#my nerves are permanently damaged and the damage is probably spreading

[chelseaisdisabled]

Yep. I literally couldn’t walk at all and the doctor that did the nerve conduction study on me and found damaged nerves just shrugged her shoulders and said well you’re not paralyzed hehe and sent me home with absolutely no fucking help. When I visited a different neurologist she spent 15 minutes with me and told me, “just walk” like omg I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Idk why I’ve been sitting in this wheelchair the whole time!! Genius

“If I had a broken spine people would take me seriously!!!” no they wouldn’t. they would glare at you in public and stare at you and ask you invasive questions and harass you. they would call you a faker. they would scream at you.

shut the actual fuck up you lying ableist fucking assholes !!!! YOU DONT KNOW WHAT THIS IS LIKE LMAO

[jaesxnuwu]

Chapter IV: Conversations & Food

I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be kept waiting while backup came to shuttle the perps and victim away. Sometimes we ended up getting spread thin, so situations like this couldn’t be helped. I checked my phone periodically just to see how much further away backup was. I also made sure to keep a close eye on the three I was watching over.

Initially the criminals would not stop apologizing, probably because they hoped I would let them go if they looked pathetic enough. It didn’t take long for them to realize that I wouldn’t budge, so they turned to just sulking quietly instead. The victim was a bit roughed up from earlier, but it was nothing life-threatening so I left him to do his own thing for the time being. I couldn’t let him go yet either though, since he still needed to be taken in for treatment and questioning. After he had his nerves under control, he began pacing around and making some calls, probably to some people who were looking for him.

I wonder if I can just freeze them to the wall and get some food. I still need to figure out what to do about dinner, and my options are getting limited as the night goes on. I could probably manage to pin them down without giving them frostbite or permanent damage, but the main problem would be if some of their friends show up after I leave and break them out before backup arrives. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had some friends hoping for exactly that. I guess it’s not worth it. At this rate, I will probably have to stop by the convenience store on my way home.

It's not that I mind that either, but I was hoping for some fresh food today.

“Do you need my assistance, captain?” a familiar deep voice called out to me. It was my lieutenant. I almost flinched when I heard him. For some reason he was pretty good at sneaking up on me. It was probably his training as a sniper, or at least that’s what I always thought.

“Oh, Crow. I didn’t see you there or on the map actually,” I looked up, trying to hide my surprise, “Were you dealing with a case just now?”

“Yes, captain. I had my location concealed for security purposes.”

“Gotcha,” I nodded.

I guess to be fair, I also turn mine off, even when I just don’t want to be bothered. But I’m not going to tell him that part. Even though he probably wouldn’t say anything, I know serious types like him would probably judge me for it.

I slipped my phone back in my pocket for the time being to give Crow my full attention. He looked back down at me with his bright amber eyes. I felt like I was relatively average in height, but he always made me feel so much smaller when he looked down at me.

I’m standing at around his chest level, so I have to tilt my head up slightly to look at him. Realistically, as his captain, I could just tell him to kneel when he speaks to me from now on, but I’m not really that type of person. From our interactions, I don’t think he would care either, with him being so loyal to the hierarchy.

I just think I would feel awkward with that sort of special treatment.

He did have a naturally intimidating stare, especially since you couldn’t make out his expression behind his mask, but again because of our difference in rank, I knew he didn’t mean anything by it to me. I always wondered what he was thinking about whenever we would talk though. I almost got lost in thought again before I remembered what he asked me.

“And regarding the situation here, captain?” Crow signaled toward the group on the floor.

“Oh, right. No, I’m fine. As you can see,” I pointed over my shoulder, “I dealt with the situation. I just sent out a request for backup, so they could transfer the criminals and victim over and also deal with the cleanup.”

“I understand. Then I’ll be on my way as well then, captain,” Crow nodded and began to turn away.

It was always like this whenever I talked to him. He was short and to the point with everything. If I didn’t need him, he would just go back to work. I still wasn’t sure which division he used to belong to either, since I barely managed to get a word in, and I didn’t really think to make friends in general within the Guard.

Now that I think about it, based off how quickly he managed to respond, he was probably dealing with something nearby. I mean maybe if he would have finished whatever he was dealing with sooner, then I wouldn’t have had to cancel my dinner plans!

I knew it was dumb and illogical, and it wasn’t really his fault. It was just an unlucky string of events for me tonight, but I was hungry, and maybe that made me a bit grumpy. I just wanted to eat, and maybe chat with someone for a bit to unwind. I didn’t really have anyone else I could hit up on such short notice either.

Screw it. I may as well get to know my own lieutenant anyway.

“Wait, hang on Crow,” I walked up, intending to rest my hand on his shoulder, but realized how awkward of a position it would be to reach that high, so I settled on tugging on the back of his shirt instead, “If you don’t have anything urgent that needs to get done, I did want to ask you for a favor.”

“Of course. What can I do for you, captain?” Crow stopped and turned his head back just enough to meet my gaze.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“No, captain.”

“When were you planning to eat then?”

“Unplanned at the moment, captain.”

I remember why I stopped trying to talk to this guy already. But I did decide to take him out tonight, so I’m prepared to have to deal with this level of stiffness at least.

“Well, I kind of had my dinner plans ruined tonight because of those idiots. I was going to stop by the convenience store and get something from there. Do you wanna grab something with me, too?” I asked casually, trying to get him to loosen up a bit from the start.

“Are you asking for my company, captain?” Crow’s eyes widened for just a split second before returning to normal. It seemed like my question caught him by surprise for just a moment, but he immediately continued without missing a beat, “I can eat with you, if that is what you’re requesting.”

I guess for now, I’ll take that answer as good enough.

“Mhm, that’s exactly what I’m asking” I gave him a friendly smile and nodded, “And you can ease up on calling me ‘captain’ after everything you say, by the way.”

“Okay, I can do that for you.”

--

Even though we had our plans set now, I still had to wait around in silence with Crow for a while. I tried to make a bit more conversation, but quickly realized it was best to give up. He mentioned something about his concerns over leaking sensitive information with civilians and criminals being able to hear our conversation. I was planning to make small talk anyway, but we could do that later. When our backup finally arrived, I ended up explaining the situation to them while Crow hovered over me quietly.

It’s not that I feel uncomfortable with how he carries himself, but I feel bad sometimes because I’m worried he might be bored being on standby mode all the time. That’s why I told him to ease up on all the protocol crap while we’re off duty.

We walked side by side down the chatty streets in silence. There was a convenience store on the corner just nearby, so I decided to take us there. Most of these stores also had a few designated tables for people to eat because of how many people ended up coming here just for the quick meal or pick-me-up. Bright lights and neon signs surrounded us at every direction, but it was clear more than a few shops were starting to close down for the night as well.

Every so often I would take a quick peek up at him to see if there were any hints of how he was feeling, but he always had that same intense look. He would catch me every time too and look down to meet my eyes. I smiled each time, and he, in return, gave a small nod in affirmation before we both turned our heads forward again.

This is awkward. I really hope this actually works.

We finally arrived and entered the convenience store. A familiar musical jingle greeted us as the sliding doors parted and the refreshing cold air blew in our faces. I glanced over when I remembered how minimal Crow��s uniform was.

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked as I took a glance at him.

“No. I’m used to much more extreme conditions anyway. You don’t have to worry about me, captain,” Crow assured as he adjusted his shirt slightly.

“Oh, alright,” I nodded, half expecting a response like that anyway.

There was a guy in uniform, probably around my age, who was stocking one of the shelves with some snacks by the checkout area in the front. He looked up briefly at us to give us a defeated greeting before returning to his task. That worked out for the best anyway, I usually preferred using the self-checkout systems in these stores.

I walked Crow over toward the opposite side where all the machines and cooking stations were. A bunch of little snacks, like wings, sushi trays, and sandwiches lined the shelves nearby.

“What do you feel like eating?” I looked at Crow, still perched right next to me.

“I’ll just get onigiri” Crow reached up to grab two rice balls.

“That’s all? I was going to make some instant ramen and add some stuff to it. I can get you one too if you want.”

“No, this is enough.”

I sat down across from Crow after I finished adding a boiled egg and some slices of chicken to my ramen. The package said it was the spicy flavor, but it was relatively mild in my opinion. Crow looked at me silently with his two onigiri sitting neatly between his arms.

“Oh, sorry about that. Were you waiting for me?” I felt bad for making him sit still like that.

“It’s not a problem. I wasn’t going to start before you since you did say that you wanted to eat together, captain.”

“Well, thanks for waiting for me then,” I smiled as I took my chopsticks in my hand and went in for my first bite.

It was pretty good, much better than I had expected. I let out a small moan in satisfaction. It certainly wasn’t as good as what I would have been able to eat earlier, but it was still pretty damn tasty. I got caught up taking several mouthfuls of ramen before I remembered to look up and see how Crow was doing.

He peeled back an opening of his mask by his mouth and silently took a bite of his rice ball. He definitely seemed to be a bigger fan of them than I could ever be since I noticed immediately a small smile had formed after his first taste.

I couldn’t help but smile a little myself. It was nice to see him show a bit of emotion after all our short exchanges today.

“Is that one of your favorite things to get when you’re on the go?” I took this window of time to try asking something simple.

Crow looked up, still smiling slightly and nodded.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not a guy who is big on carbs, but anything with rice is alright in my book,” Crow continued before stuffing another bit of rice in his mouth.

It’s not the first fact I thought I’d learn about him, but I’ll take it.

Art: @/holysarvel

[teyuteyuucuki]

(i forgot the title)

Alternate Universe- Kira Win (Light is paralyzed)

Rated : SFW

Work Text:

Raito lay on the cold floor, breathing hard of out nerves. He had almost died, yet he still won. He almost couldn't believe it. But there Near and others were, spread out on the floor, dead.

" Good, " he thought as his breathing started to stabilize as he calmed himself down, and his eyes closed. "I won."

And then he blacked out. Too weak to remain awake due to Matsuda's many shootings.

The next time he was awake he wasn't sure of anything. He could hear voices and sounds, but nothing much else. He felt better than he had last time in the warehouse, but still too out of it and too weak to open his eyes or even care about the world around him. So he just stayed there and fell asleep again.

When he finally was strong enough to open his eyes, it didn't take long for him to realize he was in a hospital. He had been shot. There were wires attached all around his body, monitoring his heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, fluids, a tube letting him eat, another one for him to do his necessities, an oxygen cannula in his nose, to help him breath, and pain; despite the numb feeling on his head – probably due to the strong painkillers – he could still feel a large amount of pain.

"Oh, I see you're finally awake, Yagami-san"

He suddenly heard a male voice calling him. Raito turned and saw it belonged to a doctor.

"H-hi" He hated how weak he sounded, but it just reflected how he felt, so it wasn't surprising. Obviously he hated how he felt too. After presenting himself to Kira, Raito wanted to know exactly how he was. "So, how's my state, doctor?" He asked with a rusty voice. The male doctor then looked down and sighed. "What? What happened?" The serial killer asked, getting worried.

Then the doctor explained everything- How one of the shots had hit him in several sensitive points. His right arm suffered two bullets: one in the shoulder, other in the hand, and because of it there was nerve damage and now he would only have twenty percent function in that, at most, and, only if he did physical therapy.

But that was the good news, nothing compared to was about to come.

One of the bullets had hit his lung, and because it was lodged there for far too long, his body started to fight against it, trying to pull the invader out. The blood started clotting and the tissue started to decompose, to die and rot around the bullet. Fortunately they stopped it and took the bullet out before it could do much damage, or he would have lost the lung and/or needed a transplant. But he would still have to live for the rest of his life with an oxygen cannula – if it didn't become worse – and regular lung treatments.

And the last and worst: One of the bullets hit his spinal cord, leaving a permanent injury and him completely paralyzed from waist down.

" Complete paralyzed from waist down."

He repeated in his mind. "Permanent"

He knew he was panicking. He couldn't breath and his eyes didn't focus anymore.

He could hear noises, alarms, voices.

Somebody was yelling, at him? Another doctor?

Then he started sleeping again.

He didn't even realize when the doctors injected another set of sedatives.

When he woke up again he was a lot calmer. His doctors probably set stronger painkillers for him so he wouldn't panic again but it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore. "Perhaps I should just die, here and now..." he thought feeling useless. But then he realized how stupid would that be. He had just survived his biggest challenge. Near was dead and so were the rest of his enemies. Now he could finally continue building his ideal world without anybody disrupting it.

He started laughing maniacally, but soon stopped, coughing. He wasn't that strong enough yet for that.

Still smirking, in his mind he started building his plan for his new world.

Mikami was the answer. He was too weak and couldn't move or do anything else, and pleading for anybody to help kill the bastard Near. When he thought of asking for Ryuuku's help everyone just collapsed on the floor, hands in chest, twisting out of pain. A heart attack.

Everybody was dead, except for Mikami. Of course he hasn't been able to see him at time but it was quite obvious, after all he was alive now, and the others were dead.

Mikami was the only answer.

He had killed everybody else and helped him, sending him to the hospital.

He had saved him.

Mikami was the answer to his plans. His utopia was still not lost. He was still God!

He started laughing again.

And again he stopped being aware of things around him.

"Calm down son!" He heard far way, but couldn't place it was directed to him. His father was dead anyway.

And he went to sleep again.

A couple of days had passed, while Raito had already started eating real food, without the tube. He was waiting for Mikami, since he knew he couldn't call him, because he wasn't sure it his reasoning was correct. If he was, Mikami should come and see him. If he wasn't… he would have to call his mother to pick him up and take care of him until he found another person to help him judge evil people again. But he didn't want this choice- his mother was already too involved and too busy taking care of Sayu.

Raito woke up with the sound of the door opening. The young male looked up to see who it was.

Kira smiled. He was right.

Mikami was at the door.

"God…" He said, coming near him, he had a guilt and sad expression building on his face "I'm sorry I-I…"

"Just explain. What happened at the warehouse? Why did you act that way?" Raito asked, keeping his face dull.

The black haired man nodded. "I'll explain…" He sat at the chair near the bed and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry I said those horrible things to you, my God… but… I had to, otherwise they would act against me and I wouldn't be able to kill them without them noticing a thing… I'm sorry but I had to!" Raito looked at him, amazed. Mikami was a lot smarter than he thought. "And then I looked at you, God, injured and weak... I knew you needed help but I couldn't call the ambulance because they would suspect something! I took you and drove you to the hospital myself!" The Prosecutor finished explaining, his voice showing sorrow and regret.

A silence was settled in the room for some moments. Mikami gulped, nervous. Raito was only thinking, about his plans, about Mikami, about what the man said. And everything finished in the same way.

"It's okay…" Raito finally spoke; Mikami opened his eyes wide "Let's just go home."

Mikami smiled and nodded "Yes God."

When Raito was finally discharged, Mikami was happy to take him home. He felt like it was his duty to take care of God, and he promised himself he would do it perfectly right.

Their mission as Kira was still continuing. Raito now could judge people himself with the notebook, mainly when Mikami was at work – there's not much to do around there – so the ideal world continued. Sometimes Mikami judged too, when Raito was too tired to do it himself.

And he got tired easily because of his lungs. Even having to got used to writing with the left hand, he still could do it, and he still could do it when it hurt from so much writing. He just couldn't when he went beyond his capacity and he couldn't breathe anymore.

So he went to sleep, the way he was that moment.

Mikami loved to watch him sleep. Watching God sleep made him beyond happy.

And as Raito slept, Mikami stayed there, protecting his God's dreams.

Raito needed help with everything now. It made him feel pathetic and weak in way…

"Mikami, can you get the remote control please?" He called out.

"Yes, God" Mikami went and picked the control for him "Anything else?"

"No, thank you" Raito said, control in his hand.

"Alright. Anything my God wants, I'm right here to take his orders," he said, before he left to make dinner.

Raito needed help with everything now. It made him feel pathetic and weak in way. But in the other, he spent so much time doing everything, every little part of him, of his life, for humanity, for the world be a better place for mankind; now it was good that someone give it back to him. It made him feel like he had achieved something, in his many years. It made him feel stronger than ever.

Mikami and Raito left for a walk. The latter pushing the former's wheelchair and oxygen cylinder. They did much together, nothing extraordinary. Mikami was never an extravagant man. He was like Raito, the younger thought; outside he was a man, the person everyone wanted him to be: the ideal person. But inside he was a completely different man. Everyday they spent together Raito was more and more sure of that.

Today's was a short walk at the local park. The fresh air was better for Raito's weakened lungs.

They stopped at a bench, listening to bird sing and the wind flowing through the leaves. It was a great place. Both agreed that, if the whole world had been remained just like that park, it would probably be a better one today.

But they also agreed they didn't leave to talk about their duty to the World, that they discussed at home. They leaved to relax, do something different than they average boring routine.

So Raito asked if Mikami saw what happened to that actor, whose news appeared on television last night.

Mikami said no. So Raito explained. And they talk continued from that.

It was just a relaxing Sunday morning.

Raito had told his family about the accident. He had also told he was living with a helper. So his family relaxed. Of course his family was reduced to his mother and sister, who wasn't well that moment.

The hard part was Misa. The girl still loved him. And Raito could do nothing about it. Though he knew she wouldn't live much longer, her lifespan reduced due to those shinigami eye trades she had done. So he postponed – even more – their engagement with her. And every time Misa could she went to help Mikami to take of Raito. Luckily her career was doing well, better than ever, so she was very busy lately.

Mikami helped Raito walk.

Mikami helped Raito eat.

Mikami helped Raito drink.

Mikami helped Raito go to the bathroom.

Mikami helped Raito breathe.

At night when Raito was cold, Mikami went to Raito's bed, and warmed him with his body. He didn't mind the oxygen noise; he was already used to it.

Raito didn't mind Mikami either. He loved how gentle he was with him. So he put his head over Mikami's shoulder, and his bad hand – Mikami always stayed on his left side – over the other's chest. The elder of the two just wrapped his two hands over Kira's back, and cuddling like this, he kept his God warm overnight.

Of course Mikami always looked after Raito every night, worried about his lungs or if anything happened. He had always been paranoid and obsessive.

When Raito discovered this in one night, he just smiled took the blanket with his good hand, lift it in the left side of the bed, and said "Come here".

Mikami smiled and went.

And since then they had slept together every night, cold or not.

They felt complete.

It was their ideal world, after all…

THE END

[robotkiyoomi]

IwaOi| I put my armour on, show you how strong I am

IwaOi Timeskip | aka a the start of a fic where I project my lupus diagnosis story/experiences onto Oikawa (I just quit wanting to read it for grammar but maybe I’ll go back to do it one day)

“Thank you everyone. Have a good evening.” The professor said as class ended. Oikawa got up from his chair, stretched, and stifled a yawn. He had tried to pay attention and was excited after his first day but as much as he tried to avoid it, that hollow coldness was still settled in his chest. Oikawa followed the swarm of students that flowed out of the lecture hall and paused in the hallway outside to check the time on his phone.

4:50PM

Below was a notification for a news article that he quickly cleared after a brief glance at the title. He didn’t need that right now and wasn’t ready to really think about it either. 7 weeks. It had been 7 weeks since the rug had been pulled out from under Oikawa and it didn’t feel any easier. He knew it had happened, despite hating it, but wasn’t sure what to do with himself moving forward. People would probably say it was stupid, but it felt like a piece of himself had been ripped out and then was shoved into a body he didn’t recognize.

I guess it isn’t that far off.

After one season of accomplishing his dream to play as a starter on Club Athletico San Juan, Oikawa had been put on leave for at least 2 years because of his knee. He had injured his left knee back in high school when he didn’t know his limits and had pushed too far. Since then, however, Oikawa had taken care of his knee and made sure he was always safe when playing.

It didn’t matter though, he thought bitterly. After the first season had just ended, his knee started to hurt more than usual which he didn’t think much of until the pain had started spreading to his whole leg. Oikawa had seen a few doctors, who were unsure of the cause, but believed it was not due to the old injury. The pain was worse than the original injury had been and fluctuated in severity. A referral to a specialist, Oikawa had been informed that he could not maintain a lifestyle as a professional athlete while the nature of his pain was unknown. Things didn’t look great following this but got worse when the blood results came back suggesting that the cause may be rheumatological or nerve damage requiring a knee replacement.

A day after, Oikawa was pulled aside by the head coach and team manager and told for his health they would be sending him on leave until he had the all clear from a medical professional to come back. The words were very kind and Oikawa saw the apologetic look in their eyes, but it didn’t make it any better. He had worked since he was a child to go pro, moved across the world for it, and after one season Oikawa had lost it all from something out of his control. He had been signed despite never making it to nationals. It was the happiest day of Oikawa’s life when he got the call and the day he was told to leave was one of the worst days. A loose end let go because he was nothing but a liability that couldn’t keep up again.

With no reason to be in Argentina anymore and his health getting worse, Oikawa moved back to Japan and stayed with his parents. There he was referred to a rheumatologist in Tokyo. He prayed for the solution to be a knee replacement because that was a concrete fix, it was a year and a half waiting list and then rehabilitation period, but it had a solution. The other option…. There were things to help manage it, but the condition was permanent.

2 weeks after arriving back in Japan, the pain started to mirror itself on the right leg which pointed in the latter direction. At 20 years old Oikawa Toru had uncontrollably sobbed and watched New Girl. Tried to drown out the reality that was coming for him whether he wanted it or not. Nothing would change the stabbing pain radiating from his joints, but it was nice to pretend for a minute. Small moments of numbness that isn't a long term fix but let you breath enough to avoid being pulled completely under.

That’s the curious thing about life, no matter how much you run and try to convince yourself that everything is okay, life demands to be heard. We are nothing but pawns at the mercy of a world that is not kind.

Days morphed into weeks. Oikawa couldn’t get out of bed some days, some days he couldn’t pick up a glass of water. Oikawa was back in his childhood house being taken care of by his parents. He was an adult now but as helpless as a young child. His life's progress was reversing like a moving being rewinded and he could only watch. He had never realized how busy life constantly was until the days were spent in bed alone with his thoughts. The silence wasn’t peaceful or relaxing, it felt suffocating, like a taunting reminder of everything.

So here he stood, a new student enrolled in Tokyo University. When Oikawa first returned to Japan he spent a little over a month stuck in his room. He had been mad and sad, and then had been mad that he was sad. Oikawa wouldn’t be returning to the team for at least 2 years so his parents had encouraged him to go to school during the time and work on other skills in the meantime. He had agreed because what else was he going to do? Sit with his own thoughts for 2 years? Yeah, no thanks.

When news had travelled of his plans to go to school, Oikawa’s coach had reached out, offering to get him an in with the collegiate volleyball staff. He had been hesitant at first however the school's team ironically consisted of many players Oikawa had known in high school. Putting on a brave face he accepted when he received a call offering him an assistant coach position for the college team that Maki, Mattsun, Daichi, Kuroo, and Iwaizumi play on. He wouldn’t be playing but it’s something close to the court. Oikawa wasn’t sure if that would make it more painful or less.

There was little progress with figuring out what was happening in his body, but he was prescribed meloxicam to help with the pain and had been able to slowly move around. ‘Move’ made it sound more impressive than what the reality was, when his muscles are exhausted walking turns into an awkward hobble limp. But it was progress. Progress, he repeated to himself. Oikawa wanted to be okay with things, wanted to not complain, and wanted to be able to do something with his life, even if he felt stuck. Caught up in a current that was too strong to swim against. A fish tirelessly swimming and never moving forward yet giving everything to prevent being swept away. He went back and forth between feeling like the situation sucked to, invalidating himself for complaining about shit people would kill for.

Fuck. He had never been in his head this much, and it was an unpleasant realization to see that he hated thinking about life. He had done research as soon as he was told what this could potentially be and saw that medical invalidation was a big struggle in the invisible disability community yet currently, he was arguing either side with gusto depending on the day.

Suck it internet, I don’t need a doctor to gaslight me, I’m already questioning myself on my own thank you very much. Oikawa thought to himself and cringed at the vindication he had felt arguing himself. A true toxic relationship run by a one man show.

Iwaizumi Hajime. Over the past year Oikawa slowly hadn’t kept in touch as much. He had been living his dream so much that he had gotten caught up in things. They had talked every couple of weeks but Oikawa knew that was nothing compared to high school when they would spend every single day together.

He had almost called when he got the news. Oikawa’s finger hovered over Iwaizumi’s number so many times but he had no clue what he was supposed to say. Oikawa knew he had a lot to make up for, a lot of missed calls, texts, and time. He couldn’t call only when he needed something after all that, it wouldn’t be fair and as much as he was shittykawa, he wasn’t that shitty. So, he didn’t. Oikawa considered if the other boy ever wondered why he didn’t call. Iwaizumi had probably heard; their moms still talked and the hometown gossip was pretty small.

The last time Oikawa Toru had contacted Iwaizumi Hajime was a few weeks ago, when he had asked about where the spiker was living and mentioned that he would be enrolling. Iwaizumi had suggested moving in with him since he had a spare room, and Oikawa’s entire situation was never brought up. That didn’t surprise Oikawa though, Iwaizumi wasn’t great with feelings, but he always showed up even if he didn’t know what to say. Oikawa hoped he was right, that he wasn’t reading it wrong because a year and a half changes a lot. He’d changed a lot.

Oikawa stood in front of the door to his own damn apartment, key held in mid air. He could do this. This was fucking stupid. He could do this. Inhale. Exhale. Before he could wimp out, Oikawa stuck his key into the lock and turned it to open the door. The apartment was nice, spacious, and full of light. Of course, it was clean. Others might not have assumed that the grumpy Iwa would be clean, but Oikawa knew better, he had always been the cleaner one. Oikawa cared for appearances that others would see, in his own house? Chaos. He had seen photos online but had never gotten the chance to see the place in person. Iwaizumi had said that it was a big apartment and that his old roommate had moved in with his girlfriend, hence the empty room.

Oikawa heard footsteps coming from the hallway to the left and his heart started racing. He was a grown ass man. This was so stupid to be scared of. He should’ve kept in touch; he didn’t want things to be weird after how close they’d been. Life was fucked and Oikawa missed his best friend. He’d been a bad friend this past year and it would be understandable if things were different, but he so desperately wanted them to be exactly the same.

The steps stopped and Oikawa turned his head to see Iwaizumi standing there. He looked like he had before and at the same time distinctly more mature. He had built more muscles, which Oikawa didn’t think was possible and was completely unfair given his circumstances. His features were more defined with sharper angles than Oikawa remembered. If he had grown an inch or two Oikawa didn’t want to know. He looked confident, sure of himself. Iwa. He didn’t look like a high schooler just figuring themselves out, he looked like an adult working towards their dream. He was one. And here Oikawa was, an adult who had just failed their dream, somehow more lost than he’d ever been in life.

Oikawa’s face crumpled and he let out a sad pathetic sort of whimper that would’ve embarrassed him if it was anyone else. His feet stumbled forward, and another pair moved to meet the other half way.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa wasn’t sure if the name was appropriate anymore, but it had been a lonely year and fuck he just wanted to rest.

“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi said, the deep steady voice a sound he hadn’t heard in months. Oikawa choked out a wet laugh at the old nickname. Oikawa threw his arms around Iwa’s neck and reluctant arms wrapped around him in return.

At 6 years old Iwaizumi Hajime had begrudgingly brushed off his knees when a kid had pushed Oikawa off the slide in elementary school with a scowl on his face and here he still was 17 years later. Iwaizumi never showed affection often but Oikawa had always known that they were friends. Despite the sarcastic jokes, Iwaizumi was there for him, he always showed up. That was never in doubt. When push came to shove, Oikawa trusted Iwaizumi completely.

The phrase ‘leap of faith’ traces back to a Danish philosopher who used it to illustrate a crossroads where we have two options, hold on to reason or take a leap into faith and accept the existence of paradoxes in life. (The sentiment was mostly to make people believe in God and follow him while avoiding having to logically justify his arguments which makes the phrase less nice.) He would take a literal and figurative leap of faith no questions asked.

 Oikawa didn’t realize until he stood outside the apartment that Iwaizumi was who he needed to see this past year. Who he should’ve been telling everything to. It would’ve destroyed him if things weren’t the same. He had lost sight of it after high school, had lost sight of a lot and even now Iwaizumi was still here for Oikawa. Always picking up the pieces.

“I’m sorry Toru,” he said softly, Oikawa could hear that he meant it. Their friendship often consisted of jokes and competitions but if Iwaizumi had heard, he knew how much it had meant to Oikawa to lose. But Oikawa had grown too and didn’t want to be the person that complained about his shit after what he’d done.

“I’m sorry too,” Oikawa paused. This was new for them. They had always been best friends, joined at the hip, close no matter what. He had never been separated from Iwaizumi, they never had to experience actively staying in touch or growing apart. It had always just been them before. Nothing else had ever mattered, it was the most natural thing in the world. It was new, slightly awkward, and he hated that it felt more forced but letting it slip away wasn’t an option.

“I was a bad friend and got caught up in my own shit. I should’ve been in touch and should’ve done a lot of things, so I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi’s fist smacked down forcefully against Oikawa’s shoulder.

“Ow!” Oikawa jumped back, rubbing his arm. He looked up aghast.

“It’s fine alright? Yeah, you made some mistakes so did I, let's just move past it. We’re used to each other fucking up by now.” Iwaizumi said, looking away slightly as his hand rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Oikawa knew he meant it, the emotionally constipated little porcupine that he was. Emotion clogged in Oikawa’s throat but he managed a tight smile and nodded.

“So I assume you’re going to recount every little detail of the past year whether I like it or not?” Iwaizumi asked as he slumped onto one of the couches. Oikawa plopped down on the opposite end and shifted to face Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan, do you really have to ask?” Oikawa said and grinned like himself for the first time in months. Iwaizumi groaned and threw a pillow at the brunette’s face in response.

 –

 It was surprisingly easy to slip back into their old dynamic. Oikawa was excited to be able to tell someone everything, and Iwaizumi was a patient listener, contributing some eyerolls or sarcastic comments but Oikawa could tell he was interested and paying attention. Ever the master of feint disinterest. When he got to the tail end of his story Oikawa started to fidget and wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk about it, wasn’t sure if he could without breaking down entirely so Iwaizumi casually switched over to recount his year. The man of very few words talked about his program, classes, job, friends, everything to distract and ground his friend.

 Oikawa isn’t sure when he first noticed Iwaizumi doing this but it started when they were kids. When he would be upset or distressed, Iwaizumi would plop down next to him and start talking and talking. Oikawa had been stunned into silence initially as his reserved friend would ramble so much that it almost rivaled his own blabbering. When the shock wore off Oikawa’s eyes would light up in pure joy every time it happened. Eventually his awed reaction became less subdued as he grew up but there is still a small twinkle in adult Oikawa’s eyes as he looks at Iwaizumi and a tug on his heart when it happens.

[beccascribbles]

hcs series detailing what it is like to be a manager for the various haikyuu teams

karasuno | seijoh |

warnings - swearing

word count - 2.1k

you weren't immune to oikawa's charms, but being friends with him since middle school meant you were the least likely in the school to fall for him (you were also the least likely person he would mess with in that way, especially as iwaizumi would happily punch him for the trouble)

this meant you were a perfect candidate for manager of the team

when you all been first years, the team had come up to you and begged

ultimately, it had been iwaizumi who had finally convinced you (the sight of him almost begging you would be forever ingrained in your mind. boy did not want to be the only one responsible for oikawa)

by the time you reached your third year, you were immensely glad that you had agreed to manage the team

at times, it had been tough. dealing with oikawa's jealous fangirls often felt like a full time job. the amount of times you had sprinted into the club room to the shock of the team was ridiculous

one day, you had dived through the door, yelling for then to shut and lock the door as you crashed to the floor

iwaizumi had been by your side in an instant, worried gaze assessing you for injuries. when you let out a wince, rubbing at you arm, he was automatically assessing it for damage

"it's not broken," he assured you, giving your head an affection pat before his gaze turned to oikawa, eyes narrowing. "call your fucking fangirls off, shittykawa"

"i've tried," he whined, giving you an apologetic look. "clearly their love for me is too strong"

"maybe if they actually spoke to you, they'd realise what a crap personality you have," sighed matsukawa, slapping oikawa on the back affectionately and then holding the hand up to receive a high five from hanamaki

slowly, hesitantly, you moved over to the door, pressing your ear to the surface. through the wood, you could the girls, their high-pitched voices grating at your nerves

“i really fucking hate them,” you grumbled, moving away to sit on the floor beside hanamaki, who wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you leaned against his shoulder. “why did i let you convince me to join this club?”

this was directed to iwaizumi, who had the good idea to look sheepish. oikawa, on the other hand, collapsed down on the floor in front of you and spread out his arms. “because you love us, y/n-chan”

“not you,” you scoffed, poking him in the chest. he pouted

“that’s no way to talk to your childhood friend”

“it is when they have a swarm of jealous fangirls after you”

oikawa looked like he was about to reply, but a clip to the ear by iwaizumi was enough to distract him. he turned to his friend with a cry of outrage, beginning to bicker with the ace

while you would usually tell them to shut up, pull them apart, you couldn’t really be bothered. breaking up fights was for when you were on duty. training hadn’t started yet so you figured you could let them bicker

the second years clashed less than the third years but sometimes you were needed to break up the fights, particularly when kyoutani made a return to the team

while he was away, you had been one of the only ones who checked up on him, always telling him that if he needed to talk, if he was struggling with anything, you would be there

therefore, he had a lot of respect for you, placing you on a similar level to iwaizumi (the only member of the team who could get away with telling him what to do or scolding him angrily)

this meant that, when you appeared in front of him, placing a placating hand on his chest, his hackles would lower and he would back away, though the glare would remain on his face

truth be told, kyoutani was a little bit scared of you suddenly exploding on him, especially after the way you had snapped at him when he had first pulled off a risky play in practice

you had seen red when he had pushed kindaichi out of the way to spike the ball, marching over and grabbing him by the top to drag him away. it was the first time they had ever seen him apologise

while kyoutani respected you, the relationship you had with him was very different with the one you had with the other second years. kyoutani would never invite you to lunch. watari and yahaba on the other hand...

your week is not complete without a lunch with them. you aren’t even sure when you managed to form such a strong friendship with them, but it was likely when you agreed to help them in maths (it’s not yahaba’s strong point and he begged watari to join him)

you are the one responsible for stopping yahaba showing off, particularly when the gym floods with fangirls, most of them there to watch oikawa

he will flip his hair and affect an air very similar to oikawa which will frustrate you to no end. you will drag him off court by the ear, telling him to stop, threatening him with extra conditioning

matsukawa and hanamaki will definitely start snickering at the way his face reddens, focused more on this than the fact that they are meant to be improving their serves

you can always trust watari to help you out, no matter how much you insist that you don’t need it. he is the first to volunteer to help you set up the court, to help you carry the equipment for away games

now, the first years. if iwaizumi is the team dad, you are the mum

you dote on kindaichi and kunimi, trying to keep them away from matsukawa’s and hanamaki’s influence. you don’t want them to be corrupted by the pair. iwaizumi will help you but even he sees little point in stopping the inevitable

kindaichi was very awkward around you at the start. his brain couldn’t comprehend that a pretty girl was talking to him, let alone asking if he was okay, if he needed a drink

eventually, kindaichi relaxes. you are the one he turns to when he has a problem, explaining it all to you. if it involves another team member, you will encourage him to tell them, not wanting there to be fractures in the team. after all, aoba johsai thrives because of their great teamwork

kunimi is, as usual, very relaxed around you

most of the time, he barely acknowledges your fussing, simply waving you away and heading back onto the court to resume practice

however, if he wants to slack off (which he does often), it will be you he makes eye contact with. you know you shouldn’t condone this behaviour but, occasionally, you allow it. he promises he will pull through for the game and you believe him, though you do explain that if he slacks off too much it could mean risking his sport in the starting rotation

your quiet understanding is often what motivates him to keep going. he doesn’t want to disappoint you. plus, he has seen you angry and would rather not be the reason for that

oikawa is intimately familiar with your anger. the boy just seems to do everything possible to piss you off. what angers you most is the apparent disregard for his own health, but you don't take this out on him physically

you and iwaizumi team up to handle him, with both of you favouring a more violent approach (sometimes that's the only way to knock some sense into oikawa's brain)

while iwaizumi will throw either oikawa or various items such as volleyballs at him, you tend to favour a good old-fashioned slap to the back of the head

he always knows you're coming, his whole body tensing at the sound of your footsteps drawing closer to him. oikawa is almost more scared of you than iwaizumi, probably because you are more cold fury than fiery anger

that first night iwaizumi had asked you to stay behind after practice with him, your heart almost broke at the sight of oikawa pushing himself

you saw the sweat, watched him stumble, clutch at his damaged knee... but despite the pain, he kept pushing

as you watched, you grasped iwaizumi's hand, who was tense beside you, needing the physical anchor as much as you

"why does he do this to himself?" you questioned, watching as oikawa pushed up from the floor, landing awkwardly on his feet. still, he kept pushing

iwaizumi didn't bother to answer. the answer was obvious, and you both knew what it was. he needed to get better, for the team, for himself, for revenge

"if he keeps going like that, his knee will be permanently damaged and he can say goodbye to a volleyball career," said iwaizumi, jaw tight. hand still in yours, he marched onto the court

he finally released your hand to grab oikawa by the shirt and yank him away. his voice was a low growl as he spoke, "don't fucking complain. we've been here long enough and you're going home before you regret it"

"you're so... urgh, do you want to make me lose my mind with worry, tooru?" you sigh, wrapping an arm around his waist, more to reassure yourself that he was fine than to other support. he slung an arm over your shoulder, leaning on you slightly with iwaizumi at his other side

"didn't think you cared, y/n-chan," he teased, giving you an affectionate squeeze. you caught eyes with iwaizumi, rolling your own at oikawa's words

"of course i care. we both do"

from that night on, you and iwaizumi took turns watching oikawa, stopping him when it became clear that he was doing too much

on the nights when you had to watch him, you would sit in the corner of the gym on a video chat with matsukawa and hanamaki as you tried to do some homework (to be honest, you spent most of your time joking around and chatting, but the thought was there)

oikawa, though he never showed it, was grateful for you and iwaizumi's worry. it put a check on him which he would never admit to wanting, but needed desperately

on weekends, you and the third years will always meet up, be it to do homework or just watch a movie at someone's house

movie nights tend to be quite messy (it's not uncommon to be picking popcorn out of your hair at the end)

one time, you had fallen asleep on iwaizumi's shoulder only to wake up to his head flopped against yours and a snickering oikawa and hanamaki. the pair had taken great joy in drawing a moustache and beard on your faces, while matsukawa took photos (he's usually the one who takes your group photos and sends them to everyone at the end)

managing the team is mainly fun, though it does have its cursed moments

you weren't ashamed to admit that you cried, along with the rest of the third years, when you left

however, the tears did not stop you from giving your kouhais some strongly-worded advice

yahaba was warned to not think with his dick and to try his very best to not intimidate oikawa in his quest for some fangirls

kyoutani was told that you were only a phone call away and would not hesitate to scold him if he let his anger take control over his playing style

honestly, the only thing you wished watari was luck. he'd need it, especially as there was no manager to support them next year

kunimi you told to slack off less, though you wouldn't hold it against him if he did sneak off for a little nap during the school day so long as he was energised for volleyball

with kindaichi, you simply gave him a hug and told him to keep trying his best, to not beat himself up over every mistake he made

it was oikawa who insisted on a big group hug, pulling you and a rather disgruntled iwaizumi into his arms, the rest of the team happily bundling in

and, as you hugged each other, you were thankful iwaizumi had convinced you to join the team because you knew you had made friends for life

[19red]

hello, this is me trying to strong-arm my brain into stopping the constant tweaking and re-tweaking of the same stinking 3k so I can write on and get to the good parts of this project namely p and j having all the sex thank you very much

+

The day after Patrick and Jonny bang a chick together, Patrick wakes to the weight of an alien limb squashing his bladder. The alien limb belongs to a furnace-hot, tentacular mass plastered all along his back. The mass smells oddly familiar, kind of citrusy—as if it stole Jonny’s body wash.

Patrick squints his eyes open. A blade of sunlight filters through the half-drawn curtains and stabs him in the face. Right under the window, Jonny’s suitcase dribbles clothes onto the floor.

It shouldn’t be hard to put two and two together, but Patrick’s really dumb first thing in the morning. Plus, he needs to pee. Bad. Which is pretty distracting.

He paws at the tentacle swung over his waist, fingers catching on—a beaded string. Did the alien mass steal Jonny’s bracelet too? Patrick struggles to lift his head. He wants to see.

The alien mass stole Jonny’s whole arm. What--?

A growl spills in a damp, ticklish huff into the crook of Patrick’s neck as the mass coils itself closer. Something hard pokes Patrick’s ass. His nostrils fill with a waft of scent his hindbrain understands as so viscerally Jonny that recognition smacks him dizzy.

The mass is Jonny. Last night, he and Patrick banged a chick together. That thing wedged between them, growing firmer by the second? That thing is Jonny’s—

Patrick’s heart plummets straight to his dick.

It’s okay. It’s whatever. Patrick isn’t gonna freak over a physiological response. Bodies are also really dumb first thing in the morning.

“Jonny,” he says, wriggling to catch Jonny’s attention. Jonny has always been his go-to guy in a crisis. Except, in this instance, he is also the crisis itself. Jonny’s hips buck forward once, twice—Patrick stops breathing for the handful of seconds it takes Jonny’s sleep-drenched, horny-ass body to lose interest and stutter back into relative stillness.

Fuck, Patrick thinks. Visions of impending awkwardness swarm his brain. If Jonny were to wake up right now, full-mast boner pressed to Patrick’s ass, and discover the tent pitched in the front of Patrick’s sweats, he might rush to conclusions. Their ability to make direct eye contact would definitely endure permanent damage. They’d have to restructure their life with the aim of reciprocal avoidance. Patrick would have to request a trade. Jonny would probably drop out of the NHL. He’d forsake hockey and society at large and end up trampled to death by a giant moose while he hides from Patrick in the Canadian wilderness.

Fuck, Patrick thinks again. When a whole minute drips away and Jonny doesn’t stir, he thanks the hockey gods. With very little, very slow movements, he dislodges the arm pinning him to the mattress. By the times he’s free, the light slanting in from the window changed the angle of its assault to his pupils. Still careful, he slides the covers off himself, sits up, swings his legs off the bed. His feet land on the floor just as a variation in the pattern of Jonny’s breathing alerts him it’s all been for nothing. Jonny is awake. Or, like, as close to awake as Jonny manages to be coffee-free and before noon. Which is not much, thank fuck.

“It’s early,” Patrick reassures him. Jonny gets real pissy when he doesn’t get his full eight hours. Patrick doesn’t want to get stuck with Captain seriously cranky and his legitimately lethal death glare on the flight back to Chicago.

Jonny hums, lids fluttering open and back closed immediately, dark lashes kissing the top of his cheekbones. Patrick expects him to just roll over and sink back deep into snoring, the man is easy like that, instead he plumps an arm over the empty space next to him and mumbles, “Come back,” so low Patrick feels the vibration of it in his belly more than with his ears. Jonny must think Patrick’s some chick, maybe his ex or the one from last night.

“Dude,” Patrick chuckles to clear his throat. This is prime chirp material. Jonny’s such a clingy loser. “It’s just me.”

The side of Jonny’s mouth that isn’t squashed into the pillow tugs up in a smile, then his eyes tremble open, searching the space in front of them for Patrick’s, as if he knew where to find him, as if he weren’t surprised. It’s a bit like being punched but with weird, devastating gentleness. Patrick’s left breathless and dazed, a slow ache spreading below his ribs. “Sorry,” he says, legs moving on their own accord. “Sorry, gotta piss.”

Jonny flops onto his belly and sprawls across Patrick’s side of the bed. With a sigh, he hugs Patrick’s pillow to his face. “Be quick,” he whines—or maybe not. It’s muffled and Patrick is already halfway out the door so he can’t be sure. It doesn’t really matter.

***

“Where’s Tazer?” Duncs asks in lieu of good morning when Patrick shows up at breakfast almost two hours later, no captain in tow.

Patrick chomps on a hunk of strawberry toast and shrugs. Contrary to popular belief, no clause in his contract bids him constant awareness of Jonny’s whereabouts.

Duncs squints, clearly feeling entitled to a degree of eloquence involving efforts of the verbal variety and resenting their lack.

“Don’t tell me he’s sick,” Shawzy says.

The legs of Stromer’s chair screech against the floor as he scoots away from Patrick. He ends up almost in Brinsky’s lap. “It better not be catching.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick puffs the words fat with annoyance. “He’s sleeping. I mean, I guess he...” He is for sure. No chance Jonny is still waiting. If Patrick barged back into his room right now, Jonny would laugh, would tell him to stop trying to make things weird. Patrick knows this rationally. Yet some spiked grip squeezes his insides with the same vicious strength of an anaconda trying to crush itself a snack.

People can’t die from upset conscience, can they? Especially not if the upset is unquestionably misplaced, right?

“I mean,” Patrick snaps after a second, “the fuck do I know.”

Duncs eyebrows shoot halfway across his forehead.

“Whoa,” Stromer gasps.

“Wait,” Shawzy says. “Are mum and dad fighting?”

Patrick grinds his molars. Everyone’s so fucking pressed. It’s not like Jonny is a regular at team breakfasts. In fact, unless attendance is mandatory, Jonny prefers to limit the number of people upon which he inflicts the ghastly spectacle of his slow de-zombification to a minimum.

Patrick casts his mind back to the last time the two of them didn’t resort to room-service during game trips. He dredges up both no recollection of that happening in years and the stomach-sinking hunch that maybe this is weird. Maybe he should have gone back. Maybe that would have been the normal thing to do.  

“Shut up,” he says, to the voice in his head and everyone else. He grabs a pitcher of coffee and fills his cup until it brims. “Don’t talk to me. I’m waking up.”

“He’s rubbed off on you,” Shawzy appraises.

He’s more right than he’d probably care to know—nope. Patrick yanks his thoughts away before they can trip over that precipice and splat into the phantom embrace of Jonny’s body and its heft, its warmth, its neediness.

“Shut up,” he repeats, and with big emphatic motions designed to put a period on the conversation, he whips out his phone. He trusts the mindless scrolling will work its time-warping, mind-numbing magic and when he’ll look up next, all the weird will have been purged from this day.

Between sips of coffee, he pores through the stats for the last game, skims the emails in his inbox and rage-reads a review trashing the new Twilight book. He considers sending the link to Erica so he can vent about the snobby assholes who think they’re smarter than everyone else just because all the books they read are boring as fuck, but she’s probably at work already. He scrolls through his contacts. The one of the chick from last night jumps out. Her name’s Chelsea, which is pretty lucky. She was hot, Patrick recons, and thinking that feels normal. Feels safe. Feels like something Patrick would love to feel more of, thank you very much.

Hi, he types, riding the spur of the moment. This is Patrick from last night.

Stupid and risky, his inner Jonny warns. Never give your number to one night stands. Patrick ignores him and for the sake of clarity and glory, adds, The one who made you see god with his tongue.

“Look who’s joining us,” Shawzy’s voice announces just then.

Patrick’s gaze springs up, landing squarely across Jonny’s chest. Patrick knows it’s Jonny’s chest even though he doesn’t let his gaze climb up to the face attached to it for confirmation. The chest is sailing across the breakfast hall toward Patrick. Well, not toward Patrick specifically. Toward Patrick and the rest of the guys.

“Morning,” Jonny mumbles, dropping his scrambled eggs on the table and his ass between Seabs and Crow.

Patrick’s phone chimes.

well hello patrick 😜

“Slept well?” Shawzy probes, feigning innocence. Patrick’s hackles rise.

“I guess,” Jonny says.

Patrick allows himself another quick glance. Jonny looks good, which means like his usual self, which means nothing like a dude who went through the transformative experience of witnessing his best friend o-face.  It’s kind of annoying, actually. Patrick’s nerves are all fried. He’s half-convinced in the right light anybody could look at him and simply—tell. Patrick Kane got off with another dude in the room and enjoyed it. For a blink he’s fourteen and trying to fight a guy almost double his size who called him a cocksucker, that slammed him against the boards and told him not to bother standing up since everyone knows he does his best work from his knees.

His phone chimes again.

“Tell me the truth.”

totally hit me up again next time ur back here

“What?”

Patrick’s heart rate spikes. Would Jonny even be up for it?

Won’t be for the rest of the season :(, he types.

Maybe things feel weird because threeways are a novelty, maybe they just have to work up an immunity. People have threeways all the time and afterward their lives go on undisrupted. But if you’re ever in Chicago… his fingers are so clammy they smudge the screen when he hits send. He reaches for his cup.

“Did you keep our Kaner up all night?”

Patrick’s head jerks up.

“What?” Jonny says, flat.

For the first time since Patrick sneaked out on him, they make direct eye contact.

Shawzy drones on in the background, “Saw you trying to score that hot--”

It last precisely long enough for a sip of coffee to get its lanes mixed as it plunges down Patrick’s throat and somehow u-turn its way out of his body through the nostrils.

Patrick’s lungs try their best to turn inside out.

“Dude,” Shawzy says.

Stromer slaps Patrick’s back a couple of times, hard.

Duncs throws a handful of paper napkins in his general direction and winces in open disgust as Patrick snatches one mid-air and uses it to dab at the liquid leaking out of him. “Gross.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Patrick informs them tartly between fits of coughing. Some treacherous asshole on his right is fucking cackling. He sweeps the table with an encompassing glare and catches Jonny’s eyes again, all dark with concern. The back of Patrick’s neck prickles with embarrassment. “I’m fine,” he repeats, steadier, and Jonny looks away so Patrick does too, hurriedly withdrawing like from the touch of something scalding.

He zeros in on Chelsea’s new message.

might fly in for a couple of weeks around christmas actually

Patrick latches on to the conversation, blocking out his surroundings, trying his hardest to look busy. Fuck everyone and Jonny too.

We could catch up then if you have time ;)

totally 👅🔥🍆🔥, she texts. And after a moment, say hi to porn dick from me btw

Who?

🙄

Patrick bristles. For some reason, the thought of this random stranger sitting around with her head full of pictures of Jonny’s dick makes him hitch. His chest riots with some misguided protective instinct. Jonny would be insufferably smug if he knew, no doubt about it. It’s not that big.

it is! 100% porn worthy

You don’t know what you’re talking about

???

I’m just saying, are chicks even into that? he writes, just to be an asshole but also because he’s pretty sure chicks hate porn. It’s supposed to be a feminism thing. Erica once made him a whole speech about it or whatever.

big dicks? They are

Haha

their also into porn btw this aint the middle ages AND they have way better taste in it then men

Can you prove it? he asks, hoping it sounds flirty and not confrontational. He wants this chick to bang him again but not over the head with a blunt instrument.

maybe if u stop trying to outdick ur bf with ur personality ill send you some recs

“Who are you texting?”

Patrick elbows his cup off the table and scrambles to catch it before it crashes against the floor. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his coffee-soaked hand.

Jonny laughs and at the sound, Patrick’s heart stumbles, then sprints up his throat. “You’re a mess,” Jonny says. He stole Stromer chair.

“Yeah, no, fuck off.”

Stromer is nowhere to be found. He and the rest of the guys must have migrated to the lobby. Patrick picks up the phone from where he abandoned it to make the save and shoves it deep into his pocket just as it pings.

Jonny quirks an eyebrow. He’s smiling.

It feels like Patrick trudged around all morning with a lead rib-cage before the universe caught the glitch. The sudden slack from gravity makes him giddy.  “Don’t be nosy.”

“I’m not!” Jonny protests, all put upon outrage. He flicks Patrick on the hand. “Just saying, team’s gonna suffer if you sprain a thumb.”

A laugh bubbles up Patrick’s chest, loud and easy, and just a little embarrassing.

For a moment, Jonny looks impossibly pleased but then he catches himself. “Everything alright, yeah?” he asks, turning bashful. His eyes drift to the small heap of crumbs he’s sweeping together with his pinkie.

Patrick nudges his thumb against the back of Jonny’s hand. “Yeah. You?”

Jonny’s lips curl up at the corners. “Of course,” he says, looking up, gaze dark and soft.

Of course, of course, of course. Jonny would never let anything happen to them. Patrick stomach flutters. “Okay,” he smiles, dimples out, and Jonny beams back. Time goes fuzzy as they stare at each other in silence—until the ping of an incoming text makes them both startle.

“Again?” Jonny bitches. A moment later, his forehead creases and he puts his serious face on, “Everything okay with your sisters?”

“Yeah, no. It’s not--” Jonny’s eyes flicks to Patrick’s mouth. Patrick hadn’t realized he’d been chewing on his bottom lip. He stops and it tingles, his own breath turning chilly enough to sting as it laps over the bite. “Just-- the chick from last night,” Patrick’s tongue says forgoing any input from his brain. It’s fine. It’s whatever.

“Oh,” Jonny says.

The world keeps rolling. Unfortunately, so does Patrick’s tongue, “Yeah. She’s cool. She was fun.”

“She was okay.”

Patrick can’t believe the understatement. “Okay? Just that? You’ve got some tough standards, man. She was--” as he searches for the right adjective, it suddenly hits him that Jonny has more experience, at least when it comes to threeways. It’s fucking unfair, but entirely possible, the mind-blowingest sex of Patrick’s life would barely chart as okay for Jonny. While he was dating Lindsay, the two of them got up to some kinky shit, Patrick’s pretty sure. Not that he spent any time thinking about it. He licks his lips. “It was hot, right?”

Jonny scoffs. What an asshole.

“Fuck you.”

“It was hot,” he grants. His cheeks are turning pink. He means it.

It feels like scoring the game-winner in the Stanley Cup final. The rush of triumph makes him cocky. “Hotter than the one you had with Lindsay?”

Jonny scoffs again, to Patrick infinite delight. “It was!” Patrick surmises.

“Lindsay’s hotter than her.”

“No way,” he is so offended on Chelsea’s behalf, he barely registers the deflection. Lindsay dumped Jonny. No matter how she looks, her insides must be rotten. Patrick hates that Jonnys is still hung up on her. He kicks Jonny’s foot to make sure he has his attention. “Maybe we should try again. Chelsea’s coming to Chicago around Christmas.”

“Is she?” Jonny kicks him back. “You two move fast.”

“She’s got family there, I think.”

“Sure,” he sounds skeptical. He admitted it was hot, why wouldn't he want a rematch? He and Patrick and some hot chick, she doesn’t even have to be Chelsea, she can be whoever. Small and blonde, like Jonny likes.

“Or we could find someone else,” Patrick says, growing more committed to the idea each second it lives in his brain. “Just go out and see what happens.”

“You think that’s smart?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “I think you’re boring.” He goes in for the kill, “Captain serious.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d even let you pick, I don’t care.”

“Starting to sound a bit desperate there, Kaner,” Jonny flashes his most punchable smirk, the one that’s a little lopsided and always makes Patrick squirm.

Patrick starts a mental list of ways to wipe it off his face. Maybe if he shoved two fingers up Jonny’s nose… “What?” he asks, kind of distracted.

“I’m just saying, If you want to see me naked that bad, you only have to--”

“Fuck you,” Patrick sputters. “I was being generous. Bros before hoes or whatever.”

“I’m telling Erica you said that.”

The thought is terrifying. “Don’t,” Patrick shrieks, so loud people in their proximity stop mid-munching to give them the stink eye.

It’s their cue to clear off, a pretty timely one, considering they barely make it on the bus. They’d probably be yelled at, if they weren’t Kane and Toews.

Jonny saunters past Colliton’s glare and flops down next to Seabs. Patrick takes the two seats right behind, stretching out until he’s almost horizontal.

He checks his phone. Chelsea sent him a text and a link. The texts says, one of them looks a bit like your boy. you’re welcome. The link-- Patrick slaps the phone face down on his thigh.

“You okay there, Kaner?” Jonny asks, glancing over his shoulder.

Patrick feels his ears burn redder than the Hawks home jersey. “Yeah, no. Real peachy.”

[thorn-amidst-roses]

Back home now-

Okay, so they could only pull 1/2. The bottom one’s root is hooked around the nerve and they said that there’s no way to extract it non-surgically without damaging the nerve and causing probable permanent numbness. They said that it’s better to just monitor it going forward, and possibly fill the cavity.

The top one, however, was highly fucked like I figured.

The good news is that it didn’t have spreading roots, just one giant omni-root, so compared to my childhood molar extractions, this was basically:

Novocaine, novocaine, novocaine, “You’re going to hear a crack”...”Done”

Didn’t even need to break the tooth...

So I took the tooth home with me and none of you want to see that because I was right that the enamel completely broke, shit’s gross.

They were talking about removing my second upper wisdom tooth (yay I have spares), but after some crazy xray action, determined that it’s fully encased in bone and will never grow in, so there’s no harm in leaving it in place.

Hoping the headaches and sinus pain go away now...

[yinyanchan]

Health Update

Thank you guys for your support. I really appreciate it! So far I’m getting the treatment I need and working out some life things at the moment. I’m holding off on the wrist because the only thing that gives it a better chance at staying away is actual surgery. The cyst has an 80% chance of coming back just drained. I don’t want to go into surgery with a 20% chance of it coming back. I learned the hard way when it comes to the body you need to value every percent given and taken. Something that doesn’t seem so much, in reality is. IF YOU ARE EVER IN THIS SITUATION PLEASE EVALUATE, GET ESTIMATIONS ON HOW LONG THE PROCEDURE IS SUPPOSED TO HELP YOU VERSUS THE AVERAGE LIFE SPAN PLUS OTHER FACTORS BEFORE GOING UNDER THE KNIFE. Example: When I was told I would have 10% of a few of my spinal discs removed that didn’t seem so bad plus I was younger and didn’t think of the probable future and was guaranteed of up to 10 years of relief for the procedure... then I fell and had to have the same procedure... now I’m missing 20%... that’s almost a 1/4 of each one of my affected discs being gone... and because I have degenerative bone disease... it’s going to eat away at what’s remaining, so much so I’m in a slight stage of scoliosis that I never had in my childhood and is caused by the degeneration in my back. I also have permanent nerve damage on my right side of right leg and hip because the wait to actually have the pressure relieved off the nerve was too late, I have to deal with my back swelling and having to use a cane on my bad days. However, I’m still technically young to have gone through these procedures and my projected golden years are not looking in my favor anymore. Sorry for the lecture but I want to spread the awareness on how important your health is. NEVER FORGET THAT PERCENTAGES ARE HIGHER IN VALUE WHEN IT COMES TO YOU.

[ladyreapermc]

Drabble: Sensitive (Johnny x Reader)

Anon request: Curious if u could do something again with Utah , where him and reader r kissing and she starts caressing his torso and when she gets to his scar he’s like super sensitive ? Fluff or smut up to u

Pairing: Johnny Utah x (f) reader

Wordcount: 727

Warnings: smut (blowjob; dirty talk)

It’s pretty rare for you to get home and Johnny to actually be in but you see his surfboard leaning against the wall in the foyer and you could hear the shower running in the bathroom since the apartment was so damn tiny. You two were constantly on top of each other, but it was cheap enough that both of you could save the money you needed to buy the house you two had been eyeing for the last six months.

Setting your keys on the table, you start to strip in your way to the bathroom and by the time you stand in front of the too-small bathtub with the weak plastic curtain, you were down to your panties, which you quickly discard down the hamper before you stepped into the tub, your arms coming around Johnny’s waist.

“How was your day?” he asked, turning around to face you, his lips meeting yours for a kiss as he pulled your closer and under the hot spray so you could get wet too.

“Same boring shit. Yours?”

“We caught the guy.” he grinned at you. “He was trying to move some weapons, probably feeling us closing in and we caught him.”

“Congratulations Agent Utah,” you smirked. “You deserve a proper reward from this thankful citizen.”

You kissed him with fervor, tongue pressing against the seam of his lips and Johnny welcomed you in, letting you explore his mouth as your hands traced the shape of his strong muscles, nails scratching lightly over the wet, slippery skin.

You moved away from his mouth, pressing sucking kisses over the warm, tanned skin of his collar bone and chest, making Johnny hum in pleasure as your hand circled his growing erection. You licked the path between his pecks, tasting the salt of the ocean that seemed to be forever ingrained in him, composing his scent and flavor. You moved down his abs, taking particular attention to the sunken white line of his scar and Johnny gasped and his cock twitched in your hand.

You loved how responsive he was in that region, almost as if the nerve-ends became more sensitive due to damage that happened and you always loved to lavish it with attention until Johnny was gasping and leaking and pushing you down to your knees so you could finally take his thick cock into your mouth.

He turned off the shower blindly, his fingers slipping into your damp hair, catching into a messy ponytail so he could hold onto you as your mouth work on his cock. Johnny would always let you take control in that first moment, let you kiss and lick and explore every inch of the heated, swollen flesh, your lips focusing mainly on the head, sucking lightly to make him thrust in.

“Shit! I love your mouth so much,” he said, eyes dark and hazy as he looked down at you and you pulled back and smirked at him, hand moving easily over his wet length.

“As much as you love my cunt?”

“Almost as much,” Johnny smirked, nudging your head until you took him back between your lips, bobbing your head to swallow as much of his erection as you could. “You see, your cunt is tighter and warmer, the fit is snug and perfect, but it can’t suck my head like your mouth does.” You pulled back slowly, your cheeks hollowed, and Johnny hissed, a grin spreading on his face as his fingers dug on your head. “That? That’s fucking perfect.”

You hummed around him and sped up your motions, knowing that he was getting close by the way his balls were drawing tighter against his body. You used one hand to stroke the rest of the length you couldn’t fit in your mouth and the other you racked your nails over the scar, making Johnny groan loudly, his thick warm seed spilling into your waiting mouth. You took most of it on your tongue, but let the last drops stain your lips so you could make a show of swallowing and licking your mouth clean.

“You dirty girl,” Johnny smirked, pulling you back up and claiming your mouth. “Guess it’s my turn to return the favor, huh?”

“It’s only fair,” you whispered against his lips, and this time you were the one pushing him to his knees in front of you.

xxx

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[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Historical AU | Multi-Chapter | read on Ao3 

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

@today-in-fic

CHAPTER 1

Spring 1948 Adams Morgan, Washington, DC 2:47 A.M.

My nose burned with each inhale of fumes from the stale booze marinating in the hardwood floor. The room was dim but through the glow of red and blue neon I could make out shapes of furniture; chair legs, a few overturned barstools. It was a step up from a dive but not by much. There was a ringing in my ear like a schoolbell. I forced myself upright and felt a white-hot wave of pain crash into my right shoulder. “Shit.” I exhaled through my teeth and pressed my palm against a sticky wound. For an instant, I was back in that bombed-out jungle in the South Pacific, where an overworked medic from our company feverishly repaired shrapnel damage to my arm.

My fingertips found the bullet hole that punctured the thread count of one of my better dress shirts. Can’t wait to explain this one to my dry cleaner. The round might have gone through cleanly but all I knew was it hurt like a son of a bitch. My holster felt light and I found my gun about three feet away under a table in a puddle of what I hoped was discarded beer. I leaned over to retrieve it then I attempted to stand. Once I got my feet under me I found I was not alone. The bartender had a .38 aimed at my chest and a shaky trigger hand.  

“Don’t move!” he shouted. 

“Easy now,” I began as I put away my weapon and held up my hand, “I’m just reaching for my badge.” As I flipped open the billfold he saw the flash of gold then lowered his gun.

“Jesus detective, I’m sorry I pointed that at you. I’m just a little jittery considering what happened tonight”  I nodded and moved closer towards the bar. “Holy hell, looks like you took a hit,” he continued then splashed a bar rag with some water and handed it to me.   

“Can I get a whiskey?” I asked as I slid on to an empty barstool, trying to clean off my hand. Wouldn’t be nice to get fresh blood on a glass, he’s had enough to deal with tonight. The bartender grabbed a dark bottle and a short glass then gave it a hearty pour. I raised it with my good hand and tipped it back, letting the liquid fire coat the back of my throat. The throb in my shoulder started to dull.

“I called the police as quick as I could,” the bartender told me, “it all happened so fast.”  He poured me another and one for himself. 

“Did you see if anyone else was injured?”

“No. Anyone who was here ran outside. I ducked behind the bar and grabbed my gun. I suppose I should be grateful it happened close to last call.” I sat there thinking for a moment, trying to remember what I was doing there in the first place. A pulsing pain returned to my shoulder. The bartender’s voice entered my ear.

“You should probably get to a hospital, that shoulder looks pretty bad.”

“I’ll manage,” I replied before I finished my second round. I turned to look over my shoulder at the row of small leather booths behind me. Something about it seemed familiar. I could feel my wound oozing again so I pressed the damp rag against it and excused myself to clean up. When I entered the bathroom I was met with an unpleasant discovery.

Detective Jeffrey Spender was dead.  

Thick ribbons of burgundy and cherry red graced the wooden stall door like streamers from some morbid party.  The edge of the sink had a similar splatter pattern staining the porcelain. His body was face down in a puddle that was spreading like the Red Sea, an arm akimbo on the floor, at least one fresh hole in his back. His weapon was kicked across the tile.

When Spender returned from the war with a couple of shiny new medals on his chest, nepotism resulted in his quick promotion to a detective position at the precinct.  I knew Spender’s old man had connections with local law enforcement, not to mention his fellow representatives on The Hill.  And now the golden boy was dead. Tragically killed in the line of duty; that’s how the papers would spin it.

 I bent down to check his gun, one shot fired one in the chamber. It was quick. I moved the bar rag in my hand and gripped Spender’s shoulder, pulling him onto his side. I counted two shots, maybe a third. The acrid smell of iron was weaving its way into my nostrils as I crouched down and leaned closer. First round hit Spender in the right lower abdomen, appeared to be a close range shot based on the size. The gut shot wouldn’t have killed him instantly so the second ripped into the left upper chest to make sure he was taken care of. A third might have conveniently nicked an artery, causing more of the splatter. I craned my neck and saw deep red at Spender’s shirt collar.

It was very sloppy.  

If I heard gunfire I would have gone to investigate and perhaps the assailant ran into me as he exited the bathroom. Did he use a silencer? Why can’t I remember his face?  I shook my head and eased Spender’s body back down on the tile floor. Slowly I rose and caught my reflection in the small mirror over the sink. I looked like hell. As I reentered the main bar the front door gave way to three flatfoots and Captain Walter Skinner.  He advanced and holstered his sidearm.

“Detective Mulder.”

“Sir,” I said wearily with a nod.  He briefly noticed my injury then jumped right into the interrogation.

“What happened?”

“I’m a little foggy on the details but I remember following Detective Spender here.”

“And where exactly is Spender?” Skinner asked. I leaned against a booth and placed a hand on my neck.

“You’ll find him on the bathroom floor.” I saw the captain’s eyes narrow and he brushed past me. He nudged the door open with his elbow and surveyed the fresh crime scene, he then motioned for a uniform and gave instructions. The young cop hastily scratched everything down on a small notepad, tipped his cap, and left through the front door. 

“Did he tell you to meet him?” Skinner asked as he moved in front of me.

“No.”

“How did you know he’d be here?” 

I thought for a moment. Certain details were coming back to me.

“I believe Detective Spender was following up on a lead from a mutual informant. We agreed on a meeting to get info about one of Vincenti’s heroin drops. Spender was impatient and wanted to meet tonight. I wasn’t too keen on the idea.” I winced as I shifted my right arm. The whiskey I had was wearing off. 

“The commissioner is going to demand answers when he finds out Spender was murdered,” Skinner said as he adjusted his glasses.

“Well I’m sure he’s more than eager to crucify me,” I said.  

“Cut the melodrama.” Skinner responded. “I’ll finish up here. Go find Officer Pendrell outside and have him take you over to the hospital. Get patched up, get some sleep, then I want to see you back at the precinct.”

I held up my hands in acceptance and walked to the door, making sure to thank the bartender for the nightcap on my way out.  

Officer Pendrell took a long drag off his cigarette then let it drop on the sidewalk, stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe. I cleared my throat and said, “Captain said you could give me a ride.”

“Jesus Mulder--” he exclaimed with a plume of smoke into the night air.

“I just need some repairs.” I said with a nod to my right arm. “Skinner said you could give me a lift to Washington General.”

“Yeah sure,” Pendrell opened the passenger door for me and as I got situated he entered from the driver’s side. “What happened in there, Mulder?”

“Spender’s dead.” It was blunt but I was exhausted. “Not much else to say, though I’m sure the precinct will hear about it in a few hours.” I could feel Pendrell tense up as we drove. I flexed and opened the fingers on my right hand.  The slight tingling sensation was reassuring that the nerve damage wasn’t permanent. At least that’s what I was telling myself.  

Washington General Hospital

3:55am

Pendrell pulled the squad car up to the emergency department and practically shoved me out the door. Guess he didn’t want me bleeding on government upholstery. I made my way inside and squinted against the harsh lighting.  I spied the petite nurse behind the desk.

“Ma’am,” I began as I fished out my badge and approached, “I’m Detective Fox Mulder and I could use some help.” She rose and quickly walked around then gave me the once over, her fingers delicately reached for my good arm. 

“Let’s get you back, detective. My name is Dana,” she said as she ushered me down a short hallway and into an open room with several beds. I could feel my chest tighten at the sight of the drawn white curtains. Too many bad memories hidden behind those white curtains. A moan came from a shadow on one of the beds and thankfully she sat me down a few beds over. 

“You’ve lost a fair amount of blood. Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?” Dana asked as she pulled out a notepad. I shook my head. “Detective Mulder can I get your date of birth?”

“October 13, 1914.”

I watched her write the numbers down with what I presumed was immaculate handwriting, unlike the doctors she worked under. 

“What happened tonight, detective?”

“I took a hit to the right shoulder, not sure if it was a clean shot. The assailant got away.”

Two fingertips with red nail varnish touched the underside of my wrist and she glanced at a small watch fob, calculating my pulse. I saw her note the result on her notepad before pocketing it. She placed a hand on my shoulder as she reached for a nearby medical tray. It had an array of metal instruments, a basin, some bottles, and what looked like bandages. She slid it closer to the bedside and I straightened my posture. I could feel the fabric of my shirt sticking to the clotted blood on my shoulder. Dana turned to pick up a small stool and place it in front of me. She took a white cloth from the tray and splashed it with a liquid from a brown bottle. 

“Can you remove your shirt?” she asked

“Yeah I can try,” I replied. My left fingers fumbled with the buttons and I forced my right hand to finish the job. I winced then exhaled sharply. 

“Here, let me help.” She said as she placed the cloth down on the tray.

“Usually I’m offered a drink first,” I quiped weakly.

“Well from what I can tell, someone beat me to it.” the redhead said with a grin as she peeled open my shirt. I freed my left arm but hesitated with the right. It looked like I had a few too many and tried to get dressed; sitting there in my white sleeveless shirt with my dress shirt hanging on one arm. Dana reached for the damp cloth and held it on my shoulder, attempting to soften the skin. It was a nice gesture. Any other medic would have just ripped the damn thing off taking a layer of skin with it. I could feel her eyes sweep over my chest like a searchlight looking for damage. She gently stripped down the sleeve and placed the bloody shirt beside me on the bed. Dana leaned me slightly forward.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day Detective. The bullet passed right through.” 

Her bedside manor had won me over. I felt the cool cloth on the back of my shoulder as she cleaned the exit wound.

“You can call me Mulder.”

She playfully inquired, “Why not Fox?” as she sat on the stool in front of me.

“Even though it’s my first name I rarely use it. The Marines made quick work of that.” I saw a hint of a smile as she readied her suture tools. 

“And what’s your last name?” I asked in a feeble attempt at small talk. With a squint she quickly pierced the eye of the needle with a dark thread. 

“Scully,” she said, humoring me. “This will sting a little,” she cautioned. I failed in containing a wince from the all too familiar sensation of thread pulling flesh. Battlefield to back alley, I have scars laid out like a roadmap of my career. She worked quickly, weaving the filament like she was darning socks. I felt a sharp tug as she finished her last stitch. She covered her handiwork with a white bandage.

“Halfway there,” she stated as she stood to fix the back of my shoulder. She might have said something to me but I couldn’t make it out. I hated to admit it but I was transfixed. Her presence was like an anesthetic and I was numb in the best possible way. The final pull for the final stitch. She recited care instructions to me the same way a professor would read from a textbook. I pretended to listen as I opened and closed my right hand once again. She slid the tray aside and I rose to my feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, holding up a hand in case I toppled over.

“I’m going back to the precinct.”  I said as I folded my dress shirt over my arm.

“That’s against medical advice. Advice I just gave you. Will you please sit back down?”

“I can’t stay here tonight.”

She folded her arms.

“Is there someone I can call?” she asked. I thought if there was a favor I could collect but no one came to mind. It was probably best for me to sleep it off at my apartment.

“A cab. I’m going home.”  Scully shook her head and led me back down the corridor towards the nurse’s desk. I readjusted my holster across my chest and stretched my left arm. She dialed the operator with one pull on the rotary.  

“Hello, I’d like to request a taxi to Washington General for one of our discharged patients. Thank you.” She hung up the receiver and told me the cab would be here soon. “Be careful out there, Mulder.” 

I smiled and slipped back into my shirt, leaving it unbuttoned.

“Thank you, Scully.” 

She shook her head.

“I don’t know if I’d ever get used to that.” 

I watched her walk down the hall, graceful fingertips smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. She left me with the echo of heels on the hard floor.

I stepped outside the emergency room doors and inhaled an unexpected cloud of tobacco. As I coughed I looked for the source and saw a man, possibly a wino in a white jacket holding a cigarette. He gave me a puzzled look then said in a gravelly voice,

“Hey, are you a cop?”

“A detective actually.” I responded with an annoyed exhale.

“Oh. Well, you look like a cop.”

“Are you a doctor?” I countered. He took a drag.

“No. I found this jacket in the garbage out back.” Before I could respond the vagrant laughed loudly then took off down the alley. On any other night I would have given chase, but I was too tired for additional bullshit. Let the beat cops have him. 

Finally my taxi arrived and I was on my way home.

[justheretobreakthings]

Desperate Measures

As well as being my first new fic in way too long, this also is a very, very, very late gift for @zolanort as a thank-you for writing an ace Keith fic (my sincerest apologies for the super long wait!) I hope the amount of pain I put Keith through here will help make up for it.

Word Count: 5,408 Content warning for mild gore. Read on AO3

The first thing Keith saw when he opened his eyes was red.

And for a moment, that had given him some odd inkling of comfort. He had crashed, yes, and he was woozy and exhausted and in pain, but he was in Red. And Red would keep him safe.

It took a few seconds to remember that, no, Red wasn’t here. It was a Blade cruiser that he had been piloting, that had been shot down over Nuqel as he and the others Kolivan assigned to the mission had descended toward the base hidden amongst the foliage of the forest in an attempted ambush, a mission that, clearly, had gone belly-up. Not Red.

He hadn’t flown Red in… a long time. He hadn’t been keeping track.

Wearily, he squinted, trying to bring the world around him into focus. It wasn’t easy. He tried to pick just one thing to look at, to orient himself, and went with the center of a spider web of cracks on the cruiser’s windshield.

He would have to get that fixed. Hell, there were probably a lot of things he would have to fix after a crash landing like that.

At first the red that had flooded his vision when first he had regained consciousness had looked like it was surrounding him, as if his blood had splattered in thick puddles around the cockpit, but thankfully, as he realized with more certainty once he was able to steady his vision, this wasn’t the case. The blood was just in his eyes, dripped down from a wound in his forehead which, now that Keith was aware of it, was starting to throb incessantly. That, no doubt, explained how he had been knocked out. He’d probably knocked his head against the yoke or something during the crash.

With a hint of a groan, he brought one of his arms up to wipe away the blood in his eyes, and discovered that the limb felt bizarrely heavy, as if the bones had been replaced with lead while he was unconscious. It was a chore to lift the arm, and a relief to drop it back down again once his vision was clearer and he could take stock of himself and his surroundings.

As for his body, he was sore. He wasn’t quite sure where he was injured, or how badly, but instead felt an all-over hurt. Like his whole body from head to foot was just one big bruise. He closed his eyes again to try to focus, try to identify any particular sources of pain. There was a more distinct throbbing from his head injury, and now that he thought about it, the pain from his right calf seemed to be pulsing harder than anywhere else.

He looked down, opening his eyes again, to see that his leg was under the dashboard where it had caved inward. Hesitantly he tried to wiggle his toes, and he let out a breath of relief when he succeeded. No nerve damage, then, and he didn’t detect any unusual numbness anywhere else either. That was good.

He tested his head next, rolling his neck and immediately having to shut his eyes against the wave of dizziness that came over him and the increased intensity of the hammering in his skull. Definitely concussed at the very least, he figured, which wasn’t a comforting realization, but hopefully the damage wasn’t anything permanent. His vision was still working, he knew, and his thoughts clear. His hearing - he paused as he realized just how silent the world around him was. He felt his heart rate quicken, and a possibly imagined ringing started up in his ears. Not good, not good.

Dread crawling up his throat, he hesitantly opened his mouth. “Hello?” he managed to call out.

To his immense relief, he heard his own voice echo throughout the cockpit, the sound perfectly clear despite the strain and croakiness. His hearing was fine, then; it was simply just that quiet. Which, now that he thought about it, was unsettling on its own. All the sounds that the cruiser normally made - the hum of the engine, the beeps and tones of various meters and monitors, the crackling of his comm link - were absent, as were the noises of his fellow agents’ vehicles alongside him and the attacking forces from Nuqel.

Didn’t exactly bode well for the state of the cruiser. He lifted his head up to peer through the cracks of the windshield and into the thick foliage around him, and all he saw were trees. No other signs of his fellow Blades or of the Nuqelites.

“Hello?” he called out again, and only silence answered him.

With a sigh he dropped his head back down. At least this meant that the coast was probably clear - if the Nuqelites knew he had survived being shot down and where he’d crashed, he doubted they would have waited to finish the job. As for the other Blades, well… it either meant they had made a clean getaway, or had been shot down too. He had no way of knowing which.

If they’d made it, though, that still didn’t mean they’d be coming back for him. He was more than aware of the Blade’s policy. For now, he was on his own.

He looked to the side - slowly, as to not aggravate his headache - and to his relief it appeared that the hatch into the cockpit seemed to be undamaged, or at least, any damage it had incurred hadn’t bent it out of shape. As best he could tell, the cruiser had maintained its equilibrium fairly well even while crashing; it was currently tilted too far toward the nose, but otherwise had stayed more or less upright. He’d be able to leave.

Keith reached around to unclip the safety belt that held him in place, grimacing as the upper half of his body tipped forward before he managed to balance again. Once he was steady, he started to turn toward the hatch and swing his legs around.

Only to discover that he couldn’t.

A hot, flat pain spread over his thigh as he tried to move it, and it didn’t take more than a moment to realize that he had overestimated how well the dashboard had held up in the crash. It was difficult to angle himself in order to see what might be holding his leg in place; as far as he could see, a few inches above the knee, his leg simply seemed to disappear into the caved-in metal.

A few experimental tugs only yielded more sharp twinges, and Keith grimaces as he felt the trickle of blood ooze from wherever he was being pinned and down his calf. Whatever was holding him in place seemed reluctant to give.

For a couple of minutes he tried lifting the dented dashboard up and off of his knee so he could get a look at what was pinning him, but the Blade hadn’t shirked on the durability of their vehicles; he couldn’t get the dashboard to budge so much as a hair’s width.

Well, fine. If the dashboard wasn’t going to move, Keith was just going to have to try harder to pull the leg out. Perhaps get it done in one quick move, like ripping off a bandaid.

Taking a deep breath, he grit his teeth and gave his leg a good hard yank, a move that he instantly regretted as his vision went stark white and pain from his leg flooded him, fire shooting up the limb and seeming to envelop his every nerve. Something rang in his ears, a sudden surge of noise deafening in the prior silence, and after a moment the raw feeling in his throat told him that it was his own shouting.

He was panting by the time his vision had cleared again, and his eyes stung with tears. Clearly, the bandaid technique was not going to work. His leg was well and truly stuck.

He tried to ignore the coppery scent of blood that had surged into the cockpit as he cast his mind about for some other solution, but it wasn’t easy. His headache was making the air in here so thick, not helped by the fact that the dents and torn openings in the cruiser only let so much air into the vehicle. He needed a fan, maybe some water…

Water. Water and food were in the emergency kit, as were first-aid supplies and a portable radio. The radio, of course, he would save for a last-ditch effort - the most likely ones to pick up the distress signal were the Nuqelites, and he doubted they’d be eager to help him out. Everything else, though, he would definitely need.

He leaned back and reached for the overhead compartment where the emergency kit was stored.

And when his hand couldn’t reach it, he strained harder, stretching as far as his body would allow, the throbbing pain in both his leg and his head starting up again as his fingertips came within an inch of brushing against the compartment door but not quite touching it.

His heart sank with the realization of what this meant, and he wasn’t sure if the blood he felt suddenly surging with increased vigor was due to his injuries or his nerves. These cruisers were designed to be flown by Galra pilots, the emergency supplies placed to be within reach of a Galra arm. He’d been able to adjust his seat to accommodate his small stature before flying it, back when the cruiser was still in working order, but now that the ship was dead, he was stuck just out of reach of the emergency kit.

Which meant no first-aid supplies. No radio. No food. No water.

Keith groaned as he dropped his arm and collapsed back into the seat. There was nothing he could do. He was pinned within the wreckage of his ship, and all that was left for him was to wait for help. The realization hit him with nauseating force.

“Hey!” he yelled out, and normally the desperation in his voice would have embarrassed the hell out of him, but now was no time for pride. “Hey, is anyone out there?! Is anyone nearby?! I need help!”

No answer. He hadn’t really expected one.

“Help me! Hey! Is there anybody there?! Help!”

He wasn’t quite sure how long he kept up the shouting, only that eventually a part of him realized that not only was it fruitless, but he was quickly starting to dry out his throat. His shouts tapered off and he was left with just the quiet of the planet around him. It was growing dark out, too, he noticed. The planet was approaching its night cycle. He didn’t know how long the days were on Nuqel, or what time, relatively, it had been when he and the Blade had set off toward the planet’s surface, or how long he’d been unconscious, so any time passage meant little to him. Except that it would make it that much harder for any potential rescuers to find him once it grew dark.

Not that anyone was looking for him anyhow.

That thought was hurriedly pushed away. It wasn’t a matter of being abandoned, of his teammates not caring about his state. The other Blade members had probably been taken down too, and if they hadn’t, they had no way to know that he himself had lived through that crash landing. He wasn’t being rejected. Wasn’t being forgotten. Wasn’t being abandoned.

Didn’t change the fact that he was trapped in here, alone, bereft of supplies and contact with anyone outside the cockpit.

He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself not to think about that. To think about anything else but the tiny, darkening cockpit and his trapped leg…

How he managed to fall asleep soon after, he would never know. Perhaps it wasn’t so much falling asleep as it was passing out again. What he did know was that when his eyes drifted open again, the cockpit was pink with sunrise, his mouth was cottony and throat scratchy from lack of water, and he was just as stuck as he had been before.

For lack of anything better to do, he tried again to reach for the emergency kit, an endeavor he gave up on before too long. It was useless, and the strain left him aching. Not to mention sweaty. He was sweating quite a bit. Too much. He couldn’t afford to lose the hydration. But he couldn’t help it; it was so ungodly warm in the cockpit, and somehow it seemed to be growing warmer by the minute.

As the light grew in the cockpit, his vision slowly faded in and out, as if he were constantly falling half-asleep and waking up again. Might have been a side effect from the head injury. Hard to be certain. It might also have been due to the sheer boredom that came with having nothing to do, nothing to occupy his thoughts but blood and his trapped leg and the way the cockpit was so much smaller when the dashboard was caved in that way -

Don’t think about that. Don’t think about that.

He needed to keep his mind occupied to get through this, to make it through this awful waiting. Had to think about anything else.

The first thing his mind went to was the Castle, but he had to shake that memory away, try to replace it with thoughts of the Blade headquarters, but it didn’t hold. He didn’t want to think about the Blade right now, and he definitely couldn’t stand to think about the paladins.

So he decided on spacecraft. Tried to keep his mind on the sensation of piloting, and when that kept pulling back toward thoughts of the destroyed cruiser he was currently trapped inside, he grasped for something else. History. He knew spacecraft history. Not just what he was taught at the Garrison; he learned plenty on his own time.

He went through and mentally recited missions to the moon, in order, just as he’d learned them. No thoughts of his injuries, no thoughts of his isolation, just names of spacecraft. Pioneer 0. Luna E-1 number 1. Pioneer 1. Luna E-1 number 2. Pioneer 2. Luna E-1 number 3. Pioneer 3. Mechta. Pioneer 4.

He made it to Kosmos 305 before he forgot what came next. So he switched to constellations. And when he ran out of constellations, he moved on to state capitals. Then periodic elements. Then song lyrics. Anything to keep himself occupied.

All the while he faded. In and out, in and out. It was almost peaceful, in a way. Just him, in the quiet of the cockpit, trying to remember words from songs he hadn’t heard since his days in the desert as he tried to ignore the ever-growing headache and the stomach cramps and the heat.

That last bit wasn’t peaceful, but they did seem to make the parts where he faded out come faster.

Eventually the cockpit seemed to be growing dark again due not to his own fading consciousness, but to the sun outside setting once more. Keith watched the dashboard’s shadow as it grew longer along the cockpit’s floor until he finally couldn’t see it anymore, then closed his eyes, hoping for sleep. Sure, he had been half-asleep all day, but he didn’t really count that. He’d still been just as tired as he would have been if he’d spent the day training, not to mention just as sweaty. His hair was sticky with it, his back chafing against the pilot’s seat from the leftover dampness.

Although, he hadn’t actually tasted the salt of sweat on his lip for some time now. The sweat that was there seemed to have dried, crusted over.

He was familiar with dehydration. You don’t live in a desert for a year without getting some good hands-on knowledge on the subject. And the fact that he had stopped sweating was definitely a bad sign.

It was frustrating, and a little bit confusing. Just sitting in a cockpit for so long shouldn’t have dried him out this badly; without moving much, he should have been able to survive about a week without water. Something was wrong.

Something besides the obvious, that is.

Keith shivered as he tried to huddle further into the seat as best he could. He shouldn’t dwell on what was going wrong, not while there was nothing he could do about it. All he was supposed to focus on right now was passing time until, by some miracle, help arrived. And if it didn’t… well, he decided he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

He came to it by daybreak.

He had been woken by the arrival of light in the cockpit, although it was the last of several times he’d woken throughout the night. The others were from muscles seizing up and spasming, his body finally having had enough of being stuck in this position and rebelling against him.

The throbbing of his pinned leg had been present all throughout the night, growing just slowly enough that it was hard to notice the difference from hour to hour. But now in the daylight, he finally got a hint of just what sort of state the injury was in.

There, on his Blade uniform where it covered the leg, just before the swollen knee disappeared under the dashboard. There had been a dark bloodstained there for a while, but now something else was mixed in, a pale yellow that had seeped out, drying over the bloodstain. Pus.

Keith’s breath hitched as he focused on it, the only point holding steady in his swimming vision. Pus meant infection. Infection explained the fever - the heat and the sweat and the muscle cramps and the dizziness.

And it also meant that he wouldn’t make it much longer if it wasn’t dealt with, and dealt with fast.

Once more he tried reaching for the emergency kit, despite his every instinct screaming that it was pointless. If he could just get to the kit, he could fix this. He could clean out the wound, get antibiotics from the first aid kit and stave off the gangrene that was surely well on its way.

If he could reach it, he wouldn’t have to - wouldn’t have to -

He was going to have to do it, he realized with a sinking heart as he let his arm fall.

For a long moment he sat still except for his heaving breaths, ones that probably would have been frustrated sobs if he’d been hydrated enough to allow for that.

With nausea bubbling up his throat, Keith slowly reached around to his hip, where his Marmora blade was strapped into place as usual. He removed it, lifting it to the light and trying to steady his grip as he watched the light reflect off its surface. The luxite surface had been cleaned before this mission. Not to the level of pristine sanitation that would typically be required of surgical tools, but enough that it should be okay for this task. It was certainly sharp and sturdy enough.

He brought the tip of the blade to his arm first, ripping off the sleeve from the seam where it attached to his glove and all the way up to his shoulder, and he brought the length of fabric down to tie around his leg as tightly as he could right above the spot where the limb disappeared into the wreckage of the dashboard.

Then, swallowing down the nausea, he moved his blade down toward the trapped leg.

His hand hovered over the skin below his knee, and he tried to convince himself that the shakiness was due more to blood loss and fever than apprehension, because perhaps if he didn’t think about how terrifying this was, it would somehow become less so. Still he hesitated.

He adjusted his grip on the knife and leaned back, taking the blade to the seatbelt that dangled beside him. He had to press the seatbelt down with his elbow to get it to hold steady, but soon he was able to slice a length of it away.

Already starting to feel worn from the energy spent on just that task, he took the length of seatbelt in his free hand, folded it over, and placed it in his mouth, holding it between his teeth. Something a little sturdier to keep him from biting his tongue, and to muffle his screams a bit as he didn’t know what sort of wildlife a sound like that may attract.

And he was definitely going to wind up screaming, he knew.

A fog settled at the borders of his vision as he returned his blade to the leg, the edge easily slicing through the threads of his uniform and coming to rest on the skin - skin that was now visible through the tear, and that he could now see was blazing red from infection.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. The only thing between him and getting free of the wreckage now was a bit of slicing. He could do it.

He had once been a paladin of Voltron. If Shiro could handle being down one limb, so could he.

He would have liked to be able to look away, or close his, but of course, that was hardly an option when he was the one holding the knife.

So he didn’t so much as blink as the blade pressed into his skin, the scarlet of blood welling up over the edges of the cut at once. His vision swam, and he was certain that if he hadn’t gone the last couple of days without eating, anything in his stomach would be coming up now as he pressed the knife further, soon needing to saw the blade back and forth as whatever he was hitting grew thicker and more durable than the skin he’d gone through first - tendons or muscles or something, he wasn’t sure; anatomy had never been a strong subject for him in school.

The sound of blood dripping onto the floor of the cockpit was almost drowned out by the growing buzzing in his ears, and he was biting down so hard onto the length of seatbelt that he was honestly surprised his teeth weren’t ripping straight through it. He didn’t even think he was actually screaming; his throat was too raw, or perhaps the scream just had gotten lost somewhere on the way out, the way it did in nightmares.

This probably fit the criteria of one.

Every ounce of focus, every bit of energy he had went into that knife in his leg, everything else in the cockpit fading as blood flooded his vision, pouring from the ever-growing wound and over his hand, slick and warm as he felt the blade hit bone and it was getting harder and harder to hold onto the hilt of the blade, harder to keep his eyes open.

He lost his grip entirely at one point, his hand shaking too hard, and the blade shifted sideways as it split through the skin of his leg in a new deep tear. His vision went white, and he trembled as he waited for it to return to the image of the cockpit.

It didn’t. It just grew darker.

And darker.

And darker.

Until the whole world went black.

There was no easy way to track the time in the darkness and the nothing. All Keith knew for sure was that when he finally started to fade back, it was to the feeling of a chill against his skin and the sound of an electronic hiss, followed by -

“Give him space, we can’t all catch him at once.”

- a voice he hadn’t heard in far too long.

He collapsed forward, partly out of exhaustion, partly relief, and two arms caught him and held him steady. Keith didn’t bother opening his eyes, and instead just let his face drop into the nearest shoulder as if it were the softest pillow he’d ever known.

“Mind that leg, Number Four, it’s still going to be rather tender for a while yet. Shiro, if you don’t mind…?”

“Right, I got it. Keith?” A hand rubbed his back. “Wanna go take a seat, get your weight off that leg?”

Keith didn’t answer, was too focused on breathing in the familiar scent of his older brother, when another hand came, this one tapping his head. 

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, Mullet. Time to cooperate.”

He finally lifted his head and opened his eyes, solely to shoot Lance a glare.

His teammates gradually came into focus, all in their day clothes, all tired-eyed and with varying degrees of worry and relief on their faces. Keith blinked up at them slowly before asking in a dry rasp, “How - how did I - ?”

“How’d you get here?” Shiro finished for him, and Keith nodded.

“You hitched a ride in Green,” Pidge answered.

“What?” Keith said.

“We tracked you down to Nuqel,” Shiro explained as he began leading Keith over to the med bay’s steps, wordlessly lowering him to take a seat and positioning himself right next to him as he continued, “You… weren’t in the best shape when we got to you.”

“How’d you guys find me?” Keith asked. “My ship, it was - ” He was cut off by a cough, and before he’d even finished coughing a water pouch had been placed into his hands, courtesy of Hunk. Keith nodded his thanks and took a sip before continuing, “All the electronics and stuff were down for the count. How did you track me?”

“We didn’t,” Pidge said. “Had to hunt you down the old-fashioned way.”

“Kolivan contacted us a few quintants ago,” Allura spoke up. “To inform us that your ship had been downed on a mission and that you were, er…”

“He said they were guessing you were dead,” said Lance. “Which, you know, didn’t sound right to us. Our samurai’s not exactly the dying sort, you know?”

“So Allura managed to get Kolivan to tell us the details of the mission you went missing on,” said Pidge. She grinned. “You should’ve seen her. Kolivan was being all stubborn about confidentiality, and by the end of it Allura pretty much threatened to march into the Blade headquarters and strangle Kolivan with her own hands if he didn’t give us every last detail and coordinate of your mission.”

Keith raised a brow toward Allura. “Really? You did that?”

“She is somewhat... embellishing the details,” Allura said sheepishly.

“Aww, come on, Allura, you can admit you were upset,” said Hunk. “We all were.” The last bit he addressed to Keith.

“Anyway, we got the general location and I went down to scout in Green,” Pidge continued. “Since she’s the one with the cloaking and apparently Nuqelites aren’t super welcoming to visitors. It, well, it took some time tracking you down. I was scanning for life forms, but apparently whatever that cruiser’s made of was blocking you from being picked up. I know the Blade loves their stealth, but damn, sometimes it can be a real pain. Still, finally managed to find you, and you were, um…” Her face fell to a tense frowned. “You really weren’t looking so hot when I found you. I mean, you were white as a ghost and everything smelled and there was a lot of blood - like, a lot of blood - and I was sure at first that you were - that you had - ”

She swallowed and dropped her gaze, and Keith tried not to imagine the scene Pidge had come across when she’d found him in that cockpit, or how she might have reacted in the moment.

“Well, um, the important thing is, you were still alive, and I tried to get you out of that wreckage but you were really wedged in there. Wound up having to fly back up to the castle and then come back with Shiro so he could use his arm. We got you out, eventually. Took you back up in Green. You kinda bled out all over her, actually, it was sort of a mess.”

“Not as much a mess as that leg was, though,” Coran piped up.

“True enough,” Pidge said with a nod. “Yeah, that leg of yours was - it was really messed up. Coran even thought maybe it might have been severed too deep for the cryopod to fix it, that we’d have to amputate it. Luckily it didn’t quite come to that, think we were all kinda freaked out by the notion.”

“Sorry,” Keith mumbled.

Shiro’s hand was moving comfortingly against his back immediately. “Hey, bud, don’t apologize,” he said. “Not your fault you crashed.”

“Yeah, but the leg thing,” he said. “That was, um… that was my doing.”

Hunk let out a strangled sound and Lance yelped, “What the shit, Mullet?!” but Pidge and Shiro just exchanged a silent glance between them. 

“What?” Keith asked.

“We kinda suspected,” Shiro answered.

“Just, on account of the way we found your Marmora knife,” Pidge said.

“I had to,” Keith said. “I mean, I - I thought I did. I was stuck. It was the only way - ”

“We know, Keith,” Shiro said softly.

“I wasn’t trying to - to hurt myself or - ”

“No one thinks you were, Keith,” Allura said. “You were badly trapped. Pidge and Shiro told us as much when we brought you back.”

“I couldn’t do it anyway,” Keith mumbled. “I tried to, but… I couldn’t. I was too - ”

“Hey, dude, it’s a good thing that you couldn’t do it,” Lance interrupted. “Why the hell are you apologizing for not pulling it off?”

“Just… I don’t know. Just sorry you guys had to deal with the, um, the aftermath, I guess? I was - I was close, to getting out on my own. You shouldn’t have had to - ”

“Oh, God, he’s doing that Keith thing,” Pidge groaned.

“Keith thing?” Keith repeated.

“That thing where you try to act like like you’ve got everything under control and didn’t want help and no one else should have gone to the trouble. Didn’t you do the same thing that time you got shot when we were on Uthulea?”

“Ooh, yeah, that was bad,” Hunk said. “You wouldn’t even let me help you walk. Up until you passed out, I mean.”

“The head injury you tried to ‘walk off’ when we were in Yisitov comes to mind,” Coran said, tapping his chin.

“I don’t remember that,” Keith said.

“Yes, I doubt you would have.”

“Point is,” said Pidge, “Don’t even think about trying to pretend like you had things under control, or that we shouldn’t have come to the rescue.”

“That’s not what I was saying, I just - ”

“Or that we had gone to too much trouble for you,” Shiro cut him off, and Keith closed his mouth. He’d got it in one. “We hadn’t gone to nearly as much trouble as you almost did. The idea of you trying to make it on your own with one leg, an infection and fever, and what looked to be a couple days of dehydration and starvation, well… it’s definitely not a pretty picture.”

“... I guess not,” Keith said. “Well, um… thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Mullet,” said Lance. “See, was that so complicated? That’s how these things should go. ‘What happened?’ ‘We saved you.’ ‘Oh, thanks.’ ‘You’re welcome.’ None of this weird guilt stuff. Would save so much time.”

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith grunted over Pidge’s snort.

Lance shrugged. “But seriously, man, good to have you back in one piece.”

“And let’s make sure you stay in one piece,” Coran said. “The damage to your leg was quite severe, lad. Even with the pod it’ll take some recuperation, and there will, unfortunately, be a good bit of scarring, although I’m given to understand you seldom wear short pants, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you. I’ve done a bit of planning for some physical exercises you’ll want to engage in over the next few movements to get it back into tip-top shape; perhaps you’d benefit from a full written schedule…”

Keith let his head drop back onto Shiro’s shoulder as Coran babbled. He’d think about getting his leg back to normal later. For now, it was enough to just enjoy being home again.

[butitprobablyis]

Natalie’s Father

Her father spotted her open backpack discarded carelessly on the living room floor. His first instinct was to call for her to put it away, but he was also curious to see what sort of things his intellectual daughter read.  From a young age, his daughter, Natalie, had always been very beautiful, and it seemed that the passage of time only enhanced that beauty.. He may have spoiled and sometimes indulged her some, but he found it all worth it.

He pulled out a folded creased magazine, expecting to see a well-thumbed Discover or NeuroImage, and was surprised to instead find Cosmo.  The folded pages fell open to an article titled, “Ten Secrets for Driving Him Wild in the Bedroom.” His eyebrow raised. His pretty little Natalie had not only read this naughty article but obviously folded the magazine open to focus on it.  Maybe so she could hold it, read it, with one hand free.

The magazine still tight in his hand, he made his way into her bedroom.  He surveyed his surroundings. It was a bit messy, the bed unmade, and a few bits of clothes scattered about.  He dropped the backpack by the foot of her bed and continued into the bathroom – a claw foot bathtub, a large shower and two sinks with a wide a countertop on the far wall. The floor was wet, and the counter was cluttered with makeup and hair products.

Moving towards the toilet his eyes focused on a pair of discarded thong panties on the edge of the bathtub. What is this? he asked himself, surprised to discover such a skimpy unmentionable would belong to his daughter. He picked them up, dangling the stringy garment on one finger. His innocent little girl was growing up fast, it seemed, for her to wear something so provocative and sexy. An image flashed before his eyes of his little girl prancing around wearing only the thong. Her pert little ass wagging back and forth with just a tiny line of fabric framed in her ass. It sent a thrill down his body and he felt his cock twitch.

Once maybe he would have felt ashamed getting hard for his own daughter.  But now with her lacy thong in one hand and an article instructing her how to keep her mouth wet during a blowjob he gave into his urges.  So beautiful and naively flirtatious, he thought and now also eager to learn.

He smiled and rubbed his stiffening erection over his slacks. Many times he had been tempted to parade around his home with the tent in his pants his daughter had regularly given him, hopeful to test the limits of her affection for him.  Still, he had never truly dared to go down that road. He unzipped his fly and sat down on the closed toilet seat. He fished out his semi erect cock.  Imagining her in front of his long thick shaft, he gripped himself and started to stroke.

He held the tiny suggestive lace garment tight in one hand.  Was it wet? Damp from the steamy bath? Or something else?  Imagining Natalie pushing her fingers under the indecently small panties and into her slippery pussy, he jerked his fist up and down on his cock, harder and harder. Then he heard the creak of the door and he opened one eye, careful to not react too quickly, unsure of what was about to happen. He could see someone entering the bathroom. He slowed his stroking and waited to see who it was, frozen in place by fear.

It was Natalie, and he could see her gaze was locked on his cock as she moved closer. This was like a dream for him; indeed, he wasn't sure if it was even really happening. Yes Natalie, step closer, take my cock in your hands… Then her eyes shifted upward and she saw her father’s face. “Dad!” she yelped in shock. The fantasy died quickly as he snapped back to reality. Still, the sight of her entranced by his long, thick cock was enough to keep him hard for a lifetime. “Natalie!” he shouted in kind, sounding flummoxed about what was happening. His daughter’s face was bright red. She was likewise shocked and confused. “What…what are..” Natalie stammered a little, her eyes revealing her an inner conflict, shooting between her father’s hard throbbing dick and his face, unable to reconcile the two. Her face turned bright red with shock.  She stood there open mouthed and breathless instead immediately darting out of the room, as he might have expected. He himself was stuck there, trapped between embarrassment and arousal. He knew he should do something.  He should put his dick away but if felt so good holding it in front of her.  Then just as Natalie appeared to recover herself, he reached out and putting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder – the same hand that had just been pounding his cock. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said at last. “I was just having a moment to myself.” Natalie gulped. Unable to meet his eyes she glared at her own father’s stiff shameless prick. “No, no, I’m sorry Dad. Let me. Let me leave you,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. Quickly he answered, “It’s your bathroom, please.” Her expression still stricken with dismay. “Why don't you take a seat? You look lightheaded,” he continued, trying his best to ease her nerves. “Doctor’s orders.” “I, ah…” Natalie could hardly form a sentence. “I umm…” She looked lost as she struggled for words but her eyes never left his cock.

“What’s happening?’ she sputtered. "It’s okay sweetie.  Come on," as he guided his daughter over to the toilet. She sat down, her legs feeling a little rubbery. She slumped forward and momentarily put her face into her hands. As her breathing steadied, she sat up right again, seeming more calm and collected. Taking a half-step back he realized his cock was still out, still stiff and now level with his daughter’s beautiful face.   He should have stuffed it back in his pants. He should be trying to put Natalie at ease.  He should at least be limp with embarrassment and mortification. But there he was still more than half hard right in front of her big eyes, and her perfect mouth with her plump little lips. And as he gazed over his maturing young daughter his dick grew even harder, and longer. Worse he relished her shocked look.  How she gulped as if threatened by it but never looking away from his cock as it straightened and extended toward her pretty face.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.  He could act calmly and carefully to keep this from spiraling out of control and permanently ruining his relationship with his daughter. The best way to handle damage control, knowing Natalie, was to appeal to her intellectual side. She was a proud girl and was quick to respond to challenges to her intelligence. “Natalie,” he said calmly and reached down to his cock, holding it in one hand, “It’s just my penis. I’m guessing you’ve seen more than a few by now.” “I… I just…” Natalie stared at it and then shook her head, "Of course. God! Dad! I know what a penis is." “It's probably bigger than any you've seen before, though,” He  said proudly, stroking it. She nodded slowly, still transfixed by the thick cock pointing right at her. “And I guess it’s a little strange seeing your Daddy’s dick, your Daddy’s hard dick, for the first time, huh?”

“Uh, that’s a bit of an understatement,” Natalie gulped. “Well don’t worry, honey, all girls go through this. Luckily you’re a mature woman now, so you’ll be fine.” He watched her shoulders and her breathing.  She seemed to be relaxing now. Initially he only meant to help calm her and keep her from running away screaming. But now he wondered how curious, how malleable she might be and exactly how far he might make her go. “I guess…?” Natalie said slowly before licking her lips.  

He was pretty sure it was an unconscious gesture on her part but thoughts of his daughter’s wet mouth made him chuckle.  

“Don’t worry, sweetie , I promise it won’t bite you,” he promised, waving his dick a little with one hand. A thick drop of precum that had gathered on the tip flicked off and landed on Natalie’s right cheek.

Her short sudden gasp seemed to echo across the silence that followed.  He watched her bring her finger curiously to the strand of her own father’s pre-cum on her own face.

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetie,” he said, his hand still stroking himself in front of her face.  

She watched another bright glistening drop beginning to form at the tip of his cock before, as if almost remembering, drawing a deep slow breath. "Uh, it's all right, Daddy… Maybe I should leave you alone uh…" His mind raced. He was about to lose her and he had to act decisively.  Maybe a challenge to her maturity might prod her response.  "I'm surprised you're so intimidated by a penis. I would have thought by your age you'd be a little more… grown up." Natalie, who had begun edging forward readying her escape slumped back against the toilet tank and looked up into her father’s eyes for the first time since she saw her cock in her face.  

"I'm not intimidated, Daddy.” The twinge of insult  rang through her voice before trailing off “I,I just..." Her words failed her, for some reason. It shouldn’t be so hard to articulate just how weird this was, should it? "It's just a little precum, honey," He said. "Watch, there's plenty more." He gripped his dick tightly at the base and then stroked upward. Before reaching the tip he said, "Now hold out your hand." Natalie hesitated, her eyes seeming to search the room for an answer, before gazing up at her Dad with a disconcerted look. “Now, now.  Come on, Natalie. Don’t be a spoiled little girl.” Natalie huffed but then did as she was told, cupping both hands under her Dad's cock as he poured out a thick helping of gooey, transparent precum. As It spread onto her palms a feeling of excited surprise moved through her.

"Wow, there's so much of it." "There is. Well, my dick is so big it needs a lot of lubrication." She nodded in agreement, understanding the basic biology of it. Natalie leaned over slightly and sniffed her palms. "Smells… tangy." "Why don't you try some?" Natalie looked up at her dad and arched an eyebrow. "Dad?" When he first glanced at the sex tips article in her magazine he imagined she must have already an accomplished eager cock sucker. But given her hesitation he wasn’t so sure.  Yes she was pretty, pretty face, pretty mouth but there was nothing more frustrating in the universe than a pretty girl who didn’t like giving head.  

“You will need to learn to enjoy the taste some time,” he suggested while continuing to milk his slippery pre-cum over her fingers. Natalie looked down at her palms and sniffed again. She opened her small mouth and stuck out her tongue ever so slightly, flicking it over the pool of goo.

In a flash she was then lapping eagerly at his precum pressing her tongue into every crease and crevice of her hand not wanting to miss a single hint of his taste.

"Not bad?" he asked. Natalie just shrugged defiantly, almost bratty, but the look in her eyes and the hunger in her mouth gave a different answer. "Well, let's see How much you like the real stuff," he announced, and sped up his jacking even faster. "Dad?" Natalie asked, her voice rising as she was unsure yet arroused at the sight of her father stroking his cock so quickly. She knew what was to happen next, but she had never been on the receiving end of it. Her eyes darting back and forth between her father's face and his cock being pounded by his fist. "Just hold out your hands again." Natalie didn’t hesitate this time and quickly cupped her hands under the end of father’s dick as his fist jacked the shaft. "Bring them up to your face…" he instructed, his breathing becoming ragged. "To your mouth.  I’m so close" Natalie looked unsure and nervous. But she did as she was told. "Open your mouth," her father urged, almost ready to cum. Natalie complied, visibly wary of what was in store for her. "Are you going to get some on my face, Dad? Like in those movies?" "Yes sweetie," He said smiling. “But…” Natalie murmured. “It’s good for your skin, you know,” her father said reassuringly. “It… it is?” she asked unsure, still holding her hands by her mouth, waiting patiently. “Yeah, that’s where the term facial comes from. Didn’t you know that?” “I ah… yeah, of course I knew that.” Natalie said confidently.

“Good. See? You’re a such smart girl.  Do you want to me to cum on your face?” Natalie swallowed, her eyes again shooting from left to right and then back at his cock again. “Just tell me you want me to, sweetie.”

“I…” Natalie hesitated. “I want you to… cum on my face.” “Daddy, call me Daddy” “Daddy, I want you to cum on my face” Natalie answered. Her father pumped harder and faster, his breath quickened.  It wouldn’t be long now “You want my jizz, sweetie?” Natalie nodded, her own breathing becoming faster and faster, her anticipation growing despite her reservations. “Yes, Daddy, I want your jizz on my face.” “Good, baby.  Now open your mouth again." “Yes, Daddy.” “That it’s baby, here comes Daddy’s cum.” Her father grunted and the first shot erupted from his cock and splashed across his Natalie’s left cheek, part of the load of cum splattering against her open hand. It was thick and heavy, covering most of one side of her face. He grunted again and the next shot splashed into her mouth. She coughed and closed her mouth for a second, while the third rope of cum dash across her nose and left eye. The palms of her hands were littered with excess jizz as it dripped down her face. She opened her mouth again, after quickly swallowing. She looked at her father's dick as the last of the cum was eked out by his trip grip. He flicked his cock again and sent the last dollop onto her nose.

“You look so pretty,” her father laughed. Natalie giggled with surprise. "So how does it taste?" he asked. Natalie lowered her hands from her mouth and shrugged slightly. "It's…all right." "Try some more,” her father instructed. "Lick it off your hands." "Okay…" Natalie hesitated and looked down at the mess on her palms. "You liked my precum.  I think you’ll learn to like cum too.  Maybe even love it." he explained in a fatherly tone. "Oh, okay, Daddy" Natalie relented, and then held her palms upright in front of her face. She licked timidly at first, just dabbing her tongue a little on the chunks of jizz littering her fingers. But after a few second she began to lap up the jizz more eagerly. "Good girl! That's it," her approved, his hand still rubbing his cock. Natalie ate up the remainder of the semen, cleaning her hands thoroughly. "I guess you liked it." Her father grinned, admiring his daughter’s cum splattered face as she ate up his semen. "Here, why don't I give you a little more." Natalie looked up at him and then at his still very erect cock. "You can do it again so soon?" she asked. "For my beautiful daughter, I'd do anything." Natalie blushed, but she wasn't sure she wanted anymore cum. "Open your mouth, sweetie," he said, his fist going full speed on his dick. Natalie paused glancing uneasily around the bathroom.  A face full of her Dad’s jizz was one thing but was she ready for his hard cock in her mouth. "Now Natalie," he spoke in an authoritative fatherly tone, "Don't act like a scared little princess." He knew she hated being called a princess. "It's time to be a woman. So act like one and open your pretty mouth for Daddy" Natalie eyes narrowed. She did not appreciate the taunt. She opened her mouth and glared up at her Dad, her expression determined with a hint of anger. "That's my girl," he said, and then without waiting thrust his dick deep inside her waiting mouth. Natalie’s eyes shot open as her mouth was invaded by her Dad’s thick cock. She moaned in shock and almost fought against gagging, but her Dad quickly said, “That its baby, just take it in your mouth. Don’t fight it. It’ll go easier that way.” Natalie steadied herself, gripping her fists against the side of the toilet for support.  She found a way, a will, to breathe, looking up at her father shocked wet eyes before pushing her widely stretched lips down her Daddy’s big thick cock.

“Yesss. Just let like that, sweetie. Suck on Daddy’s cock like a good little slut.” Her father began thrusting his dick deep in and out of his daughter’s mouth. Natalie tried to hold her head dutifully still, but soon instinctively found her own counter rhythm letting the wide head of her father’s beautiful cock race back and forth from just inside her lips to the edge of her throat.

“Use your tongue baby, lick at it,” she heard her father instruct. She obeyed and moved her tongue around in response, exploring the warm, fleshy meat intruder that was plowing her face. “That’s it, such a good girl.” He was surprised at how obedient and cock hungry his daughter was.  It was all so much than he expected. “Take my dick further baby, take it down into your throat.” When Daddy stopped thrusting himself for a moment, Natalie took over, moving her own face up and down on his cock. “That’s it, suck Daddy’s cock. That’s a good little daughter.” Natalie closed her eyes and worked into a rhythm. She’d bring her mouth to the end of her dad’s rod, leaving just the tip inside and then moved back down, sucking in more of the shaft each time as she pushed herself lower and lower on his cock. “You’re a natural,” Daddy complimented her. “Better than your mother.” Natalie gagged suddenly as the dick entered her throat – the mental picture of her father face fucking her Mom shocked her too – but she fought through and forced her Daddy’s hot hard cock into her newly open throat. “That’s it baby; take that cock.  Take that cock in your throat.” She felt her father put a hand on the back of her head and pushed herself to take more in. She could hear the ragged, strained breathing between his word. “Come on Natalie, take it all.”

Finally he broke though and his entire dick disappeared beyond his daughter’s lips. Natalie held her face at the base of his cock for a few seconds, as if to savor the success. “Good girl. You’re such a dirty little cocksucker.” Natalie moaned in response. She was an academic, a scholar – she was going to Harvard for her psychology degree hearing herself called a dirty cocksucker – and by her father no less – sent a electric thrill form her head through her twitching throat down to her soaked slippery pussy.   It made her pull her face back off his cock to the tip, and then gobble it all up again. Her energy did not go unnoticed. “Oh fuck, you’re good at this!” she heard him gasp. His daughter’s pace and enthusiasm picked up as she went. He could hear her moaning louder and louder. He wished he had tried this years ago. “Shit Natalie, I’m gonna fucking cum again,” he said, and she moaned in response and worked even faster.   “I’m gonna fucking cum in your slutty mouth.”

After a few more deep-throats she pulled off him and beat one hand up and down his shaft, holding her opened mouth at the tip, hungry for a second helping of his jizz. “Almost there Daddy?” Natalie urged him.The sound of her sweet eager voice sent her father over the edge blasting his second load into her waiting mouth.

“Oh fuck me!” he groaned, and as the second shot of cum landed onto Natalie tongue, she once more enveloped the head of his cock with her mouth and sucked hard on the tip, devouring all the cum her father had to offer. As her father’s orgasm subsided, he braced his arm against the wall exhausted and dizzy. Letting his cock slip from his daughter’s sloppy smiling mouth he stepped back and seated his bare ass on side of the bathtub. “Thank you,” he said through panting breaths. “You’re welcome, Daddy,” Natalie said with a devilish grin. “But you really should watch your language.” He chuckled, “Did I swear?” “Yes, you said the f-word.” Natalie shook her head in disapproval. “More than once.” “Sorry sweetie,” he spit out, still trying to catch his breath. “Mmm, if I said words like that Daddy. What would you do?”  Natalie leaned back crossed her arms, unaware or uncaring of the cum splattered across her face starting to drip down onto her blouse.  “Would you wash my mouth out with soap, like you always said?” Her father smiled and said, “After today, I think I’ll start washing your mouth out with something else, actually.”

Natalie smiled wickedly and said, “You mean with your big fucking Daddy dick?”

[distinguishedrebeldonut]

A Near Miss

Summary: A near miss forces you into temporary retirement from supporting the Tribe through bounty hunting, but there are more important things in life. Warnings: Injury and implied violence. Word Count: 1623 Characters: You, the Armorer (can be taken as platonic or more) “Are you sure about this?” “Just do it. It can't hurt much more coming out than it did going in.” There is a weight to Tathe's stare that tells you she is scowling behind her helmet. She shifts her weight and drums her fingers against her elbow and you find yourself wondering how many worst case scenarios she has been considering over the last ten minutes. The medic has encountered injuries that you could never imagine in the course of her career, and in all the years you have known her she has always been cautious. You watch her helmet dip the smallest bit towards the supplies laid out on the table, a hastily assembled assortment of syringes and gauze and suture kits waiting to be put to use. With a harsh sigh and grumbled curse she drops her arms to her sides and steps forward, beckoning her assistant over from where he has been hovering. “My infirmary is no place for bravado. I would expect you of all people to know that,” she says as she plucks a syringe of analgesic from the tray. “I have already had one dose, Tathe. Save it for a true emergency,” you counter, aiming for stoic persuasion. Judging from the way the medic pauses with the needle in midair you know you have missed the mark.

“And what, exactly, would you consider a true emergency? Because from where I am standing having half a foot of metal jutting out from your collarbone looks an awful lot like one,” Tathe growls with a sharp nod at the stick of rebar lanced through your shoulder. When you are unable to come up with a reply she snorts and administers the shot in multiple quick injections around the foreign object, ensuring that the whole area is well and truly numb. “This will be a delicate operation as it is. The last thing I need is you jerking around and making things worse. Understand?”

“Yes, baar'ur,” you relent, unconsciously tensing when Regus steps up to hold you in place. Tathe turns your head to the side with a gentle but insistent pressure on the side of your helmet before reaching for the rebar.

“Don't look,” she mutters. Closing your eyes you nod once, focusing on your breathing as she gets to work on extracting the piece of metal. The removal process is simple enough, a matter of guiding the rebar out the way it came in and flushing the wound with medication to ward off infection. But you can tell by the way the medics pause that the injury is more severe than you had self diagnosed on your way back to the covert. You feel your heart sink when Tathe finally pulls away and allows you to turn your head forward again.

“It is too early to tell if there will be nerve damage. The more immediate problem is the broken bones,” she says, standing to her full height while wiping her gloves on a towel. “You… said that this was the result of a grenade, yes?”

“Yes.” Your voice has gone monotone. Broken bones. Minor things, considering how close you had been to the explosion, but worse than you were hoping for.

“You're looking at three, four weeks minimum,” Tathe busies herself with cleaning and putting away the tools of her trade while Regus fetches material for a sling. “You won't be able to wear your armor until the bones are healed. It will put too much pressure on the joint.”

“Without my armor…”

“You will be unable to hunt.”

A new voice brings the entire infirmary to a standstill. Heart dropping further towards your stomach you turn towards the door and watch the Armorer step into the room, serene as ever. Something akin to shame burns in your chest as you incline your head in respectful greeting. She stops just shy of the exam table and spares the barest hint of acknowledgment for you, the majority of her attention focused on Tathe. You do your best to sit up straight and quietly accept the sling when Regus passes it to you, allowing him to help you secure it. He is mindful not to cross the Armorer's path when he steps away again so Tathe can do a final inspection.

“A month's down time is your recommendation,baar'ur?” the Armorer asks once the medic is finished.

“At a minimum, Alor, yes. A week from now we should know if there is any underlying damage and can begin physical therapy. The bones have not separated far enough to warrant surgery and should heal together on their own.”

“I see.” A silence follows, stretching several heart beats before the Armorer speaks again. “Would you excuse us? We must discuss a change in arrangements.”

If Tathe is at all surprised or insulted at being kicked out of her own domain she does not show it beyond a momentary hesitation. Bowing to the Tribe's leader she slips the last medication into the cabinet and makes her exit, Regus trailing after. The curtain that serves as the door seems to rustle abnormally loud in the quiet they leave behind. Now alone with the Armorer you find it difficult not to fidget as you wait for her to talk. She, however, does not seem keen on breaking the silence again. An eternity passes. With guilt weighing you down you open your mouth to break it yourself when she steps forward, slowly approaching the table where your discarded armor sits in an orderly pile. Her fingers ghost over the pauldron that should have protected you before she picks it up, turning it over to examine it.

“What happened?” she asks and you drop your gaze to your lap, feeling the shame burn all the more.

“Bounty managed to get one over on me. Had one more grenade than I anticipated,” you explain, picking at the corner of the sling. You hear the whisper of leather on metal as she continues her inspection, searching for faults. “Used it to blow up a street corner. I got hit with a chunk of building. Armor stopped the worst of it but by some kind of freak luck that metal rod hit me in the sliver of space not covered by the pauldron.”

“We will have to choose your successor. The Tribe cannot wait for your injuries to heal.”

“I know. I… have a few ideas.” It had given you something to focus on besides the pain on your trip back to Nevarro. A realist by nature you had assumed that you would be out of commission for a time. Granted, not for an entire month, but long enough to hurt the Tribe through the lack of your income. Clearing your throat you make yourself sit up straight again. “Djarin is ready for a more permanent assignment, I think. He has already proven himself a capable hunter. Better than myself, even.”

“Noted.” The Armorer sets the pauldron down and drags her hand over to your cuirass. There are fresh scuff marks and soot smudges on the paint from the grenade, and when she flips it over you catch a trace of blood drying on the corner. The sight of it makes you wince and glance towards the swath of bandages covering your left shoulder. Belatedly you realize that you are going to have to replace your shirt. The entire sleeve and then some are gone, cut away to give Tathe room to work. A pity; you had liked that shirt.

When you pull yourself out of your distracted musing you find the Armorer has at last deigned to look at you. There is a near imperceptible droop to her shoulders now as she studies you and you feel yourself mirroring it. She takes the three steps that separates you, coming to stand just outside your personal sphere. You can tell by the angle of her visor that she is staring at the bandages. Lifting a hand she grazes her fingers across them, her touch so careful and featherlight that you sigh.

“Three inches,” she murmurs, so softly you almost miss it. Blinking, you hum a note of question, exhaustion starting to take hold as the last of your adrenaline fades. Turning her hand she presses her palm against your chest, spreading her fingers so that they span the stretch from the side of your neck down to your heart. “Three inches either way and you would not have made it back.”

“Oh.” Swallowing around the guilt lodged in your throat you raise your good hand up to rest over hers. There are no words you can think of to respond with and you give up searching for them after a minute. You settle for pressing her hand firmer to your chest, willing her to feel the beating of your heart through her glove or the rise and fall of your breathing at the very least. Stepping closer she presses the crown of her helmet to yours, her other hand coming to rest on your knee, completing a ritual that you have both known for years.

“You are home. That is what matters.”

In another few minutes you will separate and the line between leader and follower will fall back into place. A formal meeting will be called and your replacement will be named while you find a new role within the Tribe. She will return to being what she has always been, the rock that anchors the Tribe in a galaxy so determined to tear it apart. But for now you hold each other, giving yourselves permission to feel the vulnerability that makes you human and embracing the comfort of being close to someone you trust with that vulnerability.

====== Baar’ur = Medic Alor = Leader Notes: Yet again I should have been in bed three hours ago but I hit a stride and could not stop myself from finishing this while I was in the zone. I might do a sequel to this one, since this is not at all what I originally meant to write, but it probably won’t be done until the weekend.

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 25

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.  

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 3.3k

Parts  26, 27, 28 & 29 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

“Ready?” Lexi waits for confirmation before picking up a shot of tequila and tipping it back. You both gulp down your respective drinks and suck on limes in tandem as Tim pounds on the bar enthusiastically. You shake your head, puckering at the after taste and shouting a little hoot.

“Fuck, I’m too Goddamn old for tequila shots,” you laugh.

“Come on, meemaw.” Lexi laughs throwing an arm over your shoulders. “You gotta live a little.”

“She’s right.” Leaning in, Tim tips back a swig of cognac. “Life is short, we all need to let go a lot more.”

“Yes, yes we do,” Millie chimes in, throwing back her chardonnay.

“I’m trying.” You watch them, the crowd milling around the bar on a weeknight.

This started out as a Tuesday night survivor support group, but over several months it’s evolved into a much-needed space to blow off steam. Last week it was an evening at the arboretum at Harvard University, tonight it’s shots and gossip at a local dive bar.  

“Are you coming back to work?” you ask Tim.

“Yeah. Soon I think, Winchester said I could take another six months if I wanted, but my therapist thinks I’m ready. Who am I to argue with a trained professional.” He taps the rim of his glass and the bartender refills it.

“Hey, as long as you’re ready we’re happy to have you back.” Millie smiles, inching a little closer. You suspect she likes Tim, she won’t come out and admit it but she finds a way to bring him up in nearly every conversation.

If it wasn’t for a limp on his right side, no one would ever know he’d been shot. But there was nerve damage that will most likely never be corrected so he’s stuck with a permanent reminder.

“I don’t think I can spend any more time in my apartment without going crazy. Trauma or not, all this paid time off has been incredible.” Tim’s forever positive. He can see the bright side of anything.

“Me too,” Millie throws up a fist in solidarity. “I can’t believe you went back so soon.” She looks at you.

“Working helps me keep my mind off things. I was glad to go back. And I like the new building.”

“And the new office,” Millie grins, elbowing you. “She’s a hotshot now.”

“I’ll have to go check it out,” Tim confirms. “And the new boss, how’s he?”

“Honestly? A dream,” you gush, always happy to talk about your new position. “After working for Pepper I had this distorted image of a healthy work-life balance, but Cole is awesome.”

“He’s not bad to look at either,” Lexi pipes up, fishing a cherry from the bottom of her empty glass.

“He’s all yours.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her. “I’m just happy he’s not a psychopath. Speaking of which, any idea when Pepper is coming back?”

“No, and we’re not in a hurry,” Lexi snorts, rolling her eyes. “Life is so much easier without her.”

“Easier but painfully unorganized,” Millie explains. “She’s a bitch but I don’t think we realized how much she truly did until she was gone. To be honest, the whole department is a hot mess right now. We’ve got associates with three assistants assigned to them and associates without anyone.”

“Give and take with everything, I suppose.” Checking your watch you frown when you realize it’s nearly ten. You have to work early tomorrow and time flies whenever you’re with these three.

“Did you read about Winchester?” Tim sing-songs like he’s about to dish out a juicy piece of gossip. “Any idea who the mystery girlfriend is?”

Your cheeks bloom bright red, trying to act natural.

“Please,” Lexi looks disgusted, still raw that he turned her down. Not that it’s stopped her from hinting at the fact that they had some sort of tawdry affair. “I feel bad for whoever it is.”

“Why?” Millie scoffs. “He’s super-rich, he can get whatever he wants. I know women who put up with a lot more for a lot less. And we don’t even know that it’s a woman. Maybe he’s gay. You never know.”

“No way,” Tim shakes his head no. “I guarantee you it’s some model or actress. The guy has Leonardo DiCaprio syndrome.”

“What does that mean?” you ask.

“You know, only dates women fifteen years younger than him that look good in bikinis.”

“Don’t you think,” you start, turning your chair to face him. “That if he was really that much a playboy someone would have found out by now?”

“He came on to me,” Lexi inserts her made-up encounter.

“See,” Tim gestures toward her.

You sigh, trying to contain your amusement at the speculation. Lexi’s wild tales don’t even bother you anymore, you see her for what she is. Mindless and starving for attention.

“I think it’s someone at W & S.” Millie finishes her drink. “The guy works all the time, when would he even have time to meet someone? Watch, one day we’ll find it’s Pepper or that redhead from human resources that looks like a Victoria Secret model.”

“Maybe we’ll find out someday, maybe not.” You tip back the rest of your vodka and cranberry and dig through your purse for cash. “I gotta go to bed.”

“Me too,” Millie pats your shoulder “We can share an Uber.”

“I got you.” Tim lays a hundred on the counter. “I’m happy to pick up the tab for tonight. I look forward to Tuesday’s all week. You guys keep me sane.”

“You are seriously the best,” you give him a quick hug and turn to Lexi, kissing her on the cheek. “See you later.”

-

You’re completely lost in a YouTube video about the migratory patterns of whales when there’s a knock at your office door. Before you have the chance to shut down the browser the door opens and Sam slips inside.

“Hey,” you light up. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone, which usually means you’re working.” He points toward the computer screen. “Or not.”

“I went down the youtube rabbit hole.” You laugh, shaking your head. “I swear, this whole thing started with five tips on how to work with difficult people and…” you glance at the clock, shocked that it’s nearly midnight. “And three hours later I’m here, learning about baleen whales and infrasound.”

“Is that really why you’re here so late?” He perches on the edge of your desk, fingering a pen.

“Honestly, I didn’t realize it was this late. Time got away from me.” You watch him examine your office, taking in all the details before refocusing on you. “Did we have plans tonight?”

“No,” he rests a hand on his thigh. “But I was thinking about dropping by your place. Taking you up on that offer for frozen pizza.”

Checking your phone you find a missed text and phone call. “Shit, I would really have enjoyed that. It’s too late now, huh?”

“Probably.” He tilts his head, eyes dropping from your mouth to your neck, then lower. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“You know,” rocking back the chair, you bite your bottom lip playfully. “This look you’re giving me right now is exactly what Cole was talking about.”

“What look is that?” There’s a trace of a smile, his eyes narrowing at the suggestion of impropriety.

“Like I’m little red riding hood and you’re the wolf.” You toe off one shoe, then the other before standing, and sauntering closer to him. “Should we be alone together? I’m not sure I can trust you.”

“That’s a good point,” he grins, standing up himself and placing both hands on your hips. “I came to your office late at night when no one else is around. I closed the door. Predatory behavior.”

Sam pushes you backward until your butt is against the edge of the desk and he’s looming above you.

You blink twice, eyes going wide in mock innocence. “Is there something I can help you with Mr. Winchester?”

He’s not always in a playful mood, but tonight finds you both in exactly the right time and place to have a bit of fun. Sam’s fingers squeeze tighter, curling into the flesh of your side and then releases his hold, standing close enough you can practically feel his body heat.

“I’m not entirely convinced this is the job for you,” he sighs, giving you a dismissive shake of his head. “Not sure you really want this position.”

“Oh, I want it,” you whisper chin tipped upward as you stare at him dewy-eyed. “What can I do to show you how serious I am?”

“I have a few ideas,” he offers, honing in on your parted lips as he licks his own. “You may have to work for it.”

“I’d do anything. Please, give me a chance.” You’re already breathless as his fingers caress the skin on the outside of your thigh, just above your knee. “Tell me what I need to do?”

“Spread your legs for me.” He tips his head to the side, watching your carefully curated shocked expression.

“Mr. Winchester,” you gasp, mouth falling open in faux horror as your knees open wide, skirt riding up your thighs. “We can’t…”

“Then tell me to stop,” he raises one eyebrow, hand sliding up the side of your leg and disappearing under your skirt. You lock eyes as he swirls the pads of his finger at tender flesh near your heat, so teasingly close that a moan falls out of your mouth before he ever really touches you.

“You have to stop,” you whimper, looking him dead in the eyes, spreading your thighs further and canting your hips toward his hand. “This is wrong.” You wiggle closer to his elusive touch. “I’ll tell someone, I’ll turn you in.”

“You think anyone would believe you?” He taunts while his thumb grazes downward, just the tip slipping between the lips of your bare cunt. He sinks an inch into your slick before sliding upward to find the throbbing bud. “What would you tell them? You were this wet but you didn’t want it?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, long and low. Your eyes screw shut as he flicks up and down over your clit, two fingers stroking into trembling flesh. He plays with soft, long strokes before finally sinking his fingers into your pussy, twisting them all the way in up to his knuckles. “Oh, God.”

Your head falls lax, hands reaching backward for anything to grab onto as a framed photo of your parents tumbles to the floor.

“You said you’d do anything to keep your job,” he leans over you, whispering hot breath at the shell of your ear. “Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” you whine, nodding emphatically as his fingers thrust in and out of your cunt, the wet, squelching sound bouncing off the walls. “Anything.”

“Will you take my cock...here?” He grunts, hooking his fingers inside and you see stars, legs trembling at the overwhelming pleasure. “Let me cum inside you?”

“Yes!” This confirmation is met with the withdrawal of his hand from between your legs. The disappointment is short-lived as he spins you around, bending you over the desk and hiking your skirt up over your ass.

“Say please,” he insists, his hand coming down on your right cheek with a smack.

“Please, I’ll do anything!” Wiggling your stinging backside there's the zip of his pants and the rustle of clothes before the head of his cock is at your entrance. Looking forward you can see the garbled reflection of the two of you in the glass of a painting on your wall. While you haven’t exactly pre-planned this little escapade, your fantasies are generally in line with each other, so you add in a few elements that really get you worked up. “You’re not going to put on a condom?”

The question gives him pause, the suggestion settling in as he notches the head into your throbbing channel. The idea of being forced, or in this case coerced, into a man cumming inside you is something you’ve shared with him but it’s not yet worked its way into the bedroom.

“If you want to keep your job, you’ll shut up and open this sweet little cunt.” His hand twists into your hair as he slides deep, not stopping until you feel his hips at your backside. “There you go, just like that. You like the way my cock feels, don’t you?”

“It’s so deep,” you pant, the side of your face pressed into some report from earlier in the afternoon.

“Now,” he slaps your ass as he pulls out and thrusts back inside. He repeats the motion with another whack that pulls a moan out of your throat. “I want you to tell me how much you want it. Say please Mr. Winchester, cum in my pussy.”

“I can’t,” you put up a show. “You can’t-”

He yanks your hair back, pulling your face off the desk as he drills into your cunt. “Say it.”

“Please!” you cry out, hands digging into the hardwood of the desk. “Please Mr. Winchester, please cum in my pussy.”

“Again,” he grits, fucking you hard and fast.

“Please cum in my pussy. Please, I want it so bad.”

“I know you do.” He purrs, using his free hand to press down on your lower back, keeping you in place as his pace grows faster still, hammering into you.

You're close to orgasm, the way he has you bent over the desk means your clit is rubbing over the surface, creating perfect friction. You pant and moan, body winding up for the release as the fantasy culminates in his cock stroking hard and deep with every thrust of his hips.

“Can I cum, Mr. Wincester!” You hold back waiting for permission.

“No,” he spits out, the hand on your back wrapping around your throat. “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare even think about it.”

“Shit,” you sputter, sending your mind somewhere else. It’s the only way to hold back when you're teetering on the edge. You hope he’ll cum soon because you can’t hold out much longer and right on cue he grinds forward, pressing into your thighs with all his weight as he cums. Breathing hot and heavy, he slowly pulls out, sending a gush of his wet and warm release down your thighs.

But Sam’s not done yet.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Standing on shaking legs you turn to face him. He tucks his shiny dick back into his underwear and gets his clothes back in place as you stand there with his seed dripping from your sex.

“You almost came, didn’t you?” He snakes closer, a hand threading back into your hair to hold you in place. “I could feel it, feel how tight your pussy got at the end.”

“Yes,” you nod, looking up at him as his hand snakes back between your legs.

“I guess I’ll let you keep your job.” A villainous grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and your entire body responds, shaking with desire. “But I have to be sure you’ll never tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“I have to be sure. And do you know how I do that?” He asks and you shake your head, no. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to recount how wet you were. How you asked me to cum inside you. Only someone who was willing would ask for that. But you’re going to ask me something else, too.”

“What?” You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Say, I want to taste you.”

You blink, getting a vague idea of where this is going.

“I want to taste you,” you repeat quietly.

“Please stick your fingers in my pussy.”

Oh fuck.

“Please stick your fingers in my pussy...so I can have them in my mouth.” You add the last part and before it even leaves your mouth Sam is nodding in approval.

“Good girl,” he praises. His index and middle finger slip easily into your used cunt, twirling and bending until he’s coated in a mix of your arousal and his seed. “Open up.”

You dutifully let your mouth fall open as he slides his finger over your tongue.

“Open your eyes and look at me.” He instructs. You look up, watching as he moves his fingers back and forth over your tongue. “Now suck.”

You whimper, empty pussy clenching around nothing as you suck the spiced taste of your sex off him. After a few minutes of massaging your tongue, he removes his hand only to have his fingers wiggle back into your pussy, pressing inside as far as he can get.

“Now, you’re going to show me just how much of a whore you really are,” he explains calmly, pumping in and out of your slit. “Open your mouth again.”

You open up and this time his wet, warm fingers stroke over your tongue a couple of times before wiggling further, toward the back of your throat. You gag and he tsks, stilling his hand until you compose yourself and then pressing further and further until you’re practically choking on his knuckles.

Out of nowhere, his other hand is between your legs, finding your clit and pinching the delicate nub with enough force to make you gasp, his finger sliding even deeper. He rubs your clit a few times before you cum, gargling and moaning around his fingers and fighting to stay upright. Your cunt clenches, eyes watering, entire body experiencing the incredible pleasure, wave after wave of sweet relief.

“Fuck,” Sam whispers, slowly withdrawing his hand from your mouth. He wipes off his fingers on your cheek as you gasp for a full breath, still twitching from the release. He watches you trembling, letting out a little chuckle designed to stoke all levels of sexual humiliation that you know and love so well. “You just came gagging on the taste of your own cunt. No one would ever believe you didn’t want this.”

You’re breathless, entire body flushed from the power of the orgasm and now his taunting little speech. God, you wish it was a weekend so you could go home and ride him into the mattress.

“Thank you,” your voice wavers. “Thank you for allowing me the chance to show you how grateful I am for this job...Mr. Winchester.”

“I have a feeling you’ll continue to work hard for me.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss your lips.

“Really, thank you. This was incredible.” You grin against his mouth. “This could become a whole fantasy for me.”

“Me too.”

He watches you clean yourself up, throwing used Kleenex into the trash before pulling yourself together enough to make the walk out of the building.

“I’ll drop you off,” he offers as you gather up your laptop and bag. “Or you could just come over. It’s late, that might make the most sense.”

“I’d love a ride but I can’t come over. I do need to go home tonight,” you explain. “I have a new dress I want to wear for the presentation tomorrow and I need to clean my kitchen. Maybe you could come over tomorrow? I’d like you to see my place.”

“I’d like that.”

Sam waits as you turn off the lights and lock up, then escorts you toward the elevators, both of you blissfully unaware of Cole watching through the cracked door of his darkened office.

[sherrybaby14]

Golden Stair

This is for Sheild-Agent78’s Spring into Writing Challenge.  I had a request for a sex-pollen story, so I combined them.  

Summary:  An encounter with two Avenger’s changes your life

Warnings: Sex-Pollen, dubious-consent, coaxing, SMUT (no plot), anal, oral, things that happen in a threesome, slight breeding.  

A/N:  This story is more dub-con with the sex pollen, but for the sake of not trying to offend anyone THIS IS DARK! STAY AWAY IF THIS BOTHERS YOU!  

Pairing:  drumroll please………Stony x female reader!

               One of the coffees in your tray started to wobble, but you grabbed it before it fell over and jammed it back in the cardboard carrier. With your luck, you’d spill it on your white blouse. You looked down to see if there were any stains, but your top and skirt seemed spot free.  You sighed in frustration and shook your head.  

                Why did they make you dress business professional when your job was pretty much a glorified gopher?  

                “Six months Y/N.”  You exhaled and balanced the coffee to summon the elevator.  

                 Once you put in six months you were eligible to apply for promotions, and you were not going to waste a second.  Getting a job at Stark industries was an amazing opportunity.  It was your third day in the marketing department and you started to worry that by six months you would crack and quit.  

                It never occurred to you that entry level meant servant, and so far the twelve plus hour days consisted of running all over New York doing errands for the more important team members.  You’d helped with zero marketing.  

                The elevator dinged open.  At least it was empty, two pm wasn’t a popular time for people to leave their offices.  There wouldn’t be a million stops between you and your floor.  You worried the coffee run had taken too long as it was.  

                You tapped floor 65 and the doors started to close. You kicked off one of your heels and stood flat-footed.  The shoes were almost the worst part of your job.  They really should let people in your position wear yoga pants and sneakers. It would make you much more efficient.

                 “Hold on.” A hand stopped the door from closing.

                You rolled your eyes in frustration.  There were sixteen elevator banks.  Why couldn’t the guy just summon another?  When the doors opened your eyes went wide and jaw fell open.

                “Hi.” The dark-haired billionaire walked into the elevator. “Nice shoes.”  

                You cringed and tried to get your foot back into your heel.  

                “Be nice Tony.”  Steve Roger’s voice almost made you topple over. “I don’t see you in heels.”  

                Your coworkers had mentioned bumping into the Avengers in the tower before, but they made it sound like a rarity and always at a distance.  

                “Come on, I don’t have a dress code.”  Tony turned and looked at you. “Nobody makes you wear heels hunny.  I think there’s a shoe store on level 4.  You want to stop there and pick up some flats?”  

                 “Knock it off Tony.” Steve put his hand on Iron Man’s shoulder but looked at you.  “Don’t mind us miss.”  

                “It’s fine.”  You shook your head in disbelief.  

                “Sorry, Rapunzel.”  Tony reached out and hit random numbers.  “Secret code, we’re going to my floor first.  Then the elevator will take you back down.”  

                “Rapunzel?” You grabbed your hair.  

                “She doesn’t like to wear shoes either.” Tony laughed and Steve smacked him.  

                Captain America mouthed the word sorry to you, but the embarrassment settled in.  You took a few steps back and leaned against the wall, hoping to remain a fly for the rest of the elevator trip.  

                 The two men stood in front of you, all you saw was their backs.  Neither of them were dressed business professional.  Why did they get to wear jeans and t-shirts?  It wasn’t fair.  Also, Tony might not have a dress code, but the head of marketing certainly did.  You wondered if Tony knew that, of course, Stark Industries was so large there was a good chance he didn’t know who the head of marketing was.  

                 “What’s in the envelope?”  Steve asked Tony.  

                “Not sure.”  Tony pulled out a FedEx looking package from under his arm.  “Pepper was going to send over some contracts.  I’m guessing that’s what this is.  Looks a little thin though.”  

                 “Maybe it’s the deed to the ranch?”  Steve spoke to his friend like you weren’t in the same tiny moving box.  

                This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. You could have had a literal elevator pitch with Tony Stark.  Maybe mention some of your ideas and get promoted out of your current role, or at least get in some face time with the man, but instead, you couldn’t get over the celebrity and your own flaws so you stayed silent.  

                “That would be cool.”  Tony ruffled the envelope to open. “I’ve been waiting for that for at least a week now.”  

                RIPPPPPP.  

                You shook your head the way he said waiting for a week like it was a long time.  

                PFFFTTT.  The noise was followed by a large pop.  You looked up to get smacked in the face with an orange powder.  

                The three of you all started to cough.  Steve and Tony turned around and bent over, the envelope falling to the floor.  You wiped your face with your hand, trying to get some of the dust off.  

                When you opened your eyes there was a small haze in the elevator.  It was all over your coffee cups.  Great. You were going to have to go back out now.  You set them down on the floor and tried to dust yourself off, coughing all the while.

                Tony reached down and yanked one of the drinks out of the carrier.  Between coughing, he took a big gulp.  It seemed to clear his throat.    He spun back around and smacked the red emergency stop button on the elevator.  

                “Are you okay?”  Tony handed the coffee to you.  

                You nodded your head over your coughs.  Steve Rogers had already picked up another drink and was gulping it down.  It did help to clear your airway.   The dust in the elevator started to settle and you saw it dotted all over your blouse and skirt.

                There was probably streaks of it in your hair as well.  

                “F.R.D.A.Y. do a scan.  What is this stuff?”  Tony seemed to speak to nobody.  

                “Inconclusive.” A voice responded from the elevator.  

                “Call the authorities.”  Steve went to the speaker. “Evacuate the building.”  

                “Oh, God.”  You looked up in horror.  “Is this like anthrax or something?”  

                “No.” Tony glared at Steve. “Do not evacuate the building.  Seal off the airshafts connected to this elevator.  Did this powder spread anywhere?”  

                “Not yet Sir.” The voice responded. “Vents sealed. The three of you have enough air for approximately seventy-two hours.”  

                “Three days?” You weren’t claustrophobic, but there was no way. “Am I going to die?”  

                “No!” Tony and Steve both yelled at you in unison.

                “We have to call the cops.  Get the CDC or bomb squad involved.” Steve tried to speak in a low tone, but you still heard everything.  

                “That could lead to a PR nightmare.”  Tony picked up the envelope.  “This could all be a prank.  F.R.I.D.A.Y. is this stuff natural or synthetic?”  

                “My initial reads indicate natural Boss.” The female responded.

                “Keep scanning, see if you can get any handle on what this is.”  Tony stuck his hand in the envelope and pulled out some mechanical spring contraption attached to a bag with a little bit of the dust left inside.  

                That explained the spewing of the powder.  He pulled out a note.  Tony unfolded the piece of paper and you saw two handwritten words in sharpie:  HAVE FUN.

                “Is there a return address?”  Steve grabbed the envelope.  

                “What the fuck is going on?”  You started to shake, trying to dust off your clothes as much as possible.  “This is anthrax, isn’t it?  We’re going to die.”  

                 “Look at me.”  A hand was on your shoulder.  “LOOK AT ME.”  

                You focused your eyes on Captain America.  

                “Nobody is dying today.”  He squeezed down. “I promise.”  

                 “Call Bruce,”  Tony spoke to nobody, but a phone ringing sounded through the elevator.

                “Hello?” Bruce Banner’s voice sounded through the elevator.  

                “Can you assemble a hazmat team on my floor? Get a de-containment area set up, without alerting the press. The science division should have the supplies.” Tony brushed his shoulders off.  

                “Tony?” The Doctor sounded confused.  “What happened? Where are you?”

                “We got doused in some weird powder.  I’ve already sealed off the elevator.  The rest of the building is safe.”  

               There was a long pause.

               “Is it Anthrax?”

                 Your eyes started to tear.  

                “No!” Tony pinched his eyes shut. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. is trying to figure out what it is, if anything.  Now can you set up the de-containment area or not?”  

                “At your floor, right off the elevator.  I’ll need to get the area sealed off, suits ready, showers, airlock bags for the clothes.”

                “That’s not an answer Bruce.”  Tony folded his arms.  

                “Yeah, I can do it.” Bruce sighed. “It will take a few hours.  I’m guessing I can get it done in three at the earliest, probably more like six.  Do you want me to call the CDC or the bomb squad?”

                “What’s with you guys wanting to involve the entire world.”  Tony threw his arms up.  

                “Boss,” the female voice returned. “I’ve identified the substance.  It is Ipomoea purpurea helianthus annuus.”  

             “I don’t care what it’s called, is it toxic?” Tony put an arm on the elevator door. “Do I need to worry about it spreading?”  

            “Once exposed to the air the spores are only active for up to three hours.  The effects last the same amount of time. There is no risk of permanent damage.”  

            “Oh thank God.”  Your knees almost gave out, but Steve grabbed your elbow and supported you.

             “See, everything will be fine.”  Steve smiled at you.  

             “Yeah.”  You pulled your arm back and leaned in the corner.  

            “Bruce cancel the hazmat stuff.  I think we can all last three hours in an elevator.” Tony signaled to you and Steve.

             You nodded your head.  Three hours was doable, maybe you could work up the nerve to ask Tony for a promotion.  This was his fault after all.  

            “Tony, who’s in the elevator with you?”  Bruce didn’t sound as relieved as you were expecting.

             “Steve and Rapunzel, sorry what’s your name?” Tony pointed at you.  

             “Y/N, from marketing.” You gave a little wave.  

            You cringed at how awkward your introduction was, but Tony let out a laugh and smiled at you.  Maybe he wasn’t so intimidating after all.

            “Marketing huh?” Tony put his hands in his pockets. “Maybe we can spend the next three hours talking about your department. I’ve been neglecting it lately, and it’s really the face of the company, and what a face it is.”  

            “Tony, stop flirting.”  You were grateful for Bruce’s voice, unsure how to take the compliment.

            You knew Tony Stark was a playboy, but you had no intention of sleeping your way to the top.  

            “Flirting?” Tony shook his head. “I’m just trying to get to know one of my employees.”  

            “Tony, listen to me,” Bruce yelled and all three of you jumped. “You probably only have a few minutes until it kicks in, but you all got blasted with…well with.”

            “Is it getting hotter in here?”  Steve tugged at the collar of his shirt.

            You noticed your blouse was getting scratchy.  You undid a button and untucked it from your skirt.  

            “Did the AC flip off with the air vent?”  You stepped out of your heels, the cool floor feeling nice on your feet.  

            “Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y, could you turn back on a fan? Get some circulation going?”  Tony also pulled at the bottom of his shirt.

            “The fan is on high.  It is currently 68 degrees in the elevator.”  Where the hell was this woman?  

            “No way.”  You undid some of the bottom buttons. “It’s at least 80.”  

            “Tony listen!” Bruce’s voice was almost as annoying as your shirt. “That spore, it’s sex pollen.”      

            “What’s sex pollen?”  You laughed.  

            Both Tony and Steve’s expressions melted.  

            “Is there any way we can get Y/N out of here?” Steve looked at the ceiling.

            “Not without the risk of spreading the spores,” the woman responded.  

            “Fuck.”  Tony shook his head.  “Well Y/N, it looks like we’re about to get to know you very well.”  

            “What?”  You were confused.  

            Steve put his hand on Tony’s chest and backed him into the opposite corner of you.  They started arguing in hushed whispers.  

            “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”  You went from terror to relief and now worried that was a mistake.  

            “Hi, Rapunzel.” Tony stepped out from behind Steve. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but you’re about to get incredibly turned on.  To the point that it’s going to feel like you’re dying if you don’t get laid, and my old man friend here is insistent we get your consent now.  So would you like to have sex with us?”  

            Your mouth hung open in shock and you looked between the two men, both of whom looked at you with genuine concern and interest.  

            “Are you out of your fucking mind?” You stomped your foot. “NO! I do NOT want to have sex with two strange men in an elevator!”  

            “I told you we shouldn’t have asked!” Tony hissed at Steve. “I am not sucking your dick.  Not when there’s another option a few feet away who is going to be begging for it!”  

            “It isn’t right Tony!  You know it.”  Steve tried to keep his voice down.  

            Their voices started to drain out and you felt the temperature rise.  The cool floor on your feet was no longer enough.  You spun away from them and undid the rest of the buttons on your blouse, then tried to fan yourself with the sides.  Your skirt felt too tight like it was suffocating you.  

            Without even thinking you pushed the clothes down your hips and stepped out of it, your shirt was long enough it covered your underwear, but even it was starting to feel like too much.  

            Who did Tony Stark think he was?  Asking you a question like that?  Did he think you were the type of girl who took two men at once? Who would love her pussy stuffed while her mouth bobbed up and down on another cock?  The image sent a shiver down your spine.  Suddenly it sounded pretty appealing.  

            Juices started to pool at your core.  You took a deep breath and smelt your arousal.   Maybe you had spoken too soon.  

            The two superheroes continued to argue in the corner and you turned around, not the least bit concerned with your lack of clothes.

             “Wait.”  When you spoke they both turned their vision on you.  

            Tony’s eyes glazed over and Steve’s jaw twitched, both reactions making more of your liquids gather.  

            “I changed my mind.”  You let the blouse fall down your shoulders.  “Yes. I’d like to have sex with you.”  

            Tony yanked off his shirt and took a step toward you, but Steve jumped in the middle and held out his hands, separating you.  You whimpered, wanting to feel Tony’s chest.

            “Can I touch him?”  You reached your hand out. “He’s just so pretty.”

            “That would be a bad idea.”  Steve pushed Tony back.  “The lady said no.”  

            “She changed her mind.” Tony shoved back. “You heard her.”

            “We’re better than this.” Steve pinned Tony to the wall.  “We can abstain for a few hours.  Jerk off if you have to.”  

            “Please.”  You walked forward and pressed your body to Steve’s back.  “I want this. I really do.  I was too embarrassed to say so.”  

            “Y/N.”  Steve let go of Tony and turned toward you.  “Just stay in your corner.  If you have to masturbate.  We will try not to look.”  

            “Can’t you help me?” You cupped Steve’s face.  

            His blue eyes glazed over, just like Tony’s.  But he blinked a few times and shook his head.  

            You hadn’t realized it, but he’d walked you into the corner and the floor.  He stood up straight, leaving you sitting down.  He looked gigantic from here.  You imagined his cock was just as impressive.  

            When he turned around Tony came back into view. Iron man was in nothing but his boxers. His eyes were glued to you while his hand dipped under his waistband. He was hot.  Gorgeous in fact.  How could you have been so terrified of him a few minutes ago?  Too nervous to talk to him.  

            Well, you weren’t nervous now.  You were going to get what you wanted.  Your hands went to your back and you undid your bra.  Then you went up on your knees and pushed your panties down.  

            “Fuck Steve!”  Tony pointed at you.  “Look at that!”  

            You twisted onto your ass and pulled your underwear all the way off.   They were soaked.   Your stomach cramped with need and you cried out, bending forward.  

            “Princess are you okay?”  Tony started toward you, but Steve held his hand out stopping him.

            “That feeling like you’re going to die.”  You pushed in your side, where the cramp formed. “It comes on fast.”    

            You fell over and curled up, pushing your hand between your legs, but your fingers felt like nothing as you tried to rub. Masturbation wasn’t an option.  

            “It will pass Y/N.”  The sound of Steve’s zipper dropping made you moan. “And you’ll be grateful we didn’t touch you.”  

            “I hate you.”  You forced your eyes open and looked up.  

            Now Steve was fisting his cock too.  If either of them would just come over, slide inside of you, it would end this misery.  The thought made you cry out as another cramp formed and more slick gathered between your legs.  

            “We can help her,” Tony’s voice sounded far away.  

            “No permanent damage. Remember?”  Steve’s made you dizzy.  

            Your stomach tightened again and you groaned as you tried to bend even tighter as if it could give any relief.  

            “Actually, the spores can’t cause permanent damage, but if the effects are untreated it can lead to ulcers, dehydration, paralysis, and PTSD.”  Bruce’s voice made you question where you were.  

            “HANG UP THE PHONE!” Both Steve and Tony yelled in unison.  

            “That’s good enough for me.” You weren’t sure who was speaking.  

            Hands were on your hips, rolling you to your stomach.

            “Going to help you out, Princess.”  It was Tony.  He pushed your legs underneath you and pulled your hips up.  “Give you what you need.”

            “Please,” you let out another whimper.  

            “Fuck, you’re soaked.” The tip of his cock ran down your slit. When the head was at your entrance you cried out.  

            He pushed inside of you with ease, your pussy quivering as he stretched you.  He was big, easily the largest you’d ever taken.  

            “Holy shit, you’re tight.”  Tony continued his descent.

            “Faster.”  You were a mess underneath him.

            “I don’t want to hurt you,”  Tony grunted as his cock pushed further.  

            “Please.  More.” You wanted to rock your hips against him, but you were too weak.  

            “Fuck, you feel amazing.”  Tony reached underneath your body and found your clit.  “I don’t think I’m going to last long this round.”

            He pinched your swollen bud and you cried out, his fingers bringing the sensation that yours could not.  It was all you needed to orgasm.  You practically roared as the waves of pleasure covered your body, giving you some much-needed energy.  

            Tony continued to flick your pearl as his other hand moved to the small of your back.  You were on all fours now and he was fully sheathed in your pussy.  

            He pulled out and slammed back in, no longer seeming to care about hurting you, not that he could anyway.  You were so wet for him.  

            “Shit.”  Tony pulled out and you felt his cock smack you.  

            Warm cum hit your back in spurts.  You normally didn’t care for the sticky substance but whined at the idea of it being wasted.  He should have came inside of you, or at least let you taste it.  

            “What’s wrong?”  Steve dropped to his knees to your left.  

            Now he was completely naked as well.  His cock looked gigantic and you moaned, licking your lips at the sight of it.  

            “I want your cum.”  You couldn’t believe the phrase left your mouth as you locked eyes with Captain America.  

            Steve’s lips twitched in a smile.

            “I think you’re going to get plenty.”  He took Tony’s place behind you and you grinned.  

            Tony was at your side, wiping his cum off with your blouse. Steve was slightly larger than Tony, but not by much.  But your pussy was hungry for him and he didn’t take the same time Tony did, sliding inside of you.  

            “Upset I came on your back Princess?”  Tony’s hand went on your chin.  

            You nodded.  

            “Well open up.  I’ll have more for you.”  He was kneeling in front of you, hand fisting his hard cock.  

            It looked delicious and you eagerly took it in your mouth, lapping your tongue and swallowing as you took him as far into your throat as you could.  

            “She is tight.” Steve dug his fingers into your hips, making you moan.  

            “Mouth feels just as amazing.”  Tony fisted your hair. “When she moans, it’s like a vibrator.”  

            The way they were talking about you like you weren’t there turned you on even more than you wanted to admit and you moaned again.

            “Play with her clit, she likes that.” Tony’s free hand went under to your chest.  

            His free hand found one of your nipples and he started tweaking it, making you squeal.  Then Steve started massaging your swollen nub and you gasped.  

            “Fuck her faster.”  Tony pinched down hard and Steve picked up the pace.  

            You realized he was the one guiding you. When his cock slammed back into you your head moved down on Tony’s cock.  The two of them using your body like you were made for them. It was too much and another orgasm erupted.  This was even more intense, and your pussy started to contract around Steve’s dick.

            “I’m going to cum.”  Steve rammed back into you, making you gag on Tony’s cock.

            “Not inside,” Tony yelled.  

            You cried out in frustration when Steve pulled out and again cum sprayed on your back.  

            “Here you go, Princess.”  Tony rolled your nipple between his fingers as he slammed your head down.  

            You gagged as your face pressed into his pelvis, but then you felt his cock harden and release, warm cum hitting the back of your throat. It tasted delicious and appreciation spread through you.  You were so lucky he decided to let you have it.  

            Tony let go of your head and you fell to your side, chest heavy as you recovered from the orgasm, but eager for another at the same time.

            Steve grabbed your thigh and pulled you to your back, spreading your legs.  His cock was hard again and he knelt between your legs, lining himself up with your pussy. You craned your neck and got a look at him sliding inside of you, it looked like he was going to split you in half and you gasped at how easy you were taking him.  

            “So good Y/N.”  Steve leaned forward so his face was above yours.  

            He put hands on either side of your head as he pumped into you.  

            “You’re handling us so well.”  Steve pushed his face down and pressed his lips to yours while he fucked you.  

            You moaned in appreciation, of the kiss and his praise. You would do anything to show you were deserving.  

            You lost track of how many orgasms you’d had.  The two Avengers passed you back and forth, never leaving your pussy empty for more than a minute at most.  Every now and then a cock was in your mouth.  

            Right now you found yourself back where you started, on all fours with Tony buried in your pussy and Steve down your throat.  

            Tony’s hand stroked your clit and one of Steve’s was on the back of your head, while the other pinched your nipple.  

            You were covered in cum, they tried to wipe you off, but there was too much. Neither of them would go in your pussy.  You felt some of the stickiness dry in patches on your skin and you promised to yourself you would never wash it away.  Steve and Tony owned you, and you wanted the world to know.  

            Another orgasm was building and you bucked your hips faster against Tony, but his fingers disappeared from your clit making you give a muffled cry around Steve’s cock.  Tony’s hands went to your hips and he held you still as he slowed down.  

            “Why???”  You tried to ask, but Steve’s dick was still in your mouth, making it come out muffed.

            “Princess, I think it’s time we tried something new?” Tony’s hand slid from your hip, around the curve of your ass and he ran his fingers over your crack.  

            “Nooo.” You shook your head.  

            “It’ll be fun.”  Tony pulled out of you agonizingly slowly. “Let’s just try a thumb for now. I’ll go faster?”  

            His thumb didn’t look that big.  You gave a muffled yes and nodded your head.  Steve pulled your head down and you realized you weren’t paying enough attention to him.  You lapped your tongue as best you could and tried to relax your law even further.  

            There was pressure on your tiny hole and you whimpered as something slick eased inside.  If didn’t feel right and you tried to expel the invader.  

            “That’s it, Princess.”  Tony sank his digit in deeper.  “Open up for me.”  

            You wiggled your hips a little and Steve pinched your nipple down hard.  You were ignoring him again and went back to working his cock.  

            “See, not so bad?”  Tony’s other hand returned to your clit and he started pumping with renewed energy.  

            You were at the point where you were having several orgasms before either Avenger came again.  They really were making you feel like a princess.  A spoilt one at that.  

            The lost orgasm was reforming and you started bucking your hips against Tony as his finger circled your pearl.  You also increased your efforts on Steve, hoping you could get another taste of his pre-cum.  

            The crest of the orgasm started to form when Tony’s hand disappeared again.  

            “WAAAA?”  Your why was muffled even more.  

            The orgasm started to vanish and your body started to shake.  

            “How about we add another finger Princess?”  

            You nodded, wanting to get back to your release. Pop!  The noise echoed across the elevator, but before your ass retracted all the way Tony slid two fingers inside of you.

            “Mmpff,” you groaned into Steve.

            “Good job.”  Steve’s fingertips started flicking your nipple.  “Such a good girl.”  

            You looked up at him and started to smile.  He grinned down at you with glassy eyes, approval all over his face.  

            Tony resumed fucking you, only this time he kept spreading the fingers inside your ass.  It wasn’t the most comfortable thing, but it didn’t hurt either.   You sort of liked it when one of them pushed against your wall in tandem with his cock.  It made you feel, fuller.  

            Again the orgasm started to build.  You had been primed twice and were more than ready for it. This time when Tony’s hand disappeared and he slowed down you shrieked and pushed off of Steve’s cock.  

            “JUST FUCK ME IN THE ASS!”  You couldn’t take any more of the teasing and you knew this was where it was going.  

            Tony wasted no time. Steve pressed your head down to the floor.  Your face touched the tile and hands were next to your head.  Steve’s hands reached across your body and spread your cheeks.

            “Deep breath Princess, and relax.”  Tony pressed his cock against your tiny opening.  

            You winced and braced yourself, but to your surprise, it felt more like pressure than pain when he pushed inside.  He stretched you and you moaned.  Steve’s hands disappeared and he picked up your face from the floor.  

            The movement made you slide yourself on Tony’s cock, while Steve guided you straight up.  Your back hit Tony’s chest and you impaled yourself entirely, your ass stuffed with cock.  

            Steve’s face went to your chest and he took a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your hard pebble.  His other hand went back to pinching and teasing your other breast.  And your head fell back against Tony’s shoulder.  

            “You were made for this.” Iron man began kissing your neck. “Made for us.”  

            You didn’t even know them, but at the same time knew them better than anyone else on the planet.  Your connection was so deep.  

            “I never want this to end.”  You rolled your hips and Tony guided his cock in and out of your ass, going slower than you wanted.  “I want to be yours. Both of you.”  

            “Can you handle both of us?”  Steve popped up so he was in front of you.  

            You nodded and draped a hand on his shoulder, knowing what he was asking.  Tony went up on his knees, bringing you with him.  Steve lined up his cock as your pussy.  He pressed his head in and you cried out.  

            It was tight.  It was so tight, you thought you were going to burst.   You fell forward onto Steve while his cock inched itself into your pussy.  

            “So good Princess,”  Steve called you the pet name for the first time and you almost came immediately.  “Our princess.”  

            When he bottomed out tears stung the corners of your eyes.  You were filled to the brim.  Tony moved first, and when he slid back inside, Steve slid out.  There was one point where your thin wall felt both of the cocks touch and you gasped.  

            They continued their movements and finally, you got to the point it was too slow.  You started to rock your hips and they picked up on your command.  

            “Do you really want that?”  Steve kissed your lips.  “To be ours?  Forever?”

            “Yes.”  You locked eyes with him.

            “Steve..” Tony’s voice carried a warning.  

            “Shut-up.”  Steve’s was more authoritative.  

            Tony grunted but seemed to agree.  They both went faster.  Tony kissing your neck and rubbing your breasts while Steve deepened your kiss, his tongue owning your mouth.  

            The trice denied orgasm resurfaced and you found yourself bouncing between the two of them, cocks sliding in and out of you with ease.  All three of your bodies working in perfection.            

            It was so close you couldn’t focus on the kiss anymore and your head fells forward on to Steve’s chest.  You started gasping for breath as they both went even faster, you were incapable of participating at all, forced to let them guide you into orgasmic haze.  

            And the haze his hard.  Your body trembled as explosions went off all over your entire body. You convulsed and clawed onto Steve’s chest, unsure if you were going to float away.

            Then Steve pulled you down hard.  You felt both men blow inside of you for the first time, and the warmth was even more than you expected.  It was so good, having them coat your insides this way.  You really were their girl.  

            It was enough.  You were finally satisfied and consciousness left you as you slumped forward onto Steve.  You were theirs.  Forever.

 ~~~  

           Everything hurt when you woke up.  Your knees and breasts in particular.  Flashes of the elevator floor, Tony and Steve fucking you. The way you were begging them made you wince.  

            “Good morning.”  Steve’s voice made you sit up.  “Or maybe I should say goodnight.”  

            He was sitting in a chair next to the bed, clearly showered and dressed.  You looked down and saw you were naked under the sheet.  And you pulled it to your chest as you looked around.  This wasn’t your apartment.  

            “How are you feeling?”  He held out a glass of water.  

            “A little sore.”  You took a drink as more memories flooded back.  “So that was awkward.”

            “Yeah, I guess it was.”  He scratched the back of his head.  “So the shower is through there.  I had someone bring up some clothes in your size.”  

            “Thanks.”  You looked at the window at the night sky.  The view of the skyline was impressive. “I should probably get home.”

            You had to start job hunting because after today there was no way in hell you were going to risk running into either man.  

            “Now this is going to be awkward.”  Steve rolled his lips between his teeth.  “But you are home.”  

            “Excuse me?”  You didn’t understand.  

            “One of the side effects of sex pollen, increased fertility.”  Steve leaned forward. “We were trying not to cum inside of you, but I lost control at the end.  Y/N, you’re pregnant.”  

            “WHAT?”  You remembered begging for their cum. “I’m on the pill.”

            Your hands pressed against your chest, it was so sore. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours, but your body already felt different.  You looked over at him with shock.  

            “That doesn’t mean…”

            Before you could finish Steve stood up from the chair and towered over you.  

            “You’re carrying my child Y/N.  I’m not going to let you out of my sight.  What if something happened to you?”  Steve sat on the bed.  

            “But I have a job, a life.  It’s 2019, women have choices.”  You scoffed at him.  

            He glared daggers at you.  

            “That’s not what I meant.”  And so what if it was?  “I…just..I don’t even know you.”  

            “Well, we have nine months to get to know each other better.”  Steve smiled. “So, do you want to get married now or wait until the baby comes?”  

            “ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?”  You swatted at his chest.  “I’m not marrying you! You’re a stranger!”

            “I’ll give you some time to calm down.”  Steve stood up.  “Make you some food.  You love bacon right?”  

            “What?” You tilted your head to the side.  “How did you know that?”  

            “I’ve spent the last few hours, finding out everything I can about you.”  Steve went to the door.  “You said you wanted to be mine forever.”  

            “I was high!”  Your eyes almost bulged out of your head.  

            “You’ll learn to like it here Princess.” Steve gave a wink.  “I promise.”

            With that, he shut the door and you jumped out of the bed. It was locked.  You turned and went to the skyline and pressed your head to the glass. You were high right now, incredibly high in fact.  

            It looked like you were trapped in a tower with a mad man.  Maybe Rapunzel wasn’t that far off.  

   A/N: Thank you for reading! 

[mattzerella-sticks]

Reflection, a Buddie fic, jealous!Eddie, 3.8k

Eddie Diaz knew a few things. His wife, Shannon, was no longer with them. While he will always love her, it was time for him to move on. Surprisingly, his heart already did without his notice. It set up camp in the hands of his best friend, Buck. And he was too late to do anything about it.

Because Buck has a personal trainer. Buck has a crush on his personal trainer.

If Eddie ever meets the man, he might dip back into his 'phase'. But knowing how that might hurt Buck, he hopes they never run into each other. At a party in Buck's apartment, there's a high chance their paths will cross. Only what happens when Eddie meets Buck's personal trainer?

Eddie stands in a corner, scanning the crowd for a particular face. Shoulders tense, expression smooth like the marble of Buck’s kitchen counters, he broadcasts a very clear message - stay away. Appropriate behavior if Eddie were back at his station overseas and not at a party. A party celebrating a very important person in his life.

He catches Buck’s eyes in the crowd, the other man in the middle of a conversation. Buck lights up, waving him over. Eddie declines, darting away to sip at his beer. Too slow to miss him deflate at the snub.

His heart stutters over itself. A low growl rumbles through his mind, sharp teeth chewing him out for causing Buck’s smile to dim by ten percent. Barks at him to push off from the wall and join him, even at the risk. Slide in close and interrupt Buck while he works through his fifth tangent. Because Eddie knows his friend loses the plot easier than a loose contact and everyone around him looks antsier than soldiers during a surprise mine sweep.  Eddie would then reel him towards an ending, helping lighten the social traffic.

It’s exactly what he wants to do. But a phantom hold keeps him from following through on the fantasy. The fear that, if he were to go over and enjoy himself, the very person he wasted already too much time searching for would surprise him and ruin his fun.

If there’s no fun had there’s none to ruin.

“You doing okay there Eddie?”

Hen and Chimney double team him, fencing him in and blocking his view of the entire party from his post. Any chance of escape stolen by Hen bracing her arm against the wall and Chimney spreading his legs in an awkward way that he finds comfortable. “So I’m not shifting around all the time.”

“But it’s a tripping hazard!”

Chimney smirked, “Too bad.”

Eddie frowns, carefully constructed mask slipping to expose his raw nerves. It rights itself in the next moment. Only the damage was done.

“What’s wrong?” Hen asks, “This is supposed to be a party! Why are you the treating it like a funeral?”

“I’m not -”

“Eddie’s not imagining himself at a funeral, Hen,” Chim interrupts, “no, no, it’s like he’s surveying a fire for any stragglers.” They snicker into their drinks, Eddie rolling his eyes at their antics.

“Real funny, you two,” he sighs, “Look, sorry if I’m being a little bit of a buzzkill but I’m not in the mood to party.” “Then why’d you come?”

He answers with a soft gaze towards the apartment’s entertainment section, Christopher sitting wedged between Denny and Harry playing with Denny’s Switch. Two more controllers added since his birthday, so they can all play Mario Party. Christopher shakes the controller madly to win whatever mini-game randomly chosen, laughing when Harry knocks into him.

“Hurry up dad!” Christopher urged Eddie. He waited by the front door, bouncing with excitement. Eddie shrugged on his jacket, telling him to be patient. “But I want to see Buck!” he said, grinning, “Don’t… don’t you want to?”

Eddie did, but he wasn’t alone. There’s another person here that probably feels the same flutter in his stomach whenever Buck’s form crosses their gaze. Except they can act on it, whereas Eddie has to wait for his stomach acid to digest those damned butterflies.

“That’s sweet,” Hen says, cup over her heart. “But that’s not explaining the stiff upper lip thing your face is doing.”

Chimney nods, “You’re no Brad Pitt but you have a better poker face than this, man.”

His lips thin further, and Eddie wishes a tornado would sweep through the room and suck him out of the apartment. It’s the only natural disaster he feels his family aren’t equipped to handle, meaning they’re less likely to rescue him from death. Although Eddie believes, even if a tornado found a way to travel across the Midwest and to Los Angeles without dissipating, his Texan blood would keep him alive for the fallout. “Maybe I would perk up a little if people stopped harassing me about why I’m not the life of the party?”

“Hey, don’t make us out to be the bad guys,” Chimney says, “we’re first responders.”

“We’re just doing our jobs,” Hen adds. Her finger pokes his chest three times, on the fourth Eddie waving it away.

Chimney steps closer, voice lowering to a whisper. “Really though,” he says, Eddie straining to hear him over the background chatter, “are you okay? You can tell us?”

“Was it therapy?” Hen asks, “I saw you leaving in a huff. Completely ignored me by the way…”

Eddie winces, unaware Hen saw him storm out of their therapist’s office. “My bad,” he winces, scratching his neck, “I would’ve said ‘hi’ if I saw you.”

“I know,” she says, “I could tell you weren’t paying attention. You had this intense glare in your eye like you had before we showed up.”

“Is that what it is?” Chimney arches a brow, “Something your therapist said that rubbed you the wrong way? A breakthrough you weren’t ready to hear?”

Chimney throws darts blindly and lands one close to the bull’s-eye without thought. Eddie bristles at how closely his friend’s guesses were. Although there are a few facts he has wrong.

Like the breakthrough Chimney thinks Eddie wasn’t ready to hear? Not true. Eddie understood his newfound feelings for Buck almost immediately. Already experienced the blinding, gasping fear that came with the development. Scared how things might change, to be around Buck, and what would happen if his affection went unanswered. Especially since he couldn’t hide his heart as easily as he thought. Frank sniffed them out at their session after Eddie’s revelation.

“Why did you shut down just then?” he asked, leaning forward in his wheelchair, “When you were talking about Buck.”

“I didn’t shut down,” Eddie said, crossing his arms. “I finished with the story… not much else to talk about.” Frank chuckled, rubbing at his eye. “What’s so funny?”

“Usually when it comes to the topic of your… friend , Buck, I have trouble getting you to move off the topic.” Shifting, he brings his pen to the notepad and scribbles a few words. “Has there been another rough patch in your relationship?”

Eddie scowled. “I wouldn’t say that. We’re fine.”

“Fine?”

“ Dandy. ” If falling in love with your best friend and coworker could be boiled down to a word, it wouldn’t be that. But did Frank expect Eddie to tell him the truth?

He did. They spent half the session verbally sparring about Buck, Eddie drawing his line in the sand and making sure Frank wouldn’t wheel across it.

“I thought you didn’t like talking about Buck?” Eddie growled. Squeezed the arms of the chair in an effort to keep his cool. “Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“Because you’re making it one.” Frank lost any pretense of entertaining Eddie’s efforts then, laying into the other man. “You think I’m being annoying with this? Imagine what might happen after you leave this room. How are you going to react when your mood shifts when talking to friends or family - or Buck? When you spend time with Buck will you shut down like you did earlier? I assure you that will only draw more suspicion your way.”

Eddie sunk into his seat. “I can handle myself…”

“Or,” Frank continued, “why don’t you let me help you through whatever you’re working through in this safe space. Where, I promise, there is no judgement.”

He mulled it over for a minute, giving Frank the benefit of actually considering his offer. A scene played through his mind, Eddie in the same room with Buck. Neither doing anything important than existing next to each other. In the sequence Buck turned to him and grinned, little birthmark rising slightly and eyes squinting like he stared up at the sun.

Eddie hoped his cheeks didn’t burn like they were in his head, in that room with Buck.

“Okay,” he started, thumb brushing back and forth across his knee, “if you want the truth…” It spilled forth rapidly, Eddie accidentally twisting the knob on his faucet off and unable to stop it. Went over how, after Shannon, Eddie didn’t know if the hole in his chest would ever be filled. That the pain from losing her once hurt so long, and this time her exit was more permanent.

But, without his notice, someone grabbed a shovel and set to work. Slowly Buck stepped into a new role. Went above and beyond what a friend normally did. Especially given his own condition, dealing with the possibility that his career and life were forever over. At first Eddie thought Buck used his time with him and Christopher as a distraction. To numb the terror of not being able to return to the firehouse. Except the cast came off, and Buck stuck by their side. Became even bigger parts of their lives. Sometimes he picked up Christopher from friend’s houses when Eddie or Carla was busy. Or joined them in grocery shopping. Stayed late into the night, helping Christopher to bed and chatting with Eddie until it was one in the morning. No matter how hard Eddie begged, though, Buck would return to his apartment. Eddie watching him hop into his Uber and waiting until he received a text from Buck to go to sleep.

“God,” Eddie scrubbed his face, “I had it bad for him this whole time and I didn’t notice?”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Frank comforted him, smiling, “When we go through trauma, it’s easy for things to fade into the background while you heal. Things change, around you and inside, that you might not notice for awhile because the immediate pain takes up all your attention.”

“I guess you’re right,” he sighed, “I spent so long being glad that I had Buck… I didn’t examine those feelings too closely because I was just happy that the pain from missing Shannon wasn’t there.”

“And when Buck abandoned you, as you mentioned in a previous session…” Eddie shifted in his seat at Frank’s choice of words. “How did you feel? Really feel? Looking back on it with the clarity you have now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Eddie said, “I guess it… pushed me over the edge. Two people I loved choosing to walk out on me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Felt like I was letting Christopher down because I couldn’t give him a stable home… was more like a hotel with one of those revolving doors. It made me mad. And I wanted to hurt people, because maybe then I wouldn’t be hurting inside... God,” he wiped his eyes, laughing, “Buck was right. He was part of the reason I had my… phase . If he found out… his ego was insufferable before.”

“Your confession is safe with me,” Frank told him, “I’m glad we could work through this in today’s time. If you held out a bit longer I was afraid we’d be cut off in the middle and it’d be forever to get you to where we’re ending today.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Eddie said, standing, “I… I needed this.”

He scheduled another session the following week, proactively dealing with his issues. While they covered many things in the hour there were still more to discuss. When his next appointment arrived Eddie wasted no time dumping the remaining worries at Frank’s feet. Like a man dangling off the edge of a skyscraper begging for someone to help him away from the edge.

Frank hauled him onto solid ground with sound logic. “If Buck is all that you say he is,” he explained, “than in the possibility where he didn’t return your feelings occurred, he wouldn’t call it quits like that. You need to have a little faith that things can turn out good.”

“It’s hard, though. When every time I have that faith it all goes sour on my end.”

“Well maybe this time things will turn out differently.”

Eddie took Frank’s advice, deciding that the next moment alone with Buck he would hand him his heart and pray he kept it.

However he could never be alone with Buck.

In the following weeks, any chance where they were the only two in the room was spoiled by a third party joining almost immediately. From fellow firefighters to random strangers. Christopher, when Eddie tried sneaking out to meet Buck. Caught and forced to bring him along since he cannot say no to his son. While at the park, watching his son play, he thought about telling him there. But then Athena walked in, apparently on patrol. So desperate Eddie considered faking an emergency so he could claim the ambulance for him and Buck and confessing on the way.

Eddie was desperate.

Instead of risking a felony, Eddie went with an even riskier option.

“Buck,” he sidled up to his friend, swinging an arm over his shoulders, “You good to join me in the gym for a little one-on-one?” Not the safest place given how accessible their gym was in the open floor plan. If he timed the barbell lifts right, Eddie could give them some protection.

Buck deflated, stepping away from Eddie’s hug. “Sorry, Eddie… no can do.”

“What? Why?”

He frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “Really? You know why…” At Eddie’s silence, Buck continued. “Ever since the accident I… I can’t work out like I used to. I had to switch up how I do things and… find new ways.”

“Oh,” Eddie mirrored his expression, “How, uh… how have you been exercising then? Because - I mean - you’re still looking fit and everything and you had to keep up your strength when going through training of course…”

Buck smiled, ducking his gaze to hide a blush. The sight of flushed skin sent chills racing down Eddie’s spine. “Been doing some classes, got a personal trainer… who I really like. He’s - uh, he’s cool. Derek, I… it’s been different, but uh - uh new. In a good way.”

A good way. Said to the floor yet Eddie still bears the brunt of the blow. Repeatedly suffering with each mention of ‘Derek’. Especially since, after first finding out about him, he becomes a recurrence in his life.

“There’s this really cool trick Derek showed me that’ll cut cramp recovery in half the time.”

“Derek, he had this really funny story he was telling in the middle of our planks…”

“I didn’t think yoga was that effective, but after one class with Derek I can see why people do it.”

Derek. Derek. Derek. He took his place in Buck’s life as his exercise partner without him knowing. The longer he waits the better chance he has of graduating from ���trainer’ to ‘boyfriend’.

But Derek keeps him at bay. The specter of him shadows every conversation they have. Eddie imagining telling Buck his feelings only to be shot down because some random guy swooped in and struck the scalding iron while Eddie didn’t even know the metal was hot. As more time passed, Eddie sparingly saw his friend.

“It could be nothing,” Frank said. Eddie ignored him, pacing the room. “If you talked to him -”

“I mean it’s perfect,” Eddie spiraled, “being a trainer means that he can get close without there being any questions. Touch Buck’s muscles or - or press his chest to Buck’s back while showing him how to do a move or whatever.”

“If he does then that’s harassment, Eddie. Buck pays him to be his trainer and nothing more.”

“But it could be something,” Eddie turned to him, “The way he talks about Derek… there’s this stupid smile on his face that he gets when he has it bad for someone. Had it when he told me about Abby, when he was with Ally... “

“Did he ever have it when he was with you?” Eddie stayed firm in his silence, refusing to answer him. Frank continued, undeterred. “You’re jumping to conclusions without all the facts. If you talked to him -”

“It wouldn’t make a difference! He’s already gone on some other lucky jerk.”

“And is that so bad?”

He stiffened. “What do you mean? Of course it’s bad!”

“I don’t believe you think that,” Frank said, “To me, it sounds like you’re using this Derek as an excuse to back out of confessing your feelings to Buck. You’re afraid Buck might say no. Having Derek there is the perfect option because if he’s in Buck’s life than you don’t have to tell him.”

Eddie imploded. Glared at Frank, biting down every bit of bile he wanted to spew at his therapist. Swallowed it all and stormed from the room before he did something he regretted. Carried that dark cloud with him from the parking lot to Buck’s apartment where they surprised him with another party. Celebrating him being off blood thinners and hopefully not have it end like last time.

“What happens in therapy stays in therapy,” Eddie mumbles, pushing off the wall, “now if you’ll excuse me.” He escapes them, squeezing through the sewing needle loop between Hen and Chimney.

They follow, matching his hurried pace. Trying to carry the conversation even though Eddie keeps dropping it.

Luckily he sees a distraction by the mirror. Christopher stares at himself, smiling. Eddie walks over and crouches down next to him. “Hey, buddie, what are you looking at?”

“Denny said I had a piece of spinach stuck in my teeth,” Christopher says, “but I… can’t see it.”

Eddie studies his son’s teeth, aware of the figures standing behind him. “I don’t see it either.”

“Denny probably did that so he could cheat,” Hen sighs, “boy is the sorest of losers.”

“You should get back to your game, then, before you end up in last place.” Eddie squeezes Christopher’s shoulders, resigned to losing his shield against the circling vultures. He reaches forward and places a hand on the mirror’s frame, using it to steady his ascent.

At full height, Eddie notices his reflection fading somewhat. Suddenly a figure pops up, smiling and sweating, frozen in mid stretch.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Buck rushes over, smile twitching with nerves, “what, uh… what’s everybody doing?”

Chimney jerks his thumb at the scene. “Wondering why there’s a man trapped in your mirror?”

“There is?” Buck feigns surprise, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “I don’t - I don’t know how he got there?”

“What? Of course you do, Buck,” Maddie says, joining the conversation, “I helped you set him up and everything.”

“Maddie -”

“Maddie,” Chimney cuts Buck off, “you know what’s going on?”

She nods, pointing to the man in the mirror with her cup. “Being Buck’s sister I was the only one who was forced to listen to him complain about how he was going to lose everything he worked so hard for. Just because he couldn’t work out like he used to because of the accident. One day while listening to him go on and on about it this ad popped up for mirrors that double as personal trainers.” A string snaps in Eddie’s mind, the sound echoing madly. He looks over to Buck, the other man watching his feet while his ears burn. “Anyway I said I would personally buy this mirror for him if it would get him to shut up. He agreed, but only if he liked it. Day after it arrived Buck wasn’t complaining anymore. Best paycheck I ever spent…”

“Wait,” Hen glances between Maddie and the mirror, “so this is a personal trainer?”

“Yeah,” Maddie leans over to tap the glass, despite Buck’s attempts to stop her. The screen shifts and an array of faces smile at them. Derek’s larger than the rest, head enlarged and name clearly labeled below it.

There he was. Derek .

“You can pick from a whole array of trainers depending on what classes you want. It’s really interesting, and Buck seems to like it.”

“Maddie -”

“I figured you all knew about it since he’s replaced complaining with praising his trainer Derek,” she chuckles, elbowing her brother. “Little teacher’s pet.”

“ Maddie .”

Their small crowd thins after that. Christopher returns to his game, and Chimney leads Maddie towards the kitchen to steal some more food. Eddie stares at Derek, a mixture of confusion and relief churning in his stomach.

Hen sidles up to him. “You wanna know something?”

“What?”

“That Derek guy kind of looks like you.”

Eddie whips around in shock, ready to fire a denial. She dips before he can pull the trigger, safe by her wife’s side. Loaded and nowhere to go, Eddie looks at Derek. Sees how, in a certain light, they could be reflections of each other. However Derek’s hair is much longer than his, pulled tight in a bun, And there’s a mole under his nose that draws the eye to it without trying.

Derek disappears, the mirror returning to normal. It’s his face gazing back at him now, Eddie’s a few inches to his side.

“So,” he says, “you’ve met Derek.”

“Yeah. I did.” Eddie turns to him, “Why didn’t you tell me he was in your mirror? I’ve been here how many times, used this mirror, and it had a double life?”

“I… I guess I was embarrassed,” Buck tells him, wringing his hands, “of…”

He guesses, “Of him being in a mirror.”

“Well, that,” Buck says, eyes bouncing around the room, unable to meet Eddie’s stare, “and, because…” His words dissolve into dust.

Eddie understands. Finally sees what he needs. An emotion reflected in his own eyes, not distorted by doubt or fear.

“Y’know,” he starts, running a hand across the mirror’s surface, “this is pretty cool.”

“...It is.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, smiling at Buck’s face in the mirror, “think you could invite me over the next time you use this?”

Buck frowns, “Why? You already got a good routine going.”

“I’ve been in the mood to shake things up,” Eddie tells him, “and besides… I missed working out with you.”

“You did?” Mood shifting rapidly, Eddie swoons at the dizzying grin lighting up Buck’s face.

“Of course…” Eddie’s hand runs across Buck’s reflection, petting his chest, “there’s a lot of time I have to make up for. We can start with exercise and… go from there.”

Buck nods enthusiastically. “I’d like that.”

The party goes on without them, both men are lost in their own world. Eddie feels the darkness that ate at his heart fade, replaced by the warm embrace of understanding. In lieu of talking Eddie prepares for his exercise date. Stretches the words in his mind so they’ll be ready for the day. Imagines how it will go. And, when successful, Eddie kisses Buck. Derek long gone from the mirror. Only them captured inside it.