediately look away, as the pounding behind his eyes resumes again. So for now, he’s stuck with reading statements—something he is loathe to do even on a good day.

And this certainly wasn’t.

He knows better than this, knows that he’s very nearly approaching disaster—what with the not sleeping out of hypervigilance, not eating out of anxiety, and not having his seizure meds for the past two days, as he’d managed to run out of his flat without them. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he cannot send anyone back to his flat. Not with Prentiss still on the loose.

Selfish selfish selfish

No, stop it.

You haven’t even done anything.

Wishing more than anything that his mind did not constantly run him ragged with thoughts like this, Martin looks up from his papers, intending to find a rubber band to snap against his wrist as a distraction, but instead—

Instead he finds himself frozen, colors fading in and out across his vision, heartbeat steadily climbing as his fingers go numb.

No no no no

Not now not now please not now

Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few seconds, but the seconds feel like years against the rapid thrum thrum thrum in his ears, made even worse when he sees Tim approaching from the periphery.

Damn it damn it

Please please please

“Hey Marto!”

Like clockwork, the focal aware seizure ends, and at last—at last he is able to move enough to look up at where Tim stands, leaning against his desk, smile fading rapidly as he watches Martin blinking in the suddenly-too-bright light.

“You alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face, doubtless taking note of how quickly he is breathing now to match his settling heart rate.

“Y-yeah, sorry, um. Was just thinking,” is all he can reply, fighting to put an easy smile back on his face.

It seems to have been the wrong move, as Tim only shifts to sit atop his desk, expression quickly becoming overrun with concern.

“Okay, well…you look like you’re having a panic attack, mate,” he says lowly, reaching across him to grab his water bottle and set it nearer to him. “What do you need?”

Even with his misguided interpretation, Martin can’t help the flood of affection he feels toward him in this moment—because that’s just Tim, isn’t it? Never assumes, just asks what will help and then does it.

If only I weren’t such a mess, and would let him.

“Oh, n-no it’s not—it’s not that, Tim, I’m—I’m alright. Must’ve…drifted off, or something. Had a nightmare.”

There is no way Tim buys that, no way in hell—but thankfully, he lets it go.

“O…kay then. Well. If that’s the case, I was just thinking of grabbing some lunch, do you want anything? Don’t reckon you’ve eaten properly in a bit, yeah?”

God, Tim.

I don’t deserve this.

Yes, you do. You deserve a friend and you need to eat.

You need to eat.

“Uhh—th-thanks, erm. Where—where are you going?” he asks, wishing to god his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

He takes a few intentionally deep breaths after that—thinking that perhaps it is a panic attack, after all. Without realizing that several seconds have gone by since his question, he feels Tim’s bracing hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s not going to ask again—but offering him a clear sign that he’s there all the same.

“Just the corner shop,” he murmurs, starting to rub his thumb over the shoulder seam of Martin’s t-shirt. “Nothing fancy. But I can get you a sandwich, if you like. Well, no—I am getting you a sandwich regardless, but I thought I might be considerate for once and ask if there was anything in particular that you want.”

“Yeah—erm, yeah, just. Anything that’s warm would be nice,” he says at last, sinking a bit as Tim removes his hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Tim. That’s—that’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he says, clapping his hand back against Martin’s shoulder with force before standing. “Be back in a bit. Drink that water.”

“I will,” Martin nods, earning himself some finger guns of approval before Tim starts walking towards the lift. “Thanks, mate.”

And he’s so close now, so close to shouting after him, to asking him to pick up his meds from the chemist, if he calls them in—

Just ask just ask just ask

—and then Tim is around the corner, and out of sight.

Damn it all.

He tells himself it’s probably for the best anyway—that he’s not really even sure he can get them. But it doesn’t stop him burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration and shame. Really though, he ought to call first before mentioning anything—perhaps they have a delivery service, or they’ll refuse him, or something.

And what then?

The idea of finding himself suddenly on the floor of the archives, alone and in the dark with the worms having crawled all over him while he seized—

Have to call.

Reaching bitterly for his phone, he takes a deep breath as it rings, preparing his best “customer service” voice.

“Boots, how can we help you today?”

“Hi! Erm, I was wondering if—if I could get a refill for my prescription? For—for carbamazepine,” he says, cheery voice belying the dread with which he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sure thing! Just need your name and date of birth and I’ll look you up.”

“Right. Erm—well, it’s Martin, but I think you’ve still got me under, erm. Mary Blackwood,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth at the foul taste his deadname leaves in his mouth. “Date of birth October 15th, 1987.”

“Alright, let’s see here—“

Please please please

“—it looks like you’ve already got your refill, Miss Blackwood. Our system says you picked up your medication on the 19th.”

“It’s—it’s Mister, actually. Erm,” he stammers, stomach churning over the entire thing. “L-listen, I—I’ve had to leave my home quite suddenly, and—and I am unable to return there for the time being. So I don’t—I don’t have access to my meds. And I, erm. Really need them.”

Pathetic pathetic pathetic

“I’m really sorry, Mister Blackwood. You’re going to have your doctor call in another prescription for you before we can get you that refill. Unfortunately, it’s out of our hands.”

Of course.

“Oh, right. That’s erm—that’s okay. Thank you so much,” he says as brightly as possible, unwilling to blame anyone for something out of their control.

“You’re quite welcome. Take care.”

With a long, shaky sigh, Martin throws his phone back onto his desk, returning his head to its rightful place, buried in his hands. There’s no way he can call his doctor today—or tomorrow even, with it already being a Friday afternoon. No chance of him getting his refill, then. And no chance of sending Tim back to his apartment either.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

It was just a focal, nothing too bad.

Nothing unmanageable.

I can make it.

Steeling himself with somewhat tremulous determination, he takes another long breath—blinking back against the steady pounding in his head, and getting back to work.

—

“Aw come on, Sasha! Take a break with me!”

“Not on your life. I’m still furious with you, you know,” she replies, tossing her hair like a lion’s mane over her back. “Can’t believe you’d go all the way to the good café for Martin, and not offer me anything. Not even crumbs, Stoker!”

“Listen—” Tim grins back, hands raised in self-defense. “He looked like he could use some soup! I don’t know what else to say.”

“And you didn’t get me any? What about me doesn’t scream ‘I could use some soup, thank you?’”

“It’s different!! It’s—Martin? You alright?”

As he was walking past their bickering, eyes firmly fixed on the floor on the lookout for worms, Martin had suddenly stopped short—looking anxiously up and over their heads, framed by the doorway of Jon’s office.

“Martin?” Tim repeats, already halfway to standing in worry, following Martin’s gaze behind him and finding nothing.

Faster than he can turn back around, Martin’s muscles all tense at once—and he tips backwards onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Shit! Martin!”

Tim darts forward at once, in some feeble attempt to catch him, but of course, far too late to do so. In his shock, he can do little but stand over him for a few seconds, taken aback upon seeing his eyes still open where he lies still on the floor.

“What happened?” Jon demands, stepping quickly out of his office towards them, where Sasha now crouches near his head.

“I-I don’t know, he just—”

And then Martin begins to convulse.

“Oh my god, he’s—he’s having a seizure,” Sasha gasps as she claps a hand over her mouth, from where it had been pressed against his forehead.

“Fuck. Fuck, what do—what do we do? Do we call 999?” Tim shouts, unwilling to sit by and watch as this all goes on around him, already grabbing Sasha’s phone from her nearby desk.

“I—I think so, let me—”

“Wait.”

Two sets of eyes land upon Jon as he interjects, crouching near Martin’s flailing left arm, waiting for him to set it back down before quickly grabbing at a bracelet circling his wrist.

“I-it’s a medical bracelet. Says epilepsy,” he says lowly, quickly sitting back on his heels as Martin’s arm begins to jerk again.

“Fuck. I—I had no idea,” Tim breathes, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How could we not know?”

“We should—” Sasha breaks off quickly to swallow a lump in her throat, before continuing. “We should be timing it, did anyone see the time?”

“I-I don’t—it’s probably been less than a minute, right?”

“I think so. I’m—here, I’m googling it to make sure—”

While she does so, Martin’s head begins to slam into the ground—and Jon immediately pulls off his cardigan, folding it quickly and placing it beneath him to cushion the blow.

“It’s alright, big guy,” Tim says, settling down to kneel next to Jon, who now has a hand gently pressed to his shoulder—not holding him down, just resting there in a comfort Martin probably cannot receive.

Tim rests his own hand against Martin’s thigh all the same.

“Okay, I think we’re good so far,” Sasha says at last, setting her phone down with a timer running on the screen. “Just time it, and—and keep watch. If it goes past five minutes, we call 999.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tim says in dismay, snapping his eyes back to his friend, still convulsing on the floor. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

“No. We just have to watch out for him,” she replies, voice low as she adjusts Jon’s cardigan beneath his head. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Not the answer that Tim was looking for.

And so they wait—silent save for the rhythmic smacking of his limbs against the carpeted floor, and the occasional whispered platitude, though all know he cannot hear them. The seconds tick by in agony while they sit helpless, all eyeing the timer on Sasha’s phone creeping up steadily past three minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Tim says, knowing how useless it is to say so—Sasha raising her eyes to meet his for the first time in a while.

“Me neither.”

“Nearly three and a half minutes,” Jon mutters, worrying at his bottom lip while still resting a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Martin,” Tim mutters. “We’ve got you.”

Ten more seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

And at last—at last he goes still, right past the four-minute mark.

“Alhamdulillah,” Jon sighs as he lets his chin briefly rest against his chest, a sentiment echoed by everyone around him.

“Okay, turn him on his side, here—Tim—”

“Got it,” Tim says as he moves to crouch next to her, helping roll him towards Jon, head pillowed on the arm Jon stretched out across the floor as a cushion.

As soon as they get him in the recovery position, they watch as saliva runs out of his mouth, surely fit to choke him had they not turned him—and he begins to snore forcefully, catching Tim very much by surprise.

“Wh-what—” he asks in bewilderment, struggling to hold back a bit of shocked laughter.

“The website said that’s normal,” Sasha assures at once, reaching behind her to grab a box of tissues from her desk behind her. “He’s going to be sleepy for a bit.”

“Okay. That’s—okay,” he says, watching as Jon takes the tissues from Sasha and wipes at Martin’s face so very gently, before tossing them aside and taking his hand.

Taking his hand.

…interesting.

Stowing THAT away for later.

As Jon starts to move his thumb across the back of Martin’s palm, the snoring stops—and his eyes begin to flutter rapidly, attempting to force their way fully open.

“Hey Martin, can you hear me?” Sasha says rather loudly, bending over him and tapping his shoulder lightly.

All she receives in response is a moan, deep and low, as he squeezes and unsqueezes his eyelids, coughing a bit against the pooling saliva. Jon reaches for the tissues again at once, cleaning his face as best as possible.

“You’re okay mate,” Tim says, patting his hip before leaving his hand there for support. “You’ve had a seizure.”

It takes a few moments, but at last, Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely around without meeting Jon’s eyes.

“Wh’ happ’n?” he slurs—all three of them exchanging a meaningful glance, a bit alarmed.

“You had a seizure, Martin,” Sasha repeats, stroking at his hair while Tim starts rubbing his hand up and down his arm, hoping it will somehow help to ground him.

Remaining still for a few moments, still blinking, Martin tries to take it all in— looking down towards where Jon still rubs at his hand, though still seemingly unaware of his presence.

“What happened?” he asks again, voice less slurred, but still weak.

“A seizure, Martin,” Jon says, trying desperately to catch his eyes. “You’re alright.”

At once, Martin wrenches his hand away from Jon’s grasp in favor of clapping it over his mouth, muffling a small and desperate gasp behind it.

“Shit. You gonna be sick?” Tim asks, already looking around him for something to grab as Jon once again prepares his tissues.

He does not respond right away, instead pausing for a few deep breaths—at last shaking his head no. In both relief and the absence of something to do with his hands, Jon fusses at the cardigan again—positioning it just so.

“Wh—oh, seizure,” Martin breathes, and Tim cannot help but feel relieved at his gaining a bit of orientation back.

“Yeah.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Martin moves the hand clapped over his mouth to rest on his eyes, sniffling a bit before speaking.

“M’so sorry,” he gasps—and it’s enough to break Tim’s heart.

All of their hearts apparently, as they immediately place their hands on him in a gesture of comfort.

“Hey, no, none of that,” Sasha soothes, brushing back his fringe again.

“M’sorry.”

“Martin, it’s alright,” reassures Jon, with such rare gentleness that even Martin lowers his hand to look—wincing quickly as he does so, and placing it back over his eyes at once.

“Do the lights hurt?” Sasha asks worriedly, placing her hand to cover his own, hoping to block more of it out.

“Yeah—ah,” he grits out with a pained little gasp, and Jon gets to his feet.

“I’ll get them,” he says, and walks quickly to the switch, sending them into a darkness illuminated only by the light from the hall.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Martin lowers his hand again, eyes still closed, and rubs absently at his nose. Stumbling a bit as his eyes adjust to the dark, Jon makes his way back to kneeling beside him, taking up his free hand again.

“Your head okay?” asks Tim, prompting Sasha to card through his hair to look for any swelling. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I couldn’t catch you.”

“…what?” comes the vague response, delayed by a few seconds as Martin tries in vain to sort through what was said.

“Still confused,” Sasha mouths at him silently—and he nods, instead going back to rubbing up and down Martin’s arm, as Sasha moves to massage his neck.

“M’sorry.”

“Hush, darling. It’s alright,” she says, and Tim knows without a doubt she will sit there all day, repeating these same things to him as long as he needs.

And loves her for it.

“…wh—Jon?”

Eyes more focused than ever, Martin looks down to where Jon still rubs a thumb over his palm, stunned very his very presence in this space.

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, offering a small squeeze of affirmation, inadvertently painting a soft grin briefly across Martin’s face—before it drops quickly again in horror, as the reality of the situation sinks in again.

“Oh god. I—oh god.”

“It’s okay, Martin.”

“No no no.”

“It’s alright,” Jon comforts, more soothing than Tim had ever imagined would be possible for him. “Just be still. You’re alright.”

Five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen as Martin’s confusion slowly fades away—his recovery naturally filled with a deluge of apologies, patient soothing from his friends, and tending to the waves of nausea that come over him every few minutes. Ever so gradually, he becomes better able to hold a conversation; better able to hold their gaze, asking what happened before he went down, explaining that his…well, everything is sore, but that it’s nothing unmanageable.

There is very little that Martin would call “unmanageable,” of course, but it’s the most they will get out of him.

“I think I can sit up now,” he says after a bit, bracing his arms underneath himself to prepare, and Tim reaches out to support him at once.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

A bit slow, a bit clumsy, they get him up—not without some worried questioning when he hunches forward, face buried in his hands as the headache worsens with the change of posture. But luckily, it dulls as quickly as it comes, and Martin soon finds himself able to look up, even to offer a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Want some water?” Tim asks as soon as he looks steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on it,” he says, refusing to accept any of Martin’s guilt-laden excuses, and dashes off to the kitchen at once, leaving Jon and Sasha still vaguely holding onto him in the fear that he might fall again.

“I’m alright, guys, really,” he assures, though he makes no effort to shrug their hands off—so there they stay.

“Do you know what caused this, Martin?” Sasha asks, folding his collar from where it sticks up at the nape of his neck.

With a heavy sigh and an exhausted pinch to the bridge of his nose, Martin replies, face reddening with shame.

“Yeah. You’re—you’re going to laugh.”

“Why would we laugh?” Jon asks so earnestly, so softly that it wins him a long and surprised look from Martin.

“I…dunno really, just. It’s just that it’s—it’s all my own fault. Stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t—” he cuts off for a moment to hiss painfully as he rubs at his temple again, and Sasha’s hold tightens ever so slightly as a precaution. “I don’t have my…seizure meds with me. I left them at my flat when—when I ran. From Prentiss.”

Of course.

Of course he did.

“I would have gotten them for you Martin!” Tim shouts as he returns with the water. “Any of us would, mate. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to send you back to my flat. She might…she might still…be there.”

He fades a bit as he speaks—rubbing once more at his temples, and Sasha resumes her ministrations of massaging his neck.

“Alright, just—it’s alright, Martin,” Jon soothes, a bit alarmed at the way he’s hunched back over—seemingly nauseous again, as he moves the bin a bit closer to himself just in case. “What can we do now?”

After a few long, deep breaths, his churning stomach finally settles long enough for him to answer, albeit a bit more vague-sounding than moments before.

“I tried…I tried to call the chemist, but…they won’t refill it unless I…unless I talk to my doctor. And it’s not like I can just go.”

“You have to get some from A&E then,” Tim insists, sitting back down next to him and pressing a hand atop his shoulder.

“No, I can’t.”

“We’ll go with you,” mutters Jon, before clearing his throat, returning to his best confident-boss tone. “We’ll keep watch for the worms. Go prepared.”

“You don’t—“

“We will,” Sasha says emphatically, leaving no room for argument—and even Martin knows when the battle is lost. “We’re happy to do it, Martin. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” he very nearly whispers, face flushing beet red as the undue attention of the afternoon catches up with him. “That’s really…too kind.”

“Well, you’ve got to get it somehow, mate,” Tim says with a chuckle, earning himself a warning glare from both Sasha and Jon. “What? I’m sure Martin wants this to happen again even less than we do. Which is saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, surprising them all by chuckling briefly in return. “Reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t—this is pretty much my worst nightmare, so…just so you all know how sorry I am.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Sasha laughs. “And it keeps continuing to not be your fault.”

“Right. Sure.”

He does not sound at all sure—but she lets it go all the same.

“We should go today, Martin,” Jon says as he stands, already grabbing a canister of CO2 in preparation. “Don’t want you to miss another dose.”

“And take that thing on the Tube?” Martin laughs, fully smiling for the first time since the whole affair began. “Think we might get some looks.”

“It’s the Tube, mate. Stranger things have happened,” Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before jumping in to assist him in standing.

“Suppose you’re probably right about that.”

“Let’s go then,” says Jon, face steeled as if armed to the teeth and ready to tangle with anything coming his way. “Work that needs doing.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #martin blackwood #hurt/comfort #cw nausea #cw seizures #cw misgendering #trans martin #jordanian jon #background timsasha #my writing

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glassandmetalwings · 3 years ago

Text

Having gotten back into work as a pharmacy tech recently, I wanted to make a few quick PSAs, especially given the season.

Please be patient with us. We’re doing a whole lot more than just putting pills into bottles. There are days I don’t even touch a pill bottle bc I’m busy with everything else. It’s hectic. If you have a prescription to drop off, please consider dropping it off and coming back a few hours later, or even tomorrow. Likewise, if your doctor is calling in a script, don’t expect it to be ready in 15 minutes.

This goes double for vaccinations, and even moreso if you’re a walk-in. Seriously. I had three people in a row get pissed at me and leave today because I was having trouble getting their walk-in flu shots to go through insurance. Also, if you happen to have a Red, White, and Blue card from Medicare, please show it. Often it’s our best bet for billing vaccines. If you can get an appointment, try to, or if you want to aim for a walk-in call the pharmacy in advance and ask when they tend to be most available (and again, be understanding if it doesn’t work). For example, my pharmacy has a two-hour window where we aim to get everyone’s lunch breaks in, and we don’t schedule appointments during that time. For us that’s a good time for walk-ins. The three and a half hours after that window? Absolute chaos. I do nothing but check-in and input vaccines during that time. Similarly, please do not ask the minute we open, or shortly before closing (my pharmacy stops giving vaccines an hour before we close, for example). We need that time to get set up or process other issues.

Speaking of insurance, it’s not always ‘either my insurance will cover it or it won’t’. Oftentimes insurance will cover something, but they don’t want to cover it. So they make things as tedious as possible, with the goal that either we in the pharmacy or you as the patient give up and decide it’s better to pay out of pocket. It’s absurd. I’ve seen insurance add unnecessary numbers and letters to cardholder IDs (like a bunch of extra 0s at the beginning) just so they can say the ID doesn’t match what’s on record. Recently I had insurance deny a claim until I went to an additional random tab and marked that the person lived in a house, despite submitting the claim with their address. If we’re having trouble processing your insurance, be patient.

Likewise, sometimes insurance won’t pay, or will only pay part of it and leave you with a copay. This copay can change from month to month, just because insurance is like that. We hate it with every fiber of our beings. We do not delight in telling you that your heart medication will cost $80. Do not take it out on us.

I’m going to keep talking about insurance bc it’s the bane of my existence. If we tell you we’re waiting on a prior auth (prior authorization, or PA) from your doctor, it means insurance looked at your claim and decided that we (the pharmacy) need to ask your doctor if you really need this med. I can see it having it’s place with, say, a medication that’s meant to be short-term and you’re refilling it for the 9th month in a row (maybe, if you squint), but they can and will pull this on things like brand new antibiotic prescriptions. Yes, they will make us contact the doctor for them to ask if you really need the antibiotics your doctor just prescribed for your infection. It’s ridiculous.

This applies both to the PAs and the next point: calling your doctor for us really helps! They’re more likely to listen to patients than pharmacies, for some reason, and it can speed things up dramatically. We will contact your doctor too, but sometimes we need you to put a little extra pressure on them.

If you can (I know it’s hard, and I mess up, too), try to call in refills at least three days in advance. This gives us time if we’re busy, or out of stock and need to get more (this is a lot easier for everyone, including you, than us having to transfer your script to another pharmacy for a fill), or dealing with insurance, or if you’re out of refills and we need to contact your doctor. Obviously if it’s urgent please tell us, and we can try to prioritize you or (in some cases) give you enough to get you by until we can properly fill (this doesn’t apply to all meds! Especially controlled substances!), but if you can, please don’t wait.

Finally, please do not assume you know more than us. I’m going to use the most recent example (it’s 10/30 today). Yesterday, the FDA approved the children’s COVID vaccine! That’s great! But you know what the news probably didn’t mention? The CDC hasn’t approved it yet, and we can’t do anything until the CDC does (and, in the case of chain stores, it may take a few days for some changes to roll out after the decision is made). But I’m having people asking when they can bring their kid in to get vaccinated. Some even expect us to already be implementing it, and if we try to explain the situation, 99% of the time they being with ‘well I heard on the news-’. This happened with being able to mix and match COVID vaccines, too. You can check in with us, but please don’t assume you know more just because you saw something on the news this morning. So did we. We’re more on top of it than you. I had the mix and match issue get sorted out over my lunch break the other week, that’s how close we follow it.

There’s probably more I could talk about, but I don’t want to make this super complicated, and sometimes it’s region specific, but just remember that, at the end of the day, we’re humans. Humans who happen to often be dealing with the lives of others. Likewise, try to extent this courtesy to other branches of healthcare (when I say call your doctor, I mean like a gentle reminder, not badgering them unless this is an ongoing problem with them)

Signed, a very tired pharmacy tech.

P.S.: Please do not come to me with specific medical or pharmacy questions. I am only a tech, and while I've been certified 8 years I'm relatively new to retail (before I worked long-term care). I legally cannot do consultations. I just wanted to talk about what’s going on behind the pharmacy counter.

#wings does things #okay to reblog #hopefully? I'm a little scared

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years ago

Text

feelin’ like a woman

pairing: hardcase / reader

word count: 4322

summary: you’re desperate to go somewhere where proper conduct isn’t expected, and you perk up at hearing about a clone-friendly bar called 79’s. fox gets protective over you and his worry only increases when the object of your affections is a member of the five-oh-first.

warnings: implied smut, the reader and hardcase are thirsty af, that along with the drinking makes me think rated m is most accurate for this fic

“come on, padme! i need someone to come with me!”

“you seem to forget that i’m painted on the sides of several of their ships, any clone would pick me out from a crowd just as quickly as my husband could.”

“then let them enjoy a night with the highly esteemed senator fighting for their rights as people!”

“that’s why you’re going, is it not?”

you groan in defeat, flopping onto padme’s bed theatrically. that was the exact opposite of why you were going. you were indeed an avid fighter for the rights of the clones, but you didn’t have the notoriety that padme did. no, you were planning on going to 79’s to let loose and drink people under the table without shame and have enough fun to satiate future boredom at the upcoming senator’s gala.

“you can have a disguise, or claim to be a body double for the former queen of naboo!”

padme rolled her eyes at the idea. “any member of the coruscant guard will see through that immediately. and speaking of, aren’t you going to need one of those disguises you’re so keen on making me wear?”

“nah, i’m not as popular as you, my friend. i don’t think i’ll be picked out as quick as you would be, or even at all.”

“but i’ve heard that anakin and his men have returned from their last campaign. surely some of their men would recognize you after your rescue from separatist lines a few months ago.”

“lucky for me that the men in blue aren’t snitches.”

--------

you were mostly right about not being widely known.

fox, when he saw you in a dress much tighter and shorter than anything he’s ever seen you wear, nearly had a stroke. at first he tried to blame the glass of unknown substance shoved into his hand by someone in the 327th for making him hallucinate stewjon’s senator wearing a scandalous dress while drinking at a clone bar. then he heard your voice when you asked for stewjoni scotch, and he knew for certain it was you.

his steps were fast and wide as he approached you, a hand gripping your arm almost vice-like to keep you from pulling away. “senator, what do you think you’re doing here?!” he spoke through clenched teeth akin to the way parents chastised their children in public.

“what i’m doing, foxy boy,” you smirk as the bartender sets the bottle and two glasses before you, “is getting shitfaced.” he filled both glasses, extending one towards the commander of the coruscant guard. he didn’t pick up the glass (which you expected) so you picked up yours, clinking the transparisteel against his chestplate with a wry smile.

fox does not approve of this, not at all. but he loosens his grip slightly because he’s aware of how that could possibly be twisted against him if the wrong person saw him. “do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here, senator? you could have been murdered or kidnapped on the trip here, and a drunken senator would be quite easy to take advantage of after half a bottle of this scotch.”

he was worried about you, which was really sweet of the overworked commander (although quite unfounded because you were surrounded by soldiers of the republic, you’d be fine). you had enough faith in their morals to know if anyone got too handsy, clone or otherwise, one of them would defend your honor.

“my friend, you seem to forget that i was born and raised around this stuff,” you raised the drink to your lips and downed it in record time as you continued. “it might as well be in my blood at this point, foxy. but could you do me a favor and refrain from exposing my position? it’ll ruin my chances of any fun, and that would mean i’d have to leave the relative safety of dozens of soldiers.”

fox was resigned to his fate. you did have a fair point, he can monitor (protect) you much better when in a clone-friendly bar than he could in a place where he wasn’t even allowed inside because of his clone status. guess you were staying here.

“well not every brother in here has the same respect for women, sena-“ he cuts himself off and is unsure of how to address you without the title. fox was rightly worried about addressing you by your name. names were near-sacred to him and his brothers, and they held the same power to those in high positions of power like you were. would you be comfortable trusting him with something so precious as a name?

you pick up on his trepidation and immediately give him permission to call you by your first name (again), your other hand grabbing the untouched scotch and downing it with practiced speed. it isn’t like you haven’t been friends with fox since the first time he was assigned to float with your protection team, and you trusted him with your life. he wouldn’t take it lightly and most definitely would be professional whenever decorum was called for.

“alright y/n,” fox’s mouth wrapped around your name with calculated hesitance, almost doubting whether you had even given him permission in the first place. “from now until tomorrow, or as long as we’re in this bar, i’ll only address you as y/n, a random civvie that came to drink with a few soldiers.” the second time he spoke your name it was with a bit more confidence and a twinge of humor.

you brought a hand to the bar top with two rapid hits, drawing the attention of the bartender. the man took the hint and refilled the glasses in front of you both. before he could walk away, you grabbed one of them and gently slammed it back onto the bar, the bartender once again refilling it with the amber liquid.

it was almost comical, the way fox’s eyebrows shot up at the speed with which you took the third helping of scotch. “oh i’m here to do a lot more than drink, my friend,” you grin widely and rest an arm on his shoulder. “i’m here to party!”

the words had been out of your mouth for mere seconds when a clone with blue paint on his armor and inked onto his face approached your right side that was unoccupied by your favorite member of the coruscant guard.

the geometric blue on his armor clearly distinguished him as five-oh-first material, but you had never met this particular soldier before. he had a wild side to him, that much was obvious with the loud confidence he used when he invited you to hang out with him and his group toward the back.

there were a couple familiar faces occupying the booth he gestured to and you grinned at the sight of a cog-headed man downing a shot of something purple. it had been too long since you had seen jesse and co. and you figured that since you were here to party, who better to do it with than some of the rowdiest clones in the gar?

this was another thing fox didn’t like, and the list seemed to only be growing. many of the men under rex’s command had a well-known reputation for being something far less than tame. the idea of his friend (apparently you considered him a friend and it would only be fair of him to do the same since he was now given permission to do so) getting “shitfaced” with the loud men worried him.

they were vode, there was no reason for him to fear for your safety.

your manicured hand came to pat his cheek with affection, bidding him a farewell and directions to find you if he needed you. the other trooper grinned as he offered his hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he guided you to where his closest brothers sat.

fox grabbed the remaining glass of scotch and downed it the same way you had. it was gonna be a long night.

--------

when hardcase returned to the booth with you as his plus one, every head turned (echo and rex choked on their drinks as well) once they identified you.

“jesse! long time no see!”

“y/n! wouldn’t have pegged you for a 79’s kind’a girl, good to see ya!”

“senator y/n! you look stunning as always!”

“why thank you fives, but you know that flattery won’t get your hands anywhere closer to where you wanna put ‘em.”

laughter bounded from everyone around hardcase as you slid into the booth next to jesse, your interlaced hand pulling him next to you.

he was stunned. he had just invited a senator to his table with that much confidence and she actually followed him? a senator?! that knew his brothers?! how did she recognize fives and jesse (and presumably everyone else) in the first place?! part of him hoped the honorific was an inside joke he wasn’t privy to but common sense paired with the way echo and rex choked at the sight of you told him that you actually held that title.

it didn’t take a genius to know where exactly fives wanted his hands to go and the fact you didn’t lose your shit at the implications had hardcase reeling. what kind of senator were you? apparently a fun one, if the finesse you held when downing the scotch earlier held any weight to the idea.

“you know me too well, gorgeous.”

“knowing you at all is too much for anyone, fives.”

your laugh at echo’s snarky comment was loud and without inhibition and hardcase loved it. you were a breath of fresh air, something warm and bright amidst the murky, choking cloud that was the war and he wanted you to stay next to him as long as you were willing.

kix returned to the booth loaded down with drinks and was pleasantly surprised to see you laughing it up with hardcase and the others at something said that (what he correctly guessed) was at fives’s expense. you greeted the medic with a grin, quickly extending a hand towards him that he quickly filled with a brown bottle.

before you could open it and take a sip, jesse gently nudged your side with an elbow. an eyebrow quirked up as he gestured to his bottle and then to yours, and you quickly understood what he wanted to do.

“you’re on, jess.”

everyone else at the table (minus hardcase and tup, the only other man at the table you didn’t know prior to tonight) knew what was going to happen now. with an amused sigh, kix resigned himself to having to deal with an insanely drunk jesse later tonight as the latter opened his bottle and set it in front of him, waiting for the countdown. being the designated vodsitter was a necessary nuisance because they clearly couldn’t be trusted to get themselves back to the barracks safely.

fives began the countdown at three, a hand smacking the table with each number before shouting “go!” you and jesse quickly snatched your drinks from the tabletop and began chugging at a speed hardcase hadn’t seen a civvie (well, non-clone) drink with.

hardcase couldn’t help his eyes from wandering down your body as a couple drops escaped the corner of your lips, slowly making a path down your exposed neck and chest and disappearing into your dress. there had never a been a time he wished he was a tiny droplet of beer, but tonight had him thinking that he’d be content with such an existence if it guaranteed him gliding down your body the way your beer did.

damn his mind was weird sometimes.

he was pulled from his thoughts at a victory yell emitting from your throat, an empty bottle banging against the table. jesse’s head was in his hands, a playful groan making itself known at his now apparent loss.

you beat jesse?! he was the champion!

guess not anymore.

you playfully half-bowed at the cheers of the rest of the table’s occupants before wiping the corner of your mouth with a thumb. what he didn’t expect was the way you licked the tiny bit of beer away from the tip, or the way he felt something stir in his abdomen at the sight of your tongue flicking out for a brief second. did you know you had this affect on him?

conversation came back for a few minutes, everyone joking around and having a great time. you were going on about something to do with the ryloth senator’s bothersome lack of ability to shut up when you cut yourself off mid-sentence, seeming to notice something the others didn’t.

“y/n, what-“

you hold a finger up to silence him and after another couple seconds, your eyes light up at the familiar tune beginning to play from the music box in the corner by the dance floor.

“hardcase, move your ass! i love this song!” he quickly does as you ask, secretly relishing the way it feels when you lightly push him out. what would your hands feel like on him without his pesky armor in the way?

you’re barely out of the booth when a female waitress approaches you with another brown bottle the same as the one you finished off a while earlier.

“the three gentlemen from the three-twenty-seventh enjoyed your little show earlier, wanted to see if you’d do it again.” you could hear the eye roll in her voice, seeming a bit bothered for you at the gall the men she pointed to had.

you shot her a sympathetic smile before sending a flirty wink towards the men who bought you the drink, taking it from her hands with a flourish. she seemed to visibly relax when you were nonchalant about the whole thing, turning to go back to work.

if they wanted a show, they’d get one.

it took a tiny hop on your part to get yourself sitting on the table, being careful to avoid spilling the drinks of your blue-painted friends. you crossed one leg over the other as you sent a small salute with the bottle toward the table before bringing it to your lips. the liquid sent a warm burning sensation to your throat, and you tilted your head back with an almost seductive elegance.

another couple drops escaped your lips and followed a path similar to the prior bottle’s contents, and hardcase was once again enraptured at the sight. when the bottle was empty, you hopped off the table and set the bottle down. now that you had a few drinks in you and a great song was playing through the bar, it was time to dance.

hungry eyes burned into your body as you made your way to the dance floor. you knew there were a couple five-oh-first boys eyeing you as well as the three men who gifted you the last drink. disguising your curiosity as a flirty twirl to the song, you spun and took a head count of your admirers.

at least eight soldiers’ eyes were glued to you, the men having varying motives as to why you had their attention.

fox was casually nursing another glass of scotch at the bar but that nonchalance didn’t fool you. if you gave even the tiniest indication that you were less than comfortable with something, the guardsman would immediately come to your aid. it was the calculated calm that one would see in predators in the wild and you were thankful fox was on your side.

you didn’t pay much mind to the three-twenty-seventh members that sent the second bottle your way outside of knowing that they were watching you. the battalion was familiar to you only by name and paint color, and you weren’t looking to get chummy with men from a group whose commanding officer you weren’t well acquainted with.

tup, who you had discovered was the youngest of the blue men group you were drinking with tonight, was in absolute awe. he’d seen plenty of women who were able to fake a confidence like yours, but yours wasn’t even the slightest bit artificial. your name has popped up among the men with stories of how you were shooting down clankers right along with the five-oh-first during your rescue from seppie space. the fact you were as wild as the stories led him to believe was startling and quite validating.

most of your blue-clad companions were watching your departure the same way they’d watch a commando kick ass: with excitement and barely-contained anticipation. it was entertainment to them. they knew that you knew about the lingering eyes on you. you were just playing the part of the naive but sexy party girl that wanted nothing more than to drink and dance.

what you pretended to want was mostly true, but you had a more concrete goal in mind now than you did when you first arrived: your new goal was to jump the bones of a certain tatted heavy gunner.

a blind man could see the heart eyes hardcase has been throwing at you since he approached you at the bar. the trooper was everything but subtle in his enthusiasm to please you. the lust in his eyes as they roamed your body reminded you of the drought you’d been stuck in for far too long, senator work not leaving much time for the finer pleasures life has to offer the bold.

there was a tall and vibrant pitcher of water in blue paint that you hoped would be more than willing to flood your desert later tonight. maybe if you played your cards right and made your intentions known things would go your way.

only one way to find out.

among the cards was a little extra sway to your hips as you walked and a half-spin, urging him to follow you to the dance floor with a wink.

his brothers were encouraging him to get up and go, but he was suddenly nervous about you for the first time tonight. did you really want to dance with him? he didn’t think so. you were absolutely phenomenal and he wasn’t even an arc trooper, what would you want with him?

doubts were shoved away from his head when you went back to the booth and pulled him from his seat, a wide smile gracing your features. fives, tup, echo, and jesse drunkenly hollered in celebration of his good fortune as you laced a hand in one of his and he swore to the maker that he could never forget the way your hand felt in his.

once you found a prime spot on the floor, you turned to face hardcase and pulled him closer to you. your hands made their way to the nape of his neck and your hips began to sway. the trooper took the hint and his hands moved down your body and came to rest comfortably on your waist.

did all clones have such large hands? if so, how did you not notice that pleasant physical feature earlier? more importantly, would they feel as large as they did now when spreading you open for him before absolutely railing you the way you hoped he would?

the song continued and with it went what little structure your dancing had. hardcase was right on board with it, the two of you dancing like fools just enjoying each other’s company. you laughed as he playfully twirled you out of the blue and wow, his smile is dazzling. he was laughing right along with you and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make him more attractive than he already was.

then he pulled you closer, chest flush with his. callused hands returned to your body and traveled lower and lower, one resting on your ass while the other pressed into the small of your back. his eyes became softer as he lowered his head, whispering a question of consent, whether it was okay for his hands to have gone so far down your figure.

it was endearing you even more to the mirthful soldier and if you weren’t careful- oh who were you kidding? you were too far gone to contemplate what it meant for you to have something so intimate with a trooper and frankly, you didn’t care now the same way you wouldn’t in the morning.

he was flesh and blood and dazzling smiles and playful jokes, and you wanted to continue being the reason he smiled so wide. you had half a mind to send a holopic of your lips on hardcase’s to the longneck senator burtoni just to piss her off because look at this man, he was spectacular and you dared anyone to imply that he was anything less.

you were snapped back to the man in front of you when his hand kneaded your ass in the most heavenly way possible, not even bothering to conceal the soft moan that worked its way out of your throat. there was no way hardcase didn’t hear it, not with how he tensed for just a brief moment before doing it again with both hands just to see what you’d do.

another moan added emphasis to your growing arousal, slightly louder than the last one but still quiet enough that the dancing strangers on almost every side couldn’t hear.

hardcase grinned like a loth-cat at the sound. he couldn’t believe his night was going so wonderfully and for a brief, blissful moment he forgot that he’d have to leave 79’s before the end of the night and in three days’ time, return to the front lines.

the harsh slap of reality obliterated what little jitters and anxiety he had about you on the spot. he tightened his hold on you before asking for permission to kiss you the way he’d wanted to since you sat down next to him.

the reply you granted him was simple enough and got the point across with zero chance for it to be twisted the way some fellow senators would twist the words of themselves and others. honesty and openness were rare in politics but they were abundant when hardcase was this close to you, and they only grew in size as your lips collided with his.

you could taste the beer on his tongue and something else you didn’t recognize that had you hungry for more. it was sweet and strong and distinctly hardcase and oh fierfek, if his mouth was this good right now, imagine how skilled it’d be when-

rough kneading elicited another moan that wasn’t as private as the others, your mind storing away the humorous sight of a couple veering their path away from you and hardcase’s affection in thinly veiled disgust.

“is there somewhere we can go for a bit more privacy?” the aroused timbre of his voice was something you weren’t prepared for and if he hadn’t been holding you so tight against him, you were confident in the assumption you’d have melted to the spot.

but the implications didn’t lose their intended effect; in fact, quite the opposite. you pulled him in for another kiss and this time, decided to push yourself against the codpiece of his armour, see how he’d respond.

there was something almost primal in the noise he made and you were desperate to hear it again. you repeated the motion and received the same response, deciding to answer the pressing question he posed as he relished in the pressure you were giving him. “i can get us into a hotel in the middle levels where no one would know me, see what happens from there.”

the confidence in his next words struck you like lightning. “i think we both know what’s gonna happen from there, sweetheart.” his lips began setting a path along your jaw and down your neck, pausing only to lightly bite the soft skin resting above your collarbone.

“what are we waiting for, then?”

hardcase’s tongue lapped at the spot his teeth just released for a moment before lifting his eyes to yours. “a cab to get us the kriff outta here.”

he (almost unwillingly) detached himself from your body and intertwined his fingers with yours, smiling as you guide each other towards the exit and right by your former table. as predicted by hardcase, his vode that were still conscious drunkenly shouted their congratulations and reminders about protection.

you laughed right along with them for a moment, bidding them a good night and safe trip home.

before getting to the bar doors you paused. fox would want to know that you were safe, and you’d feel immensely guilty for letting your friend needlessly worry. scanning the bar, he wasn’t at his previous spot and you cursed for a moment before finding another trooper with red paint, telling them to pass along a message.

they nodded and turned to do so, at which point you pulled hardcase closer to you and emerged from the doors hand in hand.

a speeder cab nearly passed you up, jerking to a stop at the loud whistle of hardcase. another thing his mouth could do. interesting.

the cabbie asked where you wanted to go, your answer sounding almost out of breath since hardcase thought that mid-conversation was the perfect time to slide his hands up the exposed skin of your thigh. never had you been grateful for the solid divider that isolated cabbie from passenger before this moment.

at the end of the night, you both had predictions turn into truths; hardcase was correct in guessing what exactly would transpire between the two of you, and his hands did feel as large as you hoped they would as he split you open with calculated ministrations before nailing you to the hotel bed.

#clone trooper hardcase #hardcase x reader #swtcw #star wars reader insert #star wars fanfic #star wars imagines #star wars the clone wars #clone trooper hardcase x reader #hardcase imagine #hardcase #clone trooper imagines #clone trooper x reader #fives is a shameless flirt #inspired by 'man! i feel like a woman!' by shania twain #guys i love hardcase #jj writes

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summahsunlight · 4 years ago

Note

can you do 5,10 and 46 in angst for Poe. Really like your oneshots:)

Hi anon! Thanks for the request! It is super angsty. Hope you like it!🥺

Title: Damage

Rating: M (for mentions of addiction)

Word Count: 2071

Pairing: Modern!Poe x Reader

Summary: From 50 Angsty Questions Prompt list (here), #5″Hasn’t this addiction done enough damage?”, “#10 “Do you know what a gunshot wound feels like?”, and #46 “Do you want to die?”

Warnings: Mentions PTSD and addition, swearing, this is probably the most angst filled one yet... it hurts 💔

Poe woke in a cold sweat; sitting up in bed, gasping and clutching his heart.

Nightmares had been common once he’d been released from the hospital six months ago; in the hospital they had given him sedatives to help him sleep. He didn’t have that luxury at home. He was lucky he got two to three hours of sleep a night at home. Shifting, Poe glanced at you, praying that you had not woken up with him. It wouldn’t be fair if you suffered sleepless nights because of him. Thankfully, you were still asleep.

The movement sent a shockwave of pain up his back and Poe winced. Biting down on his lip, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and made his way through the dark to the master bathroom. Not bothering to flick the light on, Poe shuffled around in the medicine cabinet looking for the prescription pain meds his doctor had prescribed him after his surgery.

He came up empty. The only thing he could find on the shelf were some left over flu meds from that winter and a bottle of generic Advil. Maybe he had left his meds downstairs in the kitchen.

It was excoriating climbing down the stairs. He just needed his meds, once he had his meds the pain would stop and maybe he’d be able to sleep. Poe did turn the kitchen light on and began the long process of searching through each and every cabinet for the bottle of pills. But, as it became more and more apparent that he’d run out, he started slamming the cabinets shut in desperation. What the fuck was he going to do without his meds?

“Poe?” your sleepy voice called down the stairs. “Are you okay?”

“Just great!” Poe snapped, angrily. “Actually, I’m fucking great!”

Cautiously you proceeded into the kitchen. Poe had tossed everything out of half the cabinets in his search--and you knew exactly what he was looking for--you’d watched his addiction to the pain medication consume him for the last month. When you voiced your concerns to Poe’s doctor, the prescription had not been refilled, inside he’d referred Poe to a therapist. “Are you in pain?”

Poe glared at you, fists clenched. “Of course I’m in pain. I’m always in fucking pain, Y/N. Do you know what a gunshot wound feels like? It’s fucking painful! So, yeah, I guess you can say I’m in pain!”

You anxiously glanced around the kitchen. You were used to his anger. He had a lot of it the last six months. No one blamed him. He’d been performing a routine patrol with his unit in Syria when they been ambushed. Poe had been shot three times, the worse one in his back--the bullet narrowly missing his spinal cord. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do? Maybe I can rub some of that cream I use on my legs after working out on your back?”

“Wow, you honestly think that natural shit is going to help?” Poe scoffed. “I wasn’t doing yoga; I was shot in the back with a 22 caliber pistol.”

“How about some Motrin?” You suggested, softly. “Your doctor said you could take some of that to ease the pain.”

“I need my fucking medication that you convinced my doctor I didn’t need anymore. Now when I call, he refuses to return them. The nurses keep referring me to a pain specialist. I don’t want a specialist, I don’t need a specialist, I just need the damn pills!”

“Those pills are killing you, Poe! You’re dependent on them, even when you aren’t in pain! The doctor, the nurses, they’re just trying to help you.”

Poe kicked the pile of plastic containers he’d tossed from the cabinets. “If they wanted to help me, they’d listen to me when I said that the pain was getting worse, not better! They’d take my word over yours! Not ignore my suffering! Those pills are not killing me, they’re helping me function!”

You felt tears welded in your eyes. He’d been aggressive and angry since coming off of the medication. The doctor had warned you of this. You just wanted to help him, but just like tonight, when you offered to help, he shouted at you, pushed you away. The relationship you both cherished so much was beginning to crumble under the constant strain of his addiction. “Hasn’t this addiction done enough damage?”

Suddenly all the fight left his body. Poe saw the tears running rivers down your cheeks. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, I’ll be out of your hair. I’m sure I can find an old Army buddy to take me in for a few days until I find a place of my own. Maybe...maybe you should keep BeeBee.”

“I don’t...I don’t want you to leave,” you cried.

“What else can I do?” Poe questioned. “Our relationship is broken.”

“Broken beyond repair?”

“Not much left to fix, Y/N.”

He was just giving up on you; in retrospect, you should have seen this coming. The grief counselor at the hospital that had worked with Poe while he was recovering had warned you that this might happen. PTSD and addiction didn’t just tear the person up who was a victim of it--it tore up their families as well. And the fact that Poe was giving up his beloved corgi, BeeBee, to you, just signified that perhaps he was giving up on life.

Poe ran his hands through his thick curls. If he could have left right at that moment, he would have, but he couldn’t think of anyone that would open their door for him at three in the morning. Growling in frustration, Poe glanced at the stairs, knowing he was going to have to climb them in order to go pack his things. He was just going to have to grit his teeth and fight through the pain.

You stood in the kitchen, containers scattered about, watching as Poe sized the stairs up. Please, please don’t leave, you wanted to scream at him. If he left, you knew that he wouldn’t make it. He would be another statistic. “Do you want to die?”

Refusing to look at you, Poe paused at the bottom of the stairs. Did he? At first, when he woke up in the field hospital, he’d been happy to still be alive--until he found out he was one of the only survivors of the ambush. Three of his brothers had not made it. Survivor’s guilt, that had been the fancy term the counselor used. “Somedays I think it would have been better if I’d died.”

“Would it have been better for me? The grief I would have been in...”

“You’re in pain now. And I’m alive.”

“I’m only in pain because I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ve already lost me.”

Crying, you moved towards him, noticing that he still refused to look at you. “No! No, I haven’t, Poe! What you went through was terrible, but you need to realize that you’re sick and you need help.” You gently grabbed his hands, lacing your fingers through his. “Please, Poe, please let me help you. Don’t you remember that one time you told me we could do anything we put our minds too?”

Poe’s jaw twitched. In the dim light of the kitchen you could see tears reflecting in his chocolate brown eyes. Suddenly, he wrapped his fingers around yours, and squeezed your hands hard. “What if I never get better?”

You set your jaw, now both of you were crying. “Poe, you will and you don’t have to do it alone. We can fight this together. Tomorrow, we’ll go see the pain specialist, we’ll make an appointment with the therapist... and I’ll go with, to as many appointments as you want me to go to, even if I just sit in the waiting room waiting for you. I got quite good at waiting for you while you were deployed.”

This was usually the part of the fight that Poe scoffed at you, declared that he didn’t need a therapist, and storm back to bed. And you were expecting it to go this way... but then he looked at you, looked at you like you were his lifeline.. and something snapped inside of him. “After everything I’ve done and said, you’d still wait for me?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you wait for me?”

“Forever if I had too.”

Letting go his hands, you hugged him, tightly. Poe wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your hair. You could hear him softly crying and it broke your heart, but this was the first step towards healing, wasn’t it? “What do you need from me?” you whispered, leaning into his embrace.

Poe closed his eyes, letting the tears run freely down his cheeks. “Maybe that natural shit you use after yoga...and some Motrin. Let’s...let’s start with that.”

You smiled against his shoulder and nodded. “Okay. Baby steps. My dad always said slow and steady wins the race.”

“I want... oh God, love, I want to get better...”Poe sobbed.

“Poe, baby, you will,” you assured him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I promise, I’ll be there every step of the way--I’m not giving up on you.”

He finally believed you, after months of fighting himself, fighting his doctors--fighting with you--he finally believed that no one was giving up on him. That had to include himself too. Poe had to believe himself if he was going to get better. He couldn’t give up.

You helped him back up the stairs to your bedroom, helped him sit on the bed while you went and retrieved the pain cream from your yoga bag, then went into the master bathroom to find the Motrin.

Joining him in the bedroom, you saw that BeeBee had climbed up onto the bed and had his head in Poe’s lap, his high brown eyes looking up at his human with adoration. Poe was languidly scratching the dog behind his ears. You sat down on the bed behind him and lifted up his tee shirt, squirting some of the cream in your hand, you began to massage it into his tense muscles--over the scar in his back where the Army surgeon had removed the bullet that almost ended his life.

Poe hummed in appreciation. “That stuff smells fucking awful,” he snapped, even as it began to tingle and dull the pain.

Chuckling you held his shirt up while it dried. “Yeah... but it’s working, right?”

“Yeah. Even if I smell like a disinfectant.”

“Still want the Motrin?”

“Sure.”

Releasing his shirt, you handed him a glass of water and two pills. “We’ll start with two, okay? If it doesn’t help in an hour, I’ll give you another one.”

He nodded taking the pills. Poe finished the water and handed you the glass, watching as you set it down on the nightstand. “I want to get better,” he told you, again, “I don’t... I can’t live like this anymore. You were right all along, I should have... I should have listened to you... but I didn’t want... you asked me if I wanted to die. No. I want to live, sweetheart. But the nightmares...the pills... the pain... that isn’t... that isn’t living.”

You pushed his hair back from his forehead and then kissed him, tenderly. After a year of watching him fall apart, especially these last six months that he had been home, this was the first sign that he wanted to fight back, that he didn’t want to let his PTSD or his addiction to the pain killers ruin his life. “I love you, Poe. Battle scars and all.”

Poe sighed, sadly. He grabbed you into his arms and laid down, BeeBee ruffed and climbed over you, curling up against Poe’s back before falling back to sleep. For the first time in a long time, Poe felt a real smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It was one that was filled with the sadness he still felt, but he had BeeBee, he had you--he knew that it was a long road he had to travel to get back to something that resembled the man he used to be--however, as he watched you fall asleep against his chest, he knew he wouldn’t be walking that path alone.

#story underneath the cut #ask summah #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #addiction #ptsd mentioned #drug use mentioned #poe dameron angst #modern poe dameron #150 followers celebration #reader request

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atths--twice · 5 years ago

Text

Fifth chapter is up! Prompt #6 Forehwsd Kiss

Beginning to Heal

Mulder sat outside of Scully’s hospital room, waiting for everyone to leave so he could go inside and see her. He put the picture of himself and his sister in his jacket pocket; a worry for another day.

He leaned his head back against the wall, crossed his arms and closed his eyes. Mrs. Scully laughed and he smiled, happy to hear her joy when he had heard too much of her sadness. He took a deep breath and shook his head, the days beginning to catch up to him.

“Fox.”

He jerked up, heavy with sleep. Turning his head, he saw Mrs. Scully standing beside him, her hand touching his shoulder.

“Dana wants to see you,” she said softly with a smile. “We’re leaving now.” She squeezed lightly and then looked at Bill with a nod. He glared at Mulder and they walked away.

He stood up and stretched with a groan, picking up his jacket and pushing open her door. She was lying on her side, the lights dimmed, and he thought she was asleep until she smiled at him as she reached out her hand. He smiled as he pulled up a chair and took it, holding her fingers lightly.

“How are you feeling?” he said quietly and she smiled wider as she closed her eyes.

“So much better,” she breathed, exhaling as she did. “I have to stay tonight but I can go home tomorrow.”

“I could come get you. Take you home.”

“Mmmm, that sounds good,” she mumbled and he smiled.

“You rest. Sleep, Scully,” he said, stroking her hair and watching her eyelids fluttering. He stayed until he heard her breathing evenly and he smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Shutting off the light, he looked at her once again, smiling as he left, his heart lighter than it had been in days.

___________

8:45 the next morning, he arrived at the hospital, riding the elevator to her floor and walking down the hallway to her room.

He opened the door and saw she was dressed in loose comfortable clothes and sitting on the bed. When she saw it was him, she smiled and stood up.

“Hi. Are you early? Did we say nine?”

“We didn't set a time as you fell asleep before we could,” he teased and she laughed with a nod.

“I guess I did. Well, I’m just waiting on the discharge papers. It takes awhile sometimes.” She smiled and he grinned.

“You look better than you have.”

“Thank you?”

“I just mean…”

“Relax, Mulder. I know how terrible I looked. I feel a lot better. It’s weird…” She put a hand to the back of her neck, touching the small bandage covering her procedure. “I don’t know if I want to understand it or think about it too much. I’m just thankful to be alive.” He stared at her and nodded.

“I know the feeling,” he said softly and she sighed with a smile. “You all set then?”

“Hell yes, I can’t wait to get out of here,” she declared and he laughed, nodding at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Do you want to—”

“Hello! Good morning. Oh hello, Fox,” Mrs. Scully said. “It’s good to see you again. And so soon.” She smiled at him and he nodded, his eyes cutting to Scully. “Dana, hello. You look better today.”

“So I’ve been told,” she said, looking at Mulder with a smirk as he looked between the two of them. “What are you doing here, Mom? Not that I’m not happy to see you.”

“I told you last night that I would pick you up and bring you home.”

“You did? I don’t… don’t remember that conversation.”

“Yes, before I left, I said I’d be here before nine and help you pack up your stuff. Which I see you’ve already done,” Mrs. Scully said, as she looked around. “Fox, did you… oh, are you here to pick Dana up? Did I miss something?”

LNo,” he said, clearing his throat. “I came for a visit with Dana and discovered you were on the way. I decided to keep her company until you got here,” he lied, smiling at her as he caught Scully’s eye and she shook her head.

“Oh, aren’t you so sweet?” She stepped closer to the bed, patting his chest as she did. “Is this it?” She pointed to the two bags on the bed and Scully nodded as the nurse entered the room, the discharge papers in her hand.

Mulder backed up closer to the wall and let them talk as he slid his hands into his jacket pockets. Scully looked his way a few times and he smiled, reassuring her that it was all fine. When the nurse finally left, he stepped closer to them and smiled.

“I’ll be going now, give you ladies a chance to finish up and get headed for home,” he looked between them, his gaze telling Scully, again, that it was okay. She sighed and he knew she understood.

“Mrs Scully, it’s always a pleasure to see you.” He said as he gently rubbed her upper arm and then turned to Scully. “I’ll call you later. Make sure you’re doing okay?” She nodded and he stepped toward the door.

“Fox, I feel like there was a misunderstanding. If you would rather take Dana home…” She stared at him and he waved her away with a smile.

“Not at all. I was just here for a visit. I’ll see you later.” He waved at them and walked out, sighing as he continued down the hallway. Taking the elevator back down, he got in his car and drove home.

It was over an hour after he had been home, when he remembered the bouquet of flowers he had left on her dining room table that morning. Something to make her smile and for them to joke about.

“Shit,” he muttered and made to call her, feeling a need to explain himself, but knowing she had likely already seen them, and he missed seeing her happy smile. He decided to wait and leave it until later, give her a chance to settle in at home.

He paced the apartment with too much nervous energy. Deciding to take advantage of the now empty hours, he cleaned his bathroom, did two loads of laundry, and took out the trash.

As he was coming back, he heard his phone ringing. He picked it up and heard her tired sigh.

“My mother just left,” she nearly whined and he chuckled.

“It was just a couple of hours.”

“I know. I’m just tired and a little grumpy.”

“Have you eaten? I could bring you something. Unless you’d rather be alone?”

“I could eat something. Nothing too heavy, though. Maybe just some soup?” He grinned and nodded.

“You got it. Be there soon.” He hung up and grabbed his jacket, car keys, wallet and phone and walked out the door.

____________

She opened the door, already in her pajamas, despite the early afternoon hour. Smiling a tired smile, she stepped aside to let him enter. He set the bag he was carrying on the dining room table and looked at the flowers sitting where he had left them.

“Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful,” she said softly and he nodded, glancing at her with a smile; no teasing explanation needed.

Reaching into the cupboard, he took down two bowls and three plates, setting them on the table. Opening a different cupboard, he took out glasses and filled them with water, setting them beside the plates. Two spoons and two butter knives were passed to her as she sat down, a small smile on her face.

“I got bread too and that chicken and rice soup you like. Just a little to start?” He looked at her and she nodded. He took out a larger spoon and filled their bowls, keeping her portion small.

He took out the bread and put it on a plate, cutting it into pieces with a bread knife. Picking up the two bowls of soup, he set one in front of her and the other beside her. Their plates were brought closer along with the bread before he went to the refrigerator, and took out the butter. He set it by the bread and then brought over their glasses, as he sat down beside her.

“Wow, that was like watching a very well rehearsed play. You sure do know your way around my kitchen,” she teased, as her eyes drooped a little and she yawned.

“Yeah, now be quiet and eat your soup,” he teased back and she nodded, yawning again. “As much as you want, don’t push it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

They ate in silence, her eating a piece of bread and half a bowl of soup, yawning every few minutes.

“Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll clean up and put the extras in the fridge.”

“We could watch a movie.”

“Scully,” he laughed. “You’ll never make it through ten minutes of a movie. You’re exhausted and you need to rest.”

“But you came all this way and you brought food. And those flowers.” She yawned again and he smiled, rising from his chair.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, gently pulling out her chair and she whined. “Come on.” He placed a hand on her back and led her to her bedroom.

He pulled the covers back and she took off her slippers as she sat down. Sighing, she looked at him and he smiled.

“Rain check on that movie?” she asked in a tired voice, her eyes nearly closed, and he nodded.

“Always.”

She laid down on her side and closed her eyes with a contented sigh as he covered her up. “Can I get you anything? Water? Any medication?”

“Hmmm. Ummm… water. And there is a bottle… bottle of pills on the counter.” She began to breathe deeply and he smiled, watching her sleeping already.

“And you wanted to watch a movie,” he whispered, shaking his head.

Brushing her hair back, he stared at the hollow of her cheeks and the paleness of her skin. So much had been taken from her, because of him and his quest, and yet she had trusted him enough to put a piece of metal under her skin in the hope of saving her life.

Moving his hand to her neck, he ran his fingers softly over the bandage, imagining the life force it held underneath. He closed his eyes, placing his palm across it, offering his strength to her as though that could also heal her. Opening his eyes, he watched her sleeping for a bit longer before he stood up.

He went into the kitchen to clean up the mess from their meal. He washed and dried the dishes, putting them away and wiping down the sink. The leftovers were closed up and placed in the refrigerator, something for her to eat when she woke and felt a bit better. He looked around when he was finished, satisfied with the cleanliness of the room.

He refilled her glass of water, picked up the bottle of pills she mentioned, and walked into her bedroom. Setting the items on the nightstand, he watched her sleeping. Bending down, he brushed her hair back gently, and kissed her forehead softly.

“Goodnight, Scully,” he whispered, kissing her forehead once more. He stood up and walked out of her room, closing the door as he left.

He turned on a lamp, not sure when she would wake and not wanting her to be in complete darkness. He stepped out the door, and locked it behind him. Staring at it, he shook his head and closed his eyes. So close. He had come so close to losing her.

Again.

Placing his hand upon the door, he shook his head and sighed, as he opened his eyes. Had was the operative word. She was there, sleeping soundly, once more defying the odds. Choking back a sob, he nodded, removed his hand from the door, and walked down the hall.

#xfiles #fanfic #msr #comfort and care #recovering

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