#on and off medications that hurt as much as they help

[sunnirayss]

In that same video, she also claims that permashifting is impossible and that you cannot script out stuff like body hair/sweating without giving yourself a medical condition that causes those things 🤦🏽.

Videos like this only convince me that shifttokers don't actually want people to shift because it hurts their bottom line as creators. Because if their followers actually shift, then the creator is no longer "special" and the nonsense they spew as a self proclaimed authority on shifting will be seen for what it actually is... nonsense! People would lose the incentive to follow them and their platform would shrink into nothing. They would no longer buy all the overpriced shifting solutions that the creator sells in their store.

@fangsbaby hit the nail right on the head, they constantly say and do things to discourage people who are new to shifting or have been working towards it for years...and that's why! They make people feel broken and incapable so they will look superior by comparison, to promote this sort of hero worship dynamic between themselves and their followers. All so they can build up a platform and even make money off of them.

They create problems so they can sell people the solution, and they have no use for successful shifters who would see through their BS in seconds. And they don't care how much they hurt people by saying that they probably won't shift, as long as they get their views it's fine to them.

Otherwise it's just ragebait to get people talking about them, like those people who haven't been relevant since 2020 who'll randomly come out to say "I lied about shifting out of boredom, we all did!".

Christine posted out of nowhere and of course her first post is to drop her "hot takes", she just wanted people to talk about her again and it's working. I think Christine and other shifttokers from the same era really hate how they've slowly faded into irrelevancy while the community moved on without them. Or how their teachings that were once built up as the only way to shift are now viewed as outdated, overly complicated, and unnecessary.

If you want to shift, stay far away from shifttok because the majority of these creators do not want to help you OR even if they do, their advice is completely terrible.

Do you want to struggle for years following complex routines or be told that there's something inherently wrong with you that makes shifting impossible...or do you want to shift with ease and be in your DR already? The choice is yours 💙

BYE WHAT IM SOBBING 😭

[justaparsec94]

Wounded

Summary: In the aftermath of Tantiss Hunter pays a visit to Pabu's resident healer to help him deal with his battle wounds.

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,798

Author's Note: This is just pure, pointless fluff.

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

In general, Hunter did whatever was within his power to avoid medbays and med droids. Truthfully, anything and everything medical-related. It was, in his mind, a likely byproduct of growing up in a laboratory and essentially spending most of his life being poked, prodded, and scanned. You name it it had likely happened to Hunter and his brothers. Once he had been released from Kamino he had adopted the mentality that there wasn’t anything some bacta spray and a self-applied bandage couldn’t fix. The only way someone would get him anywhere near a medbay was if he was unconscious and physically couldn’t have anything to say about it. 

He learned rather quickly though, that the people of Pabu had a different outlook when it came to looking after oneself. They actually cared. Not only that, but they were careful about taking care of one another. No unnecessary scans or blood draws. Just basic sentient kindness. It was a foreign concept to him and despite knowing that no one on the island would intentionally hurt him or anyone for that matter, he still avoided their medical clinic at all cost. 

A decision that he was questioning currently, as a stabbing pain shot through his side as he lifted the other end of a mattress. An involuntary groan left him and the end of the mattress dipped, his head swam as the pain reached an almost unbearable level.  He tried to take a deep breath to clear his head but that only made the pain worse, his hands slipped off the mattress and the loud thump that resulted caused every pair of eyes in the house to turn his way.

“Hunter?” Omega asked, voice filled with concern.

At the same time, Phee placed the box she had been carrying down, “You ok there, Hunter?” 

“Fine,” He managed to reply though it came out more of a wheeze. His skin was crawling at all the unwanted attention but it seemed the pain in his side wasn’t going to be ignored in that moment. No matter how much he wanted to pretend it was fine and continue on with the task at hand. 

They’d only returned from Tantiss a few days prior, but each day had seemed busier than the last. Between getting the other clones and children settled, trying to coordinate with Rex, and moving into the house that Shep and Phee had given them there had barely been any time for Hunter to rest, despite that being what he really wanted most of all. They’d all sustained injuries on the mission, but Hunter had felt that as the least injured, he could take over doing everything his brothers shouldn’t be doing at the moment, like moving a mattress with Shep.  

A scoff from the corner of the room drew his attention, Crosshair was sitting on a stool, his usual stony expression on his face and arms crossed over his chest. The lack of a hand was still jarring to Hunter and filled him with guilt each time. 

“He’s just pretending he’s fine, like usual,” He said, tone filled with less malice than was typical for Crosshair, but still incredibly snide. They might have made a lot of strides but the two of them still had a long way to go in repairing their relationship. 

“What’s wrong, Hunter?” Omega asked, putting down her own box and coming over to him. They didn’t have many possessions, especially since what they did have had gone up in flames or sunk to the bottom of the ocean with The Marauder, but Shep and Phee had very generously rounded up donations so that their new house would feel more like a home. It wasn’t much and it was mostly furniture but after a lifetime of having nothing, it meant a lot to them all. 

“Nothing,” He said again, this time his voice came out stronger. The pain subsided somewhat now that he was no longer lifting a heavy object. 

“You sure?” Wrecker asked, crowding into the space, “I can help Shep with this if yah need a break.” Wrecker was in even less shape than Hunter, he’d been so badly injured during the mission that it was a miracle he was even moving around only a few days later. 

“I’m fine,” Hunter snapped, uncomfortable with all of the attention that was currently on him. He didn’t want or need them to worry about him. 

“It’s his ribs,” Crosshair said cooly, which caused Hunter to curse internally. Nothing ever got past the sharpshooter. 

“I’ll get AZI!” Omega said, turning quickly to make her way out of the small house but Hunter caught her gently by the arm. 

“It’s fine, Omega,” he repeated as she looked up at him in confusion, “I don’t need AZI. It’s just a twinge.”

Crosshair scoffed in the corner again but Hunter pointedly ignored him as Omega continued to look at him with wide, concerned eyes. The expression was almost enough to make him actually consider seeking some form of medical treatment from the droid. Almost.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“Positive,” Hunter said, letting go of her arm to pat her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way. She gave him another long, scrutinizing look that she seemed to have inherited directly from Crosshair before she picked up her box once more and carried it toward the room that would be her own. Wrecker gave Hunter a long, knowing look before he followed after her, keen to help her re-create the space she had lost on The Marauder. 

“Why don’t you help me with this Phee?” Shep asked, clearly ignoring Hunter’s protests that he was actually fine and capable of moving furniture. 

“Sure thing, take a break boys!” Phee said cheerfully. She gently pushed Hunter out of the way but turned to look at him before picking up his dropped end. 

“If you’re so against seeing AZI, you should go see Y/N, I’m sure she could help you out,” Phee suggested with a look in her eyes that Hunter decidedly did not like the look of. Despite his best efforts, he felt his face flush at her suggestion. The last thing he wanted to do was have the most beautiful woman on the island know his problems. 

You had been one of the first people outside of Shep, Lyana, and Phee that he’d met on the island. You were one of the island’s resident healers, unofficially, according to Phee to be the best. He’d met you in the aftermath of the tsunami, tending to those injured in the scramble to safety. The crowd had parted as he had been carrying supplies and it had been like one of those moments straight out of one of the horrible holo films Wrecker and Omega liked to watch. You had been all he’d been able to see. And then later when you’d asked him if he was injured with a warm smile and kind eyes he’d been instantly smitten, which up until that point had been a completely foreign feeling to him. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think you were capable, you were, even Tech had commented on more than one occasion how ‘proficient’ your skills as a healer were. But it seemed that any time you were around he was only able to say something stupid, or worse, nothing at all. He’d never been very good at dealing with emotions, his own or others, another byproduct of his upbringing, so his feelings for you, whatever they may be, were completely foreign to him. It seemed though, judging by the knowing smirk on Phee’s face that they were not unknown to her. 

“Her bedside manner is a whole heck of a lot better than AZI’s,” Phee said lightly, eyes dancing with amusement, “She’s got some good tricks up her sleeve. I’m sure she’d be able to whip up something to give you some relief.” 

Hunter was about to protest, brush it off as nothing once again but Phee stopped him, her expression turning serious as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Seriously, Hunter. You don’t need to suffer anymore.”

“It’s in his nature,” Crosshair chimed from his spot in the corner, “Always the martyr.”

“Look who's talking,” Hunter snapped, glaring over at his younger brother who only smirked back over at him, “But fine, I’ll go,” Mostly just to get them to stop bothering him. 

“She’s not in clinic today so check over at her house,” Phee answered before she turned to help Shep carry the long-forgotten mattress, “She’s always happy to have people make a house call.”

Hunter wasn’t so sure about that but it seemed no one was going to let him keep pretending to be ok. He sighed, the pain in his side flaring and causing him to groan softly. Well, he thought as he made his way out of their small home, might as well get it over with sooner rather than later. 

*

Your house was small but well-maintained and looked just like every other house on Pabu, with the exception of a variety of potted plants and flowers lining the front and doorway. Sea glass wind chimes hung beside the door and tinkled softly in the gentle breeze. He briefly wondered if Omega would like some for their house. Maybe potted flowers too? Did that count as decorating? He wondered as he reached up to softly knock on the front door. 

There was no answer after a long, silent moment and with his heightened senses he couldn’t hear any movement within the house. He frowned, it looked like you weren’t home. He stared at the closed door for a moment, considering his options. He wasn’t sure if it would be better to just wait and risk looking like a creep or leave and try again later. 

Before he could even make that decision he turned suddenly, picking up on another presence moments before a figure stepped around the side of the building. You stopped short at the sight of him, eyebrows shot up in surprise and he watched as your head tilted slightly as you took the sight of him in. He took the same moment to look at you, your hair was wet, piled onto your head messily and you were carrying a large board, like the ones he often saw people riding waves in the ocean on. He was pretty sure Tech had said it was called surfing. 

Your momentary shock seemed to wear off and your gaze turned warm as it swept over him from head to toe. He felt your look like a physical weight against his body and he did his best to remain loose and not tense. His senses suddenly seemed to be heading towards overload for no reason he could discern. Maybe all that torture and the hit to the head had done more damage than he had thought. 

“Hey, Hunter,” You greeted warmly before you turned and placed the board up against the house on a small stand he hadn’t noticed before. Oblivious to his internal struggles you turned back towards him, smile somehow even brighter than before, “To what do I owe this pleasant visit?”

“Uh…” He started then coughed, he could feel his face heating at his inability to speak like a normally functioning human being. He didn’t know what in the galaxy was wrong with him, “Phee sent me. She said you might be able to help me out… with some pain.”

A look of understanding dawned on your face and you nodded, suddenly all business, “Of course, come on in,” you gestured towards the front door before moving towards it. He followed after you, trying to keep a respectful distance. 

“Don’t mind the mess,” You replied airly as he followed you further into the house, “I haven’t cleaned in a bit.” 

Hunter couldn’t help but think this was the cleanest home he’d ever been in, it was warm, bright, and inviting. Exactly the type of place he hoped they could make out of their own for Omega’s sake. Most importantly, it didn’t smell like a dirty barrack, so that alone made it the nicest place he’d ever been. 

He followed you into a little room that had been made up into what looked like an examination room rather than a bedroom. He paused at the threshold of the room as the same uncomfortable feeling he always got when it came to medical treatments crept up his neck. 

“I’m sorry it’s not a state-of-the-art medbay, but it does the trick,” You said as you gestured towards the small padded examination table in the centre of the room. You turned back to look at him when he remained silent, slight concern visible in the depths of your eyes, “We can go up to the clinic if you’d be more comfortable with that, though.”

“No,” Hunter replied quickly, face flushing. Even though the medical clinic on Pabu was nothing like a medical facility on Kamino, he still had no desire to go to it. 

“Alright,” You said with a soft nod, clearly noticing his discomfort but thankfully ignoring it, “What can I help you with, Hunter?”

Even to a relative stranger, it was hard for him to admit that he was suffering. His entire body ached worse than it ever had before, had since the moment he’d woken up in Hemlock’s lab. He’d taken a lot of bad hits in his years but the blast from the shuttle that had blown him off his feet and caused part of the roof to collapse on him had done a number. Everything still hurt, but his ribs hurt worst of all “It’s just my ribs. It’s uncomfortable but not too bad.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly seeing straight through his lie, “I’ll need you to take off your kit so I can take a better look,” You said as you eyed his armour.

Hunter cursed internally, he was now definitely regretting not putting on the clothes Shep had given him. He hadn’t felt comfortable removing his armour just yet, old habits died hard, he supposed but a simple tunic would have made this station a lot easier and less time-consuming. 

You had turned away from him, likely to give him some sense of privacy as he went to work removing the top half of his armour and undersuit. He set his gear aside on the chair in the room neatly before he hauled himself up onto the table, stifling a groan at the pain that laced through him with the movement.

Hearing he was done you turned back around to look at him, approaching the table slowly as though not to spook him. He had to hand it to you, if you were surprised by his state you didn’t let it show. You were pure professionalism as you approached him, eyes taking in the mottling of his skin before your gaze met his. He felt himself tense slightly at your proximity, at this distance, he could see the exact colour of your eyes, and the usual incoherent thoughts he always seemed to get when you were around clouded his mind. 

There was a small smirk on your face as you looked at him and your eyebrow was cocked once more at him as you spoke, “Not too bad, hmm?” 

A small chuckle escaped him before he could stop it and he felt his neck warm once more at being called out, “Well, I’ve had worse…” 

“I don’t doubt that,” You said softly, eyes were warm as you looked at him for a moment. You smelt like the sea combined with something warm and citrusy that he couldn’t name. It was wonderful and with such little distance between the two of you, it was difficult for him to focus on anything else. 

He flinched slightly as your hand gently rested against his left side, pain but also something else entirely shot through him with your touch. He tried to focus on you as you spoke instead of the way his skin was tingling under your touch, “Take a deep breath for me.”

He did as he was told, wincing slightly at the pain it caused. You made a quiet humming noise before your hand moved around towards his back, “Deep breath again.”

You had him repeat that multiple times on each side before you stepped back to get a better look at his face, “Didn’t AZI give you bacta for this? I don’t need my medscanner to tell you’ve got broken ribs.”

He felt his face flush as he spoke, “I uh, told him to save it. We don’t have a lot and my brothers needed it more than I did.” 

Instead of scorn or judgement though, the look you gave him was soft and full of understanding, “I’m sure we can get some more, there’s lots of people on this island who will likely need it at some point. You don’t have to suffer, Hunter.”

The uncomfortable feeling that had been following him around for days was crawling its way back up his throat. He wanted to tell you that he did, that after everything he had failed to do a bit of suffering was the least he deserved. The words almost made their way out before he stopped them and instead, he gave a half-hearted shrug that hurt his ribs, “It’s really not that bad.”

The look you gave him was so knowing that it made his skin crawl. It was like you could see the thoughts currently in his head, but you didn’t push, you simply sighed, “Alright, I know when to admit defeat,” You gave him a soft smile and your hand gently patted his knee once before you turned and made your way to the counter against one wall.

He watched you as you moved methodically, pulling things out of cupboards, and mixing things together. It didn’t take you long to do whatever it was you were doing and when you turned back around you had a small bag of powder in one hand and a jar of what looked like green paste in the other. 

You smiled softly at what he knew was likely a look of skepticism on his face. He knew there was more than one way to heal injuries, that fancy medbays, droids, and bacta weren’t the only things in the galaxy with healing properties but a lifetime of Kaminoan treatment did make him wonder just how effective whatever you had would be. 

“Like I said before, my first recommendation is actually to take the Bacta,” You said as you stopped in front of him once more, “But since I’m assuming that will not happen, you can try this instead.” 

You held up the small bag of powder in your hand first, “Drink a tablespoon of this two times a day, morning and night. My professional tip is to add it to hot tea, it helps with the taste,” You then held up the jar, “And rub this on to your ribs two to three times a day. I’ve adjusted the doses a bit, I’m not exactly sure if it’ll have the same effects as normal given your faster-than-average clone metabolism, but I think it should give you some relief,” You set the bag of powder down beside him on the table as you opened the jar. She put a small amount of her fingers, gesturing towards his ribs with it to let your intentions known. 

He nodded and then his breath caught at the tingling sensation that occurred as you rubbed the salve over his bruised torso,  “And lastly, but most importantly, rest. No heavy lifting, no twisting, no saving civilians. Rest,” You said gently as your hand pulled away from him once the salve was completely rubbed in. He felt his eyes widen at the cooling sensation that suddenly spread beneath where you had applied the salve, it was the first bit of relief he had felt in days. 

“Come back in a few days to see me, I’ll recheck them and if you’re still having pain we can maybe try something else,” You said as you replaced the lid on the salve and put it down beside the bag of powder. 

“Thank you,” he said as he grabbed the top of his blacks and gently pulled it back on over his head. His ribs were still painful but the cooling sensation from the salve was helping a bit. Once it was in place he looked at you again, “What do I owe you?”

You looked momentarily surprised, “You don’t owe me anything Hunter.” 

“I can’t just take this from you and you took the time to see me on your day off,” He protested as the uncomfortable feeling returned. They didn’t have any credits, what they had had from Omega and Crosshair’s gambling adventure had been on The Marauder. He was certain he could find some way to pay everyone back eventually though. He hadn’t quite figured that out yet, but he would.

You shook her head, “No, I don’t do this to make credits, Hunter. I do it to help others. And the lack of excitement on this island means pretty much every day is my day off,” Your gaze was soft and sincere as you looked at him, “Plus, Phee sent you so you automatically get the friends and family discount.” 

He was still hesitant, it was hard to trust the generosity of others. Especially after having spent so long working for Cid and seeing how many in the galaxy operated,  “What’s the friends and family discount?”

“Free,” You replied brightly, patting his knee once more before you retreated, cleaning up the supplies you had left on the counter. He watched you for a moment but when it was clear you would not be changing your mind he sighed and went about putting the top half of his armour back on. 

Hunter was silent as you walked him back towards the front door, he didn’t know what to say, or really how to thank you for helping him but you didn’t seem to be bothered by his silence. You stopped at the door, turning towards him with another bright and warm smile on your face that made his heart rate pick up at an alarming rate. 

“Take it easy, Hunter,” You said gently before your eyes narrowed playfully, “I mean it, rest.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He finally managed to say. Which only made his face flush more, because that was a dumb thing to say. He technically wasn’t a soldier talking to a civilian anymore, and ma’am just sounded old. 

You chuckled softly but before he could do anything else to make a fool of himself he made his way out of your house, looking back once with a wave before he disappeared from sight. He sighed as he walked, now he just needed to figure out how to actually rest. 

*

“New outfit! I like it,” You said with a bright smile as you pushed open your front door. For the second time that week Hunter had found himself standing outside of your house in the early morning only to have you appear moments later with a surfboard in hand. 

“Uh, yeah,” Hunter replied because once again his brain didn’t seem to be able to keep up with the rest of him. He rubbed at the back of his neck as you shut the door behind him before turning to smile at him once more. It had been hard for him to shed his armour, even though he had to admit that no longer having hard plastoid rubbing against his side made a big difference to the pain in his ribs. The simple tunic and pants that Shep had given him felt odd, but he guessed that eventually he’d get used to it. 

“A bit more practical for island life,” You said as you led him towards the medical room, “I could imagine it would be a bit more comfortable too.”

Hunter shrugged, “I was pretty used to the armour,” 

You paused for a moment, seemingly considering his words, “Well, it looks good and your ribs probably thank you.”

He felt his face heat at the looks good comment. He wasn’t unused to attention, but coming from you it felt completely different. Other than a quick night here and there he’d never really had the chance to even think about beyond a simple attraction, never mind anything that even somewhat resembled a relationship. But now, on Pabu with no more battles to fight, the rest of his life stretched out before him, he would be lying if he hadn’t thought about more with greater frequency lately. If your smile had been filling his dreams lately, well, that he would keep to himself. 

“How are they feeling?” You asked, clearly unaware of what your comment had done to him. 

“Better,” Hunter replied, which this time, was not a lie, “You might be a miracle worker,” His ribs, while not fully healed, felt so much better than they had before. The salve and tea had done wonders, he almost felt normal again. Or at the very least like he could get back to carrying things. 

You smiled at him but the sheepish nature of it had him raising his brow questioningly, “Well, I don’t know about miracle worker. It was probably the rest. I roped Omega, Shep, and Phee into making sure you took it easy.”

Their sudden increase in concern and pestering despite him denying any need for help suddenly made a lot more sense. He frowned at you, “I knew that was suspicious.” 

You laughed which did something to him, “I’ll gladly take the credit though. Can I take a look?”

Still reeling from the sound of your laughter he nodded, pulling the tunic off quickly as his face heated once again. You were once again nothing but professional as you examined him, having him repeat the same deep breaths you had early in the week. Meanwhile, he had to count back from 100 to try and keep his mind off of the feeling of your hands on him. 

As your hands ghosted over a particular spot on his ribs he couldn’t help but flinch, a quick hiss of air escaping his lips before he could stop it. 

You froze, hand hovering over his skin as you looked up at him with concern. You were so close that he could see every fleck of colour in your eyes, could hear your heart beating, strong and steady in your chest. Your scent was nearly overwhelming, and he wanted desperately at that moment to close the distance between the two of you.

“Pain?” You asked, breaking him from his thoughts. 

He shook his head, “Cold.” 

“Sorry, it was a pretty chilly swim this morning,” You answered with a shy smile before you placed your hand back on him. He shivered at the contact while trying to remind himself that this was a professional setting and that kissing you would be decidedly unprofessional.  

“It’s ok,” Hunter said, and then because apparently his mouth wasn’t on the same page as his mind, “I don’t mind, feels good actually.” 

At this distance, he didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed slightly or the way your heart rate picked up a notch. It was thrilling, he thought, to know he had at least some effect on you. 

You continued your examination quietly for another moment before you stepped back. An impressed look on your face as you did so, “It’s really incredible how fast you guys heal. You look so much better.”

Another byproduct, with their advanced aging it meant their cells regenerated much faster than average. Quicker maturity and healing with the cost of half the lifespan. 

“Do you still have some of the tea and salve left?” You asked as he pulled his shirt back on. 

“Yeah, about half I would say,” Hunter replied, “It really did seem to make a difference.”

“They both contain a natural painkiller that we’re able to grow here on the island. It’s the main ingredient in bacta, actually," You answered, “I’d keep up with the tea and the salve for the rest of the week. And keep resting, it looks like you’ll be ok in a few days but take it easy. I don’t want you back here because you’ve re-injured yourself. Not that I mind your company, but I’d prefer these visits to be on a non-professional basis.”

Hunter sighed, not liking the idea of staying idle when there was still a lot to be done. He needed to help Rex, the other clones, and never mind the whole house situation. But he wasn’t so stubborn that he couldn’t listen to medical advice, especially not when it actually was making a difference. He followed after you out into your living room, resigned to his fate. His mind however was turning over your last comment, you actually liked his company. Which was, admittedly surprising since he couldn’t seem to string more than a few words together anytime he was around you. 

He paused near your door, his gaze casting around your warm and bright space, a conversation he’d had with Omega earlier suddenly at the forefront of his mind, “Your home is very nicely decorated,” The words felt awkward coming out of his mouth and he instantly cringed. But if you thought he was weird you made no indication of it. 

Instead, you simply smiled at him brightly, “Thank you.” 

“Do you… have any tips? For, uh - decorating?” He asked, his voice stilted as his face began to heat up. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he forged on, “Omega wants to decorate our home and uh… I don’t really know…how?”

Your gaze was so warm that it didn’t help the fluttering in his chest. Your look was completely judgment-free despite it being honestly a ridiculous question, “Well, I don’t really know if I have any tips… I just pick things that speak to me.”

He stared at you blankly, “Speak to you…”

You laughed, the sound once again making him feel as if he were having a mini-heart attack, “Sorry, I guess that does sound pretty silly, but here-” you said as you walked towards one of the tapestries you had hanging on the wall behind your couch. You looked at him for a moment with an easy smile before you gestured to it, “What do you see when you look at this?”

“Uh…” He started then stopped, looking between you and the tapestry, “Blue?”

You laughed again and he was surprised at the soft bark of laughter that escaped him too, it really was ridiculous, “Ok, maybe I started off with too hard of a question” You said, continuing with a soft chuckle. He watched you closely as you turned your head back to look at it, a wistful expression overtaking your face, “When I look at it, the colours remind me of the ocean. The very first time I saw it I had the same feeling I get when I look out at the sea and I decided I wanted to get that feeling even when I’m in my home.” 

He looked back at the tapestry and its multiple shades of blues and whites woven together, it was quite nice. And the longer he looked at it he supposed he could see how the colours were similar to the ocean, “Oh, uh, yah.”

“Did you ever have posters up in your barracks or ship? Or see art or a picture that maybe you feel something?” You asked, amusement colouring your face. 

A wave of embarrassment rushed through him, “Well yah, but uh - I don’t think that’s very appropriate for a house with a kid in it.” The scantily clad picture of Senator Amidala that had once adorned the nose of The Marauder before General Skywalker got wind of it was the first thing that came to mind. 

You chuckled, “Ok, yes, maybe not like that. But obviously, there was something about those posters that you liked... some sort of feeling you got when you looked at them…”

“Arousal?” He teased before he could stop himself. He immediately felt embarrassed by his inability to keep his mouth shut but it seemed he didn’t need to worry about that. 

Your head tipped back as you laughed and your hand came up to rest on his arm, as if to steady yourself while you did so. A small thrill rushed through him at the sound. It had been a long time since he had made someone other than Omega laugh like that. 

“I walked right into that answer,” You said once your laughter had died down, “Let me correct myself, we’re looking for a different emotion.. happy, calm, peace, joy… something along those lines.”

“This all sounds a lot more difficult than I was expecting,” Hunter replied with a gruff chuckle. 

You laughed again as you squeezed his bicep gently, “Try not to overthink it, when you know, you’ll know.” 

“Sure…” He said, though what he wanted to say was that it all sounded like a load of poodoo to him. 

Clearly, his skepticism was showing because you chuckled again as your hand moved from his arm, “How about this, every few months we host a market on the island where all the bakers, crafters, makers, artists, anyone and everyone get together to trade and sell their wears. It’s in a few weeks, how about we go, you bring Omega, and maybe the three of us can find some things that speak to you?” 

“Ok,” Hunter agreed before he even fully processed what you had proposed. 

“Great,” You said with another beaming smile, “It’s a date.” 

Hunter felt everything inside of him freeze, his brain short-circuiting, “It’s a date,” He found himself repeating so quickly that embarrassment coloured his face. 

Your answering smile was worth every painful moment he’d ever experienced in his short life as the two of you walked towards the front door. You leaned casually against the door frame once Hunter had passed through, arms crossed over your chest, expression warm, “Great. See you later, Hunter. And remember, take care of those ribs.” 

He nodded, not trusting himself to say something else ridiculous before he left, giving you a quick wave over his shoulder as he headed back up the hill toward his own home. 

He still might not like medical treatment or know anything about decorating. But he had a much better idea of what spoke to him. Now, he just had to figure out what one actually did on a real date. 

[plague-of-insomnia]

Six-Sentence Sunday: Synchronize AU, Ch 8

So I know I barely wrote anything in 2024 and it’s been nearly 2 years since I was able to update Synch, but I’ve never stopped thinking about this story and I absolutely want to finish it.

I finally was able to assemble all the disparate pieces/scenes into an order more or less, and I was able to write one scene!, so I am hoping this means I’ll be able to update with something soonish, but again, no promises.

The story so far: Sebastian has been weaned off steroids and despite growing stronger in many ways, his swallowing muscles weaken to the point he’s no longer allowed anything by mouth. But he’s struggling to tolerate the tube feedings, and the last week has been dealing with severe GI symptoms and pain unlike anything he’s ever experienced. And Agni, caught up in his own anxiety, slips too far into nurse mode and fails to truly listen to why Sebastian is so upset…

Anyway, a tiny taste for the 2 people who still care about this story:

Sebastian lay on his side in bed, curled into a relaxed fetal position, Tanaka holding one of his hands as he tried to count in his head, hoping to slip into sleep.

When he felt this bad, he couldn’t think clearly enough to imagine and escape in his mind the way he might other times, which made these moments so much worse. He was too sick to watch TV or play a game or even follow the story that Tanaka was telling him as a way to try and distract him.

And the sad thing about this was, he was in a lull right now. That uncomfortable, heavy feeling in his core lingered, like someone had filled his abdomen with jello. The nausea hovered, always just beneath the surface, blending with the tension and anxiety of not knowing if he’d be able to fall asleep before the next bout of cramps and spasms hit.

Didn’t help that his rashes hurt, his skin irritated and inflamed in some of the most sensitive areas of his body. Agni was treating them with various medicated lotions, but they only seemed to get angrier. It would be better if his skin could be given the chance to breathe, but his fever had been hovering in the region of obnoxiousness ever since he weaned off the last of the steroids. Not so high his life was in danger or his mind was bleary— its own escape— but high enough to coat him in an almost content sheen of cold sweat. His body in a perpetual battle between sizzling and shivering.

Both Tanaka and Agni were attentive, but they were still human.

Tanaka sighed and temporarily laid the beat-up picture book on his lap. A well-loved copy of Momotarou, in colorful, large hiragana that Sebastian remembered fondly from his childhood. “I always loved this story. Sometimes I feel a little like the old couple, since I never imagined I would ever have a son, and I definitely consider you a gift from the gods.” He leaned in and brought Sebastian’s fingers to his lips, kissing them tenderly. “You’ll get through this rough patch, I know you will.”

Sebastian managed a faint smile, but he didn’t believe his adopted father’s words. He couldn’t. He’d never been sick like this before. He’d never lost his ability to to swallow so completely. He’d never—

Sebastian moaned as he felt a sharp cramping pain in his lower abdomen. No. It was starting again already?

Read Ch 1-7 of Synchronize on AO3

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Ideal No. 15

(7,119 words)

(A/N: Is this the longest chapter yet? LMAO, eat up! I had it mostly done before now, so IDK why it took me so long, if I didn't procrastinate, the total writing time was like three days, maybe. Plot bunnies are bitches, I guess. The moral of the story is: yell at me more in the comments! Only one or two more chapters to go!) 

Thanks once again to @fyodorsushankaaa for all the encouragement!

He looks like a scared puppy, readying to bolt. I have to act fast. 

It's impulsive, I know, but I'm not sure what else I can do, so I grab his bloodied hand. He flinches, hard, but I don't let go. I can't, too scared he'll slip away again.

"Dazai, you're hurt." Well, that much is obvious. I mentally scold myself. "What happened?"

He probably won't tell me if it's self-inflicted or not, but I need to know what sort of injury it is at least. The blood is spreading in a pattern that suggests a wound less controlled than razor lines. And Dazai doesn't cut himself, as far as I know. He kills himself with neglect.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then again, then once more. Then he jolts up, trying to twist away. He makes a sound of pain so startling that surprise makes me let go when it should be my instinct to grip him tighter.

Without the support of my arms, he tumbles out of the booth. I rush to help him.

"I'm okay. I'm just a bit out of it because of the weather change, is all." His voice is raspy. He isn't even trying to fool me anymore. I won't complain. His admitting that something at all is wrong is a start.

I'll just do what I always do. Go along with it.

"If you were under the weather you should have let someone know."

"'M fine."

Suppressing a sigh, I try a different tactic. "It only causes everyone more trouble if you wait until you can't stand."

His wince makes me regret the words, but I have to say something to make him see sense.

"I-I'm sorry."

What does he have to be sorry for? I don't have time for that at the moment. He needs medical attention, but knowing him he won't let me bring him anywhere near a hospital. "I hardly care about that now. Come on, I'm going to take you back to the office. Yosano-sensei will treat you."

"No!"

He's hyperventilating, the first sign of a panic attack. Okay. I have to calm him down. What would calm him down?

Jokes!

"Dazai, your bandages are yellow. I will not allow you to let your writing hand rot off simply because you don't want to do paperwork. How am I to get you to do work, then?"

It doesn't work. Or, well, it does, but not the way I intended. He stops hyperventilating but then lapses into silence. "Sorry." He wilts.

We both sit awkwardly on the floor for a moment considering the situation. He has been eating more, lunch at least, but I can tell I'll still be able to lift him, easily. It scares me a bit, but I'm grateful for it now. It is easier to focus on his alarmingly skinny stature than the fact that he is, practically, in my lap.

His quiet voice comes from beside me, "T-the food . . ."

I don't want to ask him to speak up, but he's so quiet and his words are so slurred that I really am having trouble hearing him.

"I'm sorry?"

"The food, we shouldn't waste."

I want to shake him. That's what you care about? But I'm afraid he'll break.

"Of course, let me, uh, just."

He tries to leap away, I think, from my lap, but he just ends up rolling to the side a bit, his hand twisting further.

I hurry to the counter, give our order number, and inform her of the mess we made.

"Yes, it's almost done. Don't worry about the tea. It happens a lot. We'll be happy to pack your food in takeaway boxes for you, sir. But, may I ask why you're leaving so soon? Your order was marked as dine-in, was that incorrect? Was your experience not okay?"

The woman is so sweet, but what do I tell her? No, you're restaurant is lovely my colleague is just a bit suicidal. "Oh, it was fine, ma'am. . . . My partner is just feeling a bit under the weather."

She coos, glancing worriedly behind me, probably at Dazai, who must still be lying on the floor. "Oh my, I see. The noodles should help then. I hope he feels better soon. You two boys take care."

"Thank you, ma'am."

-

Dazai is indeed still on the floor. I look at him for a moment. There's no way he'll be able to stand long enough to get to the car. Given his state, what would be the most efficient and most dignified way (for both of us) to pick him up? 

After looking at his tender hand hanging limply, I go with the cradle carry.

(A/N: The cradle carry is more commonly known as the Bridal or Princess carry, lmao)

"I'm going to pick you up, is that alright?"

He blinks, taking a moment to comprehend the words. He must be more ill than I thought. But, to my relief, he nods.

He's warm in my arms. Not like the warmth of a lover, but feverish warmth. 

"Keep these steady, Dazai," I say just to break the silence.

He nods, not objecting to my using him as a shelf for the noodles. In fact, he crunches them as if they're far more important than tea-house takeaway.

The walk to the car feels long and short at the same time. Dazai isn't heavy, not at all, but I'm so worried I'll drop him.

As I lay him across the backseat, he grabs my arm. "No . . . Yosano."

"Dazai, you need a doctor."

He doesn't seem to get it.

"Please."

It's his eyes that get me. They're wide and round with innocence and fear, like a child's, like a stray cat's. He reminds me so much of Yozo that I can't possibly ignore his request. It would feel like abuse. 

"Okay. I'll take you to my house, but you're getting first aid either way. I'm not going to watch whatever injury you have fester. Understand?"

-

The drive takes a bit longer because I'm so careful not to go too fast or hit the brakes too hard. I even avoid steep downhills, given that he wears no safety belt.

He sits up as soon as I park, indicating that he was not asleep as I'd hoped. I shouldn't let my disappointment show. I don't need him apologising for I don't know what, again. So while I fix my face, I carry the noodles in. 

Of course, Yozoz makes her escape as I open the door. It made me a bit sad to see her go, but then I knew she'd have to leave eventually, and with the noodles in my hands I was in no position to stop her.

-

They fit nicely in my mostly empty fridge. I haven't had much time to shop due to my extended hours. This is not ideal at all.

I'm also lacking in bandages. I have plenty for Dazai's wound, but I have no doubt that the ones he wears like a bodysuit need changing and I don't have enough. I never thought he'd be here, at my residence. Oh . . . what am I doing? I'll need to order groceries.

Mourning Yozo's absence, but with new determination, I step outside.

To my surprise, the cat hasn't gone far. She paws at my car door, jumping up to the window. The relief I feel is more than should be warranted, considering she's a feral cat, but I feel it anyway.

"Move, Yozo. I need to open the door."

I don't expect her to, but she obeys. Trotting curiously to the left.

Dazai is even more out of it than before. He's like a child when they somehow make themselves heavier, only it's hardly his fault. Yozo watches me curiously as I carefully handle my colleague. She trails my steps, fascinated by the newcomer.

Once inside, I lay dazai on the counter and wash my hands at the sink. I have to swat soapy water at Yozo to prevent her from licking Dazai's wounded hand. She yowls in response. It's interesting how she acts with him as if he's a fellow cat in danger, not a human. Or maybe she thinks she's human too.

I want to start with the first aid right away, better while he's out of it, but his bandages are the one part of his body he keeps off-limits and I would never cross such a personal boundary.

I'll have to wake him, but I can wait a bit longer.

This is where preparedness comes in handy. I have an ear thermometer I bought but have never used. I take it out now, rubbing it with an alcohol swab and sticking it in Dazai's ear. He twitches but makes no move to stop me.

The device beeps, flashing a yellow 39 C. Not Ideal, but not life-threatening. 

Hmm, another dilemma. Medication will help his fever and pain, but he hasn't eaten yet. There's no way anything is making it to his stomach right now, so medication will have to wait.

"Dazai, wake up."

" . . . 'nikida?"

"Yes. How do you feel."

He just shakes his head.

"You're running a mid-grade fever, so that's probably why you feel so poorly. Now, I need to take your bandages off to get to your hand-" He shakes his head before I finish, I can feel him trembling. I'm not sure how much of it is chills and how much is fear at the prospect of revealing what's underneath that he keeps so carefully hidden. "Please, Dazai, your wound is infected. It needs treatment. I won't go above the elbow, I promise. I swear on my Ideals."

He stops trembling, stilling completely, as stiff as a board.

"It's okay?"

An almost imperceptible nod.

There's disposable plastic on the counter, my sleeves are rolled, my hands are washed and protected by latex gloves, and I have everything I could possibly need save for surgical tools, and yet, I don't feel ready. But when am I ready for Dazai Osamu? Since when does it matter if I am or not? I just have to do it.

The bandages are wrapped so tight his hand must be purple underneath. I take the miniature scissors from the kit and begin cutting. The bandages come loose, but I have to peel them away from each other. 

"Fuck me." I try not to swear, but the deeper I go, the tighter they're stuck with blood, plasma, and other bodily fluids that result from the inner layers of skin being exposed to the outside world. The bottom most bandages are closer to brown than white.

"M' trying."

"What?" What did he just say? He didn't mean- surely not . . .

"Said m' trying to fuck you, kun-i-ki-da~" His voice is strained with pain and slurred with fever.

Wh- Oh. He's delirious. Of course. As much as the returns of his clownery relive me, this is NOT what I had in mind.

"I'd do it so well, Kuni-kun."

Suddenly I feel as if I'm the one with the fever, the what creeping into my face, hands sweaty.

"Please, go to sleep, Dazai. You're not well."

"That's what the lady at the cafe said too."

"I'm sure."

I focus all my energy on tuning him out. Thankfully there's no smell, which means the infection isn't too bad. I sigh.

On the last layer, I hesitate. The bandages are still opaque enough that I can't see the skin underneath.

Dazai's other hand raises up in a sloppy thumbs up, then falls back down. He's exhausted, but I'm glad for his approval, and that he seems to be back to his silly persona.

I took a formal first aid course in High School, so the rest of the process will be easy, the most tedious part is cleaning until the water runs clear instead of red.

The skin is blistered, if he does have any self-harm scars, I can't see them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Some of the blisters have burst but the skin is still pink, not charred or brown. This looks to be a superficial 2nd-degree burn. Thankfully these can be treated at home.

Because this isn't exactly a fresh wound it isn't bleeding and I don't need to cool the burn, since it's at least a day old, which is good because it means I can treat it with less delay.

Given that the wound was covered, I suspect that the infection came mainly from not cooling the wound properly or allowing it to breathe, and the lack of antibiotic ointment, and choking his circulation did no favours. Scolding him would do nothing.

Once the wound is clean, I apply antibiotic cream and begin dressing it. Dazai doesn't flinch, he must be out. 

I lean down, examining my work. I almost wish I hadn't done it. A cool bath would've helped his fever and the sweating, but now I don't want to wet the dressing, and he'd never allow anyone to see what's underneath his bandages. (Even if I thought I could handle him naked. As unprofessional as that sounds, I know my limitations.) With all the weeping, perhaps I should change it anyway. I have doubt that he'll do it himself even if he's capable.

I bin my gloves and the plastic sheet and wash my hands perhaps a little harder than necessary. 

His fever isn't sustainable either, but I'll let him sleep for now, just to recover from the shock of it all.

Still, he can't sleep on my counter. I lift him as carefully as possible, he doesn't stir. I tell myself not to worry as I set him down on the sofa.

Yozoz climbs my leg, jumping onto Dazai's limp form.

"Off!" I whisper, but she doesn't move.

I have a spare bedroom, but I'm not putting him there until he's had a bath and some fresh clothes. I'll do that as soon as I can.

-

His face isn't relaxed as he sleeps, he frowns, his nose and eyebrows scrunched, still, I can't deny that he's handsome. And cute with Yozoz lying protectively on his chest, letting him use her to elevate his hand.

He twitches and shifts uncomfortably. He'll need pain medication soon, which means he'll need to eat. 

Instead of staring at him, I need to order groceries . . . And I need to call in.

How do I even explain this? Better yet, how do I explain this without betraying Dazai's trust and alerting Yosano-sensei to the fact that he's injured?

I mean, do I even need to? He cuts work all the time . . . or he used to. Yeah, I'd better call.

I swear for the second time today and dial the president directly.

"Fukuzawa-sensei, this is Kunikida."

"Yes, Kunikida, what do you need?"

"Nothing. I was just calling to inform you that Dazai and I are on a private case and we won't be back for a couple of days. You can cut the time from my pay if you like. But I just wanted you to know that nothing is wrong, no one needs to come looking for us."

"Ah, I see. Did you pick up this case during lunch? Will you be reachable in the case of an emergency?"

I look at Dazai. I can't leave him, not like this. "Yes . . . and no."

"Are you out of the city?"

"No."

"Alright. Seeing as your paperwork is complete. I will bother you no longer. But please do call again if you two plan to be on the case for more than a week."

"Of course, sir."

He hangs up. I rest in relief for a moment. Now that that's cleared up there's the matter of my almost empty refrigerator.

-

Dazai wakes at the sound of the groceries being delivered.

"Huh? Kunikida?"

"I ordered groceries." 

I don't think he understands me very well, but I'll only be going to the door, so I don't worry.

Yozoz hisses at the delivery man. I nudge her back, and she gives one final look of utter disapproval before retreating. I tip the man and take the bags inside.

When I come back Dazai has gotten into a halfway upright position, using his uninjured hand to pet Yozo.

"Be careful." The warning is a habit at this point.

"When did Kunikida-kun get a cat?"

I don't let his use of the third person worry me, it wasn't uncommon for him a few months ago."Recently. She was a stray."

"My, how charitable!"

I have to remind myself not to be relieved. He's only acting this way because of the fever.

"Helping the less fortunate when I can is in my Ideals. And right now, that includes you, Dazai."

He gasps theatrically, "Me?"

"Yes, you. You have a fever. You need to take medication. It'll help with the pain as well, but you need to eat first. Now come on."

"My, who knew the prime minister of meeting procedure land would make such a good doctor, and handsome too~"

I can't deal with this right now, him saying all these things. They say fevers make you honest, but he's clearly spouting, pardon me, utter bullshit. "Yes, first aid training is quite useful."

He frowns at my lack of reaction.

I set the groceries on the counter, and go to help him. 

"Ahh, I'm so weak Kunikida-kun! I couldn't possibly move! Carry me!"

Ugh. Now that he's more alert, carrying him feels less like a medical necessity and more awkward, without the adrenaline from seeing him so hurt, but I'd take this over him sobbing on the floor any day.

I must admit I've had daydreams about having him in my arms before, but never like this.

He won't be able to handle chopsticks, so it'll have to be broth. I can make a simple one in under thirty minutes. As soon as I finish stocking the refrigerator and cupboards, I turn to find Dazai sitting at the counter. His newly dressed hand is splayed out on the countertop. He lifts it, flexing his finger. He makes no sound, but I've known him long enough to see that he's in pain.

He abhors pain. It doesn't make sense. This must not have been part of a suicide attempt. He'd never do something as painful as burning or boiling alive, so how did it happen?

I don't look at him, not wanting to invade at the moment. Instead, I focus on readying the ingredients for the broth, falling into the rhythm of chopping vegetables.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" I ask, still not looking. If it were anyone else I wouldn't count on a coherent answer, and I don't with Dazai, not really. He would never admit the extent of his pain, but I know he's aware, at least. This man is a cockroach. He's come to work with temperatures like this and higher before and none of us noticed until he passed out dramatically on the sofa.

"It's fine."

"It is" not "I am". A clear lie.

He's as stubborn as an ox, more stubborn than I myself can be at times. I have no choice but to go along. I place the vegetables in the pan with the stock and set the temperature. "Good. You have to eat before you take medication. The broth should be done soon."

He goes silent for a moment, then, "Mmm, Kunikida is so kind, getting all worked up over nothing." His words are soft, a gentle smile, almost . . . reassuring. His voice sends a wave of warmth down my spine.

Still, the sudden return of his demureness is a bit surprising.

"This is not nothing."

"Well you could have simply taken me to hospital, it wasn't necessary to bring me all the way to your home. I'm sure I've caused quite a hassle. I'm not sure how I can repay you for all of this."

"You mentioned before that you dislike hospitals, so I thought-"

"It hardly matters. There was no need for you to trouble yourself, I feel guilty now."

"Don't, you're my partner, it was no trouble at all." The words feel forbidden. It's immature, but my feelings make calling him my partner feel more meaningful than it should. He's so observant, can he see my guilt? Hear my heartbeat?

"That's impossible. I wish I hadn't troubled you at all." He looks down as he says it, picking the his new bandages. He sounds genuine, bitter and upset. Like many of today's events, it doesn't make sense. After all he's done to pester me so far, how can he feel so guilty for this? Or is it something else? Is this for all he's done in the past? That would be ridiculous, but somehow I believe it. Nothing he ever did was that horrible, it's all forgiven now. 

"Dazai . . ." I don't know what I should say, what I could say. He doesn't look up anyway.

"I won't trouble you anymore, Kunikida-san." It sounds so . . . final.

"Dazai, it wasn't-"

He's standing before I can stop him. I want to reach out to him, to stop him, but I know I shouldn't touch him much more, I doubt his aversion to contact has changed. Even with all his external polish and warmth, all those smiles, something frozen still resides within him, I know it. At times, I can feel its cold, like a gust of shivering wind, sudden, shocking . . . then gone.

And yet I find myself moving ever closer. Something deep in my gut knows I can't let him leave. I feel that if I do I may never see him again.

He sways, and sways and sways, and then . . . tips.

This time, though, I'm here to catch him. Again, he's too warm in my arms.

"Dazai, stop! You're in no condition to go anywhere. Please, sit, . . . stay. At least until you take medication. Then you can go as you please. But as your partner, it would be an abdication of my duties to allow anything to happen to you." There's that word again. Partner.

He whispers so softly, that I swear I mishear him, but it's quiet enough that I'm sure I don't. "Partner." Then he looks up. "Abdication, such a big word." The words are thoughtful, yet careless. He looks dazed. "Of course, you're just doing your job. Fine, but at least let me pay you."

Is he out of his damn mind? "P-pay me, what, you-?!" No. I can't lose my cool now. This isn't an office shenanigan. But then again . . . perhaps my scolding will be as grounding to him as his clownery is to me (am I the delirious one?)

"This is a favour, you will do no such thing. Now, stop talking nonsense!" I can't make myself call him an idiot, he still looks too fragile for that.

It seems to work, to my relief, he backs down. "Sorry." I don't like the bashful tone, but if it means he'll let me care for him without fighting, I'll take what I can get.

We sit, once again, in silence.

I'm relieved when the broth is done, busying myself with readying the bowl and placing it in front of him.

When I set it down, he looks at me for a long moment, then says a quiet "Thank you." and takes the spoon. 

His hand shakes a little. 

Right. I was so distracted by his attitude that I forgot a spoon might still be hard for him. What to do? For once, I don't know, there is nothing in my Ideals that tells me how to deal with an injured, delirious, Dazai Osamu in my kitchen.

"W-would you like some help?"

He looks up with wide eyes. Neither of us says anything. 

A moment passes, and I can't bear to wait, so I take the spoon from his shaky hand. 

He opens his mouth wordlessly and closes it the same.

We repeat the process, still silent, working like a machine, efficient. Both of us, I'm sure, are trying to distance ourselves from the reality of what we are doing. Before I know it the bowl is down to the dregs of vegetables.

Dazai nods once. "Your soup is very delicious, Kunikida-san."

"Thank you." The phrase is brief, almost curt, but I don't know how else to respond. My brain won't form words appropriate for this situation. I turn away, typing the last drops of broth into the plastic bowl the vet sent home for Yozo.

She laps eagerly, while I prepare the correct dosage of medication.

Dazai takes it without a hint of disgust, handing the cup back to me, then pushes himself up. It's too fast and he wobbles. I reach out but then retract my hands. He's not my charge, he's a grown man. He's fine. And he dislikes being touched.

I can't stand to see him go. Who knew I could be so selfish?

"Dazai, wait."

He halts but doesn't turn. His shoulders are tense. I shouldn't keep him longer.

"Just wait a bit. I will call you a taxi cab once the medication takes effect. Just for an hour, rest . . . please."

He turns so slowly I'm worried he's dizzy again, but he seems perfectly steady when he faces me. Then again, he seemed fine until he collapsed in the tea house.

"Alright. Where would you like me to sit?"

Anywhere.

"Wherever you feel most comfortable."

He nods, clearly uncomfortable again. Guilt makes my chest ache, I should let him go. He's made it this far. I'm sure he can handle himself.

"The sofa will be more than fine."

"Okay," I have to leave, I should. I have no business hovering like we're anything more than colleagues. "I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning, if you need anything at all."

"Don't worry. I won't."

-

I can't make myself stay away. 

So here I sit, mere inches away from Dazai. He fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down, despite his insurance on feeling fine.

His breathing is even, but I can see him shivering against the fever. I leave him for a moment, just to get him a blanket.

When I put it over him he still for a moment, then rolls over, still fully asleep and pulls it tight around himself. The trembling stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He'll be alright.

But I won't.

Watching him like this feels wrong, a guilty pleasure. This was never meant for me to see. I feel like a pervert, even though watching him like this brings no sexual pleasure, only a warmth in my chest.

I can only stare as his chest rises and falls. His hair fans out over my pillows making them look like they don't belong here, no, not that. They, and he look like they belong, but under his head, they look like something novel even when I've had them for years.

-

After many hours of fitful tossing and turning, he really stirs. And I've done nothing but watch him this whole time. How much working time have I lost? And why does it not seem to matter at all?

I don't think he meant to sleep so long. It's dark out now, and he'll surely need more medication if he even wishes to attempt a full night's sleep.

I jump up when he twitches, hurrying away, lest he think my intentions are anything other than platonic.

"Kunikida?" He calls out.

"Yes, Dazai," I answer, strolling in like I didn't just bolt from the room. How many times have I lied in the past day?

"Thank you very much for letting me stay, and for the food, both here and at the tea house. You can keep my noodles. I'll catch a cab now." 

He's up, standing on shaky legs before I can stop him.

"What?" The words fall out, clumsy and desperate. I hope he doesn't hear it.

He looks at me, appropriately confused. "Did I leave something, Kunikida-kun?"

My saving grace. The one thing I actually did besides watching him sleep."Your coat, it's in the dryer. There was some blood on the cuff, so I washed it." The perfectly reasonable explanation feels awkward.

"Oh, thank you again." He sounds so grateful it makes me uncomfortable.

"Please, don't thank me. You aren't troubling me. Your coat should be done in just a few minutes." I want him to stay longer, "Would you mind if I checked your bandages until then, I heard you tossing in your sleep." A small lie.

"I'm yours."

We both freeze. 

"I-I'm sorry?" I sound like I'm choking.

His cheeks reddened, embarrassed that I made something out of that, no doubt. Especially when I've probably said similar things in reference to our partnership.

"I simply meant that you are the expert and are free to do what you want, er, need to."

"Ah, yes." 

What do I do now?

Neither of us moves for a moment, like when you get stuck trying to pass someone in a door or corridor and do an awkward little dance. I don't want him to pass me. I don't want him to go.

Then he moves, walking to the counter, and placing his arm on it. I follow him, busying myself with readying the plastic sheeting.

He's in the same position when I come back, but lifts his arm and allows me to put the small section of sheeting under it.

I examine the bandages. I was right. As much as this is to keep him here, they do need changing. The wound is still weeping a lot. 

"I'll need to clean and change it again," I tell him, but I think he may have guessed based on the way he eyes his arm.

The experience is completely different now that he's coherent. But he doesn't fight me on the removal of the bandages, I watch his face, his beautiful face, and on cue, he gives his silent permission.

He doesn't flinch as I unwrap it, eyes scanning the wound analytically. 

He leans in, so close that I would barely have to lean down to kiss him. I'd never, of course, I could never. But the thought is very much there.

"I have seen far worse, usually I was the cause." He explains.

Right, the mafia. 

Here, in this house, I could forget. But, I realise suddenly, that it doesn't matter at all, not when it comes to him.

The process goes so much more quickly this time. I hate that I wish it didn't, but before I know it, my hands are on autopilot, and he's in fresh bandages . . . and ready to go.

Where's he going to go? Surely not the agency dormitories? He doesn't want anyone to know he's injured. Or will he just hole up inside? Or does he have somewhere else? A street corner? I shiver at the thought.

He needs another dosage of medications since it's been so long. He must be in pain, but if he's driving, he should wait to take it until he gets back. I still don't trust him with a whole bottle. But I can send him with enough to get him through the night until tomorrow morning when I see him again. I'd best pick him up and take him here in the morning. Someone might see me and know I lied if I stay too long, and his dormitory isn't exactly sterile. (Maybe he's cleaned it? I've only seen it in glimpses.)

"You should take another dose of medication in about an hour. I'll send you home with a pill, you can pick up another one tomorrow when I change your bandages. It helps with the pain as well. Actually, I should take your temperature before you go. If you're still feverish, I'll drive you."

He nods, then cocks his head. "Come here? I appreciate it, but won't we be at the agency?"

Right, he doesn't know.

I told the President that we'd be out for a couple of days, just because I'd be in charge of caring for the wound since Dazai refused to go to a hospital or Yosano, but maybe that's changed now that he's not feverish.

"I was under the impression that you wanted the injury hidden. You told me you didn't want to go to the hospital or to Yosano, so I told the President that we were out on a case. He won't expect us back." It feels shameful and stupid as I say it now, but I press on. He needs to know. "I was actually wondering where you were going. You can't exactly go to the dorms, and I'd prefer to change your bandages here where I have my supplies . . . Or, of course, I could tell him we finish early if you would rather!"

He's just standing there, frozen. I can't read him.

After a while he says quietly, "You lied to the president?" The words are shocking. Of course, they are, I'm the last person one would expect to do that, I know.

"You seemed highly uncomfortable at the thought of anyone knowing so I . . . I just did."

He looks down. Even without a fever, I can see he still feels that way. "No, no, I won't make you lie further. I'll find a place to stay. An old mafia safe house should do just fine."

"Oh, Dazai, I didn't mean to-"

"You've done so much. I am fine now. I don't need luxury, just a quiet place to sleep." He looks pale.

He's not fine. 

And I'm still not ready for him to leave, not ready to be alone with my thoughts.

He sits like a dutiful patient while I fetch his freshly dry coat. I'm not so deceitful as to wet it again.

He takes it, standing up once again. 

"Let's do this again sometime, eh, Kunikida-kun?" The statement carries just a trace of his previous humour. His eyes are far away, the deep brown irises glassy.

Just as he reaches the door, I remember. I didn't take his temperature! Or give him the pills! I grab his wrist. He whirls around, startled, looking again like a caught animal. I wish he wouldn't, but I have to admit, what I'm doing is quite creepy.

"Wait. I need to make sure your temperature is down before you go. I don't want someone kidnapping you, eh?" The joke, like most of mine, falls flat.

Something sparks in his eyes . . . and then they go cold. 

"Kunikida-san, I understand that you're just doing your job . . . but last I checked it's not your job to stop me from killing myself. Don't pretend to care so much, I am not your poor little charity case!"

Killing- who said anything about suicide? Is he planning to- Now? After he's done all this? Well, now there's no way I can let him go!

It looks like he's also realised his mistake. His eyes are stuck between wide open and narrowed to slits, it's odd. I take advantage of it. 

"Dazai, please. I just wish to help."

He says nothing, to my relief, no sour words about my ideals, or my having a saviour complex. (I don't. I'm just ever so foolishly in love.)

I'm afraid that if I step away to get the thermometer, he'll run, so instead, I step forward, placing my hand under his fringe. The contact sends a spark through me, and it occurs to me that I've never really touched him before, a brush of the hand, maybe, and of course carrying him, but never this. He's still warm. Of course, he is. In my haste, I overlooked something important. 

I learnt very quickly of Dazai Osamu's inhuman metabolism. It's how he processes all the junk food and alcohol so quickly. The medication must have worn off at least an hour ago. Has he been in pain all this time?

Oh, damn me!

"Dazai, I'm so sorry." 

He doesn't look like he's heard me. He sways again . . . and then he's in my arms.

He weighs almost nothing against me, but I can't worry about that now.

"You know, Kunikida-kun?" he mumbles into my chest, "I think I'm still a bit tired from the medication. Maybe I will stay."

"Why did you not tell me?" But the question is more for myself. I know why.

I'm a task-oriented person. I need goals or I'll fall apart, I know this. So I make a list.

Check his temperature. 

Make him eat something (somehow). 

Give medication.

Attempt a cool bath.

Fresh clothes.

Sleep.

He's completely out. I can feel his breathing, slow and shallow.

Taking his temperature is easy, getting him medicated won't be. I ought to try a cool bath first before he can protest. It will help the most before the medication kicks in. I hate to cross his boundaries like that . . . then again, he seemed to give me permission when he agreed to stay.

Fortunately, I don't have to decide. He wakes when I move him, his breathing shifting into quick gasps. I want to tell him he's okay, but what use would that have?

"I'm going to give you a cool bath. You can keep your undershirt and pants on, but I need to get your temperature down, alright?"

He nods.

Thankfully, this bathroom was designed with two people in mind, so there's plenty of room for him on the counter. He mutters something that includes my name and the words "undress me". I think he's trying to be cheeky, but it falls flatter than any of my jokes ever have.

Getting into the bathtub is easy. He weighs much less than he should. I prop him up, but with the way he flops to the side, like a fish, I can't possibly leave him. He'll drown. 

What to do, what to do? I can stay with him a bit, but I need to make more broth so he can take more pills. I'll think about it.

"Hey, you're just going to soak in here for a bit, so your body can cool down. May I wash your hair?" He's sweaty, so I may as well.

He nods, so I do.

The process is like nothing I've ever done. He "hmms" softly and I can feel him slipping into sleep under my touch. I thought that seeing him undressed (or in this case in just his pants) would be hard for me, but it isn't. All I can feel is concern, not pity, I don't see him as below me or anything, he remains my equal and as handsome as ever, but right now he just needs to be taken care of. He is not riddled with scars as I'd thought, but there is one, a large gash along his chest and other various small ones. It's hard to see them, though. In reality, the scars are perfectly visible, but when I look at him I don't see them, just those warm brown eyes. 

The bath is working, and he feels much less hot than before. He's more alert as well. If he just stays in a bit longer he might return to a normal temperature, at least temporarily which would help until I can get medication in him, but I still have to cook . . .

"Okay. Here's a towel, you have to get out now."

He shakes his head, confused as if just having woken up. Did he really go to sleep just like that? He used to complain of insomnia. How ill is he?

"Don't wanna." His tone isn't clownish, but tired, so very tired.

"Dazai, I can't- you're not in a complete state of mind, you could hurt yourself."

"What if you could make sure I didn't?"

What's he got up his sleeves now? I make my scepticism clear on my face. "Perhaps, what do you have in mind?"

"I could sing to you . . . like in that movie with the little girl who's really an adult."

"What?" I'm not even going to ask.

"Like this" He hums a note, then another. I don't recognise the melody, but it's pretty.

"Fine. But If you stop, I will come right back in here, so don't try anything."

"Got it, Kunikida-san."

True to his word, he keeps humming as I start in the kitchen. The song is very nice. I'll have to ask him what it is when he feels better.

-

The broth, a slightly different recipe, to keep things interesting, finishes quickly. All that's left is for it to cool to an edible temperature, and to get Dazai into some clothes.

I'm only 8 centimetres taller than Dazai, so my clothes should fit him well enough. I pull out a pyjama set from the back of my drawer, it was a gag gift from Katai when I went to university, with a little nightcap and all. I leave the cap and take the folded set into the bathroom.

-

He looks so soft in the matching top and bottom that I can do nothing but stare. He sneezes, snapping me out of the trace. Right, his hair is still a bit wet. The last thing he needs is a cold.

He manages to stand, albeit with most of his weight on me, and follows me to the kitchen.

-

"Why are you doing this?" He asks as I set down the spoon. I helped him again. He didn't ask me to, even as a joke, and I wasn't sure he would if I didn't just- so I just did it . . . It would appear that, in some way, somehow I'm in this even deeper than I thought.

What can I say? Oh, I could say so much. What can I say that would be professionally acceptable?

"It's my job." AH, if there was an award for shit answers.

He sighs, "AH, right, duty-bound Kunikida-kun. Poor thing." The words are teasing, but I know him better than that.

-

He makes himself at home in the spare bedroom, out practically as soon as his head hits the pillow. When was the last time he slept in a real bed?

What do I do now? It's not that late, so I can't go to bed, but I can't go back to work, and there's now ay I'd let myself leave. I can't think of anything, so, as always, I stay.

He looks so peaceful, his breathing even, face relaxed. I gave him twice the normal dosage of medication.

Despite his apparent calm I can't help thinking that he should be in my bed. I want to hold him, to keep him warm and safe. I want him to know someone needs him, someone wants him. At first, I wasn't sure this new him even needed that anymore, but his behaviour today . . . I want to wake up and see his smile, a real one. I want to be the reason for it. I want to give him so, so many reasons to smile. And when he can't smile, I want to be there for him.

Looking at him like this, a sudden courage fills me. The courage to put pen to paper. I pull out my notebook and start writing, looking up every so often at Dazai's sleeping face, just to amke sure I phrase this thing I'm feeling right (if there's any way to physically capture it. I'd try even if I knew for sure there wasn't).

When I'm finally pleased, I close the book. It's dark out now. I must have been writing for much longer than I thought. Well, I guess I should get to sleep.

IDEALS [kunikidazai]

(A/N: I've been palying around with ship names for these two and came up with Ideal Human because together these two make one perfectly functioning person. Kind of like how Tachizaki is Midwinter Snow because if their abilities)

SUMMARY:

Dazai Osamu is the farthest possible thing from the ideal woman Kunikida Doppo has written so much about in his notebook.

And yet . . . Kunikida is hoplessly in love with him anyway. Kunikida doesn't belive he has a chance with his coworker, I mean, have you seen the way he flirts with women? Straight as the rulers Kunikida used to use in his maths class.

Dazai meanwhile is also inlove with uptight but still charming coworker. But how can Dazai ever come close to the woman Kunikida has in mind?

Will these two damn idiots figure their shit out or not? God, I hope they do, for all our sanity!

(Summary sponsered by Edogawa Ranpo)

Categories: angst, fluff, getting together

Warnings: N/A

Thank you to @wildroseroguefor inspiring me to write Kunikidazai for the first time. Rose has lots of Kunikida content on her blog, check it out.

[nightfallsystem-moved]

turns out if u get injured bad enough it leaves mental scars too 👎👎(traumatised)

[what-wait-why]

i hate everything

[dandyshucks]

going to cry because i am worried i won't finish all the crochet gifts in time :''")

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

He just hoped that his love didn't end up killing him in the end. Once Adam was asleep he just held him and softly cried. Lucifer wasn't ready to lose him, not now not ever.

It wasn't fair, something that they should be celebrating only brought him dread for his husband's life. He was happy sure and he would never ask Adam to terminate.

That would devastate him.

The next day when Lucifer went to his office he called Bel, he needed help and she was the best.

Bel: Lucifer? Is it time to refill Adams medicine already?

Adam was on medication to help boost his immune system and just to keep him healthy in ways a nutrient rich diet couldn't.

Lucifer: No, though it probably wouldn't hurt to top it off since I have you here but I'm calling for another reason and it is about Adam.

Bel: What is it, is he okay?

Lucifer started to tear up: H-He's pregnant again.

Bel was silent for a moment: What do you need?

Lucifer: I-I-I know it's asking a lot, but you were there the first time and I can't lose him Bel I love him so much. Would it be possible for you to oversee his whole pregnancy? Here at the Manor? I know you're busy.

Bel: Being pregnant puts him at a higher risk for simply getting sick. I'll stay with you guys and I know Charlie has her hotel, so you'll have to crack down on her hygiene when she comes over and same for you and Abel if you leave house and your staff. I'll even do a decontamination shower before coming over.

Lucifer: Thank you Bel.

Bel: You're welcome, I'll be there after today's meeting.

They hung up and Lucifer cried, especially when the picture of him and his family was there on his desk all smiles looking back at him. He couldn't lose him.

He sent out an email to his staff about the hygiene and cleanliness increases. He texted Charlie and Abel about it too but would tell them why in person.

Lucifer went back to Adam who was just happy to have his husband.

Lucifer: I love you so much.

Adam: I love you too Luci.

Lucifer: Did you take your pills?

Adam: Yes. Can I just stay in bed today? I'm so tired.

That was a side effect, aside from everything else Adam was tired a lot.

Lucifer kissed him: Of course. I only have one meeting today and I'll be home.

He handed him the tv remote before he left for the meeting. Adam turned on the tv and just left it on for some background noise while he took a nap.

Lucifer sighed, this meeting better go fast.

The Fall Au

The earth shook with the sheer impact of the fall that it created a massive crater. Lucifer groaned as he held his love tight to him, he didn't want Adam getting hurt and it was very painful.

Lucifer: Dove? Adam?

Adam looked up at him and coughed, dust coming out of his lungs. He felt so weak and dizzy.

Adam: Luci?

Lucifer: Addie, are you okay?

Adam teared up: I-I-I don't feel good.

He started coughing and shaking, he was freezing. Adam screamed as he felt pain in his head.

Lucifer ripped off the lower half of his robe and wrapped it around Adams along with his wings.

This isn't good.

Adam: It hurts so much.

Lucifer: Don’t worry, I will help you, we just need shelter.

Adam cried as Lucifer used his magic to create a palace. It was a gothic style version of the palace in Heaven. Lucifer carried Adam into the palace holding him close to him.

Lucifer: I have you my dove.

Adam: I trust you Luci.

Once in the room Adam was placed in the bed as Lucifer held him. Adam screamed as he felt his body change. It was trying to make it so his body was suited to the atmosphere of Hell. But since he didn’t die, his body could only do so much. Adam cried more as Lucifer held him close.

Lucifer: I’m not leaving you my love. We will be together forever.

Adam gave a sad smile, his beautiful teeth had become shark like fangs.

Adam: I love you and I am so sorry, but I didn’t want to leave you.

Lucifer: You don’t need to apologize. I love you too and I don’t want to leave you.

Adam fell asleep and Lucifer looked over the changes Adam went through.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

[depresseddepot]

don't know how to describe it without metaphors. audhd feels like I have 10 strings hooked into my body pulling me in opposite directions and leaning towards one string to try and "fix" that problem (cooking, cleaning, classwork, etc) just makes the other strings pull tighter and hurt more. this point of this whole post is to explain that when I see someone older than me who also struggles with exactly the same things to the same extent that I do, it makes a couple of those strings loosen and stop pulling. not forever, because they always start pulling again, but having the expectation lifted of needing to have a "normal functioning life" by age whatever is so nice. everything still hurts but for now at least that part of my brain can rest.

[ourceliumnetwork]

my ribcage has once again predicted the weather and i'm ANGY about it.

like on the one hand i get to talk about how i got injured which if i don't mention what age i was makes me sound like a cool cowboy who's retired from Wranglin due to too many Owchies over the years, on the other hand i gotta contort myself to limit how much breathing hurts me on that side.

[deoidesign]

A general cane guide for writers and artists (from a cane user, writer, and artist!)

Disclaimer: Though I have been using a cane for 6 years, I am not a doctor, nor am I by any means an expert. This guide is true to my experience, but there are as many ways to use a cane as there are cane users!

This guide will not include: White canes for blindness, crutches, walkers, or wheelchairs as I have no personal experience with these.

This is meant to be a general guide to get you started and avoid some common mishaps/misconceptions in your writing, but you absolutely should continue to do your own research outside of this guide!

This is NOT a medical resource!!! And never tell a real person you think they're using a cane wrong!

The biggest recurring problem I've seen is using the cane on the wrong side. The cane goes on the opposite side of the pain! If your character has even-sided pain or needs it for balance/weakness, then use the cane in the non-dominant hand to keep the dominant hand free. Some cane users also switch sides to give their arm a rest!

A cane takes about 20% of your weight off the opposite leg. It should fit within your natural gait and become something of an extension of your body. If you need more weight off than 20%, then crutches, a walker, or a wheelchair is needed.

Putting more pressure on the cane, using it on the wrong side, or having it at the wrong height can make it less effective, and can cause long term damage to your body from improper pressure and posture. (Hugh Laurie genuinely hurt his body from years of using a cane wrong on House!)

(some people elect to use a cane wrong for their personal situation despite this, everyone is different!)

(an animated GIF of a cane matching the natural walking gait. It turns red when pressure is placed on it.)

When going up and down stairs, there is an ideal standard: You want to use the handrail and the cane at the same time, or prioritize the handrail if it's only on one side. When going up stairs you lead with your good leg and follow with the cane and hurt leg together. When going down stairs you lead with the cane and the bad leg and follow with the good leg!

Realistically though, many people don't move out of the way for cane users to access the railing, many stairs don't have railings, and many are wet, rusty, or generally not ideal to grip.

In these cases, if you have a friend nearby, holding on to them is a good idea. Or, take it one step at a time carefully if you're alone.

Now we come to a very common mistake I see... Using fashion canes for medical use!

(These are 4 broad shapes, but there is INCREDIBLE variation in cane handles. Research heavily what will be best for your character's specific needs!)

The handle is the contact point for all the weight you're putting on your cane, and that pressure is being put onto your hand, wrist, and shoulder. So the shape is very important for long term use!

Knob handles (and very decorative handles) are not used for medical use for this reason. It adds extra stress to the body and can damage your hand to put constant pressure onto these painful shapes.

The weight of a cane is also incredibly important, as a heavier cane will cause wear on your body much faster. When you're using it all day, it gets heavy fast! If your character struggles with weakness, then they won't want a heavy cane if they can help it!

This is also part of why sword canes aren't usually very viable for medical use (along with them usually being knob handles) is that swords are extra weight!

However, a small knife or perhaps a retractable blade hidden within the base might be viable even for weak characters.

Bases have a lot of variability as well, and the modern standard is generally adjustable bases. Adjustable canes are very handy if your character regularly changes shoe height, for instance (gotta keep the height at your hip!)

Canes help on most terrain with their standard base and structure. But for some terrain, you might want a different base, or to forego the cane entirely! This article covers it pretty well.

Many cane users decorate their canes! Stickers are incredibly common, and painting canes is relatively common as well! You'll also see people replacing the standard wrist strap with a personalized one, or even adding a small charm to the ring the strap connects to. (nothing too large, or it gets annoying as the cane is swinging around everywhere)

(my canes, for reference)

If your character uses a cane full time, then they might also have multiple canes that look different aesthetically to match their outfits!

When it comes to practical things outside of the cane, you reasonably only have one hand available while it's being used. Many people will hook their cane onto their arm or let it dangle on the strap (if they have one) while using their cane arm, but it's often significantly less convenient than 2 hands. But, if you need 2 hands, then it's either setting the cane down or letting it hang!

For this reason, optimizing one handed use is ideal! Keeping bags/items on the side of your free hand helps keep your items accessible.

When sitting, the cane either leans against a wall or table, goes under the chair, or hooks onto the back of the chair. (It often falls when hanging off of a chair, in my experience)

When getting up, the user will either use their cane to help them balance/support as they stand, or get up and then grab their cane. This depends on what it's being used for (balance vs pain when walking, for instance!)

That's everything I can think of for now. Thank you for reading my long-but-absolutely-not-comprehensive list of things to keep in mind when writing or drawing a cane user!

Happy disability pride month! Go forth and make more characters use canes!!!

[heyitslapis]

its times like this when i really wish i had an SO's shoulder to cry on

Because I think i factrued/sprained my foot the other day it happened wednesday but its still pretty swollen and pops when i try to walk on it without hobbling. i know i signed up for health insurance through work. i wrote down the insurance company name as Bayside and I have my personal insurance id number but the card never came in/got lost in the mail (and i already called for one replacement that never came so idk if theyll send me a third) so i cant confirm the insurance name nor call them, but i need to because ive called/visited 5 health care facilities around me and NONE of them have even heard of Bayside. So im calling the phone number that my manager provided me with telling me that was the insurance company. I keep calling the number (and mind you ive called them before to try to get a second insurance card sent to me but that was in like April) and i get that its saturday but theres no answer and the stupid automated machine wont let me leave a voicemail. the automated answering voice on the phone also says that theyre called National Benefit Plans by SafetyNet and google says the phone number im using belongs to National Benefit Plans out in San Antonio Tx (i live no where near there). I found National Benefit Plans' website on SafetyNetPlus dot com but National Benefit Plans doesnt have their own website, just through SafetyNet, and also the SafetyNet website says on a side panel that "this is NOT insurance" and instead keeps saying "health benefits" instead so idk what the fuck ive been paying for for the last 6 months tbh and im having an emotional breakdown bc i dont want to fuck my foot up for life just cause i couldnt figure out my health insurance/benefits shit

[timmydraker]

Tim begins to distance himself from his family after Damian becomes Robin.

It was obvious in the way he ran off to rescue Bruce, but that was more of a physical thing at the end of the day. He was desperate and had lost any kind of safety net and support he had after Dick threatened Arkham and how badly he hurt Alfred with his instance that Bruce was alive.

Either way he was going to get Bruce back, if not because he felt like he was an aimless, nothing human being without Batman then there was that he wanted to be believed.

Then Dick handed over Robin to Damian who at that point genuinely despised Tim, though there was also a level of jealously in the young Wayne’s mind at the intelligence and analytical Tim.

It was then that Tim decided he would bring Bruce back and then do his own thing, outside of Robin and outside of Batman.

He clearly had done his job hadn’t he? Sure Bruce was dead, but Dick was acting as Batman and that Batman had a Robin, so his reasoning for being Robin was extinguished.

Tim brings Bruce back and the older man praises and thanks him for several days and then, like everything else, the attention moves away. It goes to him connecting with Damian on a vigilante level and catching up on the last several months of him being ‘dead’. It goes to Jason who, now that he’s lost his foster father has decided that maybe he could try a little harder after all.

It goes to everyone and anyone other than Tim and this time? That’s actually the plan.

Tim isn’t as good of a hacker as Barbara, but she’s basically a god at it so compared to others he might as well be master level, just not against her. This he uses to shift around peoples schedules so Alfred has no choice but to let him go to school on his own (Tim may have also invented an early morning ‘club’ that was totally legit and not at all a fabrication). He makes it so when Dick is over or Jason takes the rare opportunity to visit he had to work at WE or DI, something important he can’t neglect.

He never has to walk Ace or Titus because he’s busy with his team mates.

Team mates who think he’s busy helping out Batman.

Tim still does work as a hero, but it’s entirely through his businesses after a while. A few times he has no choice but to go out in a boring black suit with a full face mask and hoodie. It’s got nothing on it, no symbols or gadgets. Nothing to connect him to anyone.

He starts with the homeless, dishing out vaccines like candy without even doing a campaign to showcase it.

Then he changes Bruce’s rather naive approach to orphanages and makes it so every single child who is put through is given a small amount of funding. He makes it so kids have more chance to stay with siblings, makes sure everyone who even so much as enters the ground of a orphanage have a real background check and sure the adoption rate drops, but so does the missing kids and DV cases.

Tim steals over fifty million from people like Luther and Penguin and all kinds of corrupt rich assholes for the majority of the funding and not even a cent of it is traced back to Wayne or Drake businesses. Whiles he’s digging into Lex be manages to get enough evidence to put a sizeable dent in his reputation, even if Lex manages to smooch a fair bit of it back.

He’s manages to take out a large sized trafficking ring and helps get the victims into a real recovery home that he hand picks out security for.

Later, as in a few days afterward, he discovers a dog meat farm and everyone medical veterinary student suddenly finds themself free of student loans and debt and with multiple work opportunities available and volunteer work being down right pleased for.

Tim knows he’s being noticed but given that he basically lives in his office in the heart of the city, he isn’t there to hear his old teammates and ‘family’ talk about the mysterious Dread.

Dread who was named that after a report came out about a theory of an unknown hacker or ‘cyber vigilante’ who was stealing money and information from rich folk and giving it to the poor, giving all of the 1% dread that he would hit them next.

The exact quote was ‘Those with money deeper than their pockets dread the hackers next moves. And they should feel that dread as a warning for this Robin Hood like legend seems to be getting braver.’

Dick was sure the hacker would have been called Robin if he hadn’t chosen that name already, to which Barbara responded with grumbles and growl because she couldn’t find anything other than holes and traps left by the hacker. It was like they knew her every move before she even made it!

Tim, obvious to his growing reputation until it fully took off, hadn’t even considered that his actions would be framed a threat by Batman. He would say it was because he didn’t think Bruce would ever really target him like that, but in actuality it’s because he knew Bruce was one of the few good rich folk. Surely he would be on the side of a secret vigilante hacker trying to use horrible people to do good? He embraced Dread quickly and was happy he make the rich squirm and brought a sense of hope to people, it was just like Robin but instead of them being safe and given light they were given a peace of mind in a mix of revenge and justice.

What Tim doesn’t know is that Bruce is still too far into his whole image of black and white, good and evil, that he tends to forget there’s grey areas.

At least Jason is on the side of Dread, even if he still thinks the myth of a story is just that, a myth.

It’s when Tim blows up a bank when everyone has gone home for the night just so people will find the underground money ring that and he visits the manner to get a few things that he hears them talking about it.

By that point it’s been around two years since he dropped Robin and as usual Dick always greets him with a look of a desperate puppy, “Tim! Hi, you’re here. I haven’t seen you in months, how have you been?”

Tim smiles at Dick even if he hasn’t gotten over his anger at his oldest brother and moves to sit at the breakfast table with everyone (Alfred, Bruce, Jason and Damian).

“Good. Busy, we’ve had a lot of donations lately.”

Jason snorts, “No shit. Isn’t Wayne Enterprise one of the few ones not hit by Dread?”

Bruce grumbles and shakes his head, “I wouldn’t say that. They’ve managed to get into our system and completely changed the Jason Project.”

Jason grins and laughs happily, “you mean improved! Crime Ally is doing great now. Not the best, but still a fuck of a lot better.”

Smiling at the man who once beat him to an inch of his life, Tim takes a sip of his tea and casually says, “You’re welcome.”

The whole table goes quiet as Tim continues to casually sip his tea.

The silence carries for a total minute before Bruce puts down his cup and leans forward with a slight growl in his voice, “Explain.”

“Explain what?”

Bruce stands over his son even from halfway down the table and very obviously tries to calm himself with a deep breath, “What do you mean ‘you’re welcome’?”

Tim makes an ‘oh’ expression before cocking his head to the side in confusion, “I was the one who fixed the Jason Project? Wait, did you guys not realise I’m Dread?”

Damian shouts out a ‘what?!’ That makes Titus jump and Tim laughs under his breath, “What did you think I was doing?”

“Running the business! Not stealing from people and black mailing politicians!”

It’s Tim’s turn to growl now and he stands up himself with a glare at Bruce that is as close as any of them have gotten to the famed Bat-Glare, “Are you fucking kidding me? Like are you a Tully kidding me with that horse shit?”

Bruce looks stunned and Alfred doesn’t even tell him not to swear.

Tim slams his chair into the table.

“What the fuck else would I be doing, Bruce? I’m not Robin, that was taken from me, so what else was I gonna do? I finished my job, not only keeping you from killing anyone but bringing you back, so I had do pick something else. I’m not stealing from the rich, I’m stealing from selfish cunts who ruin peoples lives for no reason and giving it to people like Jason. So, don’t you fucking yell at me and don’t try to make me feel bad for this, not when I’ve done more in two years than you ever have and- don’t you fucking speak Dick, not when you were the one who took my place here away from me! Now, I have a trafficking ring I need to expose so good. Fucking. Day.”

Jason is the only one who follows him.

[pucksandpower]

Kiss It Better

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: your boyfriend has a habit of faking injuries in order to receive some tender loving care

Warnings: 18+ content and non-life threatening health issues

You let yourself into the Monaco apartment you share with your boyfriend, dumping your heavy backpack by the door with a sigh. Another long day of classes and clinical rotations. Being a medical student is exhausting.

“Charles? I’m home!” You call out, slipping off your shoes. No response. Frowning slightly, you pad down the hallway toward the living room. “Charles? Are you here?”

That’s when you hear it — a muffled groan coming from the bedroom. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush over, pushing open the door. There’s Charles lying on the bed, face contorted in apparent agony.

“Charles! Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You hurry to his side, dropping to your knees by the bedside. His eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched as he lets out another pained groan.

“It hurts,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “So much pain ...”

“What hurts? Where does it hurt?” Your mind is racing, trying to diagnose based on his symptoms. Does he have gastritis? Kidney stones? A twisted intestine? You reach for his wrist to check his pulse.

Charles doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and groans loudly. You feel a surge of panic. This could be serious!

“Charles, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you! Where’s the pain?” You grip his arm urgently. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No … no ambulance,” he manages to choke out, shaking his head minutely. “Just need … you ...”

“Me?” You stare at him in bewilderment. “Charles, I’m just a med student, if you’re really sick we need to get you to a hospital right away!”

He cracks open one eye to look at you piteously. “Please … you’re the only one who can make it better.” His voice is strained as he reaches down to grasp your hand, guiding it lower … lower ...

You suck in a shocked breath as his hand moves yours to cup his crotch over his thin athletic shorts. “Charles! Is that what hurts? Your … special place?”

He lets out a shuddering breath and nods weakly. “Yes … I need you to take care of it. Only you can fix this pain.”

It hits you then — the dramatic groaning, the vague answers, guiding your hand … Charles isn’t sick or injured at all. He’s turned on beyond belief and putting on this whole pained act to get you to help relieve him.

You gape at him, caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement at his antics. “You complete dork! I was so worried something was seriously wrong!”

Charles finally breaks into a sheepish grin, though he’s still palming himself urgently through his shorts with your hand. “What can I say? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Imagining you in those tight little scrubs … bending over examining patients ...” He gives an unconvincing whimper. “The ache has been unbearable, ma chérie.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips or the warmth unfurling low in your belly. Even after all this time, Charles can still make your heart flutter with his flirtatious charm and that roguish smile. You lean in closer until your face is just inches from his.

“Is that so?” You murmur, voice dropping into a sultry register. You give him a lingering stroke through the thin fabric and he draws in a sharp breath. “Well, we can’t have you suffering, can we Mr. Leclerc?”

“Please, no more suffering,” he whimpers unconvincingly, eyes sparkling with mischief now. “You’re the only one who can cure me, Doctor.”

You chuck softly at his overacting and lean down to kiss him, long and deep. Charles moans into your mouth, hands coming up to tangle in your hair as the kiss turns hungry, passionate. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting harshly.

“Well then, I better take a look and get you … taken care of,” you murmur, slowly inching his shorts down over his straining erection. His hips rut up shamelessly as you wrap a hand around his hot, silky length.

“Oh god … yes ...” Charles groans, head tipping back against the pillows as you start to stroke him firmly. His eyes slip shut again and his breath comes in harsh pants as you steadily work him over. You drink in the sight of him like this — cheeks flushed, lips parted, utterly lost in the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Tell me if it still hurts,” you tease lightly, swiping your thumb over the slick head in a way that makes his body jerk. “We have to take care of all your aches and pains.”

“It hurts so good, mon ange,” he gasps out, hips rocking shamelessly up into your fist now. “Don’t stop … please don’t stop ...”

You lean down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the taut cords of his neck, relishing the whimpers and moans you pull from him. Charles always loves a bit of teasing during sex. You torture him sweetly by licking and sucking at the sensitive spots that drive him wild even as your hand continues to steadily pump his length.

“You like that, don’t you baby?” You tease against his skin as he writhes beneath you, mewling and chanting your name. “Can’t get enough of your girlfriend playing doctor for you.”

“Yes, oh god yes,” he gasps, hands fisting tightly in the sheets as his hips stutter. You can see his abdomen tensing, muscles clenching as he nears the edge. “I’m so close … I’m going to-”

You silence him with a searing kiss, swallowing his cries as you jerk him firmly through his climax. Charles bucks and shudders, body pulled taut as a bowstring for long moments until he finally slumps back against the mattress with a ragged groan. There’s a sticky mess between your bodies but neither of you care in the least.

“Better now?” You tease lightly, gently stroking the sweaty curls from his forehead. He blinks up at you looking utterly blissed out and sated.

“I’ll say,” he rumbles throatily, pulling you down for another lingering kiss. “My own sexy doctor, taking such good care of me.”

You grin at his playful tone, happiness blooming in your chest. You’re so lucky to have this man in your life — this kind, generous, funny, impossibly charming man who somehow loves you just as much as you love him. What did you ever do to deserve someone like Charles Leclerc?

He seems to read your thoughts in your eyes and smiles softly. “I love you, do you know that? So much.”

Your breath catches and you lean down to rest your forehead against his. “I love you too, you big goof. Even when you pull crazy stunts like this to get my attention.”

Charles chuckles unrepentantly, cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. “What can I say, ma belle? I’m skilled at getting what I want.”

His eyes are shining with quiet devotion and you know, without a doubt, that underneath the teasing bravado Charles truly means those words. He loves you, wholly and completely. A swell of emotion rises in your throat.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I don’t mind playing doctor,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again. Charles’ arms come around you, holding you flush against his body as the kiss turns heated once more. You’re breathless when you part again.

“If I get sick, will you put on that naughty little doctor’s outfit for me?” He waggles his eyebrows at you comically.

You laugh out loud, swatting his arm in mock chastisement. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t send you to a real hospital and leave you to the not-so-tender mercies of Nurse Helga.”

“No need for jealousy, mon amour,” he croons, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans down to nuzzle your neck, making you shiver. “You’ll always be my favorite caregiver.”

And with that, he shows you just how much he appreciates your caregiving in a very thorough, very passionate way …

***

A few weeks later, you’re settled on the plush couch in Charles’ motorhome, legs tucked up under you as you watch replays of the post-race interviews on the large TV screen. Your heart swells with pride as your boyfriend appears, beaming and sweaty in his race suit as he answers questions about his thrilling come-from-behind victory today.

“It feels incredible to get this win,” Charles is saying, running a hand through his tousled hair. “The team worked so hard and we’ve had some tough races recently, so to finally get back on the top step is amazing.”

You can’t help but grin at his obvious elation. Few people know just how driven and dedicated Charles is — how much time and effort he pours into racing at the absolute highest level. Seeing that hard work and sacrifice pay off never fails to fill you with joy.

“I just want to thank the team again for all their-” Charles breaks off, wrinkling his nose and reaching up to dab at his lip with a finger. When his fingertips come away smeared with red, you frown in concern. Is he hurt?

“Ooh, looks like I bit my lip out there,” Charles says with a rueful chuckle, still prodding gingerly at his mouth as a thin trickle of blood runs over his chin. “Must have been clenching my teeth a little too hard battling for position.”

“I didn’t realize you were injured!” You start to rise from the couch with worry etched on your face, moving towards your now off-screen boyfriend. “Here, let me take a look ...”

“No, no, it’s just a little cut.” Charles tries to wave you off, smiling reassuringly even as he winces again, dabbing at the fresh flow of blood. “No need to fuss, mon cœur. Just a tiny thing.”

You hesitate, hands on your hips as you scrutinize him skeptically. Charles has a bit of a flair for the dramatic at times, always playing up little hurts or mishaps as if he were holding vigil at his deathbed. But you know from experience that he tends to downplay any actual significant injuries.

He senses your continued concern and lets out a theatrical moan, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, the AGONY! So much pain … so much … if only there was a way to make it stop ...”

Your eyebrows shoot up as realization hits. Oh, you know that tone. And the coquettish look he’s giving you from under his lashes, lower lip caught between his teeth … yes, you definitely recognize those signs. You shake your head slowly, fighting a grin.

“Seriously, Charles? Not this again.”

“Non, I fear it’s no use,” he groans pitifully, draping a hand over his eyes. “My poor, mangled mouth … so damaged and bloody … the pain is becoming … unbearable ...” Charles pauses to peek at you from between his splayed fingers, eyes twinkling mischievously.

You put your hands on your hips and arch one eyebrow at his antics. “Uh huh. Is this the part where I’m supposed to swoop in all concerned and give you a bunch of sympathy kisses to make your agony all better?”

“If you insist,” he quips, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fresh smear of crimson at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you move closer, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palms. “For someone so good with their mouth, you’re just a giant wimp, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Charles allows with a roguish grin. “But you love me for it, no?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You trace your thumb lightly over the plump curve of his lower lip, wiping a smear of blood. “Now hold still, I guess I better give you a little tender loving care for that gaping wound.”

“Oh please, doctor! I need your magical healing touch, I’m in so much — mmph!”

You cut off his theatrical plea with a firm press of your lips, kissing him hard and insistent. Charles moans into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine even as his hands come up to grip your hips and pull you flush against him.

The coppery tang of blood mingles on your tongues as the kiss turns heated, deep and wet and dizzying. You suck lightly on his split lip, gentling when he winces, and Charles rewards you by dragging blunt nails over the sensitive skin at the small of your back.

When you finally part, you’re both panting harshly, staring at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Charles’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and slick.

“Better?” You murmur, voice low and throaty.

He gives a slight shake of his head, tendrils of curls falling over his forehead. “No … I need more treatment, I fear. The pain … it still lingers ...”

You chuckle at his dramatics, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you tug him back in for another searing kiss. Charles releases a noise that’s almost a growl against your lips, big hands cupping your backside and grinding you firmly against him.

You can feel him, hot and hard already as he ruts shamelessly against you. The desperate urgency of his movements thrills you, sends sparks of arousal zinging through your veins. Charles always gets so worked up so quickly when you two play these little games.

This time it’s you who pulls back first, sucking in a shaky breath. His eyes are blazing, swollen lips parted invitingly. You deliberately rake your gaze over his disheveled appearance — the tousled curls, the swipe of crimson over his mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Mr. Leclerc, are you quite sure your … condition requires such aggressive treatment?” You try for a clinical tone but it comes out more of a lustful purr. Charles’ nostrils flare and his fingers tighten convulsively against the curves of your ass.

“Yes, yes, it absolutely does,” he rasps out urgently, already trying to pull you back in. “Please, you must heal me ...”

He captures your lips again in a fierce, demanding kiss and you melt into him with a soft moan. His clever tongue is doing wicked things, slick and hot as it slides against yours in a sensual mimicry of what’s surely to come.

A teasing nip to his swollen lower lip makes Charles gasp and jerk against you. Taking shameless advantage, you swiftly divest him of his sweat-damp race suit until he’s bare from the waist up. Muscles rippling beneath tawny skin, his toned chest and abdomen shiny from his hours in the cockpit.

It’s a deliciously debauched look that makes arousal curl hotly in your belly. You drag your lips in open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat as he tips his head back with a groan.

“There … is that helping with your … condition, Mr. Leclerc?” You tongue at the hollow of his collarbone, tasting salt and musk as your hands skim over his chest in teasing caresses.

“Ohh god, yes … but I need more ...” He’s panting harshly now, muscles jumping as you rake sharp nails over one reddened nipple. “Please … more ...”

“Good. Then you’d better hold still for me to examine the problem area more thoroughly.” Before Charles can blink, you’ve shoved him back to sprawl gracelessly against the soft leather couch. He stares up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted enticingly as his chest heaves.

You drink in the sight for a long moment, satisfaction curling in your belly. Sometimes it’s nice to be the one calling the shots, to see Charles squirming and flushed and desperate beneath you for a change.

Slowly — torturously — you strip out of your own clothes until you’re equally bare. Charles tracks your every movement with burning eyes. When you sink down to straddle his hips, both of you groan at the scorching friction as bare skin meets bare skin.

“God, you’re exquisite,” he husks out reverently, hands trailing up the dips and curves of your body with something like awe. “An absolute goddess ...”

You can’t resist leaning down to capture his mouth in another heated, messy kiss as you grind down shamelessly against his rigid length. Charles muffles a hoarse cry into your lips, hips jerking up to meet your movements.

You let the kiss turn sloppy and wet and deep, both of you luxuriating in the hot slide of tongues and the delicious glide of bare skin. Charles’ hands roam greedily over your body, squeezing and caressing as you rock together in a sensual push and pull.

“Please … I need you ...” he growls against your lips when you momentarily break apart. His voice is wrecked, eyes dark with lust. “Need to be inside you … now ...”

You shudder at his heated words, arousal a molten ache between your thighs. Reaching down, you grasp his rigid length and line him up with your slick entrance. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, muscles going taut beneath you as the swollen head catches on your folds.

“Like this?” You breathe, swiveling your hips in a teasing grind that has him throwing his head back with a guttural groan.

“Yes! Putain, just like that ...” He bucks up helplessly, trying to force you to sink down onto him, but you resist with a low chuckle.

“Patience, Mr. Leclerc. Don’t you want me to take care of your … condition properly?” You murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear. You punctuate the words with another maddeningly slow roll of your hips and Charles legitimately whimpers.

“Yes, yes … anything! I’ll do anything, just please ...” His eyes are wild, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “I need you so badly, ma chérie ...”

Smiling, you finally take pity and sink down in one smooth glide until he’s sheathed to the hilt. The sensation of being utterly filled, stretched and burning in the most delicious way, makes you throw your head back with a long moan. Beneath you, Charles lets out a broken litany of French and English and Italian curses as his hips pump up in short, jerky thrusts.

You set a driving pace, lifting and dropping in a dizzying rhythm as Charles matches you stroke for stroke. The room is soon filled with the lewd sounds of slick flesh and harsh breathing, punctuated by grateful whines and moans. You lean down to capture his mouth again, the angle shifting to let him plunge even deeper until you’re both trembling on the razor’s edge.

“You feel so good, so incredible,” Charles pants harshly against your lips between sloppy kisses. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to somehow take you even faster and harder. The pace is almost punishing but you can’t get enough. “Always so tight … so perfect for me ...”

His praise and the delicious drag of his thick length have you quickly spiraling higher. You brace your hands on his heaving chest as you throw your head back, overcome. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, set alight from the inside by the sheer intensity of your joining.

“Oh god … Charles, I’m gonna-” You cry out sharply as he aims for that one angle that has stars bursting behind your eyes. He latches onto your exposed throat, sucking a stinging mark as his thumb finds your pearl and begins rubbing merciless circles.

That’s all it takes to send you shattering apart with a keen, clenching down with bruising force as your climax rips through you. Charles pounds up twice more, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before following you over the edge with a guttural roar. His hips stutter erratically as he empties himself in hot pulses that you can actually feel hitting deep.

You both gradually come down, slumping gracelessly together as your harsh breathing slowly evens out. Charles carefully rolls until you’re cradled against his sweat-slicked chest, nuzzling languidly at your temple. His palms stroke up and down your spine in a gesture that’s somehow both possessive and worshipful.

After a few minutes, you let out a breathless giggle that has him pulling back slightly to look at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny?” His voice is gravelly and well-fucked.

You tap the wound on his lip lightly, tsking in playful reproach. “I’ll say this — you certainly know how to get my attention when you’re … ailing. I think you milked that little injury for all it was worth.”

Charles doesn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. He breaks into a slow, self-satisfied grin and shrugs unapologetically. “What can I say? Worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight your own matching smile as you lean in to kiss him softly, carefully avoiding his split lip. When you pull back, you brush back the tendrils of hair from his forehead with a tenderness that makes his eyes go warm and molten.

“You’re ridiculous, Charles Leclerc. Completely ridiculous … but I love you.”

His smile somehow grows even more blinding. “I love you too, mon ange. And I always will.”

His sincerity washes over you in a wave. You know without a doubt that despite his antics, his words ring completely true. This funny, passionate, caring, magnificent man truly does love you with every fiber of his being. And you love him just the same.

Maybe you’ll both drive each other crazy for the rest of your lives … but at least you’ll never be bored. Settling back against his chest, you let your eyes drift shut contentedly. Yes, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here in Charles’ arms.

***

A few months later, you’re woken abruptly in the dead of night by the sounds of muffled groaning coming from beside you. At first you think it must just be a dream, but then Charles lets out a pained whimper and your eyes fly open.

“Charles?” You blink groggily and prop yourself up on one elbow to peer at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “Hey, are you okay?”

He’s curled into a tight ball on his side, arms wrapped around his midsection as if cradling his stomach. A sheen of sweat glistens on his brow and his face is pinched in an unmistakable expression of agony.

Alarm spikes through you and you quickly reach over to grasp his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Charles? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Charles just groans again, a low wounded sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s trembling finely against you, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut against the obvious wave of pain rippling through him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, trying to keep the rising panic from your voice. “Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

For a long moment he seems incapable of speech, muscles going rigid and a harsh gasp tearing from his lips. You watch helplessly as he rides out the spasm, cold dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. This is bad … this doesn’t seem like one of his pranks or games to get attention. Charles looks to be in genuine, serious distress.

“Charles?” You try again once he’s relaxed slightly, dragging in shallow panting breaths through his nose. His eyes slit open to mere glassy slits, unfocused and hazy with pain.

“M’stomach ...” he finally gets out through gritted teeth, voice thin and strained. “It hurts so bad … like I’m being stabbed ...”

Your own abdomen clenches reflexively at the words as your brain kicks into high gear. Severe, stabbing abdominal pain that seems to be localized in one area and radiating out … it could potentially be appendicitis. That would definitely explain the excruciating nature of Charles’ discomfort, as well as why he’s curled in the fetal position. Appendicitis is considered a medical emergency — a ruptured appendix can lead to a life-threatening infection if left untreated.

“Okay, we need to get you to a hospital now.” You scramble out of bed and quickly throw on some clothes, grabbing your keys and phone. “I’m calling for an ambulance to come get you. Just stay still and try to breathe evenly.”

Charles doesn’t argue or even crack one of his customary smirks or jokes, just nods weakly and tries to pull himself into an even tighter ball. It’s frightening, seeing the normally confident and charismatic man so thoroughly debilitated by the waves of torment rolling through him.

The emergency dispatcher responds promptly and assures you that an ambulance is being dispatched to your address straight away. You quickly relay the situation to them — the acute pain, localized in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen, along with the nausea, fever, and Charles’ otherwise good health. They seem to share your suspicion of appendicitis and promise to give you further instruction once the paramedics arrive.

In the meantime, you hurry back to Charles’ side and try to keep him as comfortable as possible. You gingerly help him out of bed inch by agonizing inch, grimacing at the stifled cries he can’t quite bite back. It’s slow going, but eventually you have him propped up against the pillows and headboard in a semi-upright position that seems to ease his suffering slightly. You grab a cool damp washcloth and gently sponge the beads of sweat from his ashen face, murmuring soothing nonsense as he pants through another visible spasm.

“You’re alright, just keep breathing,” you coach him. “In and out, nice and slowly … the ambulance will be here any minute now.”

“Hurts so much ...” he whimpers, looking utterly pitiful and nothing like the cocky, self-assured star athlete he normally is. It nearly breaks your heart to see.

“I know, I know ...” You stroke his sweat-dampened curls back off his forehead. “And I’m sorry, but please no joking right now, okay? I want to stay focused in case … in case this is really serious. Like, potentially life-threatening serious.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, there and gone in a flash. “Trust me … m’not … feeling cheeky right now.”

You press a feather-light kiss to his clammy forehead, relieved that he seems to understand the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t think you were. Just hang in there for me, okay?”

Ten long, agonizing minutes later, you finally hear sirens blaring outside. The paramedics move swiftly once you let them in, whisking Charles onto a gurney and starting an IV line. They pepper both of you with rapid-fire questions as they assess him, all while carefully not jostling his abdomen too much to avoid exacerbating the pain.

All too soon, though, it’s time for them to whisk him away to the hospital. You trail after them anxiously, only pulling up short when Charles suddenly grasps your hand like a lifeline.

“Wait … wait!” His eyes are still hooded with pain but there’s fierce urgency there too. “Kiss me one more time? Before they take me in?”

Your heart clenches in your chest at the pleading in his tone. Brushing your thumb soothingly over his cheekbone, you lean down and press the sweetest, gentlest kiss to his parted lips. Charles sighs and seems to melt into you for a moment before the gurney is jostled and he grunts in agony again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise softly. “We’ll get you all taken care of.”

He nods weakly and blows out a harsh breath as the paramedics start wheeling him back towards the elevator. You let his hand slip from yours reluctantly as you watch him go, then hurry to grab the essentials and follow. The whole way to the hospital your mind whirls with fearful possibilities as you pray that whatever is causing Charles such terrible pain, it isn’t life-threatening.

Hours later, after CT scans and blood tests and evaluations from the E.R. doctors, you finally get confirmation — it is indeed acute appendicitis. Charles is swiftly admitted and prepped for emergency surgery to remove the severely inflamed organ before it ruptures.

You’re pacing anxiously in the pre-op area, wringing your hands, as nurses bustle around him getting the I.V.s ready. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, Charles looks small and pale against the crisp white sheets. But he greets you with a wan smile when you approach his bedside.

“Well … this is certainly not how I thought this day would go,” he quips tiredly, always looking for an opportunity to try and lighten the mood. You snort a quiet laugh despite yourself, allowing your fingers to brush against his arm in a gentle caress.

“Yeah, you and me both. Believe me, I didn’t think the first time I’d ever have to rush you to the emergency room would be for a burst appendix of all things!”

Charles frowns thoughtfully, looking exhausted and drained but mercifully no longer in dire, crippling agony. “Remind me … have I ever pretended to have appendicitis before?”

“No, somehow that particular organ didn’t come up in any of your medical fantasies,” you tease lightly. Then your smile falters as you recall just how horrifically bad it had looked earlier. The memory of Charles stifling those tortured groans, jaw clenched and body wound tighter than a bowstring, has a sobering effect. “But I’m really glad this wasn’t some dumb prank or act this time. You were … it seemed so awful, I was really terrified there for a while.”

His eyes soften and he captures your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “I know. I’m just sorry I put you through that kind of scare with all my previous fake bouts of pain to rile you up.” Charles grimaces ruefully. “Not my finest habit, in retrospect.”

“Well, we can discuss suitable penance for all that later.” You try for a playful wink though it falls a bit flat against your lingering nerves.

Just then a nurse bustles over, all brisk efficiency as she prepares to wheel Charles back to surgery. “Alright Mr. Leclerc, we’re going to take you back now. The anesthesiologist is ready.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

He nods bravely even as the nurse starts pushing the bed toward the operating room doors. “See you soon, mon amour. Try not to worry too much.”

“Me? Worry?” You force a small smile, desperately attempting to keep things light despite the knot of tension in your gut. “When do I ever do that?”

Charles chuckles weakly before disappearing through the swinging double doors. You stand there for a long moment staring at the entryway, running your hands through your hair agitatedly. This entire situation is your worst nightmare — your loved one being wheeled into surgery, their life quite literally in someone else’s hands.

Blowing out a shaky breath, you turn to find a place to wait during the procedure. It’s going to be a tense few hours, that’s for sure. You just have to trust that the doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to get Charles through this safely.

Several agonizing hours later, a surgeon in scrubs finally appears to fetch you from the waiting room with an update. Your heart leaps into your throat but the man is smiling, so it can’t be too terrible, right?

“Ms. Y/N? I’m Dr. Beaumont, I operated on Mr. Leclerc. I’m pleased to report that the surgery was a complete success. We were able to remove his inflamed appendix without any complications before it could rupture.”

You nearly collapse with relief, legs going watery. “Oh, thank god! He’s okay then?”

“He’s doing very well, all things considered,” Dr. Beaumont confirms with a nod. “Of course, we’ll need to keep him here for a few days to monitor for any signs of infection or complications from the anesthesia. But barring any unforeseen issues, I expect him to make a full recovery within a couple weeks.”

“That’s … oh, that’s wonderful news. Thank you, Doctor. Truly.” The words are woefully inadequate but you hope he can hear the depth of gratitude behind them.

A few minutes later, you’re settled into a chair at Charles’ bedside in the recovery ward. He’s still unconscious, face lax and peaceful in drugged sleep as the anesthesia slowly wears off. His chest rises and falls evenly with each reassuring breath. You reach out to gently brush some wayward curls from his forehead, relief crashing over you in waves.

It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a lifetime ago that Charles was writhing and groaning in unspeakable agony. To see him now, resting comfortably with the threat neutralized, it’s almost surreal.

You lean forward to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent of him. “You really gave me a scare today, Leclerc,” you murmur against his skin. “But I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

His eyelids flutter slightly, lashes brushing high cheekbones as he starts to slowly swim back toward consciousness. You sit back and simply watch, letting the tension finally drain from your shoulders as he gradually blinks awake.

“Hey there, champ,” you say softly when his eyes find yours, still looking a bit dazed and glassy. “How are you feeling?”

Charles considers this for a moment, taking stock. “Floaty … but not too much pain anymore.” His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Did they ...”

“Yeah, they took out your appendix,” you say, unable to stop the relieved smile that curves your mouth. “Surgery went perfectly, and the doctor says you’re going to be just fine.”

He returns the smile, looking exhausted but still radiant with that dimpled grin you love so much. “Well … maybe there is an upside then.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “An upside to your burst appendix nearly killing you?”

“Of course.” Charles releases a tired chuckle, leaning back against the pillows. His gaze grows impish despite his pallor. “At least now I’ll save some weight in the car, no?”

You stare at him for one long beat of silence … before bursting into somewhat hysterical laughter, tears of sheer relief and exasperation pricking the corners of your eyes. Trust Charles to find the humor even in the most dire, frightening circumstances.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You roll your eyes fondly as your giggles taper off, leaning forward to take his hand and squeeze tightly. “Honestly Charles, what am I going to do with you?”

His expression grows impossibly tender as he squeezes back just as firmly. “Just keep loving me, ma chérie. No matter how many stupid jokes I make or stunts I pull to get your attention.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, letting the warmth and sincerity of his words wash over you. Despite his recent trauma, you can see the pure devotion shining in his eyes. How could you ever want anything else?

“Always,” you whisper, fiercely meaning it with every fiber of your being. “I’ll always love you, Charles Leclerc. No matter what.”

[suiana]

✎ yandere! criminal who is helplessly in love with you, devoting his life to you and keeping your affections solely on him, and him only.

✎ yandere! criminal who can't help but flirt with you despite being so beaten up. i mean you're just so cute! why wouldn't he flirt?

✎ yandere! criminal who always reminds you that he has the upperhand no matter what his condition is like. he likes playing dirty.

✎ yandere! criminal who commits even more crimes after seeing you talk with someone who isn't him. doctor, you just never learn, do you?

"remember doctor, you may be smarter, but i always have the upperhand."

the criminal mutters, smirking as he leans into your touch. you merely click your tongue, grimacing at the his antics before going back to tending to his injuries.

you were his doctor, illegally caring for one of the most wanted criminals in the country simply because he was once your childhood friend. you knew it was wrong, you knew you should have rejected him the second he came stumbling to your apartment one day with a bloody wound.

but you didn't. you took him in and treated his injury, nursed him back to health and even offered your place as refuge if he ever needed medical attention again.

unfortunately, you failed to realise that the man was crazy in love with you, infatuated to such an extent that he would harm others without a second thought.

"please, you must understand, i've only ever wanted you to love me and not some other bastard. if you didn't talk to him i wouldn't have needed to hurt that guy."

he mutters, looking at you with such a fond expression that you would've mistaken for love. you really didn't know how to respond to his affections. after all, he was your childhood friend turned criminal. things would be even worse for you if you reciprocated him.

so you did the best thing possible and just ignored him whenever he went off on another tangent of his delusional rambles. you daren't speak up and reject him again. oh no, it happened once and you didn't want it to happen again.

"you look so sexy when you ignore me."

the criminal coos, placing his hand over yours as he brings it to his cheek. you uncomfortably maintain eye contact with him, grimacing as you allow him to mutter and talk about his love. it's okay... just tolerate it...

"oh baby, don't you get it? everything i do is for you."

yeah, you know. he tells you all the time. bout how all his crimes are dedicated for you or done in your name. of course he never says it to the public, he doesn't want you to get jailed! though, he can't help but fantasize about how romantic it would be if you two were both wanted criminals on the run together.

"why must you torment me like this? all i've ever wanted was for you to love me back."

he sighs, not noticing your pursed lips or obvious discomfort.

"never smile for anyone else. only i should have the honour of seeing it. all those other fools will never worship you the way you should be worshipped."

you can't help but twitch at his words. ugh, he always preaches about worshipping you and stuff. it's so... is he mentally insane too?

you get the love part, but the worshipping? you won't be surprised if he prays to you when he's on the brink of his death.

"no one gets me like you. that's why i love you so much."

your childhood friend mutters, finally letting go of your hand after pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your wrist. you allow your hand to limp by your side, standing like an npc as you continue to stare at him as he continues his dramatic talk.

you never knew he yapped so much before. when he was younger he was more introverted, more silent and just clingy. now he can't shut up. or maybe that's just around you.

you continue to listen to the male yapping, not really processing his words. hopefully it'll be over soon... but your hopes were crushed as you freeze in place, eyes widening in horror as he smiles widely at you, eyes fully deranged as he suddenly brings your hands to his cheeks, forcing your cold hands to cradle his cheeks.

"i mean, don't you love me too?"

shit, how do you answer this without meeting a bad fate?

[bunny-jpeg]

the bouncer & the missus

simon "ghost" riley

tags: smut/pwp, bouncer au, bouncer!simon, established relationship, simon's soft spot, pregnant!reader, car sex, clothed sex, pregnancy & breeding

a/n: want to suggest your own fic? the inbox is open! this rabbit runs on comments & reblogs!

"baby girl." simon said as he came over during his break. he saw you in a booth by yourself, happily on your phone and munching on a basket of fries and onion rings that simon ordered for you. he knew you ate dinner before you came to see him, you dropped him off his portion of the meal. he looked down at you.

he was wearing all black. from the backwards baseball cap hiding his blond hair to the tight black t-shirt that highlighted his tattoos. he looked at you with those deep brown eyes. he asked, "you and the peanut shouldn't be in a place like this." his gaze cast down to your swollen middle.

you replied, "i'm not drinking, si. plus, these fries are much better than any kind of alcohol." you leaned against the vinyl of the seat and rubbed your swollen middle, "plus, i can't sleep well tonight."

you were dressed in one of his sweatshirts, it covered you perfectly. plus the faint smell of cigarettes on it plus the body wash he had been using for nearly a decade. you also liked that it had your husband's last name written across the back. made you feel protected as you ventured out of the house to visit your beloved simon at work. underneath was a stretchy maternity dress because struggling jeans didn't feel like an option tonight.

simon didn't like you hanging around the bar, even before you got pregnant. now with the peanut on the way, he was extremely protective over the both of you. he got into the booth beside you and held your face while he kissed you on the lips. you kissed over the black medical mask over his mouth. he didn't take the thing off during shift except to replace it if it got dirty or ruined. he didn't want to ruin the mystery when giving a kiss to his missus.

you were knew around the bar was "the missus" or "mrs riley", you've always been known as that even before you got married to simon. it was why you were able to have both onion rings and fries!

he placed a wide hand on your belly and rubbed it gently. you rubbed your thighs together lovingly while you continued to eat. simon had a thing for your pregnancy. knowing that you were carrying his child, it excited the bouncer.

he was all tattoos and sharp edges. meanwhile you were painfully sweet, the total opposite. and together you made the most precious peanut you could possibly imagine. you were perfect for him. so of course he rubbed his nose up against your neck and you giggled against him. his touches got a little more firm, not enough to hurt. but enough to know that your husband was getting a good feel of you.

how could he not? he loved you, you were his wife. no one else could call themselves that! he even got a quick squeeze of your ass before you pulled down his mask just enough to kiss his lips in the low light of the bar.

you pulled the mask back over his mouth and asked, "how much time do you have left in your break?" you knew that this wasn't going to happen if you waited until you got home.

simon looked at his watch, the one you gifted him for his first, un-offical father's day. he said, "twenty more minutes." and before you knew it, you were being helped out of the booth by your adoring husband.

you ended up in your car, simon opened the door for you and shuffled you inside. you sat in the backseat with him. he chucked his mask into the dark of the vehicle. he kissed you passionately and his hands pushed up your dress. he touched your behind with a bit of force, but not enough to bruise you.

simon riley would never bruise his missus on purpose. he one time smacked your ass too hard it left a purple hand print and he spent a month apologizing to you. he managed to get your panties around your left ankle and his cock out of his jeans.

"there she is." he said softly, "my missus." he purred lovingly. simon, despite his rough exterior, loved you deeply. he loved you so much he almost didn't ask you out when you first met because he was worried a woman as amazing as you didn't need to be with someone like him. but you loved him all the same, every mark, scar, tattoo, all of it. it was what made your husband, your husband.

"i hope i'm not taking up too much room." you said with your hands on your middle. simon patted your belly with another hand on your hip as he assured you that you were fine.

"i'll always take up more room, love." he said. you didn't have much time, as much as he loved to admired his wife. the two of you had to be quick if this was going to work. the breathing between you two was hot as you sank down on his cock.

you groaned and nodded when simon asked you if you were okay. you let out a cute little moan and your husband silenced you with a hot kiss. you felt a tremor of pleasure in your gut as you started to rock your hips against him. he was so much bigger than you, so intimidating and scary. but he loved you. you were his wife, his everything.

"you look amazing, lovie." he said softly as you moved against him. your pretty painted nails dug into this shirt over his shoulders. your fingers grasped onto the black material.

your swollen middle rubbed against his abdomen and he loved the feeling. it was a big cramped with little room to get comfortable with. but this wasn't the most cramped space you ever had sex in. plus, simon could be any position and still cum because of your sweet cunt.

the movements were fast, but not rough. you bounced on simon's hard cock and he kept a hand on the top of your head so you didn't hurt yourself against the roof of your beat up little car. you felt the shift in your weight as you moved. simon eyed you with those dark beautiful eyes.

"there's my girl." he purred as he moved against you. you felt the swell of warmth in your soul from the movements. simon dialed for the roughness after you got pregnant. his girl needed some tlc, but no bruises. never bruises.

"mmm, please, simon." you arched your back a little and felt the excitement race through you. you held onto him tighter, his strong shoulders felt good under your touch. you felt the zaps of pleasure through your body.

simon rested a little more up against the leather seats as he held onto your head and hip to make sure that you didn't put too much strain on yourself. he rolled his hips up against you and you moaned a little louder. you felt the warmth radiate in your core as the two of you fucked passionately in the backseat of your care.

simon loved that your swollen middle was up against him. to feel so close to you. to know that he made you that way excited him. oh, did it excite him. he loved it. he loved knowing that you carried a big piece of him everywhere you went. you two made a family together, and that left simon aroused.

he was finally putting the seed to go use. dumped enough of it inside of his missus and now you were sprouting a lovely little bump. in a few months you'll have your son in your arms. you two moved together in a rapid pace, the kisses got hotter as did the steam on the car windows.

husband and wife doing it in a car behind the the bar. your noises got a little louder and higher in pitch as you felt the swell of want through you. it excited you, he excited you.

he kissed at your next with admiration. he carried all his love in his touches and kisses. he carried his love for you in everything he did for you. you were the center of his world. as was the baby you were carrying. simon riley finally got the family he always wanted and he'd make sure that you two were protected.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

your words sweet like honey as you felt closer to your orgasm. you felt a tightness in your chest as you tensed up from the heated want. the pleasure coursed through you as you felt so close to your orgasm. you continued to move up and down his cock until you clenched around him and orgasmed.

simon continued to with his cock into you, he felt a similar heat in his body as he moved you up and down his cock as much as he could. he could feel it all bubble up and eventually pour over. with a few more steady thrusts of his hips. he finished inside of you with a heavy groan. you two looked into each other's eyes and simon pulled you in for a heated kiss, "mm, my girl, always takin' care of me."

you held onto his wrist and looked at the time, "oh no. you better hurry up and you may have time for some food in your stomach!" you kissed him then struggled to get your panties back on. he kissed you before he got out of the car.

he pointed at you and said, "you get right home and don't stay up waiting for me. you and peanut need sleep. i'll meet you in my bed, mrs. riley."

you giggled from the driver's seat, composed enough to get yourself home, "don't worry. i'm well worn out, it'll be time for a cup of herbal tea and comfy pajamas." simon leaned in to kiss you on the lips deeply before he went back to the bar to finish the rest of his shift. you watched him leave and before you left the parking lot you looked down at your swollen middle and gave it a pat.

"you and i better get to bed, or else papa is gonna be worried. but maybe we'll make a quick stop to the corner store first for some ice cream." you giggled before you turned on the car and sped off of the parking lot. <3