#i’ll just get ready for bed. and then she asks ‘have you even exercised at all today?’

[pieandflannel]

₊˚⊹𐙚 safe with me

pairing: mark meachum x fem!reader

summary: mark is on the run with you due to you becoming a target for a contact killer, you’re hiding out in a cheap motel and mark comforts you when your nerves get the best of you

cw: angst.ᐟ comfort.ᐟ a hint of old flame trope.ᐟ heavy mentions of [death, blood, murder, guilt, corpse/dead body, hitman themes].ᐟ nicknames [sweetheart, darling].ᐟ

word count: 1210

julia yaps: for my wife @emeraldcrs hope this cheers you up bby

────────── 🚓 ──────────

mark’s eyes scanned the parking lot of the motel joint, analysing any threat before quickly shoving you inside the room. “get in, quick” he commanded as he walked in after you and slammed the door shut behind him, locking the door with both the locks and putting a chair under the door knob.

you just simply stood there beside the bed, your hands gripping nervously at the edge of your tshirt, you watched him pace from the door to the closet, opening it up and checking for anything suspicious or an intruder, then does the same to the bathroom, pushing the bath curtain back, gun pointed and ready just in case.

“place is clean, i assume you’ll wanna wash up” mark spoke his voice slightly softer now that he cleared the place.

“yeah.. all my clothes are dirty and covered in.. in blood” your throat clenching, barely letting you speak anything above a whisper. your hands shook slightly as you looked down at your blood-covered jeans.

it wasn’t your blood – it was your friend’s.

you and your friend were simply at the shopping mall, you wanted to get some new candles and other decor for your new flat. you didn’t want to go alone so you pleaded and begged her to come along even if she didn’t want to, and now? she’s dead and her blood is on your hands, or at least that’s what your mind kept repeating for all those hours of mark driving you across the state, to this funky cheap motel, that hopefully no one will find you in.

mark noticed by your body language that a start of a breakdown was coming, your breathing was erratic from holding in your tears, your hands were trembling and you became slightly paler from looking at the blood stains.

“hey sweetheart?, why don’t you look at me real quick..” he took a step closer, reacting quickly, his big calloused hands gently cupping your cheeks, making you look up into his eyes and not at the blood, “there we go” mark gave you an eye smile, eyes slightly crinkling at the corners.

“now take a deep breath f’me okay? breath in..” he took a deep breath in with you, trying to guide the pace, “and out” you followed his exhale, “attagirl.. now do that five times” he asked you more than instructed. his eyes gazing softly upon your beautiful features as you tried to do the breathing exercise.

after you did the five inhales and exhales while looking him in the eyes, those calming emerald eyes, you did in fact feel less lightheaded, and he could tell because your paleness was gradually going away.

his thumbs caressing your cheeks before letting go of your face, then his hands gently rested on your shoulders. “i know a lot has happened in the span of twenty-four hours.. and that all this is a lot to take in, but you’re safe with me, alright darling? i promise i’ll protect you” mark spoke with such honestly and softness, you could feel he was being genuine.

you nodded, your eyes still glossy from the tears that keep threatening to fall. your hands still slightly shaking as you can’t help but have the image of your friend’s death looping constantly in your mind.

the screams that erupted around you as the crowd of people created a stampede, her body dropping to the floor of the mall like a sack of potatoes, her body limp and lifeless as you tried to lift her up, what seemed to be gallons of crimson blood pooling at her head from the sniper shot that you were supposed to originally receive, not her. the guilt only grew by the minute, to a point it was hard for you to hide it all.

mark knew you were shaken up, traumatised even, and he also knew that there wasn’t much he could do to help, so he did the only thing that he could do best at the moment. he opened his arms, inviting you into his embrace. “c’mere” he gently pulled you in by your arm as you began to break down.

you weren’t able to hold in your tears anymore at the feeling of his warmth, your throat clenched, not letting you speak a single word, you could only sob softly against him.

“just let it out sweetheart, let it all out, i got you” his voice delicate but raspy. he let his chin rest on the top of your head as his arms wrapped around your petite frame, he was so much taller than you, his shoulders wide and height making him tower over you, which felt oddly comforting, like you were safe as long as you stayed close to him.

he caressed the back of your head and your back, trying to give you at least physical comfort. your small hands weakly gripping around the material of his long sleeved shirt.

“it’s my fault.. it’s my fault she’s dead” you sobbed, your breathing uneven.

“i shouldn’t have forced her to come with me… she didn’t even want to go.. she said she wasn’t feeling too well but i didn’t wanna go alone.. and now she is dead because of me.. and we left her there” you curled up into his chest as your body shook with every sob you let out.

mark’s brows frowned slightly at the heaviness of your words, he could feel the guilt that you’ve been carrying with you for hours, he knew you always were empathetic and soft hearted, “hey.. hey look at me” he pulled you slightly away so you could look up into his eyes, your mascara ruined a little despite it being waterproof.

“it wasn’t your fault, d’you hear me? you couldn’t have possibly known that this would happen, and if you did you would have never dragged her along… you’re the sweetest person i’ve ever known” he started off, his tone more serious, hoping he’d get to you.

“the only person you should blame and be angry at is the one that hired the hitman and made you the target” he gently wiped your tears away with his thumbs, his words started to slowly crack the wall of guilt.

“but why me..?” you sniffled, your voice cracking a bit.

“i think it might be to do with the fact you’re..an old friend of mine, someone i care about” he explained.

“but i promise you– me and my team will put an end to this, i’ll make damn sure of that” he gave you a weak smile, barely noticeable, but it was there.

“you’re safe with me sweetheart” mark assured you, giving you a slow gentle kiss on the forehead before pulling you back into his arms, his body warmth giving you a sense of security.

“the guys should be here soon, they’ll bring you fresh clothes you can change into” he murmured into your hair, his hug tight around you, as if to emphasise that you are indeed gonna be safe with him.

you nodded, your eyes slightly red and puffy from the tears. “everything will be alright” he spoke softly before giving another feather light kiss on your temple, his arms wrapping tighter around you in a protective manner.

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

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[magics-neptunes-things]

Secret Love II

So, here we are with the second part! I don't really where I'm going with it right now to be honest, so I'm just gonna I’ll just let my imagination run wild.

Thanks for your reviews, don't hesitate leave me some, it always makes me very happy to know what you think of my writings :)

Enjoy!

P.S Part one is HERE

____________________________________________________________

A few hours after leaving your hotel room, you return there hoping to be as discreet as you were before. On tiptoe, you reach your bed and slip under the covers, your mind always with Alexia. She also went to her room, you both agreed that it was important to enjoy the last hours of sleep before dawn. While you are looking for sleep, you don't realize that Ona’s breathing is no longer as deep as when you left, indicating that she is awake.

"... going to be late!"

Ona’s voice comes to you like through a fog and you need a few blinks of eyes to finally fix your gaze on her face.

"Breakfast is in seven minutes, you know how is Vilda with late people"

Oh man. You jump of your bed, frantically searching for your clothes by making more mess than anything else. You sprint in the bathroom to wash your face and comb your hair in a messy bun, trying to get the sleep of your face.

"Ona go, don't be let yourself" you say to your roomate.

"You sure?" she asked, popping her head by the door.

"Yeah"

"Ok. Your shirt is upside down."

You swear before you put it right, jump in your sneakers and go out slamming the door of the room. Obviously the elevator doors close a few meters from you, so you decide to take the stairs. It’s a miracle you’re on time and you're not even the last one.

You spot Alexia, sitting next to Jenni and Irene, with the same fresh, rested look as if she had slept 12 hours straight. This woman, you thought, before serving you a breakfast tray and looking for a free place.

************************

"Y/N what's that?"

You turn around but Aitana had time to have a close look to the hickey Alexia made two days ago. Her loud question made everyone turn around, even if you all were supposed to be focused on your strength exercises.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, your mind racing while looking for a good excuse.

"You got a bruise on your neck"

At this point those who were furthest away turned their attention to their exercises, but you feel that the look of several of your teammates burning your back. You crossed Alexia's eyes for a second and open the mouth to talk, but another voice answers before you.

"It must have been when you fell while getting ready, the morning you were late. I thought she was gonna break her neck."

The second sentence is more for Aitana than for you, but she seems to accept this answer with even a small laugh before grabbing his dumbbell again. It's Ona's look that you cross this time and since you don’t know what to tell her, you’re starting to do your exercises again.

************************

"So, you and Alexia uh?"

You were back in your room, reading a book while listening some music. It was free time but it was so cold outside that you didn't want to go out for now. Ona had said nothing until now, even during the meal time when you found yourself sitting in front of her. Even if you knew the subject was coming at some point, you appreciate the fact that she chooses to be sure she isn’t being heard by anyone to bring the subject.

"Well... Maybe"

You can't fight back the smile on your face and your vague answer seems to be enough for your roommate.

"Who knows?" she asked.

"No one, apart from Alexia’s mother."

"Even Jenni?"

You bite your lip and shakes your head. You know Alexia want to talk about it with Jenni, she's her bestfriend after all. But you had a rule and she just get with it.

"We got together six months after I arrived in Barcelona, I had a hard time understanding what was happening the first time she tried to flirt with me."

You smile in spite of yourself, the flirting was not necessarily the strong of Alexia but you always found it touching.

"And then we broke up when we lost against Wolfsburg, she thought our relationship was what kept her from focusing on the game and the win."

You swallow with difficulty, these memories being particularly dark for both of you. But now that you’ve started talking about your story, you can’t stop. Especially since the Catalan seems to be an excellent listener.

"After that we lost the final... It was awful. I spent every second trying not to look at her, not to show anything to anyone. No one knew and they thought I was disappointed that we lost the final when I was in reality heartbroken."

Lost in your thoughts, your gaze on your hands, you notice only when you feel her presence that Ona left her bed to sit next to you. She places her hand on your arm and you look up at her smiling, which must probably seem strange to her given with what you're saying after.

"Weeks and months passed and we found ourselves training for the Euro. And you certainly don’t need me to remind you what happened with her ACL."

Ona’s grimace speaking of herself, you continue, leaning against the wall behind you.

"I wrote her several times to tell her that I was thinking about her, but she didn't answer. I didn't expect her though, I knew that she had cut contact with almost everyone. But when we were eliminated and I returned to Barcelona, I found her one time on my doormat. She was... I never saw her like that Ona. She was destroyed."

The memory of this moment gives you shivers and you shake yourself mentally to return to the present.

"I let her in and she talked about her insecurities. She told me she was supposed to be in rehab in 15 minutes, but she didn’t want to go. She felt that it was useless and that she would never play again. So I threatened to call her mother and took her there. That’s when we started seeing each other again and got back together soon after."

There was a small silence, during which Ona seemed to digest the information you had just given her. With frowns, she looks at you thoughtfully when answering.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was this deep. And I’m sorry you both had to go through this without being able to tell anyone."

"It's in the past now. I can't talk for her but she makes me really happy. You really saved us this morning, but please keep it to yourself for now"

"I will"

She smiles and you kiss her cheek before she gets up to go to the bathroom. Thinking it's better to inform Alexia, you take your phone.

You - Can you talk?

Mi Reina ♥ - Yes, what's up?

You - Ona knows about us, I kind of just told her everything.

Mi Reina ♥ - Well she kind of cover you up this morning so it was obvious Guapa

You - Sorry if my girlfriend can't keep her lips to herself :)

Mi Reina ♥ - Touché.

Mi Reina ♥ - Can I talk to Jenni about us, since Ona knows?

You - If you want to, it's ok for me.

The next day, it didn’t take you long to realize that Alexia had spoken to Jenni. You have surprised the gaze of the striker several times, examining you with a thoughtfulness look. Every time you catch her looking at you, you were foolishly blushing and it was only when Alexia slapped her head that she stopped looking at you.

************************

Time pass and here you are, at the final of the World Cup. The more you advanced in the tournament, the harder it was to manage time for you and Alexia. But you had a few moments, thanks to Jenni and Ona who covered you a few times. You didn’t escape Jenni’s threatening conversation, based on "Hurt my best friend and you won’t see the light of the day again" but other than that she seems to have given you her blessing.

You were in the locker room once again, but this time it was the Final. You were playing against England, your last game of the tournament. You're not really listening what Vilda is saying, focused on your boots. You start the match, next to Alexia, Ona, Jenni and your others teammates. You’re stressed, you can’t wait for the game to start now.

You haven't forget the promise Alexia made this night in your hotel, but you haven't bring to topic again. Even if it doesn't happend, you couldn't be more happy.

What it seems an eternity later, you were on the fields and the referee was blowing in her whistle. You made it, you were World Champions. Tears of joy and relief invaded your eyes and you find yourself caught in a collective embrace, without really knowing who is tight against you. Cries of joy, tears and the cheering of the crowd around you seem to come from far away.

When you are able to stand up, you find yourself facing Ona who also huggs you before mumbling "I have to find Lucy". Of course she have to, not matter what is her relationship with her, they are really close.

You search for a particular person too, your eyes scanning around for pink hair. When you spot Alexia, she's on the ground and Jenni is helping her to stand up.

A bit like in a dream, you start running towards her before throwing yourself in her arms. The mix of emotion makes you feel like you’re floating when you wrap your legs around her waist and she hugs you back.

"We did it" you say, while she keeps you in her arms.

"Yes we did" she answers, with the most beautiful smile in her face.

If you weren't already madly in love with her, you'll probably fall again right now.

"So… What now?" you asked soflty after some seconds of silence you passed admiring her.

"I'm going to kiss you."

And she did, barely letting you the time to understand what she said. Keeping you in her arms, she approaches her face to yours and places her lips on yours, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Of course you hear exclamations of surprise around you, but you can’t focus on anything other than Alexia. She ends up putting you down, letting go your lips for a few seconds to catch her breath. You then kiss her a few seconds later, drawing her as close as possible.

You may have won the World Cup, but ultimately your greatest victory is her.

[shion-yu]

Day 30: Contagion

We made it, folks! I really pushed myself to finish @sicktember and I’m so proud I did. For this last work I decided to just let go and do something different. TW for fictional contagion and some mess. Like, contagion is all it is. Which is not something I usually write, but I was inspired by @poetryandsniffles “Going Around” at 3am. It starts with unnamed characters and ends with you. Hope someone enjoys this. As you guys might know, snz isn't fully my thing but I know I have a lot of followers for whom it is, so this is for you. 1,933 words, TW fictional contagion.

It’s Saturday, and all the new freshmen students are moving into the dorms down the street. The bookseller is ready for them, knowing all the students are eager to exercise their first taste of freedom and want to window shop in their new college town. It's probably his busiest day of the year, which is why he absolutely cannot close the store despite the wretched cold he woke up with. He has a cough that won't let him finish a sentence without interrupting himself, and being surrounded by all the used books is making the sneezes that overtake him every minute even worse. He’s putting an old tome of Shakespeare away when he hears the bell ring, signaling a customer. He closes the book and accidentally inhales a noseful of dust. He tries to say, “Welcome,” but instead all he gets out is “Wehh - heee - ahh hatchoo!” 

“Bless you!” It's definitely a freshman, round glasses overtaking half her face and her little homemade clay earrings dangling on either side. 

“Tdangks,” the bookseller mumbles, snorting a huge noseful of congestion up into his face in an attempt to clear his voice. Apparently that's the wrong move, because it causes him to erupt into a harsh round of coughing that forces him to sit down behind his desk. 

The freshman doesn't seem to mind. She’s too interested in looking around the store, fascinated by the used books. The bookseller nurses his poor nose into the fiftieth tissue of the morning, blowing as hard as he can yet it doesn't seem to clear the congestion. He hasn't been this sick in ages. Why did it have to be today of all days?

“I’ll take this, please.”

The bookseller looks up to find the freshman standing in front of him, holding none other than the thick Shakespeare tome he just put away. The one that he knows he really should have wiped down before shelving. 

“Are you sure you want this one?” He asks hesitantly.

“Why?”

Explaining feels like too much work, and bad business. The bookseller shakes his head. “No reason,” he says, coughing into his elbow. “That’ll be $10.80.”

~.~.~.~

It’s well known that a cold isn't uncommon in the beginning of the semester, but the freshman can't believe it took less than a week for her to get hit with this plague. It’s only the end of the first day of classes when she feels a tickle in her throat that makes her cough. By evening she’s feeling the chill of an incoming fever, and by the next morning she feels like she’s been hit by a bus. This feels worse than just a cold, but it's literally the second day of classes in her first year of university. She can't afford to take a sick day so soon.

And so, the freshman drags herself to her English 101 lecture where she continues to cough and shiver, clutching the hoodie she's wearing around her ever tighter. Her bones ache and she feels like she desperately needs to be in bed, but this lecture is three hours long. Three torturous hours, and it's not a huge class. Everybody can hear her coughing away, she's sure of it. She's so embarrassed by her noisiness - the rustle as she plucks out tissue after tissue from the box she's helplessly taken to carrying around. The petite sniffle she's trying to hold back every few seconds, but if she doesn't her nose will be streaming. The stifled sneezes that more than often result in additional chesty coughs. By the end of the lecture she’s so cold and miserable that she's not sure she's going to make it to her next class, which is chemistry 100. 

Somehow she does, and before most of the other students too. She figures now is a good time to try and blow her nose as loudly as possible. Maybe if she can empty it out, she won't be so disruptive at this lecture. She blows into a tissue hard, and it makes her nose tickle. She can't hold it back, and she scrambles to grab another tissue - but it's too late. She ducks her head to the side and sneezes, uncovered, spraying the space next to her. Thankfully no one’s sat down yet. She hastily tries to clean the desk with the tissue, but she stupidly didn't bring any hand sanitizer and the desk is still gleaming with germs when a boy comes in and sits right next to her. 

He greets her and introduces himself as a football player who’s retaking the class. The freshman can't help but watch in horror as he puts his hands all over the desk, then proceeds to bite his nails. She can't just apologize, but she does so in her head, knowing he’s doomed. 

~.~.~.~

The football player is pretty pissed that he’s managed to catch something already. He doesn't have any time for a cold, especially not so early in the season. It doesn't matter that it’s cold for September, or that it's raining, or that he already had chills before practice started. He’s got to push through for the sake of the team, and also his reputation and scholarship. And he still has to finish that chemistry assignment. Who gives such a long homework in the first two weeks of classes? It should be illegal.

He’s drying off in the locker room, a now very wet cough echoing against the metal lockers. He changes into clean clothes, but he still feels sticky with sweat and rain water. He shivers and shleps off to his chemistry professor's office hours. He needs an extension.

The professor doesn't look happy to see him dripping and sniffling when he shows up at his door. “C’mon, professor, I just need a few days. It's the beginning of the season, I can't fall behind already, and I’m - koff koff koff - sick.”

“I can see that,” the professor says in mild disgust. “But I don't make exceptions. Not even for athletes,” she says before he can protest. 

“That's not fair,” the football player complains. “I really am s-siii-”

The professor tries to duck, but it's too late. The football player sneezes, only poorly half covering. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“I think you'd better go home and lie down,” the professor says in a clipped tone. There's some spray on the corner of her glasses, much to both of their chagrin. “And skip practice tomorrow.”

“Yes ma'am,” the football player says. He’s too ashamed of himself now to keep begging. The professor sprays lysol all over her office and hopes it’ll be enough.

~.~.~.~

It’s not enough. By the end of the week the professor, too, is full of cold. She has to lecture through it, even though she barely has a voice and nearly spills chemical solutions on herself trying to contain her sneezes into her shoulder while holding glass beakers. The students keep blessing her, and that irritates her more than anything because it's their damn fault she’s sick. She's trying to make tenure though, and isn't about to call out, so she pushes through. Every sneeze hitches in the back of her throat as she tries to hold back, making a girlish noise that kills her inside a little. 

She’s already passed the cold along to her husband, your coworker, who has an immune system as good as a preschooler. She can't wait to get home where she can just relax. Her legs are cramping from standing for so long in heels, her makeup is running because of all the congestion, and she keeps making errors while lecturing that she never would otherwise. This cold is so embarrassing and comes with all the visible symptoms: cough, congestion, sneezing, fever. It's impossible to hide.

Her coworkers have even taken notice and mentioned she ought to take it easy, which the professor absolutely will not be doing. So what if she has to cough through her lectures? So what if the students in the front row may or may not be nursing colds of their own in a week? She has to work, that's just how it is. No exceptions, she tells her students. Not even for herself.

~.~.~.~

You can hear your coworker coughing from his cubicle opposite you. Yesterday he said his wife was sick, and today he seems to have brought her cold to share with everyone. How generous of him, you think dryly. You cringe as you hear him blow his nose again, a wet, harsh sound that is the audible equivalent of contagion. And now - oh no. Now he's coming to you.

“I've got the report done,” your coworker says as he approaches. His eyes are red rimmed and watery, nose raw red from blowing and his lips parted in an awkward fashion because he can't breathe properly. And now he's blowing germs all over your desk.

You take the report from him and hope to shoo him away quickly with a thank you, but no such luck. He bends over your desk and starts to explain part of the report that apparently, he finds is not self explanatory enough. You can hear the whistle of blocked sinuses and his voice crackles with congestion. “Does that make sense?” He asks, standing up and sniffling. He runs his temple, clearly also trying to work through a headache.

“Yes, perfect sense,” you tell your coworker. It doesn't matter if it made sense or not, you wish he'd just go away. “You don't look so good. Why don't you go home?” You ask.

“It's not so bad - snrrk!” He says before snorting loudly. “I can deal with it.”

“I see,” you say. And apparently everyone else has to deal with it, too. 

~.~.~.~

You hope you'll get lucky. That Emergen-C and hand sanitizer will save you - but it doesn't. Because a few days later you, too, wake up with an ache in your head and chest and a shiver that won't go away despite several fall layers of clothing. You have a cough that snaps and crackles against your sore throat and the sinus pressure behind your eyes throbs. You haven't even made it out of bed before you're overtaken by a round of three loud sneezes in succession. You’re definitely sick.

Unlike your coworker, you're not about to work through this cold. You feel too lousy, and the fever you're running is way too high to ignore. It's everywhere, this fever: deep in your bones, making everything ache from head to toe. You spend the day in bed, shivering and coughing away. The bed becomes a sea of used tissues, the small trashcan long since overflowing. The fever must be making you emotional, because you can't help but tear up a little when your partner finally comes home. 

“Aw, baby,” they say sympathetically. They press their cold hands against your hot cheeks and wet washcloths to cool you down. They climb into bed with you and cuddle you, your throbbing head and streaming nose in their lap, and don't complain about how you're getting snot all over their knee. “Poor love,” they say. “You’ll be better soon.”

You close your eyes and just listen to your partner’s soothing voice. In a few days, this will all be over, you tell yourself. Whatever this cold or flu from hell is, you’ll be back at it by next week. For right now though, you decide to just rely on your partner completely. Let them dote on you, take care of you, and hope you don’t get them - and didn't get too many others - sick, too.

[oh-allie]

and then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like...

dr ratio x fem!reader

(sorry if hes ooc i didnt know how to bring out his assholeyness on a first date withour having the reader standing up and leaving his ass)

pt. 2 of then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two

four days before the date.

you made veritas feel icky. his sweaty palms disgusted him, his jumbled thoughts made him feel like hiding in his study and never leaving, and the way even thinking of you made his heart race made him feel like a fool.

so he did what he does best, and he studied. he worked his ass off. researched breathing exercises and studied the human mind. the feelings he'd read about before, ones he swore he'd never stoop so low to feeling, were now what he seeked to bottle up. not completely, for he is still a man. just enough to not feel like such an idiot.

for the next four days before you two planned to meet, he practiced. in front of mirrors, lying in bed thinking of you; he worked day and night to get back to his normal self. he even suppressed his giddiness and raging thoughts about you enough to get two good days of work in.

7 hours before the date.

ratio is a methodical man. he plans and he executes.

he did not plan to wake up at 3 in the morning the day of your date. and he can’t get back to sleep. he's done his calming breathing exercises, he’s focused his muscle groups, hes counted sheep. he is NOT getting any more rest.

so now hes sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands like that one picture of shinji. a plethora of thoughts are racing through his head,

“what if i look like shit later today?

...i’ll need to wear concealer with my eyeliner today…

...i’m so fucking tired.”

but it's mainly you. what if he messes up, what if he's too rude or snarky? what if you don't really like who he is, like everyone else?

3 hours before the date.

you know how in films the dorky loser main character practices in front of the mirror before talking to their crush? veritas seemed to take it to heart, as he's standing here, leaning on his sink counter, staring at his own reflection (which he spent the last four hours on) and practicing what he’ll do.

his mind is organized and going over what he’ll do (although he's heavily suppressing the jumbled nervous thoughts that are running rampant in the back of his head) but it’s okay! ‘cause this doctor has a plan..!

talk about her outfit

ask her why she was interested in you

… the weather ?

surely the conversation will flourish from there. yeah. he’s totally prepared.

30 minutes before the date.

of course he’s 30 minutes early. if you’re early, you’re on time. if you're on time, you're late. and if you’re late? don’t bother showing up. that's his philosophy. although he's kinda hoping you don’t show up early too. his deep breathing exercises will take at least another 20 minut-

29 minutes before the date.

shit.

he watches as you enter the cafe, nodding to the barista and looking for a table. he notices you noticing him. your eyes light up and you sent a quick wave as you hurry over. but- wait, just a second- he’s not ready! he hasn't even started his affirmatio-

“hey! i guess we had the same idea, huh?” you chuckle, situating yourself and your bag onto your chair.

uh-oh, he’s just staring at you again. well, that's actually completely and totally 100% your fault! he was in the middle of DEEP-BREATHING. don’t interrupt a guy when he's breathing deeply.

“yes. we did. my philosophy on punctuality is that if you’re early, you’re on time. if you're on time, you're late. and if you’re late? don’t bother showing up.” he manages to get out. did that sound too snobbish?

“exactly! if you’re going somewhere, go with a purpose. even if that purpose is to get out as soon as possible, y’know?” you rest your head on your hand and make some relevant motion with the other one.

that's good! that's really good. he just had a conversation with you, just like he wanted. okay, okay. what now? what were his points?... outfit, interest, weather. outfit, interest, weather. outfit…

“are you going to order, veritas?” the sound of his own name from your tongue draws him back to reality. he’d like to hear that again.

“pardon me. yes, i’ll just take a black coffee.” he’s curt and in the back of his mind he's still deciding which point to bring up.

“sooo…. you look lovely. although i almost didn't recognize you without your alabaster head. i like it though.” you say, making small talk. he didn't mind it with you.

‘FUCK she beat me to it’ is what he’s thinking.

“thank you. you look beautiful, as always.” oooo he got you blushing and kicking your feet.

you let out a curt giggle at that, “so, why do you wear that? the alabaster head.” you cock your head to the side a little. you cutie patootie.

“i can’t bear to see idiots. of course, they wouldn't want to see me either.” he replies, matter of factly.

“they’re surely an idiot if they don't want to see you.”

haaah. veritas’ collar feels tighter and his head's getting hot. how's he supposed to react to that? do you have no shame?

and then he implodes because of your overwhelming beauty

okay guys i gotta be honest i have no idea how to conclude rhis ....so idk and then you guys bone or whatever you want ☺️

a/n - i'm so sorry about rhe ending gang but i quite literally could not think of any way to end this and ive been putting it off for weeks so i knew it wasnt getting finished.... whoops! 🤗

dedicated to 🌸 anon <3

(sorry for making you wait so long ml....... 😞)

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 12 - The Workout)

7.2K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You and Din “work out” at Mando’s gym and you end up getting sick.

Warnings: 18+ content (MDNI please), reader ogles Din like a piece🥩, smut, unprotected PiV sex, semi-public sex (car), new-ish established relationship, dirty talk, light degradation, light daddy kink, pet names as usual (pretty bird, baby, sweetheart, bunny, etc.), description of flu symptoms (it's gross y'all), reader is described as shorter than Din and he strokes her hair while she's sick.

A/N: Oo! This is a long one; it's just because The Workout and The Cold used to be two chapters and I ended up shmushing them together. There was an ask about Din taking care of reader while she's vulnerable; I hope this chapter fulfills that ask! 🥰 Thank you as always for reading!

Series Masterlist

“You know, you can come work out at Mando’s, if you want.”

“Really?  That won’t be weird?  Like, I’m moving in on your space?”

“I like you in my space.”

Din says it like a simple statement of fact, not even looking up from the cutting board where he’s slicing the steak he grilled for dinner.  You’re not big on working out, but once in a while you just like to go for a run or a row and zone out to some TV; it’s not a regular thing so you don’t have a membership anywhere, and your building has a gym on the third floor that you can use whenever the urge strikes you (not often).  But this morning when you went downstairs, ready to put in the hour you needed to catch-up on your favourite trashy reality show, you had found a temporary closure notice on the gym entrance.

It's not a bad idea.  The weather is getting a bit chillier so your walks with Al haven’t been as long as both of you would like; it might be nice to have another option to get a little bit of exercise, “It’s okay if I just use the cardio machines?  I won’t use any of the weight lifting equipment or anything.”

“You can use whatever you like.  I’ll even have Jimmy fetch you water and towels.”

“Noooooo,” you make a face and shake your head.

“Yessssss,” he mimics you, “You’re the boss’ girl, you should be treated special.”

“You treat me special enough, for you and Jimmy both, thanks,” you say, still scrunching up your nose, but you tell Din you’ll take him up on his kind offer.

---

The next weekend, you leave Al snoozing on the Din’s bed and head down to the gym with the intention of saying hi to Din while he works, but also to run off some of the stress from the work week.  Like the gym in your building, there are enough empty machines so you have your pick, but unlike your gym, the patrons all seem to know one another and are treating their workouts like a social event.  Din’s helping out with the training today; you give him a little wave when you walk by the ring so not to distract him, and pick a treadmill off to the side so you can still see him and also simultaneously do some innocent people watching while you run.  Headphones on, your phone jacked in to the console so you can stream your show, you pick the program you want the machine to run and start your work out.

Your plan is almost immediately derailed.  As the familiar title sequence of your show starts to play, your eyes drift up past the screen and lock onto Din’s figure in the ring.  He’s sparring with Chris today; having already gone a few rounds while you were upstairs, both men are sweaty and breathing heavily, chests and shoulders heaving as they circle each other.  Din has sweated through his t-shirt so that it’s now sticking against his body, making him look even more immense than usual, and you openly gawk at the strong lines of his back and arms visible through the darkened fabric.  As if he’s somehow reading your mind, Din puts a pause on the bout in order to remove his wet shirt; it’s not an easy task given his gloves, but he manages it with some grace and the use of his teeth to pull and hold the collar.  When he finally whips the shirt over his damp curls, you’re treated to the sight of his thick, hard chest, glistening and flexing as he stretches out his arms; you feel a heat pooling below your abdomen and a flush spread across your chest that has nothing to do with your lackluster exercise efforts.

Far from doing any people watching like you had planned, you’re now struggling to make sure that you yourself don’t become a spectacle by openly drooling while you watch a shirtless Din fight in the ring.  Every one of his punches is quick and agile, arms extending perfectly to show off his control and precision; his muscles prominent and flexed, the veins on his forearms protruding as his gloved fists clench, ready for impact.  He’s a mammoth force, a powerhouse, somehow both immovable and unstoppable, and he looks good enough to eat.

You haven’t watched single a minute of your show and it’s actually getting to the point where the voices coming through your headphones are an unwelcomed distraction from the actual show you’re engrossed in, so you take off your headphones and place them next to your water bottle.  Big mistake.  Now, you can very clearly hear Din’s groans and pants as he ducks and punches.  It’s like the thirst trap video you’ve been watching all of a sudden turned up its pornographic soundtrack.  Din’s low, throaty grunts as he exerts himself, coupled with the words of praise you hear him shout out in his deep, encouraging baritone, have your mind running wild.

When Chris lands a hard punch to Din’s shoulder and you hear him grunt out, “Fuck!”, you nearly trip over your own feet. 

You’re pounding back your water, throat parched and sweating profusely, and you’re barely 20 minutes into the preselected program; you’re not even going to lie to yourself, the flush of your skin and your shortness of breath have absolutely nothing to do with this treadmill.  You’re about to admit defeat and cut the run short, thinking you could definitely benefit from a cold shower, when you see Chris and Din touch gloves, seemingly done training for the moment.  Din ducks under the ropes and starts taking off his gloves; as he walks past you, he throws a towel around his neck and you a quick wink.  Where is he going? You watch as he heads to the front of the gym, disappearing around the partition wall that rests between the front door and the main gym.

Without even thinking, you stop your machine, grab your things, and try to quickly and discretely follow.  You find Din outside, having put on a dry shirt, standing behind his truck with the trunk door opened above him as he rifles through the box full of equipment he keeps in the trunk.  Wordlessly, you put your things down on the trunk bed next to the box, surprising Din at your sudden appearance, “Hey pretty bird, what are you doing here?  It’s cold, you sh-“.  Taking his hand, you lead him to step back before pressing the auto-close button on the trunk door; as it folds down; you open the door to the back seat of the truck, and gently push Din to get in, with you following directly. 

Din chuckles as you situate yourself on his lap, straddling his thighs, looking at him with a hunger in your eyes, “Baby, what’s all th-?”.  He’s cut short when you silence him by throwing your arms around his neck and attach your lips to his, hard and hurried.  You’re embarrassingly pent up from the last 20 minutes of watching the hottest man you’ve ever known show off his power and skill on what was basically a stage you had a front row seat to, and now you need to feel the strength of those muscles on you, under you, fucking up into you.

“Want you,” you mumble against his lips, “…so turned on. Watching you.”  You’re barely able to string together your thoughts, you’re so consumed with exploring the cavern of Din’s mouth with your tongue, but Din gets the idea.  Feeling incredibly needy, you start lightly grinding down on Din’s lap, and he encourages you by placing his hands on your waist and helping guide your movements; even this light friction feels overwhelmingly good against your aching clit, and you throw you head back and cry out, unabashed and loud enough for anyone walking by Din’s car to hear. 

“Fuck, daddy, need you.  Please, please…” your mouth back to messy kissing Din’s as your hands thread through his damp hair, tugging at the curls at the base of his neck and earning you a deep growl from the back of his throat.

“Look at my desperate, pretty girl,” groans Din, eyes greedy as you take off your t-shirt, then your sports bra, letting your tits bounce in his face, “…can’t even go a whole work out without riding her daddy’s dick.”

Unable to wait another minute, you peel your wet shorts and panties off in one go, now completely naked, sweaty and panting on top of a still fully clothed Din. “Not my fault, daddy,” you pout as you press yourself down on Din’s clothed cock, making a wet mess of his gym shorts.  “You looked so fucking good in that ring, then you were making all those grunting noises. Couldn’t think of anything else but you filling me with your cock.  Ahh-,“ you gasp out loud as Din takes one of your nipples in his mouth, nibbling and rolling the sensitive bud between his teeth before sucking down and flicking it with his tongue.  You whine and increase the intensity and tempo of your movements while he moves to do the same to your other nipple, hand palming and tweaking the now abandoned breast.  Din’s free hand snakes its way down to your core only to find you slick with want, a sticky mess already coating your inner thighs and soaking through his shorts, “Messy, messy slut.  You get this wet just from watching me spar?  Good thing you followed me out here, can’t have you leaking all over the gym floor like this.”  He brings up his fingers so you can both see how your wetness coats his fingers, even though he has yet to insert them into you.  When he pulls them apart, you watch the fluid web that connects his fingers stretch, proof that your pussy is positively leaking; you whimper at the filthy sight and bring Din’s hand to your mouth, popping his fingers into your mouth so you can suck off your own arousal.  Moaning at the taste of your own indecency, you grind down hard against Din’s groin, his hard-on straining painfully against his shorts. 

“Fuck me,” you mumble, Din’s fingers still in your mouth.

“Let me make you come first, pretty bird,” Din pleads, always putting your pleasure first and wanting to lesson the sting of the first stretch of his cock within your tight walls.

“Can’t wait, daddy… please, I can take it, please.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” grits Din, as he pushes his shorts and boxers down; his leaking cock springing out and slapping against your stomach, coarse hair at the base tickling your clit and making you gasp in pleasure, “YES!  Please, daddy, need to bounce for you.”

You’ve never taken him without having come first, and if you weren’t so far gone, answering only to your lust, you would probably be worried; but as you line yourself up with Din, the shudder you get just from swiping his swollen head through you folds and tapping it on your clit makes it impossible to care about anything other than having him inside you right now.

Slowly, slowly you sink down on Din’s length, taking him a little at a time.  Din grips your waist tightly, eyes closed, forcing himself to breathe; you’re so incredibly tight this, warm cunt practically strangling him, he fights the urge to move and bury himself in you fully.  The stretch of Din’s fat cock is almost too much, your soft walls molding so tightly to him you can feel every ridge and vein as you slowly spear yourself downwards.  The pain doesn’t register so much as the overwhelming feeling of fullness, your body needing more time and space to accommodate Din’s thickness.  When he finally bottoms out, you just sit and sigh, sated from just warming his throbbing cock in your tight heat. 

Your lust driven frenzy quelled, you now rest serene in Din’s arms, drinking in his gentle kisses, soothing touches, and words of praise of how good you’re doing for him; Din worshipping you as you take his cock so perfectly, and you getting used to his size and relearning how to breathe.  Finally, finally, you look up at Din’s face to see his eyes filled with adoration, and your breathing evens, allowing you to kiss him with renewed passion.  Grinning against your lips, Din murmurs, “Thought you wanted to bounce, bunny?”

Pulling away slightly and grinning back, you nod and lift yourself up a little, then slowly push yourself down back down fully onto Din’s length again, eliciting a heady groan from you both.  You repeat the action, again and again, each time increasing the amount of Din’s length you work in and out of your pussy, until you’re panting and bouncing up and down on the full length of Din’s dick, “Feel so good, daddy.  So full.”

“So fucking pretty, bouncing on me like a whore, bunny,” groans Din, as he mouths at your tits.  You love his new pet name for you, the endearment spurring you to bounce harder and chase the high that’s been building since you saw him land a thundering cross punch to Chris’ jaw in the ring. 

“Love being your slutty bunny, daddy,” you cry, head thrown back in ecstasy, “wanna ride this cock until it’s all creamy.  Until it fills me up, ngh..ahhh-“

Din thinks he’s going to explode from your filthy words, then he knows he’s going to explode when he looks down at where the two of you are connected and sees a ring of white around the base of his cock, “Holy shit, baby.  Look at you already creaming around me.  My perfect bunny.  Doing so good riding this dick, taking me so well.  So fucking perfect.”

He presses one of his hands against your stomach, balls tightening when he swears he can feel some movement against his palm from the inside, and uses his thumb to draw his name on your swollen clit. 

It’s too much, too much.  The stretch and burning sting of having taken Din’s cock without much prep, his filthy words of praise, the lewdness of fucking in his car in broad daylight parked out in the open in front of his place of business, the tenderness of your new pet name, the delicious pressure on your clit – you come.  You come with a soundless scream, the stuttering of Din’s name punctuated by sharp gasps of air, you body shudders and shivers as you clench down hard on Din’s cock.  Hand threading, then fisting the hair at the base of your neck, Din fucks up into you as he praises you through your high.

“So fucking gorgeous when you come for me, pretty bird.”

“My little bunny did such a good job on daddy’s dick.”

“You feel so good, baby.  Made for me.”

You’re still so full, but now also so pliant and eager to please; with what remaining energy you have, you bounce down hard, meeting every one of Din’s upward thrusts so he bottoms out in you each time, the force of each drive has your ass jiggling as it slaps down on his thighs.  Din grunts and pants as he chases his own finish; you hug yourself around his neck, and babble, “Thank you for making your bunny come, daddy.  Felt so good to gush all over your dick.  Want to do the same for you, Din.  Please, please, fill me up.  Need your cum, please.”  Never one to deny you anything, Din comes with a roar, filling your pussy with rope after rope of his milky cum so you grow even fuller and continue to hum, “Thank you, thank you, daddy.”

Your post “workout” cooldown comprises of gentle strokes to the back, soft cradling of heads, and quiet words of devotion; tired and satisfied in Din’s embrace, you start to shiver, and this time not from pleasure.  Coming out into the cold air while sweating from a run, then getting naked in a colder car was probably not the smartest idea, but you hadn’t been really thinking about the well-being of your health at the time.  Din rubs his big hands over your arms to warm you up, “Pretty bird, let’s get you dressed.”  You find your gym clothes but the idea of putting on damp clothes is wholly unappealing, so Din reaches his long arms into the trunk and roots around for some spare clothes.  Stepping out of the truck in an oversized yellow Lakers t-shirt and Din’s sweatpants that you’ve rolled up multiple times, you realize it couldn’t be any more obvious what the two of you have been up to.

Getting your things from the trunk, you decide to go through the side entrance straight up to Din’s apartment to avoid any walk of shame embarrassment in the gym.  Giving him a parting kiss at the front door, you whisper, “Hope it’s okay we did that, Din.  Don’t want anyone to file a complaint against Mando’s.”  You look so cute, worried about the reputation of his business, Din can’t help but yank you against him via the waistband of his pants and give you a deep reassuring kiss, “Perk of being a Mando, pretty bird – no one can say shit to you,” before sending you upstairs with a spank.

---

You start to feel a tickle in your throat when you go to sleep on Sunday, and by the time you wake up for work on Monday, it’s a full-blown sore throat.  You trudge through a morning of meetings, trying to avoid the pounding of your head and attempt to soothe your throat with lozenges when your team gathers at the door to your office and point a makeshift cross made out of pens and rubber bands at you, telling you to go home.

You gather your computer and some files and tell them you’ll work from home until you’re better, but they insist you rest; you compromise and say you’ll be available by email before heading home.

Din is doing double duty again his week; although you haven’t voiced your concerns, you've noticed that Din’s been a little restless as of late, him and Paz meeting more frequently over an increasing number of border skirmishes and disputes that need to be handled.  You’re not sure if it’s anything serious, but you do know that the need to step up security has been weighing on Din – he himself stepping in and putting in more face time than he has since his retirement.  You call Din to let him know that you seem to have caught a cold, and you think it’s better if he doesn’t come over, in case he catches it too.  With him working long hours, you don’t want anything to risk him getting even less rest than he already is.  As expected, he protests, but you insist even though you will miss him.

The next morning you wake up feeling like hot garbage.  You slog through about two hours of work before making the executive decision to put your out-of-office on and reschedule you remaining meetings.  Your team tells you they don’t want to hear from you until next week but know you’re likely too stubborn to agree to that.  You take a bunch of drugs and wonder how you got sick.  You’re usually pretty healthy and while the weather is getting chillier, you’re not out much without being bundled up? 

Oh. 

Your drowsy brain flashes a vignette of sweaty bodies in the backseat of a car, windows fogging as the heat from illicit activities condense against windows cooled by the lower outside temperatures.   Of Din’s face buried into your neck, holding you close as you both calm down, your naked body cooling and shivering after your explosive highs.  So, this man really will be the death of me, you think, as you pass out.

You wake up groggy and with your throat on fire later in the afternoon.  Popping some more drugs, you reply to some work emails and the messages from your friends and Din checking in.  You know he’s doing another late night with the Mandos, so you downplay your symptoms a bit so he will acquiesce to your suggestion that he go straight home to rest again.  It’s easier to do over text; a phone call would have given away your loss of voice and sent him racing over.  With your friends, you can be more candid, I’m dying you tell them – they all immediately volunteer to come over but you tell them to stay away for their own sakes.  Going to bed early after taking Al out, you debate dinner but ultimately go without because you can’t handle swallowing any food.

Wednesday is… a blur.  You don’t even turn on your computer today or look at your phone.  You drag yourself out of bed, take Al out, feed Al, then curl up on the couch shivering.  Shit.  This is the flu.  Your muscles ache, your head is splitting open, and you can add a stuffed-up nose to your growing list of symptoms.  Using the energy you have left to grab more blankets, take some drugs and pull down the blinds, you’re guessing the fever is next. That or death.

It's dark when you finally wake up to your phone buzzing on the coffee table; you groggily look at the time, shoot, it’s 7 pm already? You don’t feel well rested at all.  You need to take Al out.  Ignoring the call and what you think are a bunch of missed notifications on your phone, you thrown on a jacket over your sweats and apologize profusely to Al while waiting for the elevator.  Once outside, you have to admit that the crisp cool air feels amazing against your hot skin, and you’re debating if you should risk taking Al for a short walk when your phone rings again.  You pick up when you see it’s Din, “Hubo?” you croak out, barely audible.

“Pretty bird… you sound terrible,” Din’s been worried about you all day.  He hasn’t liked the idea of you being alone and sick, but you were pretty insistent that it wasn’t anything to worry about while encouraging him to stay at his place.  He’s been feeling a bit off kilter being apart from you; even though he’s exhausted from pulling double duty with the Mandos, he misses at least seeing you and Al for your nightly walk.  Now he’s even more thrown when he realizes you’ve been downplaying the severity of your illness for whatever reason.

“Thanks,” you joke, but it doesn’t come out sounding jovial; in fact, it’s barely the sound of a scratch.

“Baby, I’m going to come over and-” Din starts to say when you interrupt, “No, no, you’ll get s-” before you’re stopped mid-sentence by a coughing fit.

Din’s already gathered his things and is getting in his truck by the time you’ve finished coughing, “I’m fin-” you’re saying when you’re cut out by the sound of a siren going by.

Din says your name.  He hardly ever says your name; it’s always pretty bird, or baby, or sweetheart, or some other endearment.  And he never says it in this low, warning tone, like he’s afraid of what he might say if he doesn’t say your name instead.  He repeats it, then, “Who is walking Al while you’re sick?”

Why do you feel like you’re in trouble whether you answer or not?  Your body clearly doesn’t want to get in trouble either because it figures the best thing to do is launch another coughing fit.

Din softens a little, “Pretty bird, get inside and get in bed, I’ll be over soon,” and he hangs up before you can attempt to argue.

When you and Al come in a few minutes later, you feed him and give him some fresh water, all while giving him as many fussings as you can muster as a continued apology for having ignored him all day.  You trudge over to the kitchen thinking you should eat something, clearly the lack of food has not been aiding your recovery, but as you peer in your fridge, the idea of having to prepare anything overwhelms you.  You pour yourself some orange juice and use it to wash down some more flu medication and then look through you phone at the messages you’ve missed while sleeping.  You’re mid-scroll when there’s a knock on your door; after opening the door, you quickly step back to let Din in and cover your mouth with your hand so you don’t breathe your germs all over him.

“None of that now, pretty bird,” Din says firmly, reaching for you and pulling you in close with one arm before planting a kiss on the top of your hot head. 

“You’ll get sick,” you murmur into his chest. 

“Then I’ll get sick,” he puts the bags he brought on the foyer table before gently shuffling you towards your bedroom.

When he sees that your made bed (when did you do that!?) does not look slept in, he tsks, “They say that doctors make the worst patients,” he lays you down after pulling the covers back, tucking you in after, “but I think it’s actually stubborn little girls that work in finance.”

His words are lighthearted but you know he’s worried about you, so you play along and whisper as loud as your painful throat will let you, “Sorry, daddy.”

Din kisses you on your forehead, “You’re burning up.  I wish you had let me come over sooner, baby.  Take care of you and Al.”

“Didn’t want to bother you, Din,” you murmur, snuggling down into your bed; just being in his very presence has relaxed you. That and the drugs kicking in, has you feeling pliant and snoozy.

“You never bother me, sweetheart.  Except maybe when you don’t tell me how sick you really are and you go out in the cold while you have a fever,” he says pointedly. 

You yawn and close your eyes, confessing, “You seem so stressed out with all the stuff that’s going on with the Mandos lately, Din.  Didn’t want to add to your load, make you feel like you have to come and see me and Al when you’ve already had a difficult day.”

“You ever think that maybe seeing you and Al is exactly what I need after a long hard day of seeing some bad shit go down?” says Din, quietly.

Your eyes open wide; you can’t believe you haven’t thought of it like that.  You know that anytime you’re having a bad day, it’s been made better the instant you see Din’s face, and even while you’ve been sick this week, you’ve longed for his soothing embrace.  Why didn’t you think it would be the same for him?  You sit up so fast you get dizzy, but throw your arms around Din’s shoulders and bury your face in his neck, “Oh baby, I’m so sorry.  You’re right, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

“It’s okay, pretty bird.  You were just trying to take care of me.  You need to let me take of you too, okay?  I like taking care of you.”

You nod into him and let Din gently lay you down again.  As you snuggle back into your covers, you pat the other side of the bed, “Come and sit with me and tell me about your day and all the shit that’s been going on until I fall asleep.”

Din climbs onto the bed and starts to pet your hair, “Sounds good.  But whenever you wake up next, I’m going to feed you some soup, okay?”  You nod, and feel the bed jostle some more as Al hops up on the bed to join in on the family time.  He lays down between you and Din, resting his head on Din’s lap so Din can pat his head as well.

When you’re all settled in, Din looking like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, starts to share.  First you learn some background: in addition to the Fett family, there other powerful syndicates in play - The Pykes, the Hutts, the Guavians, to name a few.  You make a face when you remember Gorga Hutt and his slimey cronies from Jimmy’s fight night and Din chuckles as if reading your mind.  Apparently, years ago, before Boba rose to power, the rival gangs ran unchecked, and violence in the streets was a common occurrence.  Gangs constantly fighting for territory or profits made for a lot of instability and it was an unsafe time for Din’s neighbourhood as well as many others in the city.  Once Boba had built up sufficient territory and muscle to be taken seriously, he had called the families together and brokered a peace treaty; physical borders and commercial limits were drawn that minimized conflict and overlap of business interests, ensuring prosperity and minimizing bloodshed for all.  Din recalls for you how many of his earlier years as Boba’s enforcer were spent strengthening and defending these borders and boundaries.  Happily, for the most part things have been stable for many years; nothing is ever truly peaceful but everyone has been co-existing without issue. 

However, in the past month or so, something had shifted; little problems and violations have been occurring with increasing frequency. 

“What kind of problems?” you ask, you’re fighting sleep to make sure you don’t miss any of what Din is telling you.  Din sighs, “Things that if they were to happen as a one-off, wouldn’t necessarily be concerning. Like vandalism of a business under one family’s protection, or minor altercations among lower ranking members from rival families in public places, or even the theft of known family members’ property.”  Din rubs his face in frustration. There’s nothing to prove it but Din doesn’t feel that these incidents are isolated; there must be something bigger at play.  For now, the Mandos are being dispatched to put out these figurative (and in one case, literal) fires, and to beef up security where future infractions are likely to take place, but Din thinks they need to investigate these events as a whole to see if there is something more sinister behind it all.  It’s really been stressing him out.

Holding Din’s hand and stroking it so that you’re the one now comforting him, “I think you should trust your experience with this type of unrest. Plus, you don’t have any reason not to listen to your gut.  What does Paz think?”

“He agrees with me, but he’s the leader now and his orders are to quell and prevent further disturbances.  Any investigation has got to be secondary.”

“I see.  What do you think is going on?” you nuzzle Din’s hand with your cheek, letting him know he can think out loud with you.

Din rubs his chin, “I don’t think it’s a new player, they seem almost too careful.  None of the incidents ever hit any big enough targets or players that would lead to full scale retaliation.  So it has to be an existing family in order to be in the know.  The problem is, I can’t see any of the families risking all out war… for what?  A couple of corners?  The cost of a few repairs?”

Your analytical brain is turning, “Are the other families run like the Fetts?  I mean, when you say it can’t be one of the families, what you really mean is you don’t think it’s a family sanctioned plan or attack, like it isn’t approved by leadership? But, are any of the families big enough or loosely run enough that people could go rogue?  Or get away with stuff without their leaders knowing?”

“Hmmmmm… good point, pretty bird.  None of the other families are like the Fetts, actually.  Boba’s power never came from numbers, but from solidarity… stronger together, is the family motto.  Everyone knows what everyone is doing and we stick together, no secrets.  As I understand it, that’s not how the other families are run – they’re bigger for one thing.  And there’s a lot of segregation so no one knows everything. Everything is need to know and people sort of stick to their own lanes – it’s so no one amasses enough power within the organization to overthrow anyone.”  Din shrugs, “I mean, seems like a weird way to run things to me. What you're suggesting would still be risky, and I don’t know why someone would take that risk, but it's definitely possible we should be looking for people who are doing things without proper family sanction.”  Din grins down at you, “Smart girl.”

You smile back, “Really?”

“Really.  I can think of a few people I want to look into right off the bat.  You’ve given me lots to think about, pretty bird.  Now go to sleep.”

Yawning a big yawn, you close your eyes and smile, murmuring, “I helped.”

---

When you wake up, it’s nearly midnight; you’re groggy and still feverish, but your stomach is growling and there’s a delicious smell coming in from the kitchen.

You pad out to living room to find Din working on his laptop, a pair of reading glasses perched on his adorable nose.  When he sees you, he sets everything down on the coffee table, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Having decided that honesty is the best policy, you croak out, throat still scratchy, “Hungry.”

“Good!” Din guides you to the kitchen and gently helps you up onto a high top at the kitchen island. 

As Din takes out a bowl, you ask, “What’s that?”  Curious about the pot that’s simmering on the stove; you think it’s the source of the delicious aroma you woke to earlier. 

“Peli’s famous chicken noodle soup,” Din ladles some into a bowl. 

“You made this?”

“Yeah right.  No, Peli won’t share the recipe.  Says if we’re lucky she’ll will it to one of us when she dies.  Nah, she made this batch for you when she found out you were sick.”

“That’s so nice.  She didn’t need to do that.  I’ll have to bake her some cookies to thank her when I’m better.”

“She’ll like that, but she wanted to.  Pretty girl, don’t you get it?  You’re one of us now and we take care of each other.  You have more people than you know that have your back.”  He puts the steaming bowl of soup in front of you and tells you to wait.  Grabbing a blanket from the couch, he wraps it around you, tucking in your arms.  You manage a small laugh, “How am I supposed to eat my soup?”

“I’ll feed you,” he holds a hand up when he sees your expression, “you said you’d let me take care of you.”

You nod. It’s not in your nature to let people wait on you hand and foot, but you still feel bad for not telling Din how sick you were earlier so, you sit, bundled up on your chair, and let Din spoon the soup that he blows on to cool into you waiting mouth.  It’s incredible.  Even your stuffed up head can taste the explosion of flavours, the ginger clearing up your sinuses a bit, and the carrots, chicken and noodles all tender enough to be swallowed painlessly.  Din patiently feeds you the entire bowl, and you patiently let him; the look of relief and devotion that Din is giving you is enough to make you glad that you let him.  After you’ve brushed your teeth, Din sends you straight to bed, hardly needing any convincing to stay with you until you fall asleep.

The next day, Din calls out from work, both jobs.  He knows if he goes in, he’ll just be distracted by how you’re doing – plus, he’s making some headway in the investigative notes that he's making for Paz. He does all the walks with Al, and feeds you more soup.  He runs you a hot bath filled with eucalyptus bath salts and stays with you while you soak your achy muscles.  When he dries you, you try to give him a seductive look, but end up doubling over coughing and he tells you that while he still finds you very sexy even sick (Is that sarcasm?), you need to conserve your energy.  You make a face at him when he tucks you into bed.  You sleep.  By the late afternoon, you feel like you can sustain consciousness for more than an hour and you opt to lay on the couch and hangout with Din.  He puts on the comfort movie of your choice and massages your feet while you eat a yogurt.  You fall back asleep before the end of the movie, barely registering when Din turns it off and takes you back to bed.

It's past midnight when you wake up again and the first irrational thing you think is that you’ve somehow gone back in time and gotten sick again, but this time worse.  You feel disgusting.  Your nose is no longer stuffy, but that’s because the snot is now just free flowing out of your face.  You’re so snotty, in no time at all you’re surrounded by a ring of used tissues from having to blow your nose so much, and there’s no end in sight.  Your sore throat and dry cough, which had been clearing up, have been replaced with rattling phlegm which you can’t seem to clear no matter how hard you hack, but you try until your eyes water.  Ewwwwwwwwwwww. 

Din, appears in your doorway when he hears you, “Baby, you okay?”

You look up at him, squinting through your tears at his sleep tousled hair and the wrinkles on the pajamas he must have changed into.  You woke him.  And this is the thing that just breaks you and you start to cry for real.  He rushes over, scared, “Pretty bird, does something hurt?  Let me make it better.”  His obvious concern and caring tone of voice just make you cry harder, and now you’re snotting even more.  Great.  You hate that he’s seeing you like this.  You’re not the smart, pretty, funny girl he dates, you’re this weak thing, sick and tired and gross.  Totally unsexy.  Completely unhelpful.  Needy.  Putting so much on him.  He can’t even get a decent night’s sleep around you. 

You don’t realize you’ve said this all out loud until Din tuffs out a little laugh.  He climbs onto the bed and sits right across from you taking your hands in his, kissing them. 

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay.  I’m here.”

“No, it’s not,” you choke out between sobs, “You shouldn’t have to be here.”

Din sighs, but it’s not a sigh of exasperation, but of understanding; he tips your head up to meet his eyes, “I’m not here because I have to be, I’m here because I want to be.”

“Why?  I’m so gross.”

Smiling, Din patiently explains, “Why?  Because I love you, pretty bird, that’s why.”

Your eyes widen; your drowsy brain isn’t sure you heard him right, “You love me?”

He nods at you kindly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  But to you, in your current state, you can’t comprehend it, “Like this?”

Din lets out a deep laugh, one that fills the room, and he strokes your hair and looks lovingly at you, “Yes.  I love you like this.  Like the sweetest woman I’ve ever met, one who never ceases to think of the welfare and comfort of others even when she’s in an obvious state of discomfort herself.  Like someone I truly love taking care of because it’s such an honour to take care of her.  She’s strong and capable, and she doesn’t really need me and never asks anything of me, but trusts me enough to let me be around her when she’s not feeling strong and capable even though she is definitely still all those things.  It’s an honour to be good enough to take care of you, pretty bird, because the only person that can do the job properly is you, and it’s an honour to come second to you for anything.”

“Yes, I love you like this.  And I love you when you’re playing with Al, when you’re sneaking the treats you bake to Jimmy when you think Greef isn’t looking, and when you’re happy just to keep me company while I work.  I love you when just the sight of you brings a peace into my life that I didn’t know was possible, and when you laugh, or call me ‘old man’ or when you listen to me talk about the Mandos and never judge.  I love you when I see your name pop up on my phone and when you hold my hand when we walk Al together.”

“I love you all the time, pretty bird.”

Now you’re crying for a different reason, though no longer hysterical; just silent tears running down your face as you come to the obvious but inescapable conclusion about your connection to this magnificent force of a man in front of you, “I love you, too, Din.”

And you do.  You do love him.  You love all that he is, all that he’s capable of, and all of who he chooses to be on a daily basis.  You love his kindness, his protectiveness, his compassion, his gentleness.  You love that he lives by a code that values loyalty, respectfulness, and helping others, and he practices this creed in every little thing he does.  You love his playfulness, and his sharp wit, and how being able to make him laugh feels like an incredible accomplishment and when you do it, you just immediately want to do it over and over again.  You love that he always makes you feel wanted and cherished, but never treats you like you’re breakable.  You love how he’s constantly pushing up his reading glasses, and thinks they make him look old but will blush when you tell him how attractive you find them.  You love him when he’s bringing you and your work team dinner and remembers that someone’s gluten free.  You love him when he places his hand on your thigh when he’s driving, and you love him when he pushes up your sleeves when they start to slip when you’re washing dishes even without you asking him to.  Yes, you love him all the time too.

You can’t tell him all that right now, though; you’re too sick and sleepy, but you think you’ll be able to tell tomorrow.  And the day after.  And the day after that.  For now, you love him by letting him love you, snot and all.  Clearing away all the tissues on your bed, you lay back down and scoot backwards towards of the middle of the bed, making a space for Din and hold your arms out, I need you.  Din’s smile spreads wide across his face, relieved and content, he climbs in and wraps you up in his arms.  Stroking your hair, your back, as your breathing evens.

Drifting off, you roll over so your back is pressed to Din’s chest, taking comfort in feeling him there, a physical and proverbial wall for you to lean on, “Good night, Din.  I love you.”

“I love you more, pretty bird.  Good night.”

[shoku-and-awe]

Complicated anxiety post!

I scheduled a fancy haircut thinking I’d be excited by the time it rolled around, and now the free cancellation window has closed but I’m still :|

I know I *need* a haircut. It’s gotten so long that I hate washing it (it clings all the way down my back and literally makes me whimper with grossness). So I wash it less often than I like, and not wanting to wash it makes me put off swimming and exercise and other things that make me feel good. It also gets super tangled and dry, and I have to braid it every night before bed, and if I wear it up/braided too often, it makes my scalp hurt. (Also, the braid falls on my dog when I pick him up and bothers him.)

I know a haircut is inevitable. Both sides are shaved and the ponytail keeps getting thinner and thinner. Also I have several inches of crunchy dead ends.

I want to keep the length because it looks cool to have shaved sides and just a big messy pile on top. (Also: sunk cost fallacy.) I also feel like it’s a compromise with Japanese beauty standards: I don’t really perform femininity, and societal pressure is so strong, and also having long hair like a pretty lady makes me less threatening as a scary foreigner; I don’t also need to look unfeminine or uncategorizable.

(The pressure here is really next level. People say “I’ve noticed you don’t wear makeup” in the tone I’d use for “I’ve noticed you don’t wear pants.” I once asked my Japanese ex why she did a full face of makeup just to run to 7-11, and she said, “It’s just basic manners.” It’s really hard to not conform! And I already don’t conform. (Should that make it easier? Sure! Does it? Fuck off with your logic—hair does not operate on logic!))

Making it harder is that my face is fatter than the last time I had short hair. (And older.) It probably won’t look good anymore! And even if it does, I don’t think I’ll be able to see it, and I will walk away shaken.

I could make a less dramatic change, but I’m not sure how viable that will actually be. Transitioning an undercut is complicated, and I’ve had hairstylists here respond to suggestions with “Yeah, that’s just not possible” (and Japan = rules do not bend). Also, pricewise, this is not a place I’d go for a trim; I went and called in the experts, and I’m not ready for them.

Also, time pressure. If I’m going back to bangs, I have to do it well before warm weather hits and we’re doing concrete jungle with 80% humidity. I’ve made that mistake before. You need a transition period. Emotionally, and to train your hair!

The one uncomplicated upside is that I have a cool silver stripe in my hair if it’s parted a certain way, so I can finally get my haircut that makes me Rogue! I’ve wanted that for years.

I plan to consult with the stylist, but I’m honestly no longer sure enough to know what to say. And I told him that it was a big haircut but I knew what I wanted!

要するに, it would be so much easier if this war was just society vs. my preferred expression/presentation. There’s other parties begging me to cut: exercise!!! hygiene!!!! scalp pain (grim!)!!! my little dog!!!

[btsficsandsuch]

Hi! Can you write about Jungkook having to take care of his pregnant wife, as she has some difficulties in her pregnancy. Jk is just really concerned and gentle with her, wanting to grant her every wish, he also babies her, because he considers her really fragile. It would make me really happy 💜💜

Hope you like this!

Perfect Little Family

“Hey it’s going to be okay. We will get through this.”, your husband Jungkook spoke as he reached over taking your hand in his. You didn’t have the words to respond. You felt bad because you knew Jungkook was terrified but he was doing his best to put on a brave face for you. Being 8 months pregnant was terrifying in itself but now with the news that there may be complications, you feel completely petrified and unsure of what to do. Thankfully the doctor walked in to finally give some answers.

“Okay Y/N. After running some tests we’re going to diagnose you with preeclampsia. I know that sounds scary but you’re in good hands. We just want to be able to keep your little girl inside of you as long as we can but the health and safety of both of you is our first priority. I’m going to give you a prescription to help manage your blood pressure. Getting rest is also recommended. I also want to see you twice a week until you’re ready to deliver. Our goal is to get you to 37 weeks at minimum but we’ll take it day by day.” All you could do is nod. There was so much information being thrown at you and not what you wanted to hear. Thankfully Jungkook was there to ask all the questions. You could hear him asking about your diet, exercising, stress management. It was like he came prepared with a list of questions and he was closely listening to the doctors answers making lots of mental notes. You’d never been happier to have him with you than within that moment.

The ride home from the doctors appointment was silent on your end. Jungkook did his best to try and take your mind off of things. You knew he was desperate when he gave you an exaggerated opera performance of the newest Taylor Swift song that was playing on the radio but when he didn’t even get a smile from you he knew what you needed instead. He reached over grabbing your left hand that you had tucked into the pocket of your (his) hoodie giving it a squeeze, “Y/N, I know this is scary and we didn’t plan it to be this way but I know it’s going to work out. You have one of the best doctors in Seoul who happens to specialize in this condition. I’m going to be here every step of the way. We’ll get through this.” “I know Kookie. Thank you for being here with me.”, you manage to whisper. You felt terrible for essentially ignoring him the last couple hours when he’s done nothing but try and comfort you.

Once home you immediately make your way to the kitchen realizing just how hungry you are but before you can even reach for a pan Jungkook wraps his arms around you gently pulling you away from the stove. “Go lay down Y/N. I’ll make you something to eat. You need to rest, remember?”, he says before giving your neck a kiss. “Kookie I can manage making myself a grilled cheese.”, you smiled. He shook his head, “Nope, let’s go lay down. I’m not asking again.” “I like this new demanding Jungkook.”, you said as you watched his cheeks turn red. Not wanting to argue with him you went to your bedroom and put on your favorite movie before getting under the covers.

Not long afterwards Jungkook came walking in with a grilled cheese sandwich, a small side salad, and apple slices. “Thank you so much Kookie. This looks amazing.”, you said taking the tray from him. The rest of the day was spent cuddling in bed and relaxing trying to let the stress from earlier go.

The next few weeks were hectic to say the least. Two doctors appointments a week took a toll on you. Jungkook barely left your sided. He cooked all your meals and brought them to you in bed except the one time he made soup and was worried you’d spill it on yourself in the bed so you got to come sit at the kitchen table but only after he carried you there. He was adamant that he had to be at all the appointments, even missing out on a few important meetings though you begged him to go to work and that you’d be okay with your mom taking you but he refused. You were currently getting ready to take a shower that he insisted on being in the bathroom for. As you were removing your clothes you looked over at your husband sitting on the edge of the bathtub staring at you with a smile. “Are you sure you didn’t want to be in here just so you could see me naked?”, you chuckled. “I want to be in here to make sure you don’t slip or get too tired from standing so long or what if you drop your shampoo bottle and can’t pick it up? You being naked is just a bonus.”, he smirked.

The shower was much needed and you felt relaxed and ready for sleep. Even though you spend much of your day in bed you didn’t get much actual sleep. The two of you were laying in bed together when you looked over and noticed Jungkook was still awake. “Hey you okay?”, you asked. He nodded, “Yeah just thinking. You’re at 37 weeks tomorrow and you have an appointment. What if the doctor says it’s time?” You were a little taken back because the last few weeks he had been your rock. “Then we’ll take it hour by hour just like we’ve been doing day by day. As long as I have you with me then we’ll get through this.”, you said squeezing his hand reassuringly.

At some point you must’ve drifted off because you were woken up when you heard Jungkook softly speaking. You thought maybe he was having a dream but then you realized he had his head resting just below your chest while he was rubbing gentle circles on your bump. You slowed your breathing so you could try and hear what he was saying. “Hey baby girl, it’s your dad. We have to be quiet because mommy is sleeping. I know we haven’t talked in a while but things have been so crazy lately. You’re really giving us quite a scare right now. It’s not your fault though. The doctor said it can happen to anyone. I tried to do everything I could to make it easier for her but I still feel like I’m not doing enough. I’m trying my hardest to be brave for mommy but the truth is I’m scared too. What if something happens to either of you? I don’t know what I’d do. Your mom has an appointment tomorrow and they might decide that we get to meet you early. I’m really excited for that and I know your mom is ready to get you out but we’re both nervous so be easy on us tomorrow, especially your mom. I love you more than I will ever be able to tell you. Sleep well baby girl.”, he finished with a soft kiss to your bump.

You felt him start to stir and not wanting him to know you were listening you quickly closed your eyes pretending to be asleep but you could feel your heart filling with love at the man sleeping next to you. The next day the two of you went to your appointment, hospital bag included just incase.

After a small wait the doctor finally came in and shook both of your hands. “Well Mr. and Mrs. Jeon, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that you safely made it to 37 weeks which is what we were hoping for. The bad news is that the tests we ran today show that your preeclampsia is worsening so I am going to recommend that we admit you to labor and delivery immediately. We will bring you a wheelchair and one of the nurses will take you up to your room.” The doctor gave a quick smile before heading out the door and before the door was even fully closed you released the tears you were holding in. Jungkook immediately noticed and began wiping at them with his thumbs, “It’s going to be okay Y/N. The hospital staff is going to take good care of both of you and I’m going to be here every step of the way. Just think, this time tomorrow we could be holding our daughter in our arms.” You smiled and leaned up for a kiss. Again he was putting on a brave face for you when you were falling apart.

The next several hours went by in a blur. Your beautiful daughter was born at 4:55am and was happy and healthy. “She’s beautiful. She looks just like her dad.”, you said looking up at Jungkook who had tears in his eyes as he looked down at the baby resting on your chest. “She’s just as gorgeous as her mom.”, he said wiping away the tears while looking at his perfect and healthy little family.

[storm-angel989]

Sorry if I keep blowing up your ask box, but is it possible to get a part 2 on Val’s daughter being insecure? Maybe Vel x Vox’s daughter noticing her cousin still isn’t emotionally feeling great no matter how much she smiles and reassures her. Also, maybe have Val and his wifey figure out the sitch too? Again, sorry if I’m blowing up your ask box!

Hey there,

You’re not blowing up my inbox! I did have to give her cousin a nickname. I went with Bee- ambigous enough that you can come up with a name for her yourself. Enjoy!

<3 Mandy

It’s been a week since Aunt Velvette asked me to babysit. 

Not that it mattered, but my Saturday mornings had typically been filled with Bee. This Saturday, however,  my alarm went off at its usual time. I wandered out, expecting to find my baby cousin, Aunt Velvette and Uncle Vox out in the kitchen, like I did every Saturday morning. Instead, I found Uncle Vox sitting, drinking his coffee alone at the kitchen table.

“Hey kiddo,” he greeted me. “Eggs are in the pan, and I made french toast if you’re hungry.”

“Where is Aunt Vel?” I asked. 

“She and Bee went to the studio early for a shoot. You’re free to do as you please- Dad and Mom send their love. They’ll be home next week,” Vox said casually. 

That feeling fluttered in my stomach at his words. Why was it that she got to go with her Mom and mine couldn’t be bothered to even come home? My Uncle Vox gave me a kiss on the forehead and a quick goodbye before leaving me utterly and completely alone. 

A kiss on the forehead, watching him step on the elevator, and for the first time in a long time, I was completely alone with zero responsibility. Unsure of what to do, I went to my room and gathered up my swim things. My stomach knotted in anxiety as I paged for a limo to bring me to the school. Despite Uncle Vox’s warning that I couldn’t exercise my feelings away, it wouldn’t hurt to try. I just needed to not get caught and persuaded into talking about my feelings this time. 

An hour passed. Then two. Another hour of jogging. An hour and a half of yoga. I was home in the shower by the time the clock ticked four- an hour before anyone was due home. By the time five o’clock came around, I was longing in my bed in my pajamas, too tired to feel much of anything. 

“Reader!” My cousin squealed as my door slammed open. 

Little arms jumped into my bed and wrapped their arms around my neck. I sat up and returned her hug as she gave me a grin.

“Why didn’t you come to the studio?” She demanded as she sat on my lap. “I missed you! I made you pictures- Mommy has them on the kitchen table! Daddy said dinner is gonna be ready soon!” 

The knot in my stomach reappeared with her words. 

“Reader? You okay?” My cousin asked.

I felt her hands grab my face and she scowled as she looked at me.

“You look sad. Do you have a boo boo?” She demanded.

I took her hands off my face and lowered them as carefully as I could. 

“No, Bee. I just don’t feel good,” I muttered. Guilt washed over me as I saw her face crumble. I pulled her to me in a hug and released her. “I’m going to take a nap, okay? Let your Dad and Mom know, I’ll eat later,” I told her.

“Oh kay,” she replied as she hopped off my bed. “We’ll play later.” 

 I didn’t answer her and waited until the door closed before burying myself under my covers. No part of me wanted to play with her, and even worse, the feeling I fought so hard to keep away was now back in full force. It wasn’t her fault, but I wasn’t in the mood to be around her, or anyone else for that matter. I turned on the TV for background noise and closed my eyes. 

I woke up at one point to the feeling of Velvette’s hand on my forehead. 

“No fever,” she said softly. “Babygirl. Wake up, it’s dinner time.” 

“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled in response as I squirmed away from her touch. 

She pulled her hand away. Footsteps retreated and I heard the door close. I closed my eyes tighter. Good. Nothing felt right and I wanted to be left alone. Eventually, I fell into a restless sleep.

All too soon, my alarm clock buzzed. I reached out and smacked at it as I dragged myself out from under the covers. I rubbed my eyes as I made my way down the hallway. Despite my wish, sleep didn’t help either. Not only that, but my headache from lack of food and water the day before. I needed advil, and at least a bottle of sweet sixteen before I talked to anyone. 

“Reader!” Bee’s voice screamed from the living room. 

I winced and before I could stop it, she tackled me in full force, her arms wrapped around my legs.

“Morning Bee,” I winced as I plastered a smile on my face.

“Uncle Val is here!” She said excitedly. 

That got my attention. I jerked my head towards the kitchen to see my father sitting next to my Uncle Vox and Aunt Velvette, a cup of coffee in his hand. As quickly as I could, I disentangled myself from Bee. He stood up and I jumped into his arms. 

“Daddy,” I whispered as I hugged him. “Daddy, you’re home.” 

“I am, bebita princessa,” he said softly as he held me. “Mom isn’t far behind.” He kissed the top of my forehead. “We’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I replied as I hugged him tighter. “I missed you alot.” 

[yunhoee]

Synopsis: Living post grad can be tough, especially when most of your friends are just entering their senior year. Your best friend invites you to play a practice game, but there couldn't possibly be ulterior motives could there?

Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader

Genre: non idol!au, soccer player!jongho, soccer player!reader, mainly fluff, suggestive

Wordcount: 2.6k

Note: This was originally a one-shot, but I may write more! Please let me know what you think :)

It’s a wild Friday night. Pajamas are on, you have your favorite comfort show on, and a bucket of ice cream all to yourself. You are casually scrolling through social media. A lot of your friends have moved back in for their final year of college. You graduated the year before them, which at the time you were thrilled to be done. Now seeing them all go back without you hurts. You were the captain of your soccer team, and seeing your teammates prepare for the indoor season without you is a little bit of a bummer. 

You were able to land a corporate job, which you are of course grateful for. Most days are spent alone considering you work from home. You can’t deny the depression that is starting to creep back in. Your phone dings and you smile at the photo that your best friend, Lauren, sends you. The photo shows a smiling Lauren with the rest of your team, and you can see part of the men’s team trying to get into their photo. You chuckle and heart the photo in imessage. You can’t deny the pain you feel knowing you won’t be there this season. 

Turning up your show to try to drown out the sadness seems like the best idea. Until your phone goes off again. 

“You better not be moping all alone right now. We miss you.”

Lauren always has a sense for whenever you’re feeling sad. Something you love and hate about her. Mostly love. 

Nah. I’m at a huge corporate rager. Drunk off my ass, might go home with someone.

Lauren replies almost immediately.

“Okay now I’m actually worried. Why don’t you play in our practice scrimmage tomorrow? The boys have an unfair advantage, so we need all the help we can get.”

You roll your eyes.

Don’t you think that would be a little pathetic? And what unfair advantage could they possibly have? You stomp them at every scrimmage.

As you wait for a response you think about joining your old team. I mean it is just a practice game, and it’s not like you have anything better to do. The exercise would be nice.

“Are you kidding? The team would be thrilled. We miss you all the time :(. The unfair advantage would be Marcus’ friend that is in town. They went to elementary school together when Marcus lived in Korea, and well he’s fucking incredible at soccer.”

You sigh and try not to think too much about your answer. Maybe just going with the flow will work out for me this one time.

Damn all you had to say was Marcus and I’m in. I can’t wait to see his face when we win. Just text me the details and I’ll be there.

Lauren sent you a voice memo of her and the rest of the girls screaming in excitement. You laugh and then start to get ready for bed. The scrimmage is at 9am so you need to make sure you get plenty of sleep. 

Tomorrow comes and before you know it, you’re at the fieldhouse. You’re not sure why you were so nervous because the girls give you an enormous warm welcome. Lauren forces you to start stretching and warming up early since it’s been a few months since you’ve played. As you and Lauren are warming up together, you notice she has the biggest smirk on her face.

“Why are you smiling like that?”, You ask.

Lauren giggles, “Don’t hate me. We obviously needed you to beat the boy’s team, but I also had a bit of a side quest.”

You narrow your eyes, “What are you up to?”

Lauren says, “Well Marcus’ friend is super hot and good at soccer. I thought maybe you guys could get to know each other.”

“This was a set up?!” You gasp.

Lauren hushes you, “No one else knows. Even if you don’t want him to be your boyfriend, it could be a fun hookup. Just trust me on this.”

You roll your eyes, “Whatever. He better not be ugly.”

Lauren laughs as the two of you continue to warm up. You can’t deny the butterflies you feel at the idea of this mystery man. Lauren has never been wrong before, so you’re just hoping you can muster up enough courage to be yourself. 

“Well well well. Look what the cat dragged in”

You immediately know who the voice belongs to. You turn and can’t help but smile.

“I’m not admitting that I missed you”, You say with your hands on your hips.

Marcus laughs and opens his arms. You both embrace until Marcus tries to squeeze the life out of you.

“Okay! Are you trying to squeeze me to death?!” You shout as you wiggle out of his embrace. 

Marcus smiles, “I missed you.”

Lauren interrupts, “Okay okay enough with the flirting, Marcus.”

Marcus recognizes someone behind you, “Over here, Jongho!”

You all turn to see the man that Marcus was calling over. Fuck Lauren was right, he’s gorgeous. He gives your group the cutest smile you’ve ever seen and jogs over to your group. 

Lauren whispers to you, “You’re drooling.”

You lightly smack Lauren’s arm and try not to keep staring at Jongho.

“Alright everyone! This is Jongho. We met when I lived in Korea and he’s here to stomp your asses.” Marcus says as he wraps his arm around Jongho’s shoulder.

Lauren rolls her eyes and puts her arm around you, “Well, Jongho, this is y/n and she’s here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You are giggling at Lauren when you finally make eye contact with Jongho. He is smiling brightly at you. You’re unable to hide the slight blush that appears on your cheeks. A burst of confidence comes through you. 

“Yeah sorry you came all this way just to have your ass handed to you” You say with a smirk. 

The teams are laughing and you can’t bring yourself to look away from Jongho. The sexual tension is undeniable. He steps closer to you and you refuse to back down from eye contact, even when you have to look up to meet his eyeline.

Jongho looks down at you flirtatiously, “You’re a mouthy one aren’t you. I like that.”

He walks towards his side of the field, the rest of the boys follow after him. While you’re momentarily frozen in your spot. You can’t believe someone as beautiful as him said that to you. 

Lauren drags you back to your side of the field while you continually thank her for making you come. She continues to nod her head with that ‘I told you so’ look. You can’t even argue with her because she was oh so right.  

Your team is huddled and hyping each other up. You are all in agreement that you must win this scrimmage no matter what. Even though it’s only a practice game. You will be in your favorite position, center defender. Lauren let you know that Jongho is a forward, so you will definitely be seeing him. Your team all put your hands together.

Before you can break you tell them, “Not one of his balls will get past me.”

Your team cheers and breaks. As you walk to your position, you’re shaking yourself out. You can’t decide if it’s because it’s been awhile since you played or because you’re nervous as fuck. Either way, Jongho is not getting past you. 

For the first 10 minutes you wonder when you will get to play. Both teams are so hyped up that it was really just a battle of the forwards and midfielders for a while. This was good because you were able to watch Jongho in action and see how he plays. Unfortunately for you he is incredible, so this will definitely be a tough match. 

Jongho is the first one to slip through the midfielders and he is barreling right towards you with the ball. You take a deep breath and immediately go into action. He attempts to side step you, but you step directly in front of him and kick the ball between his legs. Jongho wasn’t prepared for you to be able to disable him so quickly that he didn’t have time to slow his body down. The force causes Jongho to fall, bringing you down with him. You immediately jump back up, only to sag in relief when you see Lauren is on the other side of the field with the ball.

“Are you okay?!” You see a frantic Jongho searching all over you to make sure he didn’t cause you harm.

You laugh, “I’m fine. Better luck next time.”

You can see that Jongho is taken aback by you. He wasn’t expecting you to be so incredibly good at defense, and also not afraid to put yourself directly in his path. He can’t help but admire you, but he will also not be misjudging you again. 

Before leaving, he can’t help but brush the few hairs that are in your face out of the way. He tucks them behind your ear, and then runs off to the other side of the field. Leaving you there speechless, and furiously blushing. 

As the game continues, the girls are not backing down. The score is 1-0, with Lauren being able to score because you got the ball from Jongho. You had a few more run-ins with different people on the other team, but none of them were able to get past you. With only a minute left, you can feel a flip of the switch for everyone on the field. The girls, desperate to defend and keep their advantage. The boys, desperate for one goal.

You can feel all the attention is on you. You are the reason they can’t score. You continue your breathing techniques as Jongho makes a beeline for the goal. Needing to get past you, he has three different guys running with him. As they go down the field they’re passing it to one another, in an attempt to confuse you. The three of them are now running side by side and passing it between each other. 

They reach you and the fight begins. You get the ball from one of the guys and attempt to kick it, but Jongho blocks you. You are trying to get the ball back when he passes it to another teammate that you didn’t see. He was further away so you start sprinting right at him, but right before you get to him he kicks it far. You hold your breath while watching the ball soar right to Jongho. Who happened to be right by the goal box. 

You immediately take off towards him, your other defender doing her best. He’s able to fake her out and make it past her, as she falls to the ground. Jongho is lining up his shot, and you know the only way to stop him is to slide to the ball. He doesn’t see you coming up behind him, and right as he’s about to kick the ball his feet are taken out under him. Since he was so close to the ball, you had to risk a slide tackle. The ball went right to your goalie as you planned and the buzzer went off. 

You are laying on your side breathing heavily as you hear the rest of your teammates screaming in victory. You turn over and see Jongho laying right behind you with his hands on his head in defeat. 

You sit up, “Are you okay?” 

Jongho looks at you and smiles, “You really weren’t kidding. I thoroughly just got my ass handed to me.”

Jongho sits up as you two begin to laugh. Even after the intense game and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to move later, the chemistry is undeniable. 

Jongho picks up one of your hands, “Would you let me take you on a date? You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

You blush and begin to laugh, “Even after I slide tackled you?”

Jongho smiles, “Yeah. I’ve met my match, and now I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop thinking about you.”

It’s your turn to fix his hair. 

“Let’s get you checked out by the trainer first, and then we can see about that date.” 

[jodilin65]

Monday, May 26, 2025

Didn’t sleep that great because of leaks, as usual. Also, my sleep was broken up quite a bit. I noticed that when it comes to fragmented sleep, if it’s too frequent or too long, it affects my energy levels for the next day. Well, I didn’t wake up too many times, but I definitely was up for quite a while after just a few hours of sleep. Had to take half a clonazepam just to get back to sleep. Tom says he wakes up anywhere from a few minutes to a couple of hours most nights and that he adapted to fragmented sleep, so this gives me hope that if I can ever find the right mask fit, then the frags won’t be such a big deal for me. Most of the time I wake up lately definitely seems to stem from leaks.

I researched what OTC stuff can cause fragmented sleep and was surprised to find that allergy medications can have that effect, so everything, including my estrogen, is going to be taken at the beginning of my day from now on unless I have pain before bed and need to take ibuprofen.

I’m a little stressed out now, though, because the mowers are coming tomorrow, so that right there is a threat to my sleep. I’ll turn the sound machine up and throw an earplug in, but it still depends on what position I’m in and which mower they use. Fortunately, they usually use the one that isn’t quite as loud. I don’t know—I still feel like I’m fighting for what I’m not meant to have.

I just learned something interesting. You know, something that those so-called experts—doctors who go to school for years—should have told me a long time ago? I don’t know why I didn’t think to research this sooner, but it hit me that there must certainly be other things besides vitamin D that can affect TSH levels. So I asked AI what other vitamins or minerals can lower your TSH, and was surprised when eggs and lentils came up on the list. I had quite a few eggs and even some lentils before I had bad anxiety on the 24th. So now I’m thinking that it wasn’t so much that the medication itself was ramping up in my system, but the foods I ate were optimizing my thyroid function.

Now that I know this, it kind of explains how I could feel like my TSH was too high, then getting too low, then too high again in such a quick amount of time. It’s good to know for labs too, to keep that 100 mcg dream just a dream. So, a few days before I go to the lab on the 3rd, I will increase my vitamin D intake and throw in some eggs as well.

I instructed AI to create a diet for a week that was as balanced as possible, between 1200 and 1400 calories, and good for pre-diabetics, and it includes a carton of eggs a week. I’ll try it when I’m ready to start this diet, and will swap them out if I notice any anxiety picking up.

I also researched foods that can make you hungrier and those that have a high glycemic index, even though most of this is common sense. After the lab, I’m going to treat myself to coffee ice cream, caramel candy, and chocolate chip cookies, and then I’m going to see if I can conquer my weight loss phobia once and for all and not worry about the levo.

The thing I don’t like about Rhonda is that she’s more resistant to doing what I want. She cares more about the numbers than Galileo did, although she did admit that if my weight ever got to 150 or lower, I would need to dose down. It’s just tough because as soon as I feel like I’m headed for trouble, I’ve got to get to the lab ASAP, which isn’t always convenient depending on my schedule. Also, the longer I wait to cut back, the worse it’s going to get. But it would really be nice if I could conquer this fear and get some weight off for the betterment of my health.

I don’t know that I could actually lose weight because I still have Hashimoto’s, and most of us can’t simply diet and exercise the weight off. We just don’t have the metabolism for that. But I’ll do my part and see what happens! Just not until I get to indulge one more time after the 3rd.

I made a quick video of me working with Jade, showing how reactive she is compared to Bailey, for example. I haven’t tested every single doll that I have, but so far, Jade is the only one with this much energy. I moved the EMF reader below, above, and towards the sides of her, and the energy lessened. Most of it is concentrated around her face. I do still get conflicting answers to my questions at times, so I’m trying to figure out how to get her to understand that she needs to give me nothing or just one light if the answer is “no” or “I don’t know,” and then more lights if the answer is “yes.”

I asked my psychic friend how she came to know she was psychic, and she said she went to high school with many students and could always predict who she would pass in the hallway that day. She was also more psychic in the springtime.

With me, I seem to be more psychic in rural areas. I was definitely more psychic in Maricopa and Auburn. As a kid, I would often have feelings that this would work out or that wouldn’t work out, but I didn’t really consider myself psychic at the time. I didn’t know the photo communication thing was a psychic ability either. I knew it was real, but I didn’t understand it as I do now, not that I’ll ever fully understand it. Tom noticed the influencing thing in me as I told her, but the dream prems got more and more obvious the more I had.

Tuesday, May 27, 2025

Wow, where did all the Florida haters go? Someone posted a wedding picture of a lesbian couple getting married in the park group, and I was surprised by the dozens of positive comments and reactions it got. It's about fucking time!

My sleep was less fragmented because I didn't take anything at all before bed. I hope it stays that way! The new hybrid mask arrived, too. It's going to be a bigger pain in the ass to get in and out of, and I can't reach up and take a sip of water if I want, but if it's going to stop the leaks, then so what? Won't know how good of a seal I'm gonna get with it until I actually sleep with it. 

Wednesday, May 28, 2025

So, my friend and I were both wrong, and she isn't pregnant after all. Unless, of course, it's in the future, or she was pregnant but had an early miscarriage. She's glad she isn't pregnant, and therefore, I am too. I don't feel comfortable asking her this because she seems to be a little too moody and sensitive for my taste, and I didn’t want my curiosity to offend her or come off as judgmental, but why isn't she on birth control? Or is she, and she just feared it had failed?

I didn't sleep with the hybrid mask last night because it wasn't comfortable and was leaking at the bottom. I mean, I could’ve made it work with some effort, but the thing is, I would’ve had to have the bottom strap uncomfortably tight in order to seal it up well. I can see how Andy would say he waits until he’s just too tired to care before putting his mask on. But if I can help it, I’ve already sacrificed enough and don’t want to put myself out even more.

It has its pros and cons, just like the nasal pillow. I loved having the hose coming from the top of my head, and it was actually easier, even though it was bigger, to sleep on my stomach with it, because of the way it distributed the weight of the mask on my face more evenly. But when I was on my stomach falling asleep and the weight of my head got heavier and heavier, the more I relaxed, it slowly pushed the mask out of place and started leaking. So I said OK, I'm not going to strap myself in any tighter than I already am, and I'm certainly not going to stay in the same exact position all night either.

So I went back to the nasal pillow, and for the second night in a row, I did not have any mouth farts. I had to tape my mouth, but no air tried to escape. Also, this was the second time my sleep wasn't fragmented since I stopped taking allergy medication before bed. I didn't get up to pee or anything. 

I started off with okay energy today and yesterday until I took Claritin. Yesterday it knocked me out, and today it just made me tired. Because I switched to taking it in the morning, I’m gonna have to swap it out for NasalCrom.

I decided not to return the mask, even though it’s not the most comfortable, because it is a good backup if I ever have a bad cold or my nose is running like a faucet. I didn’t use it long enough to know whether or not it was going to blow enough air up my nose to bypass the nasal valve collapse. 

It was also “windier” too, which I didn’t like. Some air is supposed to come out so the pressure doesn’t build up to be too much. When you exhale, that air has to go somewhere. So, because the mask is bigger in itself, it was just a little too breezy for me. So maybe the nasal pillow really is the best fit for me. It’s definitely a lot more minimal than the hybrid, and I prefer two skinny straps over three fat ones. Getting in and out of the thing was much harder than the pillow.

Had a dream that my nail fungus got worse. Gosh, I hope not! Looks like it's actually getting better.

Got some various odds and ends, like a new pack of underwear, rat food, a new mouse for one of the computers, and some doll clothes for Joy and another doll that came in a boring brown outfit.

Tinkerbella's tumor seems to have stopped growing. I never saw a rat’s tumor do this before. Even so, the lovable little sweetie is still getting pretty old. 🙁

Thursday, May 29, 2025

Something is definitely, definitely up with Jade without a shred of doubt. I couldn't write it off as a coincidence if I wanted to. I moved her to the other dresser and she stopped reacting. While she was on that dresser, I aimed the reader where she was standing before on the other dresser and got no reaction at all, including from Joy, Bailey, and the Adora doll. I don't get anything from Mila either. 

I just put Jade back on the tall dresser, and she's back to being reactive again. I don't know if I could ever adamantly say she’s haunted by the ghost of someone who once lived, like Melanie can and has, but something is definitely up. Let’s just say that, just like with the Phoenix Lights, it’s all wrong in the sense that this shouldn’t be happening. There is no earthly, logical reason I can honestly come up with to explain it. Something is making the reader react. Intentionally. What else could be aware of what it's doing by affecting the reader other than a ghost, as hard as it still is to assume that's what it is that's doing it? I just can’t think of any other logical explanation.

If I ever were to assume it’s the spirit of someone who lived, then we really could be looking at an afterlife of some kind. A common belief is that no energy is created or destroyed but only changes in form. Well, like I said, something’s making this doll react, and it definitely seems by design, and that the happier or more positive the answer is to what I’m saying or asking, the more the thing lights up. So yeah, something’s in that doll.

What? Who? How? Why? That’s the frustrating part. And if we’re going to assume it’s a woman who lived in the 1920s like Melanie said, who is she and why is she here?

It doesn’t freak me out or scare me in any way, though. I think it’s pretty cool. First I had in-person friends, then I had cyber friends, and now I might have a spirit friend. Hopefully, now that I’m on to her, she will always remain friendly. Fortunately, I read that evil spirits don’t typically haunt dolls. So I've got a doll that has preferences and literally prefers one dresser over another, LOL. Interesting, ay? If she’s really been around since Oregon, that’s a long time—although time is supposed to feel different in the spirit world. It’s just an amazing coincidence that can’t be a coincidence!

Friday, May 30, 2025

I'm even more tired today because my nose woke me up. I wish I had the hybrid on for a minute during my sleep because my nose was stuffy, and I had trouble getting back to sleep and took half a clonazepam, which means being tired the next day. Hopefully, the NasalCrom I switched to will do a better job with nasal congestion without making me drowsy. It never used to, from what I can remember.

At first, I thought, Oh no, I'm going to continue suffocating awake even with a CPAP, but I'm pretty sure it was congestion in my nose. If it wasn't for me struggling to breathe out of my nose after flipping onto my stomach at some point during my sleep, I would have slept okay.

Tom insists he sees signs of improvement, and I thought I was seeing them as well, but now I'm not so sure. He says that I have more energy on days I have energy, and my bad days aren't so bad. He definitely does seem to have a point there. I don't wake up feeling like I ran a marathon in my sleep anymore, either.

With storm season approaching, I may not have a full sense of just how helpful the CPAP is for a few months. Tom believes that for the first couple of weeks, my body was getting used to sleeping with it, and now I will begin to see more and more results. I hope so, because even though my energy levels do seem better at times, this isn't good enough. Not even close. If we suddenly had money, it would be very hard for me to handle moving. I hope he's right and I really do get more energy! Energy won't bring us money, but it will bring me back onto my vibration platform, to the beach, out for walks, etc. I just want to be more active! I don't want to have to worry about having energy on days I have appointments or when I want to do some cleaning. But sometimes I still worry that this is as good as it's going to get and that other things are at play here like my thyroid. It's looking less likely, but there is still a bit of concern that I could have chronic fatigue.

Joy and another doll got new clothes from Walmart, and they look great, especially Joy. Her outfit fits her perfectly.

I just got a great idea for creating a base for Summer Dream. Not only could she fall off the cap she’s sitting on but she's tilted slightly forward. So if we get some baking clay, it would be good to make a base for her that she rests in and that's slightly wider than her so she can't tip over. After I mold it, I could bake it hard.

Saturday, May 31, 2025

Okay, I know I'm supposed to say to each their own and respect everyone's personal opinions, beliefs, and feelings, but if you support JK Rowling and her anti-trans crap, you're part of the problem. A big problem. Buying, promoting or praising her shit is just plain wrong. You're supporting a delusional and pathetic hater. Is that what we should be doing as a society? It's no better than all the support Chris Brown got after slugging Rihanna. Was that the proper thing to do? No, of course it wasn't. So why would you want to put money in the pockets of a bigot when there are other books just as good and even better out there? Even if it's already bought and paid for, if you have any of her shit, you'd be smart to burn it! Really, I don't want to hear that bitch's name again. Or about any of the shit she sells.

That HBO accepts her “personal opinion” is also bullshit and they too, are part of the problem. I bet just about anything that if her personal opinion included blacks, Hispanics, or Asians, HBO wouldn't have a damn thing to do with her.

I'm now suspecting it wasn’t allergies that were clogging up my nose the night before last, but too much humidity in the hose that built up in my nose. So once again, I turned the humidity setting down a bit on the CPAP.

Yesterday I ended up perking up to the point that I had trouble falling asleep. Between being up for a long time and constant leaks the last time around, I'm tired. I’m thinking I didn't have the tape applied properly, and I was too exhausted to get up and fix it, so in the middle of my sleep, I took the mask off. It's been nearly a month, and I'm still tired. I really need to see about getting a mouth guard at some point. Then again, I still say I'm chasing something I'm not meant to have. For now, maybe I should try the hybrid again as much as I hate the harness.

[tilldeaths]

okay boys, here is the first chapter of a fanficiton rosie would’ve written at about thirteen or so. this was a fun little exercise that truly highlights what sort of person rosie is.

content warnings for uhhh. have you ever read a story written by a scene kid? all of that.

for reference this would’ve been posted on fanfiction.net, and her username would have been probably like xXxAngelOfDeathxXx

Isla the Killer Chapter 1

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m sooooooo excited to bring a brand new story to you guys!! Have you guys read about Jeff the Killer?? I’ve been so obsessed with him and so I decided to write my own story featuring him! Anyway, please comment and fav <3 I don’t own Jeff the Killer btw!!

*******************

It was a normal day in the suburbs when Isla woke up in her black bedroom. Her long pink hair fell past her shoulders, and her sea colored eyes looked around as she got out of bed.

“Isla! Get down here! You’re late for school!” Her mom yelled. Isla rolled her eyes, stomping to the bathroom to start getting ready for school. It was the first day of her first year of high school, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

She stared into the bathroom mirror, taking in her porcelain skin and her sharp cheekbones. People at school liked to call her a skeleton for how pale and bony she was. They also teased her for dressing in black all the time, but she found color so boring and attention seeking. All of the girls at her school wore ugly Abercrombie clothes they got at the mall.

Isla put her hair up in a ponytail, but left her bangs out to cover one of her eyes. It made her look mysterious, which she liked. She put on her black corset top, a black tulle skirt, striped lacy tights, and her favorite thigh high boots. Then she put a purple bow in her hair. It was the only color she liked to have.

She looked at herself one more time and sighed. Her mom and dad had black hair, but she had pink hair that she hated. Everyone at school thought she was a freak for it. She tried to dye it, but the dye would just wash right out in the shower! It was like she was cursed.

“Isla! Come downstairs! It’s almost time for school, you can’t be late!”

“I’m coming mom!” Her mom was always yelling at her. Isla walked downstairs and sat down at the table. Breakfast was waffles, eggs, and bacon, but she grabbed an orange instead.

“Isla, you need to eat, you’re too skinny!”

“I’m not hungry!” And she was scared that if she ate, her boobs would get bigger. And they were already so big that girls were angry at her for having big boobs.

“Fine. Then you can take yourself to school if you don’t want to be grateful!”

“Fine! Then I’ll go!” She got up with a yell and stomped to the door, not even taking her backpack with her. The house shook from how hard she slammed the door.

Isla walked down the sidewalk crying her eyes out when suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. With a scream she turned around, only to see a boy her age with pale white skin and dark black hair. His eyes were piercing and he had a big smile on his face.

“Who are you?!” She cried. He smiled.

“I’m here to take you away, Isla. My name is Jeff.” He took her hand in his. She was nervous, but didn’t pull away. His skin was so soft but rough.

“How do you know my name…?” She asked, starting to blush.

“Because I’ve been watching you. I’ve never met a girl like you before. You’re so…”

“Weird?” She sighed, ready to be rejected.

“No.” He leaned in towards her face. “Pretty.”

“Pretty…? You think I’m pretty?” She was blushing so much. He laughed and kissed her cheek.

“Yes, you’re so pretty. And that’s why you’re coming with me. I want you to live with me in the Slender Mansion and be my girlfriend!”

What?!?!

***************

A/N okay I hope you guys liked it! I have to wake up for school tomorrow but chapter 2 should be up soon! Like and comment! <3

[farity]

There is only one bed, part 2

Pairing: Modern AU Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary:  Spies running from a common enemy find refuge in a tiny inn.

Warnings:  Smut

Points if you recognize the side characters’ names.  Also: no, your name is not Jan.  It’s a meme.

part 1

“The drive.  Give me the drive.”

When he didn’t move, the guy aiming the gun at your head cocked it and you kept your breathing steady through the terror that ran through you.  Training, you went through your training, remembering breathing exercises, how to keep your muscles from tensing.  You glanced at the guy who had very recently fucked your brains out.

His face revealed nothing, his stance was relaxed.  “The one with the porn?”

You heard, in the distance, a car.  Another one.  That couldn’t possibly be good.  It stopped down the road, not like the previous car you’d heard earlier.

“Give me the fucking drive or I kill your little girlfriend.”

He smiled, “I picked her up earlier, don’t even know her name.”

The next thing you felt was a hard thump on the back of your head, and you fell to the floor, your vision blurry.  He lunged towards the asshole who’d hit you and the other guy fired.

You saw him fall back at the same moment that the door slammed open and three men rushed in.  They were shouting in High Valyrian, your weakest language, and you caught something like “man down”.  

He was saying something to them and before you lost consciousness you thought you heard him say something like “friend.”

* * * * * 

You awoke in a government hospital and the first face you saw was Lou’s.  Your boss was dressed in a sharp suit as always, her blonde bob swinging as she spoke on her cell phone.  “She’s awake, gotta go.”  She smiled down at you.  “Good to see you, kid.”

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

You sat up. “The guy, the Westerosi agent who was with me.”

Lou raised an eyebrow.  “You were brought to us by two agents from Dragonstone, who said you’d been caught up in one of their missions.”

You nodded, “yeah, there was a wounded agent I patched up, he was shot right before I passed out.”

“They didn’t mention that.”

The doctor walked in, gave you an update.  You’d been out a couple of days with a concussion but the swelling in your brain had gone down and your vitals were good.  You could go home the next day if things stayed the same overnight.

You barely listened, your mind elsewhere.  You caught Lou’s eye, and you could tell she was reading every thought in your head.

“I have to go,” Lou said, “rest and I’ll talk to you tomorrow once you’re home.  Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded as she left, her brisk steps fading as she walked down the hallway.

* * * * * 

Five weeks later you were ready to kick someone’s face in.  Nobody had any answers for you.  You had even called the Dragonstone agency and explained that you wanted to ask some questions of their agent.  Very important questions for your boss at your agency.  If he was alive, if he was still working for them, no one would tell you anything.  

You had even thought of asking Lou if she could ask her contacts, but asking your boss to locate a guy because he’d made you come twice was hardly the most professional thing in the world.  You liked your job and didn’t want to be sidelined because you got hung up on some guy whose name you didn’t even know.

Maybe you could get one of your hacker friends to locate him.  Hey, can you find this guy, tall, gorgeous, amazing ass and stellar dick?  You rubbed your eyes, wondering if a shower would help.  

You walked towards your bedroom, leaving a string of clothes as you reached your bathroom.  Would you ever find him?  You’d known him for less than a day but there had been a connection and it wasn’t just sex.  Mind-blowing, amazing sex.  Sex that had ruined you forever.

He had to be alive.  Even if you could just find out if he was ok, maybe that would be enough.  Sure, Jan, you told yourself.  You showered quickly, putting on your favorite robe after.  

Lou had left a message on your phone, something about all the time off you had accumulated and to fucking take it before it disappeared.  You’d been doing admin stuff since you got out of the hospital, but when you reached your laptop, all the files you had been working on were gone. Fucking Lou.

Maybe you’d travel.  Take a few weeks, bum around the continent, avoid heading towards Dragonstone. 

Who were you kidding, the only place you wanted to go to was Dragonstone so you could snoop around.  Like you were going to turn a corner and bump into him coming out of a Starbucks.  Did they even have Starbucks in Dragonstone?  

And then there was the thought you tried to ignore.  What if he was fine?  Alive and kicking, and simply didn’t care?  What if he had moved on to his next mission - and the next girl - while you were flopping around your place like a moron, completely hung up on him?  

Your phone buzzed and when you picked it up there was a text from your ever-omniscient boss.

Answer the door.

Um, no one has rung the door, Lou, you thought as the doorbell rang.

You opened the door and there he was, alive and fucking gorgeous, standing before you.

Every thought in your head evaporated as you looked at him.  His hair was a little longer, and he was dressed in black, like he had been back then.  You knew your mouth had dropped open but no sounds were coming out.

* * * * * 

She was well.  Alive and whole and healthy.  A little pale, but she looked good.  More than good, Aemond thought.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another, suddenly nervous.  He hadn’t given a thought to what would happen now, to what she would say or do.  

“Hello,” he said, because she wasn’t saying anything.  She was just staring at him, one hand clutching the lapels of her robe.

“You’re alive.”

“Yes.”

“You were shot.”

“Yes.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him into her home, closing the door.  She stood a couple of feet away from him, still staring.  “Was it bad?”

This time he nodded.  He wouldn’t tell her how bad just now.  

She let out a strangled sob and covered her mouth.  “I tried,” she said breathlessly.  “I looked for you.”

Fuck it, he thought, and reached out to envelop her in his arms.  She started crying and he heard so much fear and anger as well as relief in her tears.  “I believe you,” he whispered into her hair.  She had freed her arms and wrapped them around his neck and he could no longer wait.  He began kissing her neck, the sweet scent of her skin one he had dreamed of every night since that day in the inn.  

She turned to meet his mouth with hers, fisted one hand in his hair while he lifted her up.  Her robe, which had barely been tied together, began slipping off as she wrapped her legs around him.  “Bedroom,” she ordered, “last room on the left.”

He made his way to her room, barely remembered to kick off his shoes before he lowered her to the bed.  “I’ve dreamed of you,” he said against her lips, and felt her smile.  “Every night.  Every fucking night, you torment me.”

“Likewise, dragon boy,” she replied, and he smiled at her.

“Aemond,” he told her.  “My name is Aemond.  Targaryen.”  

She told him her name and then pushed him onto his back.  “Wait,” she tucked her hair behind her ear.  “Where were you shot?”

He raised the t-shirt he was wearing, and first she saw the cut she’d treated.  It was a neat thin line and she smiled.  “That healed up nicely.”  He sat up then, removed his sweater, then began to pull off the t-shirt.  

“It looks worse than it is,” he warned.

He tossed the shirt to the side and let her look.

“Fuck.”

The scar was jagged and ugly, and it was right over his heart.

“They got it out.”

“How far?”

He looked at her, shook his head in confusion.

“How far from your heart?”

He smiled gently.  “Less than a millimeter.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, looked away from him, unable to speak.

“I’m here.  I got a second chance,” he murmured.  “And I don’t plan on wasting it.”

With that, he reached for her.

* * * * * 

Less than a millimeter, you thought.  You would make that millimeter count, you decided, as he grabbed you and pulled you down to the bed.  You ran your hands down his chest, gently skimming over the scars until you’d reached the waistband of his jeans and felt him shiver against you.  

He reached down, undoing the button and zipper and then started pulling off your robe, the thin cotton giving easily as he bared you.  “I never got to take my time with you,” he said, and your heart started pounding with anticipation.  He slowly gazed at you from head to toe and when he looked back up, his eyes were almost feral.

He cradled your face in one hand as he loomed over you, kissed your temple before his hand slipped down to your throat and you arched against him, pressing one of your own hands over his.  He kissed you then, hungrily, nipping at your jaw as he made his way to your neck.  There he feasted, edges of teeth and soft swipes of tongue, until you began whimpering, wanting him inside you.

He pulled back to finish removing his clothes, but before you could reach for him, he turned you over, spreading your legs with his knee before settling half on you, half on the bed.  You felt him push your hair out of the way so he could nip at the nape of your neck while he reached around and his fingers began moving between your legs.  

You’d dreamed of those dexterous, long fingers of his, frustrated yourself with your own many times, and a long moan escaped you as he reached deep inside you. 

“Am I hurting you?”

You shook your head,  “No,” you managed as he sucked some of the skin at your nape between his teeth.  

His fingers moved slowly within you, and you gasped when he spread them open, widening you.  “I remember how tight you felt,” he murmured.  “I remember everything about that day.  The way you looked, the way you felt, I couldn’t get away from you.  Not during the day, and certainly not at night.”

His voice had darkened, each word said against your skin like a prayer.  His fingers were pumping inside you now, your hips matching his pace, and soon you arched against him, your body taut, a gasp escaping you as you came.  

He was kissing your shoulder, slowly removing his fingers from inside you as he turned you onto your back.  “I cannot wait any longer,” he whispered as he reached down and began aligning himself with you.  When he started pushing inside you, you gasped, remembering how he had felt all those months ago.  

“God, yes,” you breathed out as he began filling you.  Nothing had felt as good as he did right now.  He pushed your knees back, struggling to move slowly as he sank into you.  When he was finally seated fully inside you, he closed his eyes for a moment.

“You feel so fucking good, sweet.”

* * * * * 

“LIkewise, dragon boy,” she replied, wrapping her legs around his hips.  

Aemond pressed his forehead against hers.  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he started, and felt her fingertips pressed against his mouth.

“You really need to stop that, Aemond,” she said, and the sound of his name in her lips made him deliriously happy.  “I can take it, and I would really, really like you to fuck me now.”

He needed no further invitation.  Rearing back, he thrust hard, the sound she made somewhere between a moan and a purr, and he did it again, hips snapping as his restraint began to slip.  He took her hands in his, pressing them into the mattress above her head.  “Yes,” she whispered, “fuck yes.”  She tightened around him and he let out a familiar string of curses in High Valyrian.

“What did you just call me?” she smirked up at him.

He took her mouth in a bruising kiss as his hips continued to pound against her.  “Vile,” he murmured, “enchantress.”  He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, then released it when she whimpered.  

He could feel her thighs shaking, her breathing becoming more and more ragged, and he began to drive faster, her cries encouraging him as he lost himself in her.  “Please,” she begged.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and she threw her head back, a hoarse scream ripped from her throat as she came.  He managed to ride out her contractions until finally, he surrendered, letting her take him with her.

* * * * * 

The blurriness in your head began to dissipate, slowly, as Aemond kissed your temple.  “Hmm,” he murmured, “that was worth the wait.”

You couldn’t manage to put two words together in your mind, and simply enjoyed the warmth of him as he held you.  Your fingertips found their way back to the ugly scar over his heart, brushing over it as if you could erase it completely.  A thought had began to form in your head, a question you needed answered.

“How did you find me?”

He looked down at you, surprised by the sudden question.  “Your boss knows my old CO, Deb.”

“Lou?”

“Yep.  She sent Deb a text ‘for your wounded dragon’ and it had your name on it."

You shook your head, confused.  “Wait, if she knew to give you my name, why couldn’t Lou just ask for your name?”

“I guess she wanted to know if I would run with it.”  He caressed your cheek.  “I had to wait until I could leave the hospital, which was three more weeks.”

“So why didn’t you just call, or email?”

He leaned in and kissed you gently.  “I was terrified.  If I called and someone else answered the phone.  If I emailed you and you never replied.  I decided I would show up, look you in the eye, and if you wanted nothing to do with me, then I could turn around and walk away, but I needed to see it in your face.  Whether you wanted me or not.”

“I tried,” you said.  “I tried so hard.  There was nothing, absolutely nothing on any of the usual threads.  Not about your team, not about a wounded agent, nothing.”

“I don’t exist,” he said simply.  “My name isn’t listed anywhere.  If we’d all gotten killed the agency would have never acknowledged us.”

“Your family?” you asked, wondering about parents, siblings.

He smiled.  “They think I’m in the arctic.  Eventually they would have received a letter stating that I was working for the government and was KIA.  No return address, no phone number.  The moment the envelope is opened, the ink begins to fade so within a couple of hours the page is blank.  And it doesn’t show up on photographs or video.”

“Fuck.”

“I knew that going in.”  He pulled you closer.  “I also knew I had a deadline.”

You reached up, brushed a lock of his hair out of his face.  “What is it?”

“Turning thirty.”  

“When is that?”

He smiled.  “Today.”

* * * * * 

She baked him a cake.  She only had ingredients for a plain vanilla sponge, but the buttercream was so good, he ended up eating half of it before she smacked his hand and made him sit at the table. 

“And she bakes, too,” he’d said, admiringly, when she started pulling out ingredients.  

“I am multitalented.”  She lit one of the candles sitting on the little shelf by the TV.  “But I have no little candles, so this will have to do.”  She brought over the massive three-wick-candle, made him blow it out before she’d let him cut into the cake.  It was a little wonky and there was only enough buttercream for the filling and middle since he’d eaten half of it.  

He watched her over his slice of cake.  “What about you?  Any plans for the future?”

“Well,” she smiled, “not many of us live to see middle age, so I always thought I’d do research or translating when I was done with field work.  Plus I want to travel.  Like, actually see the places I’ve been sent to, like a regular tourist.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, “I’ve been to so many places and not enjoyed any of them.”

“Does that mean anything?” she asked, indicating the ring he wore on his pinky.  

Aemond looked at his hand, smiled.  “My sister gave it to me before I left.  Something about threads of green, threads of black, weaving something or other.  She gets strange thoughts sometime, but she’s cool.”  He speared his fork into another piece of cake.  “I keep it hidden unless I’m on my own time.  This is really fucking good,” he added before taking a huge bite.

“All that sugar is going to leave you with a massive headache.  Here,” she refilled his glass, “drink more water.”

He did, and got up to do the dishes while she sat at the counter.  He had spent most of the past decade forgetting or ignoring his birthday and now she’d baked a cake for him.  

“Look, I just need to say something-”

“Oh shit,” she replied, but was smiling at him.  “You’re married with seven adorable, but unruly, children.”

He gave her a look.  “No.  I wouldn’t have tracked you down here just for sex. This is going to sound incredibly naïve, considering what we do for a living, but it’s like I can envision-”

“A future.”

“With you.”

He said nothing for a few seconds, only watched her as she looked up at him.  “Come with me.  Let’s go see the world.  Not from safe houses or sniper points.”

She smiled.  “I don’t know, I’m an excellent shot.”

He smiled back, but extended his hand out.  And waited.

And then she stood, walked around the counter, and placed her hand in his.

* * * * * 

Tagging:

@arryn-nyx   @greenowlfactif  @hydrationqueensworld    @megzdoodle@melsunshine  @queenofshinigamis     @throughgoeshamilton   @travelingmypassion

Aemond fics only

@kaemond-zafiro    

[katelynnwrites]

pairing: Ona Batlle x f!Reader

warnings: none lol

word count: 622

summary: essentially just clingy ona

a/n: wasn’t gonna post today but i’ve decided to simply because im upset about united’s third goal (ona’s goal) in today’s game

All I Need Is You

‘Wake up lovely.’ You gently shake Ona who groans softly.

She’s lying practically on top of you, head buried in your chest.

Your words only succeed in making her press herself closer to you, almost as if she was trying to melt into you.

‘Ona!’ You laugh, pushing her off you.

‘No…’ Your girlfriend whines, pulling the covers back over your bodies and squeezing her eyes shut.

‘Baby we’ve got training.’

Ona sighs.

‘But I just want to stay in bed with you…’

She seems almost childlike as she sits up, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

‘Need kisses.’ She murmurs, reaching her hands out to you.

‘Okay kisses and then time to get ready alright?’

Ona nods eagerly, smiling as you kiss her gently. Three times to make sure she knew you loved her.

******

Your girlfriend sticks by your side as you walk to the training grounds, her beanie pulled over her ears.

It was freezing out and Ona grabs your hand.

‘Hey.’ You murmur, giving her a little kiss on the back of it.

She smiles at you, depositing your joined hands into the pocket of her windbreaker.

******

When Marc asks for the team to pair up, Ona siddles up to you with a sheepish smile on her face.

‘Partner up with me?’

‘Always.’

As you work on the exercises, toe taps and passing the ball back and forth, Ona grins.

‘What’s for lunch?’

‘I think we have enough for pasta?

She hums, the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting her cleats soothing her.

‘Why? Is anyone coming over?’

Ona’s head snaps up.

‘Not today. Can it be just you and me?’ There’s a pleading edge to her voice, as though she was begging you to agree.

Ignoring the fact that you were at a training session and all your teammates and trainers were there, you kiss her.

Ona gasps, hands flying to your waist as Millie wolf whistles.

You laugh, burying your head in her shoulder as she giggles.

‘Being with you is when I’m happiest.’

The words are quiet, murmured in her ear and meant only for her.

From the way she glances at you, the softest of looks on her face, you can see what it means to her.

******

Ona cuts up the tomatoes while you focus on boiling the pasta.

She sits on the counter when she’s finished, sneaking pieces of tomato into her mouth as she waits for you.

‘Ona…’ You warn teasingly, knowing exactly what she's doing without looking.

‘I didn’t do anything!’ She insists, eyes wide as she tries her best to quickly swallow the piece in her mouth.

You turn around, raising your eyebrow as she stammers.

Poking her cheek, you kiss her nose.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll still love you even if there’s no sauce because you ate all the tomatoes.’

******

The light from the street lamp outside is just enough for you to make out the sleepy smile on your girlfriend’s face as well as the countless freckles scattered across her cheeks.

Leaning closer, you try and kiss as many as you can, making Ona giggle.

‘What are you doing?’ She breathlessly says, in between her laughs.

‘Making sure you know I love you. Because I do Ona, I love you.’

She stops laughing, choosing to bring her hand up to caress your cheek. There’s a look you can’t quite identify in her eyes as she does so.

‘I know you do. I always know you do because I can feel it. It practically radiates from you mi amor. I hope you know I love you just as much.’ She says seriously.

There’s nothing more to be said and the only thing left for you to do is press your lips onto hers.

Spanish Translation:

mi amor - my love

[rissynicole]

“ let me look at you… ““ are you okay with me touching you? ““ does that hurt? “ Professor Membrane saying one or all of these to Dib, whose been having a really bad stomachache. He actually has appendicitis. I hope a sickfic is okay!

Hey, a sickfic is always okay! 

Context: this was part of a whump/injury sentence-starter ask game. I got really carried away with some asks people sent in, and it took me an absurdly long time to finish the stories.

This was fun. I don’t write enough of Membrane. Or Gaz. This was a really good writing exercise for me! Also, shoutout to my cousin who coincidentally got appendicitis while I was writing this. Thanks for the additional insight on appendicitis, I guess? Hope you feel better, Cuz.

Prompts:

“Let me look at you…”

“Are you okay with me touching you?”

“Does that hurt?”

Characters: Dib, Gaz, Professor Membrane

Relationships: Just good ole’ family dynamics. Brother and sister have each other’s backs, dad is overprotective. 

Words: 1,544

“Let me look at you.”

Dib pulled the mess of blankets over his head and turned his face towards the wall. “No,” he groaned. “Just… go with Gaz.”

Membrane stood by his bedside for a moment, obviously rethinking his tactics. For all his quick wit in the more linear side of life, it somehow hadn’t managed to translate to interpersonal matters—something that was more a little problematic when handling things like this. His son hadn’t bothered to leave his bed since the night before and was presently curled into a ball and clutching his stomach. Meanwhile, Gaz was still in her room, getting ready for her high school graduation rehearsal.

“I would really feel better if you let me examine you downstairs in the home lab,” he tried again.

Dib didn’t budge. “I just have food poisoning or something. I’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“—Dad?” Gaz appeared in the doorway, donned in a creased cap and gown. “We’re going to be late.” She reached up to adjust one of many bobby pins keeping her cap in place.

“In a moment. Your brother is ill and refusing treatment.”

Dib uncovered his face slightly cast an exhausted, low-lidded stare at her. She met it briefly and pursed her lips. She turned back to their father. “So? He’s nineteen. He can handle himself. Let’s just go.”

Membrane looked ready to start arguing again. Under the pressure of his children’s expectant gazes, though, he warily trudged back to the doorway. He gave one final glance at Dib from behind his thick lab goggles before softly shutting the door.

Dib buried his face into his pillow and groaned as another sharp pang tore through his stomach. He could still hear the two of them outside his bedroom. Words here and there, especially Gaz’s higher tone, managed to permeate through the thin walls and make their way to his ears.

“—We haven’t exactly had great experiences with your medical ‘treatment,’” Gaz said deadpan.

Instantly, memories of her media-circus extravaganza as “pig girl,” when she was ten circulated through Dib’s head.

She wasn’t wrong. If anything, she was saying exactly what Dib wanted to say, but couldn’t. The last thing he needed was to be roused from bed and forced downstairs to the lab to be poked and prodded. Normal children enjoyed sick days at home with game shows and chicken soup. He and Gaz had grown up riding out malaise in a freezing basement atop exam tables, shivering away while their father took notes and attempted to create permanent cures for the uncommon cold or invent a mayonnaise that never spoiled. His intentions were good—he even went so far as to give them second-hand anxiety in his frantic concern for them. In practice, though, it was far better to just avoid even letting him know they were sick.

Dib couldn’t avoid it this time, though. The pain had come on almost immediately that morning, and he’d spent a substantial portion of the day vomiting and drifting in and out of strange, shallow slumber while cramps wracked through his abdomen. He found himself falling asleep again as his father and Gaz continued arguing in the hallway. Their voices felt farther and farther away until disappearing completely.

-x-

The crash of the slamming front door echoed throughout the house.

Almost instantaneously, Dib jerked awake in a nauseous sweat. He didn’t sit up, but simply stared wide eyed into his now-dark room as his father and sister noisily tromped through the kitchen. They must have just gotten back from the graduation rehearsal.

How long have I been asleep?

He craned his neck to glance at his clock but couldn’t see anything beyond a dim red glow across his nightstand. He was still curled in the fetal position on his side, still holding his stomach. “Uuuughhhhh.”

His dreams had been bizarre, filled with dizzying repetition and strange, anxiety-inducing plotlines that could only make sense to an unconscious mind. Just remembering them made him feel woozy again…

His queasiness coincided perfectly with another rush of sharp, stabbing pain. He uncurled just enough to lean over his bed and vomit noisily into a bucket sitting nearby for this very purpose.

Just as he finished, his father knocked at the door. “Dib?”

“Yeah?” he weakly asked the dark room.

“I’m letting you rest,” he started, somewhat begrudgingly. “But… are you okay?”

Dib paused a moment too long before answering. “Mmmhmm,” he said after a minute.

“Okay then…”

Even in his state, he could tell his father was holding back everything he could to not haul him down to the basement to run tests on him. He didn’t stop to consider this for very long, though, before drifting into a shallow sleep.

-x-

“Have you checked on your brother?” Membrane was sitting at the table the next morning, nursing a cup of tea.

Gaz ambled past him and began rifling through the refrigerator. “No. But I think he’s just trying to sleep it off. Stomach bugs suck.”

A patch of sunshine seeped through the kitchen window and landed in a patch on the ground. Membrane watched it speculatively.

“Have any of your classmates been sick with something similar?”

Gaz poked her head out of the fridge. “I don’t think so.” She shrugged and continued searching for the strawberry jam.

“Anyone at Dib’s college? Did he mention anything?”

Gaz simply shrugged again. “No? I dunno.” She plunked the jam onto the kitchen table and began messing with the coffee maker.

Membrane stood up, slowly at first, as if he was afraid Gaz would catch him and force him to sit back down. “I’m just going to go check in on him…”

He scaled the staircase, perturbed at how quiet the upper level was. He stopped outside Dib’s room and knocked.

Nothing.

He knocked again, this time a little louder.

“Uuugh…” A small, hoarse groan answered him. He took this as invitation enough and opened the door.

“Son?”

All that was visible was a very limp, very mussed lock of scythe-like hair strewn across his pillow. The rest of Dib was clearly balled up beneath the comforter.

“Are you okay?”

The mass of blankets was silent. Then, very softly, “…No.”

Membrane quickly crossed the room and uncovered the blankets.

Dib’s skin had taken on a sallow, waxy tone and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Both hands were in the same place they’d been the day before, pressed against his stomach until he was gasping for air.

“How long have you been like this?!” Membrane demanded. Already, his head was swirling with a million different possibilities.

A shaky pull of breath prefaced Dib’s words. “It got worse a few hours ago. I’ve never had stomach pain like this before.”

His father reached down, then paused. “Are you okay with me touching you?”

Dib nodded, then cringed into his mattress and pressed his hands tighter into his stomach.

Membrane waited for the pain to pass then, with considerable trepidation, he tried to move Dib’s hands away from his abdomen. With the same amount of unease, the latter obliged.

The tips of two prosthetic fingers pressed into the upper left of his son’s torso. “Does that hurt?”

Dib shook his head frantically, grabbing his father’s hand and guiding it to his lower abdomen, right next to his belly button.

Membrane’s eyebrows raised over his goggles. “There? That’s where it hurts?”

He nodded, tensing up again. His stomach was bloated outwards, looking odd against what was normally a very lean build.

It would have been very easy for Membrane to burst out with his diagnosis in triumph before carting off his child to surgery. It certainly would have been a needed release for the rush of panic that had washed over him. Instead, he looked down at his now-adult son and composed himself the best he could. “Dib?”

One eye cracked open to glance up at him.

Membrane paused before speaking. “You are showing classic signs of appendicitis. It is vital you come with me.”

Dib’s eyes flew open, and he lifted his head off the pillow. He somehow managed to go even paler. “W-what?”

Membrane simply nodded. “Can you stand up?”

Filled with sudden adrenaline, Dib stumbled out of bed, still hunched over in pain. “Okay. Okay… I’ll go downstairs… I just—”

“—No,” Membrane interrupted. “Not the home lab. The hospital wing at Membrane Labs. If I am correct in my diagnosis, you’re going to need emergency surgery.”

Dib froze up, looking queasy. “And you’re sure?” he squeaked out.

“I won’t know for sure without running tests… an ultrasound… but…” he paused, knowing that each word he said was just making Dib more apprehensive about going with him. “… I am fairly confident.”

Dib shuddered and held his stomach, then stumbled forward. Membrane caught his arm and held him steady. Dib was just as tall as he was, something that was disarming to see up close. He leaned his weight against Membrane’s shoulder. For a moment, he stood there, head down and facing the carpet. Then, in a quiet voice, “Okay. I trust you. Let’s go.”

[pedritomosquito]

Assume the Worst (Ch 1)

Words: ~2.5k

Tags: implied SA, SA aftermath, blood, injury, lots of comfort, Connor being the MVP

Summary: Connor discovers Reese bleeding and confused in the hospital parking garage. The team unravels who did this to her and why as they try to save her.

A/N: it’s my first fic! Heed the content warning—the assault is not shown, but the story picks up minutes after. If the assault is ever recounted, I will add a proper warning to the chapter. Have a safe read 💞

~Reese~

Sarah lays on the ground. She is there in that parking garage, but in a very real sense—she’s gone.

She is simply a loose sketch of herself, scratched and smudged onto a notebook page.

The world around her swings wildly between blurred and devastatingly surreal. Her body has shut down and she is both locked out and trapped inside.

A dark looming figure darts toward her and she does her best to get away. She may have screamed but she isn’t sure.

Don’t touch me.

The figure pauses, shrinking before her. She is sure that it is the monster, returning for more. All she can do is beg to be left alone.

Please, please, please.

“—Reese,” an emphatic, familiar voice cuts through the veil.

The darkness of the figure melts down to black scrubs.

The voice filters through the air around her. “Parking… Chicago Med… Me, it’s Connor.”

She finally weaves the voice and image in front of her together.

Connor? Dr. Rhodes?

Oh god, he isn’t going to believe what happened to her. No one is going to believe her. She tries to hide herself, covering where her scrubs are torn. Maybe she hadn’t fought hard enough. Maybe it had been her fault.

“I didn’t want it. I couldn’t s-stop him, I couldn’t.”

“Okay, okay.” His voice finally sounds clear in her ears. His face appears confused. “Breathe, Reese.”

She is breathing, isn’t she?

He is looking at her questiongly, suspicious. His eyes fall to the tear in her scrubs and she watches his expression drop with realization.

He knows he knows he knows.

She is sure she can tell what he is thinking. She is just a slutty intern. Just let it happen, probably even wanted it.

He murmurs something, surely some sort of admonishment.

“I I-couldn’t stop him, I tried, I—“ how can she possibly explain herself?

“No, no, Reese. This wasn’t your fault.”

The world tilts on its axis. He believes her?

She is interrupted by a sharp pain shooting through her head. Her fingertips come away from her forehead dabbed with blood.

“Hey, would it be okay if I took a look at that?” Connor asks.

She tears her gaze away from the deep red. Can he “look at“ it? Can he look at…

The blood is coming from her head. Connor wants to see the laceration on her head. Right. That is okay, she decides.

She nods.

He moves closer and her fear flares, but then his touch is so gentle, so different from the monster’s.

His aura is a quiet rain.

“How about we go inside and get this sutured up?”

The idea is jarring. She can’t let anyone know this happened. Connor already knows and word travels in the ED. Soon it won’t be one person—it will be two, then four, then eight. Panic begins to reignite.

“I don’t w-want,” she tries, “people will…”

“I’ll call Maggie and make sure she has a bed ready, okay?”

Somewhere within her, she knows that won’t be enough, but she doesn’t want to spend a second more in this parking garage. She nods.

“One second.”

The soothing rain is suddenly gone as he leaves to make the phone call.

She feels scraped raw and bare, inside and out. She wills the fabric of her scrubs to stretch farther, to cover her completely. It doesn’t.

The pain in her head has become more insistent and throbbed in time with her side. Breathing is now an exercise in cruelty.

Connor reappears in front of her.

“Maggie’s got a room and Natalie is going to take a look at you, okay?”

Natalie. What is Natalie going to think of her now?

“Is it alright if we tie my jacket around you?”

She nods as her prayer for coverage was answered in the form of a warm fleece jacket in her lap.

A pain in her side abruptly screams at her and she tries to hold it in.

Connor becomes stock still.

“That hurt?”

She just nods, too afraid to open her mouth as she controls a strangled exhale.

Control. She just needs control.

“Do you think you can walk?” He asks.

“Yeah,” she replies without a second thought. Walking is control. Moving her own body is control.

His hand is extending toward her so she takes hold of it. Her hand feels so numb, she’s not totally sure she is holding on.

The soles of her feet hesitantly greet the pavement and her visions twinkles. The throbbing pain becomes more intense and a freezing wave of heat rolls down her body. Connor’s hands are a steady force as they wrap around her arms.

The steps she takes echo, rattling her body and exploding in her head. The kaleidoscope of the world in front of her is smeared with a thick charcoal ash, its plume expanding out to the corners.

She is losing control.

Connor disappears behind the black. Her mouth won’t form the words so she weakly grabs at the air in front of her, hoping to find him.

“Reese—“

His contact doubles just as her brains goes numb. Gravity pulls at her and her side pulls taut. Pain screeches in her chest.

Connor’s voice is distant and underwater, saying something she doesn’t understand. She feels her balance shift along with her ribs, forcing a small sound out of her.

She felt a solid presence against her, warm and greatly unlike the concrete.

She felt like she could rest.

~Connor~

He was locking his car when he heard it. He froze for a moment, listening intently. It was unmistakably a quiet whimpering voice with harsh, short breaths.

He quickly made his way down the row of cars, following the sound. He wasn’t expecting what he came upon.

Between two cars, he found Sarah Reese sitting on the concrete, blood covering half of her face.

“Reese!”

He rushed over to her only to be halted by her frightened shriek as she frantically backed away from him.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me!”

“Whoa—” Connor soothed as he stopped short, hands up in surrender, “okay, alright.” He slowly knelt down a few feet away. “Breathe, Sarah.” He scanned over her, cataloging her injuries.

Head trauma. Tachypnic. Agitated. Laceration with venous bleed. Her head injury must have been severe if her disorientation was this strong.

He assumed there must have been a hit and run.

“Please, please, please,” she quietly pleaded, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Reese, look at me, Reese,” he directed. Her wild eyes darted up to his. “You’re in the parking lot at Chicago Med. It’s just me, it’s Connor.”

Recognition dawned on her face. Connor.

“I didn’t want it,” She spoke quickly, begging Connor to believe her, “I couldn’t s-stop him, I couldn’t.”

“Okay, okay,” Connor said gently, trying to understand what she was talking about, “Breathe, Reese.” He searched her for some sort of explanation. His eyes fell to her left hand as it tugged at the fabric of her scrubs, trying to cover herself.

Her pants were torn open.

The realization was a punch to the chest.

“Oh god,” Connor whispered. A knot tied in his stomach.

“I I-couldn’t stop him, I tried, I,” she sputtered in response.

“No, no, Reese,” he rushed to assure her, shaking his head, “this wasn’t your fault.”

She suddenly blinked hard, her shaking hand coming up to her forehead.

“Hey, would it be okay if I took a look at that?”

She thought for a moment before nodding.

Connor cautiously approached her. She didn’t startle this time. He slowly and gently placed his fingertips on her temple, examining the laceration. It was fairly deep and surrounded by an angry bruise. He stole a glance at her eyes to see if her pupils were even.

“How about we go inside and get this sutured up?” He said carefully.

“I don’t w-want,” she stuttered, “people will…”

“I’ll call Maggie and make sure she has a bed ready, okay?”

She nodded apprehensively at that.

“One second,” Connor said as he stepped away to call. He wandered until he hoped he would be out of earshot.

“ED,” Maggie’s voice chimed.

“Maggie.” His tone immediately gave him away.

“Dr. Rhodes?” Maggie asked, concern bleeding into her words,

“It’s Reese. Someone attacked her in the parking lot.”

“What?” Maggie questioned in shock. “Get her in here, I’ll call Goodwin. Do you need rapid?”

“No, she’s stable right now.” He hesitated to continue, glancing back at Reese. He kept his voice barely audible. “Maggie, she was sexually assaulted.”

“Oh my god,” Maggie whispered, pausing for a moment. “Bring her straight to treatment four.”

“Page Natalie?” Connor added.

“You got it.”

He pocketed his phone and made his way back over to Sarah.

“Maggie’s got a room and Natalie is going to take a look at you, okay?” He told her. He noticed that she was still trying to cover herself. “Is it okay if we tie my jacket around you?”

Sarah nodded gratefully.

Connor unzipped his fleece and shrugged it off. He draped it over her lap and reached behind her to tie the sleeves, brushing her side.

She tried to suppress the sound of pain in her throat as her body stiffened.

Connor froze.

“That hurt?” He eyed her carefully.

“Mhm,” she answered, her eyes slammed shut as she tried to control an exhale.

He worried the fast pace of her breathing might not be from panic alone.

“Do you think you can walk?” He asked, now even more keen on getting her inside.

“Yeah,” she nodded confidently, shifting to get up.

She held onto his extended hand and he carefully guided her to feet, giving her a moment to steady.

Connor walked backwards as he guided her out from in between the cars. He kept a firm hold underneath her elbows, watching her closely. She made it two steps before blindly reaching for Connor.

“Reese—“ Connor immediately moved to grab hold of her.

She started to slide to the ground and Connor caught her weight against him.

“Alright,” He strained, “I got you.”

The way her ribs stretched cut a sob from Sarah’s throat.

“Reese I’m going to pick you up, alright?” He called to her as he watched her fight to keep her eyes open. He prayed that his touch wouldn’t upset her.

He moved quickly to lift her, taking the weight off of her buckled knees. The movement made her tense up and another pained sound escaped her.

“Easy, easy,” he did his best to comfort her and started to walk back inside.

“I got you.”

A/N: There you have it! Tell me your favorite moment/thing/line in the chapter and I'll tell you mine? Thank you for reading, it’s everything to me 💞

[maybeimamuppet]

requested by @lucyuniverseyt

6, macaronnie- slow kisses

tw for depressive episode

If you ask anyone, Heather McNamara is sunshine incarnate. She even dresses the part. Always has at least one bit of yellow, even if it’s as small as a scrunchie.

But Veronica knows that even the most sunshine-y people still have clouds. Storms that hide them away. Block out their light.

Heather’s in the throes of one today. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes the medicines her doctor prescribed aren’t enough. The exercise and the fresh air and drinking water aren’t enough. And Heather just… stops.

Veronica can always tell when it starts getting bad, because Heather’s still in bed next to her. The sheets are still rumpled, the duvet still wound around her after she stole it in the night, her blonde hair frizzy and mussed after sleeping a full night on it.

Today is one of those days. Heather groans as Veronica pushes her long hair every which way on a desperate hunt for her face. Eventually, she finds a single chocolate brown eye open and glaring at her.

“Morning, sunshine,” Veronica murmurs teasingly. “Episode?” Heather nods. “Want coffee?” Another nod. “Mmkay. I’ll be right back.”

On a typical morning, Heather wakes with the sun. She does yoga to help keep herself grounded and flexible enough to maintain her spot on the university cheer squad she’d worked so hard for. Then, she makes coffee. On weekends, they sit in bed together and watch the sun shift around the room through the window. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t. On weekdays, Veronica sips at her coffee as they both rush about to get ready for classes or work.

Today, coffee is Veronica’s undertaking. Luckily, she’s been a caffeine junkie for long enough to know how to work just about any coffee machine with minimal catastrophe. Minimal.

Heather lifts her face off the pillow when she smells the delicious wafting scent of fresh coffee enter the room and stretches languidly across the bed to take her mug. Veronica climbs back in next to her, leaning back against the headboard with her mug in one hand and today’s newspaper in the other. She’d never admit it, but she might have inherited her dad’s love of crossword puzzles.

Heather chugs at her mug like it’s some sort of elixir of life before she clunks it onto her nightstand. She didn’t quite balance it well enough, so she gives it a nudge with the tips of her fingers so it doesn’t fall and break. Veronica finishes hers and scratches through Heather’s wild hair with her free hand as her girlfriend rests her head in the cradle formed by her body, right on the swell of her stomach.

“You wanna talk about it?” she murmurs softly.

Heather opens her mouth to speak, creating a soft smack as her lips part. It’s almost like watching a turtle, like she’s moving in slow motion. It breaks Veronica’s heart to see her normally-energetic girlfriend in such a state.

“I feel… fake,” Heather says, slurring her words the slightest bit with her exhaustion. “Not real.”

“Disassociating?” Veronica asks quietly. Heather nods and holds her fingers up in an, a little, sign. “I’m sorry, Noodle. Can I do anything?”

Heather shrugs.

“I could… kiss you,” Veronica suggests. Not selfishly, she tells herself. Kissing is a very grounding experience.

Heather rolls her eyes affectionately, but she crawls a little bit higher on Veronica and carefully leans in for a kiss.

Veronica cups her face to hold her head steady, so Heather doesn’t have to work as hard for this. Heather sighs quietly, contented and exhausted. Veronica curls her fingers against Heather’s scalp as she feels it puff against her cheek.

She’s surprised when Heather just barely presses her tongue into it. Flicks it gently against Veronica’s, teases, then pulls away. Veronica follows her lead. Push and pull. It’s soft, wet, electric in only the way the two of them together can be.

They pull back for the briefest of seconds to breathe before they lean in again, and again, and again. It’s slow, languid, but delicious. It’s them, and it’s perfect.

“You’ll be okay,” Veronica whispers, pressing her lips to the corner of Heather’s. “I’m here.”