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mockerycrow · 1 year

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UNDER THE SURFACE (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — ghost icon by @yumethefrostypanda concept post here!

authors note; this is not my best work tbh, i wish i could improve it somehow, but i’m hoping you guys will like it anyway. Pretty sure this is my longest singular post, too! 4.7k words :-)

[WARNINGS: angst, spiraling thoughts, near panic attack, hurt/comfort, inaccurate medical stuff, vague descriptions of physical violence, very brief mention of possible self harm.]

YOU WERE USED to Simon being gone for long periods of time; you have been his roommate for two years now, nearly three. You know he’s military, it’s part of the reason why you were able to score being his roommate in the first place. At first, it was a very awkward arrangement. Simon himself wasn’t a very awkward person, no—he’s actually quite charismatic in his own way, a way that you could get along with. One of the reasons why the arrangement was strange at first was because you weren’t exactly able to get a one on one tour of the flat before agreeing, but you were a bit more trusting of this mysterious man because a mutual friend—Kate—sent you his contact information, considering you were looking for a new place to live since your lease was up.

Simon’s flat was void of any personality, really. Yes, you could tell by the way he organized everything that he had been in the military, probably for quite a while—but there weren’t any photos. No gaming systems; you discovered he did have a bookcase of quite a few books, but it was covered in a layer of dust. Despite this, when examining the books he owned, you could tell they were worn down—definitely loved. It made you smile a bit, seeing the different variety of books. A bit of personality, you think. Besides his room, it was like a completely furnished, no personality flat. You weren’t allowed in his room, not unless he gave you explicit permission, which you honored his boundaries. Simon was kind enough to offer you a space in his home—but you know he was quite weary of you, which was understandable. He helped you move in and you could tell he was watching you and your body language. Searching you for danger—but he slowly warmed up to you.

Another thing that you discovered that Simon was quite emotionally.. constipated. Over the first few months, you could tell he didn’t sleep as much as he probably should. He was always awake before you, and you would always find him in the kitchen, sipping on a hot cup of tea. After a few weeks of this routine—Simon rising much earlier than you, you figured maybe he couldn’t break the military’s strict routines.. Until one night you woke up from the sound of his heavy footsteps walking down the hall. You tensed in your bed and you sat up because Simon was silent as a ghost all the time. You didn’t even know if it was him at first, so in your half-asleep panicked state, you felt for your phone and you texted Simon’s contact, asking a messily texted “is that you walking around?” You blink your sleepiness away and wipe your eye as your phone vibrates with a “yeah. sorry.”

That was the first time you got some notion that Simon was thrown off guard from something, after another week of awakening from his noises, you began to realize that he was experiencing night terrors every couple of nights. His nightmares were never a thing you two discussed, exactly.. It was more of an unspoken rule to not talk about it. You would occasionally find yourself in the kitchen around the time you calculated when Simon would wake up—and you were right nearly every time—and you just.. coincidentally made him a cup of tea. To Simon’s pleasant surprise, you managed to get his tea right every single time. You’ve had your fair share of night terrors, so you knew how it could be sometimes. You wanted to do something nice for him, and he seemed flustered every time.

It took you a while to get used to him being gone for long periods of time. Simon appreciated that you never questioned too deeply into his career, even the times he would come home sporting a new injury, you were always willing to play doctor for him. Simon saw the concern in your eyes and sometimes he would share small stories of what happened, or maybe to get you to stop thinking about his injuries, a small story about his teammates. You slowly learned their names over the course of a year and a half, and you learned Simon’s rank as well. He is a lieutenant, and there’s a man called Captain Price, another man named Sergeant Kyle Garrick, and one more man named Sergeant John MacTavish, who Simon referred to as “Johnny” fondly.

It wasn’t common that Simon talked about work, which is the reason why it took about a year and a half to even get the information you did out of him. Over the time you’ve lived with him, you had decorated the flat to feel more comfortable and home-y. Simon only had a few requests, which you honored, and one of them was no pictures of him with his face showing. You shot him a curious and questioning look, but as always—you didn’t question him, and he was very thankful. You had gotten a few indoor plants as well that didn’t need much caring for and you wanted to liven up the place, y’know? You were okay with Simon not sharing much about his past or his work, because he was willing to listen to your little rambles about your interests and work. You were a bit hesitant, but Simon was very emotive and he never seemed annoyed or brushed you off.

Despite Simon’s reluctance to share anything of his own, he always heard you out if you needed to vent about something. He made sure you knew you could talk to him, even on days where you felt like you had no one to go to. You spent an entire night with him, just talking about anything and everything. It was the first real conversation you felt like you have had with anyone in such a long time. It was also the first night Simon really saw you. He watched as your eyebrows furrowed from uncomfortableness, the vulnerability being nearly too much to handle; something he could relate to on a personal level. So when you started showing these signs, he knew exactly when to change the subject. Simon quickly realized how to read you, and he somehow knew what you needed at different moments.

Simon flies into the airport late at night with a small duffel bag, tagged as a military bag. He sends you a quick “be home soon.” text. Simon doesn’t expect you to answer due to it being around 3 in the morning, and you indeed don’t answer him. He catches a taxi to your shared flat. Simon collects his things from the taxi before paying the driver and sending them off, and Simon lets out a slow breath as he takes in the achingly familiar sight of the place he lives in. He tugs the hood that remains sitting over his head closer to his face, which is covered by a black surgical mask. His hand tightens on the straps of the duffel bag before he approaches the flat building, taking out his keys as he approaches the elevator. Once Simon reaches the third floor, he wastes no time getting to the front door, and he isn’t sure why, but his heart is pounding inside of his chest.

Simon unlocks both the top lock and the doorknob to enter the flat—something he had taught you to do every single time. He pockets his keys as he enters and Simon pauses for a moment because he can’t put his finger on it, but something feels off the second he glanced inside. His eyes trail the living room which is clean, not one thing out of place. Simon takes a deep breath and he doesn’t brush off the weird feeling, because even when there’s no evidence something happened—he’s usually right. The blanket on the couch is perfectly folded and laid over the back cushions, the mini bookcase by the TV is dusted as always, your shoes.. Are not by the front door, but a different pair are..? These either are not your shoes, or they are new. You always warned Simon about bringing people over, and you definitely would’ve told him this time. The lamp is on in the living room, but it seems the lights are out everywhere else. Simon silently goes through his routine when he gets back late at night—taking his jacket off and hanging it up, he leaves his boots by the door, and he drops his keys into the dish.

Next step to his routine is to step into the kitchen and get a cup of actually good quality tea, unlike the shit the military provides him. He fills up the electric kettle and sets a timer on it, grabbing his favorite mug and the box of his favorite tea from the cabinets. Simon glances down the dark hall—he’s seeking for a sign of life from you because you’re usually getting up around this time to greet him. No matter what, you always seem to know when he returns—yet you aren’t leaving your room. There’s no light emitting from the hall nor underneath the doors, and fuck, it’s eating at him. Something is wrong—and what the fuck is it? Simon stands there for a moment, turning his head to watch the blue light blinking on the electric kettle. He watches it blink slowly as he tries to rack his brain for what could be wrong—maybe those shoes are someone else’s, but he could just have a stern conversation with you about it later. Maybe you came back from drinking with friends—no, if that was the case, he knows for a fact your belongings would be everywhere, maybe even a spilled glass of water in the kitchen. He’s had to clean that up a couple of times.

He raises his wrist and pulls up his sleeve a bit to look at his digital watch; it’s nearly 0400 now. Simon puts his hands on the counter, leaning his body weight against it. Did something happen at work, maybe that’s why it feels off? You’ve always had a commanding presence like he has, so maybe— “Fuck.” Simon hisses quietly, hooking a finger into the strap of his black face mask and he rips it off, tossing it without care onto the counter. He leans forward and checks the kettles timer for a second, and then he’s walking towards the hall. Simon passes by his room and he walks up to yours, and he tries to turn the doorknob to peak in to check on you, but—it’s locked? Simon lets out a harsh breath before trying the door again, and yeah, it’s locked. Simon swears under his breath and he knocks on the door, his stomach twisting and turning. Something is wrong, very very wrong, very fucking wrong—

You unlock the door and you open it just enough for you to peak out, and you use your phone flashlight to shine it in Simon’s face. He squints and puts his hand up, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Hey—you locked your door.” He points out quietly, and you’re just staring at him, your eyes wide and alert. Simon’s anxiety lessens, but your reaction doesn’t make it go away. “Y’alright?” Simon drawls out, his hand on the wood panel of the door. You let out a harsh breath and you let go of your phone, letting out a quiet, “Simon..” before you suddenly pull your door completely open, and you wrap your arms around his thick torso into a hug. Simon swears his heart jumps into his throat and then into his stomach, bouncing back into his chest because you hugged him. You two were never particularly touchy like that, maybe a fleeting touch here or two, usual drunken affection from you—but you barely ever hugged him like this, even when he returned from deployments. Your touch burns hot through his clothes, and he knows you wouldn’t touch him without asking, so when you do? He wraps an arm around you, his free arm resting on your shoulder. “Hey..” Simon breathes out, lost for words.

You don’t hold on long enough for the uncomfortable worry to creep up his spine just yet. You rip yourself away from him like he burned you, his hands falling to his sides. You offer a tight, weak smile—one that you could easily play off as a sign of fatigue. Simon’s breath stutters as he watches your hands linger near your chest in a subconscious defensive gesture, your fingers closing into a fist for a moment; as if you’re uncomfortable, almost overstimulated. Simon feels the way for the light switch and he flips it on, and your room looks normal—but you look.. off. You look a bit clammy, almost like you’re sick or bouncing off the walls with anxiety. His eyes flick to your fingers and the skin besides your thumbnail and your middle finger are picked to all hell, and you just.. don’t seem right. All of these.. signs, you’re showing are actually very subtle—he just notices everything about you. Simon knows what food you favor, what your favorite color is, what social situations what you tick, what makes you mad—he knows it all. “Three months went by slow,” You murmur, trying to start a conversation. Simon’s eyes narrow at you for a moment as he watches you back up to your bed; no, you don’t turn around, you back up. You don’t turn your back to Simon at all. Fuck. He watches you lift your mattress, causing him to lift an eyebrow. “They did,” Simon confirms. “What happened while I was gone?”

This wasn’t an unusual question for Simon to ask; but it had a completely different meaning to you this time. You feel your muscles tense as you grab something from under your mattress, and you put it back down. It glints from the overhead light in your bedroom—a.. pocket knife of some sort, a switchblade perhaps. Simon’s eyes narrow at how you pocket it oh so quickly into your pocket. “Nothing much,” You reply quickly, smoothing out your shirt. “Same old same old, work has been fine, uh..” You trail off for a moment, clearing your throat. “Look, let me take a shower—I’m sure you’re itching for something to eat, huh?” Simon watches you open your drawers and pick out some pants and a shirt. The knife comes to mind—why are you taking it with you? “I can make it myself.” Simon responds, his feet planted firmly where he had been standing the whole time. You shake your head and close the drawers once you collect your clothes.

“It’s tradition, Simon. I gotta.” You offer a stronger smile as you make your way towards the door, still avoiding showing your back towards him. Simon watches as you glance at your bedroom window before exiting your room, muttering a quiet “close the door when you leave”, which Simon obeys. He shuts the door with a click, and he watches you quickly scurry down the hall towards the bathroom. “Just let me shower first.” And with that, you step into the bathroom, close the door and you lock it before Simon can interject. He stands there for a moment, stunned. His chest tightens for a moment because you just felt so far away. You’ve created such unwanted distance—even as you’re not very touchy with him, you still bother him for every detail he’s willing to give up when he returns. You are constantly making jokes, inviting him into the kitchen when you’re about to make a welcome home meal—but this time? You were hiding in your room, locking your door, bringing a knife with you—in front of him. Did you think that could slip past him? Did something happen whilst he was gone, to cause you to bring it with you? Is it for self defense against something or someone?— Is it to use on yourself?

Simon feels his stomach turn at his thoughts. He shakes his head and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks past the bathroom, his footsteps stuttering for a moment in front of the door before he presses his lips into a thin line, returning to the kitchen to make himself some tea, the electric kettle had beeped long ago.

The next late morning, not much was different. Simon only slept a few hours, three or four—as per usual, he still woke up before you. He threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a black hoodie. He made his tea, made you a cup of what you prefer to drink in the morning, and he made a light breakfast for you both. Despite being in the military for a while and relying on cooks as well as MRE’s to get through his days, Simon is a decent cook. He made himself some sausage and fried eggs, and he made a plate or a bowl of what you prefer to eat in the morning. Simon sighs for a moment as he glances at the time—around 1100, and you still haven’t emerged from your room which is odd, especially now that Simon just came back home. He takes a moment to look at his food, and he decides then and there he will drag you out if he has to. Simon scoops up his plate as well as your food, and he heads down the hall towards your room. With his hands full, Simon balances for a second as he gently kicks the door as a way to knock, and then he stands on both of his feet again. “Oi, wake up!” Simon shouts, leaning close to the door to listen for your movement.

It takes a good minute and when Simon is about to knock again; he hears your doorknob unlock and you peak out the door, your eyes wide and alert again, although it’s obvious you had just woken up. You seem to relax when your tired mind’s gears turn and you realize it’s just Simon. You open your door wider and you rub your eye, and he spots the knife in your hand, partially obscured by the door. “Mm, sorry. I overslept.” You say, your voice heavy with sleep, vibrating in your chest. Simon makes a noncommittal noise before holding out your food, which you stare at for a moment you take it, your lips twitching into a weak smile. “Thanks, Simon.” He waits a few seconds, and you nearly shut your door on him.

Thanks, Simon. That’s all??

“Can I eat in your room wit’you?” Simon gruffs out, feeling sudden determination from this weird act you have going on. You blink for a moment and then you nod. “Just give me a sec.” You murmur. You shut the door in his face and he hears you shuffling about, moving something—sounds like your mattress. Are you putting your knife away??—and then you open your door, gesturing for Simon to walk into your room. Surely you don’t think you can hide this type of thing from him of all people, right? Why are you hiding it from him?

Simon enters your room, and you close the door behind him. You never used to do that—“What happened?” Simon stares at you for an answer, watching your face contort in a bit of confusion. You don’t say anything at first, and when you were about to open your mouth, Simon speaks. “I mean this in the nicest way possible—do ya take me f’a wanker?” Your jaw drops for a moment, your eyebrows furrowing. “What? No, of course not, Simon. Nothing happened, I’m not sure why—“

“Don’t,” Simon interrupts, putting his plate of food on your dresser. “Something has happened, and you’re lyin’ to me. You’re jumpy, you’re carryin’ a blood knife around, lovie—don’t think you can get that past me—and you won’t turn your back on me.” His lips press into a line as he watches your shoulder hunch up a bit, in an all too familiar defensive, tense position. The pit in Simon’s stomach begins to grow as you avert your eyes from, too. “You are barely talkin’ when you bloody damn near talk my ear off when I come home—you said, ‘Thanks, Simon.’ Not an over the top reaction about me doing something for th’both of’us, not a invite in, and last night—you’ve been locking your door.” You put your food down near yourself, and Simon catches the way your fingers are trembling. “I.. I’m allowed to lock my door, Simon. You don’t need to question me.” You say, attempting to hold a steady voice which barely works, your voice nearly cracking on the last word. Your heart is racing out of your chest and all you want to do is bolt at the door; which Simon catches on to. You watch him as he slowly begins to step in front of the door. “You tell me everything—even how your damn showers go. Why won’t you tell me this?” He demands, and his heart is pounding against his ribcage, too.

He watches your face contort into several different emotions and feelings; panic, sadness, anger, relief—the whole nine yards. Simon walks towards you when you begin to sob, and you sit down on your bed to avoid collapsing. His chest tightens as he murmurs name, wondering if he went too far. You reach your hands for him and not for one second does Simon hesitate this time. He wraps his arms around you, sitting right next to you on your mattress, your thighs touching together. He reaches up and rubs the nape of your neck as you openly sob and shutter into the crook of his neck and in his arms. His skin burns from your heat seeping into his clothes, a lively warmth that burns so hot but he welcomes so much more than he remembers that he used to. Your tears are hot, burning his skin with every drop that slides onto his neck, but he welcomes the sensation. “It’s alright, lovie. Let it out.” Simon murmurs, one of his arms tugging your body closer to his. He holds you in almost protective stance, like someone is threatening to drag you away from his grasp. You grab at the back of his hoodie, your chest beginning to heave. “Mm, no, c’mere; look at me, yeah?” Simon beckons you, his voice smooth and soft—which is extremely rare. Simon cups your cheek and lifts your head from where it rests in the crook of his neck, his hand instantly getting covered in the wetness of your tears that are streaming down your cheeks. You inhale sharply as you try to look at Simon, your eyes unfocused and you try so hard to focus on his pretty brown eyes, but you can’t seem to get ahold of yourself. You let out a panicked sob as your hand now tug on the front of his hoodie, and his voice is so far away, but his hand is molding to the curve of your jaw, like it belongs there.

You shut your eyes for a moment and you let Simon move you around as he wants, which he ends up guiding your head to his chest, and his grip loosens some so you don’t feel trapped. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, to catch your bearings; you can hear a faint ringing sound that you didn’t notice before, but you do note it’s slowly fading away, and in fades is Simon’s voice. He’s murmuring praises—and oh, he’s laying against the headboard of your bed frame now, with you laying on his chest. You feel yourself trembling against him, and embarrassment hits you hard. You’re tense—you don’t want to talk about any of it at all, but you know Simon. He will push you until you snap, even if it’s in your best interest to tell him. You reach up and play with a hoodie string of his, listening to his soft breathing. You hesitate for a moment before your lips part. “It was a week after you left.” Simon’s heart skips a beat, which you hear—you vaguely find it amusing, but he’s silent to allow you to continue. One of his hands is on your back, his thumb moving back and forth. “I..” You swallow spit so you don’t croak, as you’re convinced you might sound pathetic. As if Simon would ever think of you that way. “I was walking home from the pub, y’know, the one only just a few blocks away? It was late at night, I think the police said it was around 2 am. I stayed until closing, I was with some of my friends, uh..” You trail off for a moment, trying to recall everything that happened. Your hand pauses, and Simon senses your state. He begins to rub your back full on, murmuring, “It’s alright. Go on, then.”

You let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I was absolutely wasted, and there was this guy—grabbed me and I tried to get out of his hold, but he ended up fucking stabbing me. Robbed me of my shit.” Your voice cracks and the silence is deafening. Simon feels his heart drop into his stomach. You got stabbed? “Fuckin’ hell.. Why didn’t you call me? Or at least let me know?” Simon’s voice treats carefully, knowing that you’re still freaking out by the way you’re incredibly tense against him. “I know how important your focus is when you’re gone,” You respond, your voice staying quiet as well. You don’t look at Simon’s face because you know that you’ll break once again. You pick at the fabric of his hoodie, seeking comfort in his warmth, despite how you usually aren’t like this with him. “I didn’t want to take your focus because I know you, Simon. You would’ve backed out of whatever you were trying to do to come and help me.” Simon presses his lips into a thin line, staying quiet because you both know that you’re correct. Simon would drop everything to come home to you, to help you. “The guy nicked my lung, was in the hospital for a while.” Simon’s hand stutters for a moment, the smooth pattern of his palm rubbing your back being interrupted from shock. “Jesus—“ Simon hisses, and he can’t help but tug you closer. “You should’ve told me anyway, lovie.”

You sniffle and you rub your face into his hoodie, a muffled noncommittal noise coming from the back of your throat. He doesn’t say anything further, nor do you. Simon lays there with you on top of him, one of his hands caressing your back, the other wrapped around your body, sometimes coming up to rub the back of your neck. You don’t mention the way he doesn’t seem to tell you to move, and he doesn’t mention how touchy you’re being. Simon doesn’t want this moment to end—one where you’re vulnerable and trusting with him, one where you’re alive and well. He can’t help but wonder if he ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell him something? Simon feels simmering, muffled anger in his stomach because you didn’t want to interrupt his work for being stabbed, nicking a vital organ no less—he makes a mental note to sit you down and make you promise to call him if an issue or an injury like that ever arises again. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to push away what would happen if you didn’t do that—if that guy were to come back to try to finish the job and Simon wasn’t here, would you call him? Would you pick up your phone and dial his number? Would you text him? What if you got hurt again—would you call him?—Or would the hospital? He always imagined you’d be getting the call of his death, and not the other way around. Simon swears under his breath for a moment and opens his eyes; he doesn’t want to think about that anymore. He wants to stay in this moment with you—both himself and you alive. He glances down, your tear stained cheeks slowly drying, your eyelids closed. His fingers slide from the nape of your neck to the side, and he presses his fingers against your pulse.

Being here with you—he wants you to trust him, too; like he trusts you. That’s all he wants.

tag: @zzzennin

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t1red-twilight · 5 months

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1.5 pints

summary: you get injured on a case and spencer is…worried to say the least.

warnings/content: gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, medically inaccurate (i googled stuff but idk), spencer/reader have ptsd, cannon typical injury (bullet wound),non-sexual nudity, spencer passenger princess confirmed, friends totally share a bed regularly

word count: 1.4k

masterlist

you had gotten injured after a case. it wasn’t anything serious, you had just gotten grazed by a bullet on your upper arm on your dominant side. it stung like a bitch, and bled quite a bit, but it wasn’t anything to cry over. even still, you were bandaged by paramedics before being sent on your way.

the case hadn’t been far from quantico, just a forty-five minute drive or so. spencer had silently insisted on sitting next to you in the suv. the air was awkward. not uncomfortable, per se, it was just that everyone in the car could feel that spencer was definitely upset.

once back at quantico, everyone split up to go to their homes. hotch informed everyone that you would all have the next day off. you searched through your go-bag for your car keys, when you suddenly felt a presence behind you.

spencer’s natural scent of linen and citrus would always be familiar to you. you’d recognize it anywhere. “hey spence.”

“how’d you know it was me?”

you turned around, shrugging. “lucky guess,” you smiled a lopsided smile. there was a momentary pause.

“is your arm okay?”

chuckling lightly, you shifted your weight onto one foot. “yeah, i’m alright. do you need anything?”

he was avoiding eye contact more than usual. “i think you should come over to my place tonight.”

you quirked an eyebrow. there was this unspoken arrangement the two of you had; you’d switch off spending the night at each other’s apartments. it had started when spencer began having ptsd-fueled nightmares again and you had recurring bouts of insomnia. and this consisted of sleeping in the same bed, to comfort each other.

“yeah?” there was an overwhelming feeling that he was more upset than he was leading on, and this was even more evident considering his behavior on the ride back to quantico.

“…yeah. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you snorted. “of course you do, spencer.” he finally looked up and resumed eye contact.

“what do you mean?”

“i don’t mean anything.” you twirled your keys around your finger, chuckling lightly at the thought of spencer being caught up in what was to you, a very minuscule injury. gesturing to your car, you add on, “well, we should get going then.”

he walked around to the driver’s side of the car and motioned for your keys. spencer wasn’t very keen on driving; he much preferred his passenger princess privileges and tendencies. confusion and minor amusement flooded your features. “you want to drive?”

“uh, yeah. you shouldn’t be lifting your arm, it could tear your stitches.” the sass in his tone almost made you double take.

“hey, i think i’ll be fine, okay? you don’t have to worry about me because i got scratched.” your tone was more genuine but still held a playful element. he sighs and looks a little incredulous.

“just let me drive. please.” taken aback, you hand over the keys and walk over to the passenger side. you raise your dominant arm to open the door. spencer quickly rushes over to open the door for you. “please don’t.”

“uh, okay,” you reply in a quieter voice. as you buckle your seatbelt, spencer gets into the drivers side seat. he somehow finds a classical station on the radio (it’s not all too surprising that he probably has them memorized), and the rest of the ride goes on without a hitch or bump.

when you arrive at his apartment, spencer runs to your side of the car. he opens your door for you, and helps you out of the car. “you don’t have to baby me, spence.” he mumbles out a response. “what?” you question back.

“can you please take this seriously?” your eyes widen at his more stern timbre. a semi-sarcastic thumbs up is all you give him.

the walk up to his apartment is exceedingly more tense. you try to focus more in the scent of the old building rather than spencer’s apparent disappointment in you. the building smells like, well, old building, and the floor creaks fifteen times on the way to the elevator and to his front door.

you both cross the threshold and he sets his crossbody bag down near the entryway. you didn’t bring up your go bag, as you have plenty of things at his apartment already.

he grabs your hand and leads you to his bedroom. he proceeds to hand you some pajamas: an old mit shirt and soft shorts that you left prior. you wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. “are you going to let me change?” he looks at you exasperatedly.

“you can’t move your arm.”

“yes. i can.”

“you can, but you shouldn’t. please let me help you.” you just about roll your eyes, but you stop yourself.

“i can undress myself. i just got grazed.” you’re getting more annoyed.

“grazed? you almost fell over from the blood loss. morgan had to hold you up. the average human body has around ten pints of blood and you lost one and a half- that’s 15%. that’s not a graze-“

your eyebrows raise. he was taking this very seriously. “the bullet didn’t penetrate. i didn’t need a transfusion, and it was by no means fatal in any way.” injuries like this have occurred before on the team, and the team has recovered.

“yes, but if you lost 5% more blood, you might have lost consciousness and needed a transfusion. can you please take this seriously?”

surprisingly, you didn’t respond immediately. spencer, and everyone for that matter, had known you to be quite stubborn and not known to back down.

“you got shot. you should be taking this more seriously.”

“you could barely even consider it a shot, spencer. besides, it’s better me than anyone else.”

his eyes widen. “how can you be so reckless?” you don’t respond at all this time. you just look down at the clothes in your hands.

“please,” he quietly says your name, “you just really mean a lot to me. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

if your eyebrows weren’t high before, they sure as hell were now. “can you promise me? that you’ll take your health into consideration more? i have no clue what i’d- what the team would do without you.”

his slip-up does not go unnoticed. “okay.” you swallow your pride. “i will.”

he sighs in relief. “now please, let help you.” his eyes glance up from the floor to meet yours. you nod and he steps closer. both of your movements are awkward as he places his hands on the buttons of your shirt. he unbuttons it quite slowly, and pulls it down your arms.

he’d seen you in more compromising situations before, so this is nothing new. “put your arms out, but not up, please.” he then proceeds to put his old college alumni shirt over your arms first before pulling it over your head. “i think, you can, uh, put the shorts on yourself. just don’t lift your arms too high.”

“i won’t. i promise.” you give what you think is a convincing smile and he leaves to the bathroom.

when he returns, he is also dressed for bed. he guides you to the bathroom to brush your teeth. he babies you as much as is physically possible, but you draw the line at him brushing your teeth for you.

“dude. i’ll be careful. i’ll just use my other arm.” the task proves to be weird and uncoordinated.

you both finish brushing your teeth at about the same time. you follow him to the bedroom.

his feet pad across the carpet softly. the socks he’s wearing isn’t shocking to you at all; it’s a habit of his he’s gotten used to. he turns on his lamp on the side table, and turns out the big light.

he draws back the covers before you can, and you swing you legs onto the bed. you pull the covers up to your chin before he can tuck you in or something. one can only handle being babied for so long, after all.

he has one of those fancy dimming lamps. it casts a soft glow over the room without being too overwhelming. and because he likes it this way, so do you.

he turns onto his side and places his hands under his pillow. you begin to turn onto your side, but he stops you. “don’t put too much pressure on it.” you compromise by turning your head towards him.

his eyes are big and his lips are slightly parted. his breathing is deep and slow. you don’t know who falls asleep first, just that you both slowly inched closer so that eventually there was only about two fingers worth of space between you.

#i’m so normal about spencer #everyone in this just lowkey needs a hug #lee’s writing <3 #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #fluff #spencer reid fluff #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #fanfic #hurt/comfort

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toruro · 11 months

Text

— ✧ flight of the stars

"It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake."

you go following flights to the stars, and these cars can get us home (zayn)

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), f1 au, brief high school au, angst, fluff

description: being a doctor, you think you should feel guilty when you start to enjoy the presence of a “regular” a little too much, but who can blame you for missing your patient when he's xu minghao. you know—the xu minghao: crown jewel of SECTOR Racing, top pick of the season, and possibly the one person who knows more about you than anyone else in the world.

tags: character death (not reader / hao), discussion of medical issues, descriptions of pain, pining, racer minghao, physiotherapist reader, probably inaccurate representation of physiotherapy, also featuring kwannie, sollie, cheol, wonu, & hannie

w/c: 13.3k

fic playlist

a/n: oh. always thank u to @gyuswhore for helping me w this, and special smooches to han for going over this w me too ^^

smut tags. oral (m receiving), pet names (baby)

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Cheol is going to kill Minghao when he finds out he somehow managed to screw himself over while training. Well, only if Minghao doesn’t kill himself first.

It was just supposed to be a regular session, doing some standard neck exercises with Wonwoo, his training partner. General training shit—you know, the stuff Minghao needs to do so his neck doesn’t snap in half the next time he races and then—pang! Pain flares up in his muscles when Wonwoo adjusts the controls on the harness around Minghao’s head a little harder, the latter losing his form in a moment of unexpectancy.

His hand flies up immediately Wonwoo stops, shutting off the controls and loosening the tether attached to Minghao’s harness, releasing all the tension. “Are you good?” he asks, taking a step closer as he takes in the sight of the racer.

Wonwoo’s heart sinks into his chest when he finds Minghao’s head and neck unmoving, staring straight down as his breaths begin to grow shaky, and—crap, his eyes are glossy and—oh fuck, Wonwoo might just shit his pants.

“Hao—” Wonwoo calls out again, this time his voice drenched with worry as he reaches out to try and untie the harness from around his friends head, but as his hand brushes over the back of his neck, Minghao shifts a little and that’s when Wonwoo hears it—a sharp gasp following by Minghao muttering under his breath:

“G-get the medic.”

His voice is labored and Wonwoo knows exactly what to do and nothing at the same time. His mind is racing because holy crap, SECTOR probably just lost their best racer for a few months, if not the entire racing season, and it’s all because of this stupid neck training session, and—Wonwoo stops himself from thinking about what this means for Minghao’s work and forces himself to scramble back, running out of the training room and down to the nursing hall.

Five minutes and several phone calls later, Minghao is being loaded into a stretcher. He doesn’t say a word though, doesn’t know what to say.

Five hours and even more phone calls later, Minghao is sitting up with a brace around his neck, and his manager and friends around his hospital bed (Wonwoo and Hasnsol are to his left while Seungcheol stands on his right).

“So you’re telling me I won’t be able to compete for the rest of the season?” Minghao finally scoffs out after a couple minutes’ worth of silence in tense air.

“We don’t know that yet,” Cheol responds, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the racer carefully. Minghao’s lips are curved down in a heavy frown but his eyes remain unwavering as he finally looks up at his manager.

“Fuck,” he breaths out.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Hansol asks worriedly, and Minghao knows that his friend is only just concerned for him but all the pain and frustration is already starting to bubble up inside of him.

“Like a bitch,” he mutters bitterly.

Seungcheol sighs deeply, stepping closer to the bed. He knows the situation isn’t easy for Minghao—it isn’t easy for anyone—and he’s aware of the stakes involved for the team. “Hao, you know we’ll do anything to get you back on the track as soon as possible.”

Minghao scoffs, not meeting the eyes of his manager. “Yeah. I know.”

Wonwoo nearly flinches at the stillness of his friend’s voice. “I’m sorry,” he finally says loudly, causing the other three in the room to look at him. “I messed up with the controls—it’s my fault, and I—”

“It’s fine,” Minghao huffs, tearing his eyes away from his friend. “It was an accident.”

It’s not fine. It’s not fucking fine at all and—

Deep breaths, Minghao reminds himself, but when he actually starts to think about the ache that blooms from his neck and down his spine, it gets harder and harder to keep his cool. He feels like he’s ‘bout to pop a vein from all the blood that’s rushing through his body, the only thing snapping him out of his trance being Wonwoo’s voice.

“You’ll start seeing a physiotherapist tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Best to start the recovery process early, Minghao thinks to himself, mildly calming his irritation. He purses his lips, trying to navigate the cluster of thoughts that plague his mind until he finally musters up the courage to ask, “How long is it gonna take? T-to heal?”

His friends look at him solemnly, and Minghao feels his heart sink right down to his stomach.

“We don’t know.”

“You already sa—” Minghao stops himself from saying something he might regret. “Could I actually be out the whole season?”

There’s silence until Cheol finally decides to speak up.

“There’s a chance.”

Minghao thinks he might scream.

“Hey Seungie!” you chirp, walking into the reception of your office with a bright smile. Your best friend greets you with only an eye roll as you approach his counter at the front, peeking at him from over his monitor.

“I told you to stop calling me that in public!” he whines, nose scrunched up as you laugh at the way he’s pouting.

“No one’s even here, no one’ll hear anything,” you try to reason as he huffs and turns away, refusing to look at you.

“Still!”

You sigh, putting down a brown bag on the floor before raising your hands up in surrender. “Okay fine, I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

This time, you roll your eyes. “Yes … Seungie—”

“I hate you!” Seungkwan roars as you double over laughing. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I’m officially disowning you as my best friend.”

You gasp, stepping back and picking up the brown bag again. “Are you kidding me? And here I thought I would’ve liked to share one of my Americanos with you but I guess not …” you sigh dramatically, starting to walk away as you lift the bag to wave it in Seungkwan’s face.

“I was just joking! Come back! How could I disown you as my best friend—c’mon, you know I was just joking,” he pleads from behind you.

You grin as you turn around and walk back to him with a grin. “You’re horribly unpersuasive. Like your acting skills are actually an abomination,” you tell him, pulling out one of the cups of the cold drink and handing it to Seungkwan. “You’re lucky I love you,” you continue, laughing a little as Seungkwan snatches the cup away hastily with a bashful “thanks” under his breath.

“Okay, well ditto to you too,” he barks back. “Who else would put up with you and your ugly crying over Taylor Swift music videos?”

“Hey! Wildest Dreams is a lyrical, musical, theatrical, melodcial masterpiece! ”

“Okay, first of all, melodical isn’t even a word, and even if it was—” Seungkwan is cut off by the ringing of the office phone line. “I probably need to answer this but we are not done with this conversation,” he shoots at you.

You giggle, waving him off and heading down one the hall to get to your office, barely catching what Seungkwan is saying, or who he’s even talking to. It vaguely crosses your mind that it’s a bit too early in the morning for your office to be getting work calls, but you brush it off as you slip past your door and into your little room.

It’s a nice little space you’ve made for yourself; your physiotherapy firm was set up a few years back, and you’d even recently gone through a certification process to belt yourself as one of SECTOR’s physiotherapists. Pretty exciting stuff when you think about it—being able to work with such top-notch racers (albeit under rather unfortunate circumstances), and you get to do what you love at the same time.

Now, you haven’t actually gotten any big-shot patients yet, and you’ve started to appreciate that more recently. It’s not as stressful, and you don’t have to navigate a possibly awkward doctor-patient relationship with someone who’s dealing with what might be a career-changing injury.

You wonder when you’ll stop forgetting that your luck ran out years ago.

Just as you set your bag down and slip into your chair to answer some emails, Seungkwan is knocking on your door and walking in. “Hey, uh, this is kinda important,” he tells you, pointing behind him at his desk where he was taking the call.

“What’s up?” you ask, slightly worried by Seungkwan’s quick change in demeanor from playful to serious.

“Some doctor at SECTOR’s facility just called and—” Crap, you know where this is going already. “—Xu Minghao just fucked up his neck. Like yesterday. And he’s getting discharged from the hospital in a few hours hopefully and they’re gonna send him over right away so you can take a look and start working with him.”

You press your lips together tightly, head going slightly dizzy at the mention of his name. Of course, when you finally got yourself licensed to practice under SECTOR, you were aware of the possibility of working with him, but this feels a little too real and a little too fast.

“You good?” Seungkwan asks, snapping you out of your haze. “Lost you for a second—it looks like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Sorry, just zoned out,” you laugh stiffly, turning on your computer and taking a shaky breath. “I’m a bit nervous I guess. I’ve never worked with a professional like him—at least not yet,” you continue to say, and it’s not entirely a lie.

You are nervous, and in any other situation you would try your best to just not think about the situation but given Xu Minghao is going to step into your office in a few hours, you figure you should get to work right away.

Seungkwan steps out soon, saying, “You got this. Seriously, you’ve been working so hard for so long and you finally get to work with one of the big shots!”

Chuckling at his optimism, you finally open the email application on your monitor. Your inbox is flooded with emails, most of which are a series of X-rays and MRI scans of your soon to be patient, and so taking a deep breath, you dive in.

“Hey Hannie, did you sanitize Room C?” you ask one of your (few) employees as he steps out from the supply room behind the reception.

“Shoot, was it supposed to be C? I’m sorry, I cleaned up B, but I can go to C and get it sanitized right now—” he starts to say, turning towards the supply room at the end of the hall.

“Hey wait no it’s okay, I just asked for C ‘cause it’s a bit bigger but it doesn't really matter. Don’t worry about it—have you had your lunch break yet?”

“Nah not yet, I was just about to step into that with Seungkwan, but he’s taken a moment to grab coffee from the cafe across the street.”

You chuckle, “Already? I got him an Americano only a few hours ago …”

Jeonghan laughs out loud at that, slipping off his cleaning gloves and patting his hands down on his scrubs. “You know how Seungkwan is with his Americanos.”

“Don’t remind me—he’s crazy. I don’t know how he ingests that much caffeine and still functions like a normal human being but—”

Seungkwan’s voice cuts you off. “I know you guys are talking about me but I’d suggest you take a break and go get ready because I swear I just saw a car with SECTOR’s logo on the back pull up onto the street right up front.”

Oh fuck. You’re already starting to feel awfully nervous.

“Shit, really? I didn’t think they’d be here as early as noon,” Jeonghan says quickly, tossing the gloves and turning to you for instruction. “Anything we need to do?”

“Guys, just chill,” you say casually. Ironic, you think to yourself, because you feel like your heart might pound right out of your chest any second now. “Just handle this like you would any other patient. I’ll probably have to talk to his manager, but while we’re doing that Jeonghan can take Xu into B and just ease him into things. Lay off the tension, you know? He’s probably stressed out as is.”

“Noted,” Jeonghan nods as he walks down the hall, and then you turn to the door of the reception where you see a group of three people walking up.

You try to make out their figures; that one on the left’s probably one of SECTOR’s health directors, and the one on the right is … that’s Choi Seungcheol isn’t it? The one who sent you the emails? He’s Xu Minghao’s manager, you’re pretty sure of it.

You straighten your back when the front door opens, clutching the clipboard full of prints of the scans you were sent earlier. Setting your eyes straight, you take a deep breath and finally take in the sight of the three people filling into the reception.

Yup, there’s Choi Seungcheol … and then Cho Miyeon following behind and she’s pushing a—shit, it’s Xu Minghao in all his glory.

Well, you’re not sure how wondrous he feels right now in that wheelchair, eyes cold as he stares at the floor. His neck’s held up in a thick brace that you can see reaches down under his shirt and over his shoulders; he doesn’t look up, and for a moment you’re grateful.

It puts off the question though, the words that linger in the back of your mind.

Will he recognize you? Well, more importantly …

Does he even remember you?

You rid yourself of the personal thoughts when Choi Seungcheol approaches you, holding out his hand to you. You shake it, strong and firm as he smiles awkwardly. “Nice to meet you, thanks for making time for us today.”

“No problem,” you reply with a nod as Jeonghan comes in from the hallway. “My assistant, Jeonghan here can take Mr. Xu to one of our rooms while I talk with you two about a few things. Does that work?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Seungcheol nods, motioning Jeonghan to Minghao in his wheelchair behind him. The racer keeps his head down as Jeonghan brushes over and starts pushing him down the hall to Room B. You wonder if he’s even noticed you.

As Jeonghan goes off, you turn back to the other two still in the reception and point at your room. “Shall we?”

Once the three of you settle down, Seungcheol and Miyeon sit across from you, the former speaks up. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice—this all happened really quick and if you can't already tell, we’re kind of desperate to get him back in the driver’s seat as soon as possible.”

“No worries, please. These kinds of situations are exactly what I’m here for,” you tell them, and they both seem to crack a small smile of relief. “Now I spoke with the doctor that examined him at the hospital, and then briefly with Ms. Cho,” you say, motioning towards the woman on your right, “And there’s a general understanding that Mr. Xu’s suffered a pretty serious strain in his neck muscles.”

“Yeah, uh—how long is this going to take to heal?” Seungcheol pops in, and you sigh.

“I can give you a range, but it’s not so definite … I’d say between three to five months,” you tell him. “But again, it’s different for every patient. Muscle strains aren’t like a clean break or fracture where we can determine almost exactly when it’ll be healed … this stuff is going to take more time and it varies from person to person as well. It all kind of depends on Mr. Xu’s body, and that’s what I’m here for—to help figure out what works for him.”

“We understand that, thank you,” Miyeon nods, sitting straighter in her seat. “How often should he be coming in?”

“Hm, I’ll give you a definite answer after checking in with him today, but to estimate, I’d say around 2-3 times a week, while also using my suggestions outside of our sessions.”

You finish the conversation with the two after that, excusing yourself as you let them back into the reception before knocking on the door to Room B. Jeonghan opens the door from the other side and quietly closes the door behind him before pushing you a little deeper into the hallway.

“He seems like, really sad, so—”

“Well, duh. It’s a serious injury,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jeonghan clicks his lips and nudges your shoulder.

“Whatever. I’m just telling you to tread carefully,” he says as you make your way to the door. You don’t respond to Jeonghan as you slip in. Minghao’s turned away from you as he sits on his wheelchair in the middle of the room you purse your lips before taking a deep breath and nodding.

You got this. Seungkwan was right—you’ve worked too hard for too long to be rendered anxious ‘cause of a silly little overlap of your past with your patient.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you greet, making your way to the table right by where he sits, finally seeing him up close. He doesn’t look at you. “I’m pretty sure you already have heard enough about what’s wrong with your neck right now, so let’s talk about how we can make it better, yeah?”

You hear a gruff, “Sure,” escape his lips, and you figure that given his circumstances, it’s understandable.

“The report says that when you first started feeling the pain you couldn’t move your right arm even a little without it hurting in your neck, right?” you clarify as you sit at the chair between him and your table.

“Yeah.”

“Is it better now?”

“A little. Can move my forearm but moving my shoulder still hurts.”

“Okay, this is a good sign actually—you’re getting through the initial stages of healing just like normal. The first week or so of strain like yours might be pretty painful, but it’s over quickly and the pain after that should be pretty bearable, although it’ll take more time for it to heal.” You tell him, looking away to glance at the scans.

As he stares at the ground, Minghao wants to scream. Good sign? What the fuck are you talking about—he can’t even lift his goddamn arm without it feeling like there’s daggers plunging into his neck, and you’re here sitting all calm faced, pristine, acting like this isn’t his fuckin’ career on the line. Acting like your words are gonna make a difference as long as he’s in this stupid ass brace with this stupid ass injury in this stupid ass room with—who the fuck even are you?

His head hurts, and Minghao thinks it’s partly because of his neck, but it’s mostly because he can’t stop thinking. Thinking about the worst possibilities, thinking about everything that could go wrong and—well shit, he chides himself for letting his anger get the better of himself, even if it was just in his head.

Shamefully, he presses his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before finally lifting his gaze and turning to face you. When you look up from your paper and finally turn back to him, you’re met with the sight of pretty brown eyes staring right back at you.

“I—” Minghao starts, but it sounds like the air got stuck in his throat as he finally takes in your figure, and then he purses his lips together and turns back away. “Nothing.” the possibilities of what he could have been thinking ruins your mind just a little.

You can see it in his eyes—Minghao remembers. Still, he doesn’t say anything about it, and you wonder if you prefer things to stay that way.

“What time is Xu scheduled for on Wednesdays? He’ll be coming in on Wednesdays, right?” Jeonghan asks as he steps into your office.

“Uh, he’s coming in for a session from 11-2 today—which, by the way, could you set up Room C for that? I can’t remember if I already put that on the to-do list.”

“Yeah I did it yesterday after our last patient of the day, I was just wondering. You’re gonna lead it with him this time, right?”

“Yeah, since it’s the first session. You were right about him being … apprehensive—”

“Sad,” Jeonghan corrects you. “A sad, sad boy.”

“Yeah well, go figure,” you sigh out of sympathy. “Anyways, like I said, it’s understandable for him to be frustrated, so I’ll work with him at first to ease him into things and stuff. You can start taking over more of the sessions once he warms up to the whole process, and once we figure out and set a routine.”

“Okay great. Does this mean I can go out for my lunch break at 11:30?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you reply with a casual shrug as Jeonghan thanks you and slips away. You shift your attention back to your monitor before glancing through the initial medical reports you were sent by the hospital, and then the results of your own tests you ran during your first session with Xu Minghao.

It’s a shitty injury, you’ll have to admit. A neck strain on the muscles closest to his right shoulder, not only rendering his neck immobile for a period of time, but also hindering his abilities to move his right arm.

Must hurt like a bitch—physically and mentally—and the image of him staring down at the ground burns in the back of your mind.

With a sigh, you silently wonder if you could offer him the same solace he gave you.

Xu Minghao shows up to your office two hours later with Choi Seungcheol pushing him inside on his wheelchair, and you’re thankful to see that his stature looks much more relaxed than before. “I’ll come by at 2, right?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great. Thank you,” Jeonghan tells Mr. Choi with a smile before taking control of Minghao’s wheelchair and strolling him into the room. You’re already there and waiting for him, standing up to greet him with a smile.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you say, thanking Jeonghan as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

“Morning,” he says quietly, not quite meeting your gaze. The air isn’t as thick as it was the first day, but there seems to be some invisible barrier between the two.

“How’s the pain right now, Mr. Xu?” you ask, pulling out a notepad on your computer to jot down some notes.

Your patient’s eyebrows furrow, and for a second you have a feeling this might be harder than you thought, but his next words are more comforting than anything. “Uh, can you just call me Minghao? Mr. Xu is … it’s weird.”

“Y-yeah of course, sorry about that, Minghao,” you nod with a half smile. “So could you tell me how things are feeling?”

“I guess it hurts less. I don’t really move that much so I can avoid hurting myself though—kinda in this thing most of the time anyways,” he replies gruffly, hitting the left side of the wheelchair with his palm.

“Do you stand up? Walk around at all?”

“Not often.”

“Okay so I think we’re going to try and change that soon,” you tell him. “We’ll do some mobility checks today but if it doesn’t hurt to move your shoulder a little, then I think it’s best you move as much as you can without pain. Honestly, you’re going to be injured for a while and—”

You pause when you hear Minghao inhale sharply at that, making a mental note to soften your words a little.

“—and we don’t want you to be immobile. If you can move, try to. We’ll try and get you out of the wheelchair within the next two weeks, how does that sound?”

Minghao’s ears perk up at that. “Two weeks? Only?”

You nod happily at his sudden energy and the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, you know the wheelchair is just so you don’t move your upper body too much but like I said the last time we met, the initial stages are pretty painful but once it’s over, you’ll be more mobile. Of course, you won’t be able to get back to racing and training right away, but you’ll be able to be a lot more active than you are now.”

“How long will it take before I can start training again?” Minghao asks curiously, finally looking you straight in the eye with parted lips.

The desperation is painful to watch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, watching his shoulders deflate. “At least two months.”

“Two months?”

“At the least,” you say with a held breath.

“At the most?” Minghao asks hopefully.

You purse your lips. “At the most? … A year?”

“A year? That’s more than a whole racing season!”

“Yes but neck strains are fickle and we can’t let anything go wrong, and due to the nature of your sport, you really—”

“I think I know the nature of my own sport,” Minghao scoffs, and with the way he says it, you don’t know if you should be mad or sad or disappointed or a mix of all three.

“I—” you pause, “I understand your frustration Mr.—Minghao, but my job is to make sure you’re one hundred percent healed before you set foot on the track again, so please be patient and allow yourself to heal.”

Something about those last few words rings in Minghao’s ears, and he zones out for the rest of what you’re saying.

Allow yourself to heal. Fuck.

Minghao stays pretty much silent for the rest of the session, and you’re not quite sure if it’s out of complacency or indifference. You go through some slow mobility exercises, and figure out a good range for him to stay in for the next few days.

“Make sure you practice those movements every day,” you note once you near the end of today’s session. “I’ll send you an email listing all of them with instructions so you remember. Please try and do them every day, and it’ll hopefully speed up the recovery process.”

“Thanks,” Minghao murmurs as he carefully sits back down in his wheelchair.

“Is there anything else you’re doing in your free time right now?” you ask, trying to make casual conversation as you start to type up your list.

“Not really. I watch practice videos and stuff, I guess.”

You hum, not really responding until you finally finish the list and send it to his email. “I sent the list, you should start using it tomorrow. Anyways, I think you should try crocheting,” you tell him casually.

Minghao gives you a sideways glance as he raises an eyebrow. “… Crocheting?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug, finally turning around to face. “You know, with yarn and stuff.”

“I know what crocheting is.”

“I-I know,” you say awkwardly, slightly thrown off your game by his bluntness. “You won’t have to move your shoulders, only your forearms, so it’s fine.”

“But why?”

“It’s fun. And a nice way to pass time, especially when you can’t move around a lot. Plus, it’s always good to have something to distract yourself from—” You pause, thinking about how to finish your sentence. “—from shitty stuff, y’know?”

Minghao chuckles, and your heart swells a little when you finally see him break a smile. “Yeah, I guess.” There’s a long pause. “Shitty stuff, huh?”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Shitty stuff.”

“You and your stupid Americanos,” you sigh, watching Seungwkan grin as the barista hands him his drink.

“Stop acting like you don’t indulge in me too. Getting me all those Americanos in the morning … I should blame you for this addiction!”

“So you admit it’s an addiction!” you exclaim triumphantly, waving your hands in the air. Seungkwan rolls his eyes, leaving you to sit at a table in one of the corners of the cafe. Laughing at his silent admission of defeat, you wait for your drink patiently.

It’s only a few more moments before the barista is back at the counter, calling out, “Honey lavender latte!” With a smile, you walk over, about to reach for the drink before a hand beats you to it.

Frowning, you look up at the man who’s holding your drink before you say, “Hey, I’m sorry, I think that’s my drink.”

“Uh, honey lavender latte? I’m pretty sure I ordered this,” he says. You look at him with a funny expression on your face, eyes darting between the drink you ordered and the drink that’s in his other hand. He catches your suspicion and shakes his head quickly. “It’s for my friend, I ordered for the both of us so I could get us a spot.”

“Oh,” you breath out, figuring that it probably isn’t a lie. “S-sorry for the misunderstanding. I just—” you chuckle, watching some of the tension from the man’s shoulders wither away. “I ordered the same thing—”

“Oh sorry, I—my friend isn’t here yet so you can just take this and I’ll wait for the other to come out,” he offers, watching your face, and you see something in his expression change. “Hey wait, you look really familiar,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows furrow as you silently thank him when he hands you the drink. “Uh, are you sure? I’m sorry, I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” you admit with an awkward chuckle.

The man shakes his head and laughs quietly to myself. “No, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere, but I’m just blanking on it right now—sorry this is probably so weird but—” The bell of the front door rings and he shoots his head to see who’s coming in, eyes lighting up. “Oh hey, Hao! Was just waiting for you!”

Hao? Mingh—

You lock eyes as soon as he walks in.

The man from before beams as he walks up to him as your eyes finally break away, and Minghao turns to his friend. “Hansol,” he greets with a small smile, and it’s a pleasant sight to see your patient—who’s more often monotone than not—seem a bit more at ease than before.

“How’re you doing? Was just waiting on your drink and—” the man—Hansol—points at you with eyes as wide as saucers, “—oh by the way, doesn’t she look really familiar?”

You chuckle nervously, breaking out an awkward smile and waving at Minghao who returns you by raising his left arm in a sort of half-wave before turning his attention to Hansol to give him a blank stare. “Yeah, she’s kinda like my physiotherapist dude.”

This time, you chuckle a bit more genuinely, eyes darting between the amused smirk that’s just barely there on Minghao’s lips, and Hansol’s agape stare.

“Ohh shit, yeah that’s where I saw you! Cheol and Miyeon were talking about you when they were booking you for Hao at the hospital, and I saw your picture on the screen,” Vernon explains as the realization hits him.

“Oh,” you laugh lightly. “That’s funny,” you reply as you turn your attention to Minghao, “Good to see you’re getting out of that wheelchair. I bet it feels nice to finally stretch your legs and stuff,” you say. If Minghao could move his neck without eruptions of pain, he’d nod his head.

For now though, he settles on smiling and saying, “Yeah, it’s refreshing.” His eyes wander around you, taking in how you aren’t dressed in your usual work attire, but rather clad in a cute outfit. “Is that my drink?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he points at the coffee you’ve just taken a sip of.

Hansol laughs and shakes his head. “You two got the same drink so when it came out, I just let ‘er have it, since you weren’t here yet.” He glances around before putting his drink down at a nearby table. “Shit, I think I left my laptop in my car,” he murmurs, looking at his friend. “I’m gonna go get it so I can show you those videos I was talking about.”

“Yeah, that’s chill,” Minghao agrees. Hansol smiles at you and then his friend before quickly retreating from the cafe to get to the parking lot, leaving you and the tall man standing in silence. It’s a few passing moments where you awkwardly sip on your drink before something pops in your mind.

“Hey, it’s actually really funny that you’re seeing me right now because—well it’s not funny funny, but it’s a nice coincidence so I guess that counts as funny but—anyways, look, I crocheted this cardigan.” You smile, lifting your arms a little so he can see the dark, navy blue fabric you made yourself, before turning around to show off the light blue, striped pattern on the back. “Cool, right?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty. Nice color scheme and all,” Minghao agrees.

“Thanks. Have you started crocheting? I can send you some videos to get you started,” you offer. Just as Minghao is about to reply, the barista from behind you calls out another order of your drink, causing both of you to glance back. “Oh, you wait there; I’ll get it,” you say, putting your drink down on the same table Hansol did before walking over to grab Minghao’s drink and hand it back to his left hand.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” he says as your fingers brush over each other before falling back to your side. “Isn’t your friend waiting for you?”

“Of course I have to. I’m your doctor! I can’t make you do that,” you reason before pointing back at your best friend. “And are you talking about Seungkwan? Looks like he’s having the time of his life doing—” You turn your head around to glance at him before looking back at Minghao, “—doing god knows what on his phone and—”

“Are you talking about me?” you hear Seungkwan’s voice calling from a few meters away, and the way you cringe has Minghao stifling a giggle. “All good things I hope!” he continues.

“You know it!” you shoot back sarcastically, only to be followed by Seungkwan’s rolling eyes. “That little shit. I pay his bills!” you exclaim, a faux frown making its way onto your face.

Minghao laughs, his head throwing back a little. The small movement flares up a bite of pain in his neck, causing his breath to get stuck in his throat, eyes widening as he slowly shifts back into a comfortable position.

“Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly.

If Minghao could shrug without feeling like his neck would snap in half, he would. Instead, he raises his eyebrow playfully when he says, “Are you seriously apologizing for being funny?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m retracting my apology.”

It’s been around three weeks since you started working with Minghao. He’s warmed up to you a fair amount, and ever since you saw him at the cafe, the air around you two has been lighter.

It’s still a bit awkward at times—skitting around the moments where you wonder if you should say something about the elephant in the room before shaking your head and biting your tongue. Then again, given how often you see Minghao, you’ve gotten used to it.

Seungkwan stops by your office this morning when he walks into work. “Morning,” he greets, dropping a small brown bag by your desk as you file through some papers.

“Ooh, thank you,” you tell him gleefully, taking a break from your task to glance at the chocolate muffin that sits inside of the bag. “I’ve been craving this,” you admit, reaching in and picking out a small piece to stuff into your mouth.

“Your welcome,” Seungkwan sighs, sitting down on the seat in front of you. “Anyways, I found something cool that I don’t think you told me.”

You raise your eyebrows at him skeptically. “Yeah? What is it?”

“You and Xu Minghao are from the same hometown!”

You roll your eyes. “Why do you still keep calling him Xu Minghao? He’s told us to just say Minghao, and even if he didn’t, it’s awkward when you say his full name like that.”

Seungkwan scoffs at you, reaching his hand over to try and flick your forehead but you dodge. “Because he’s Xu Minghao. I can’t believe you aren’t still jumping up and down for getting to work with him, seeing how much you love SECTOR.”

“You want me to be happy that the best racer from my favorite team is injured?”

“Ugh, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever,” you shrug, a small hint of a smile peeking from your lips.

“Anyways, you didn’t answer what I actually said. Why didn’t you tell me you guys are from the same area? That’s so cool!”

“I mean I guess,” you say with a shrug.

“And you guys are the same age so—wait, did you go to school together? Oh my god, are you guys like—I don’t know, long lost best friends or something?” Seungkwan’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’d be so cool—I could totally see a movie on this and—wait! If he’s your long lost best friend, where does that leave me? You better not replace me with him!”

You laugh at the progression of his thoughts, almost choking on your second bite of the muffin. “We did go to school together,” you admit. “It’s not like we crossed paths though. He kinda just, I don’t know, existed back then. So no worries for you, you’re not getting replaced any time soon … unfortunately,” you add with mischievous giggle.

“Better not …” Seungkwan huffs.

Minghao comes in a few hours later for his afternoon session. Jeonghan works with him for the first two of the three hours, and you walk in for the last hour. You go over some more mobility exercises, before finally sitting down so you can discuss his progress.

“So things are going really well,” you start to tell him, beginning to list off a couple signs of development which stood out to you. You’re about to commend him on keeping up the exercises everyday, when you notice him staring at the floor with a blank expression. “H-hey, Minghao?” you ask, clearing your voice when he doesn’t respond. “Minghao.”

His eyes shoot up to yours, shoulders tensing for a second before he lets out a deep breath. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

You chuckle nervously, wondering if it’s okay if you probe just a little. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Minghao replies casually, but you catch the way he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Just thinking about last night’s race.”

“Oh, Singapore?”

“Yeah.”

“I was able to catch a bit of it last night, but I passed out. It seemed intense though—you see Kim’s pit stop?”

“Yeah, it was kinda insane,” Minghao says breathily. His expression is unreadable, but he’s continuing to respond and so you choose to let things go on naturally. “He’s been living up to his talent now that his shitbox is back to what it’s supposed to be.”

“Can’t imagine how frustrating it is.” Fuck, when Minghao’s shoulders drop, it feels like you said something you probably shouldn’t have.

I can imagine, Minghao thinks after hearing your response, but he bites back the words. “Yeah,” he says dejectedly instead.

Silence. This seems like a good chance to change the topic.

“Uh—” Sorry, you want to say, but you choose to hold your breath instead. “I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“We can get you out of the neck brace today,” you tell him happily.

Minghao’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah, your progress has been great. Didn’t want to tell you earlier to get your hopes up, in case something went wrong, but everything has been looking really good and you’re at the point where we usually take any supports like braces off.”

Minghao grins, and it’s a stark contrast from the grim shadow cast on his face just moments earlier. You take a few moments to go over the procedures with him, helping him out of the foamy, firm brace with gentle hands and watchful eyes.

“How’s it feeling?” you ask, setting the brace down by one of your counters so you can dispose of it later.

Minghao lets out a low groan of what you can only assume is relief when he looks up. “Like my skin can finally breathe,” he sighs heavily, a bright smile taking over his features as you turn to face him.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell him, before beginning a quick examination process of the area under the brace and going through some quick motions.

“All done?” he asks. When you nod, he continues. “Kinda early, huh?” he say pointendly, and you both quickly glance at the clock on the wall: his session is supposed to end in 43 minutes.

“Oh yeah, uh—actually … I was wondering if you wanted to try something?” you ask tentatively, and Minghao senses your hesitation. “If you have the time.”

Raising a brow, he nods. “Yeah I don’t mind, what is it?”

“One second,” you tell him, getting up and leaving the room to grab something from your office. Shyly, you walk back in and to your seat, all while holding up a brown bag. “Just some old crocheting supplies I thought you might like,” you murmur, placing it down on the counter.

Minghao presses his lips together tightly, not expecting your words. “Oh, uh—I haven’t really … I haven’t taken up crocheting yet. Sorry, uh—”

“Oh yeah,” you say quickly, holding a hand up, using the other to show him the contents of the bag. There’s some balls of yarn and hooks in a little mess, and you reach in to take some out. “I figured—it’s pretty intimidating to take up by yourself but,” you sigh. “I think it’ll be really nice for you. I recommend it to a lot of my patients who can’t do their regular activities and hobbies … and now given your brace is off, your vision will have more range and it might be really fun for you. No pressure if you don’t like it, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to show you the ropes,” you admit, holding up a ball of blue yarn.

Catching onto your pun, Minghao chuckles and replies, “Sure, why not.”

“Okay great,” you say excitedly, dropping the bag and pulling your chair up in front of him and next to the table, pulling the supplies out.

Minghao is patient as you show off the different yarns and hooks, explaining the very basics in great detail. You can’t quite tell if he’s being so obedient out of genuine interest, pity, or simply polite compliance, but for whatever reason, you’re thankful. Soon, you’re showing him how you do it yourself before handing him one of your spare hooks and the ball of yarn, letting Minghao test the waters for himself.

“Yeah, just do that and—wait,” you mutter, reaching over to adjust the way he’s holding the hook. Your soft fingers gingerly brush over his knuckles, and Minghao finds himself getting lost for a moment. As you innocently fix the position of his fingers, his stomach churns in a manner he can’t quite name. “You got that?” you ask him suddenly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry, zoned out again. What was that?”

“Singapore really got you thinking, huh?” you muse before shaking your head and laughing it off.

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, I was just saying you should position your thumb like this or else you might start to cramp up really fast. Happens to me like crazy but I didn’t fix my habit and now I just gotta crochet through the pain.”

Minghao looks at you with an odd expression. “Crochet … through … the pain?”

“That sounded cooler in my head, my bad.”

Minghao laughs. It’s not a tight chuckle, or a soft giggle, it’s a laugh. And it’s bright and full and tugging at your heartstrings in a way you’d rather ignore. “It’s okay.”

“Anyways … here, I’ll show you how to start off with a slip knot and then we’ll take things from there,” you instruct.

Slowly, you walk him through the steps. You learn that Minghao is a good learner. He’s intuitive, but it’s not that you expect much different—you figure no one can get to the level he’s at without being quick to pick up on things.

You’re soon showing him how to start a simple chain, the yarn and hook still in his hands as you work him through the process. “Yeah, now you just gotta yarn over like this—no, the other way, just like that … and—yeah … yeah!” you exclaim excitedly when Minghao slips the hook right through, lengthening the chain. “You got it!”

“Really?” Minghao asks. “Simpler than I thought,” he admits aloud, and you nod vigorously.

“Yeah … crocheting looks hard from afar but once you actually get the hang of it, it’s as easy as breathing,” you explain, softly taking the yarn and hook from his hands and showing how it looks once you build in more loops.

He watches you carefully—the way your fingers so gently, with such precision; how your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as you focus in on the task at hand, tongue unconsciously sticking out from the corner of your mouth, and—

“You’re really good at this,” Minghao murmurs quietly, and you swear he’s so close, his warm breath fans down on your cheeks. You gulp, pausing what you’re doing to look up at him.

“My mother taught me. It’s been a casual hobby ever since.”

You feel Minghao’s eyes bore down on yours intensely, wondering if he’ll respond. Something is screaming at you to pray he’ll keep his mouth shut.

Minghao doesn’t say a word, thankfully. Still, the possibilities of what could be running through his mind haunt you.

You think you should start feeling guilty. You think you should already be feeling guilty when you start to look forward to seeing Minghao. He’s your patient for fuck’s sake—you should be happy he’s not holed up in here everyday.

Still, there’s a weird feeling that festers in your chest when you think about him.

Minghao, and the way he’s so persistent, so patient, so attentive with all the exercises and information you tell him. Minghao, and the polite smile he throws your way at the beginning of each session. Minghao, and the way his eyes light up.

“We’re going to try some new mobility exercises today,” you tell him today with a grin, standing up from your seat. Minghao’s ears perk up as he catches the bright look on your face, and something inside of him swells with hope.

“Really?”

You smile and nod in return. “Yeah! I mean your recovery has been really great so far and I think this is a good point to move on and see if we can test out an even wider range of motion.” Minghao doesn’t really say anything in response, but the way his eyes light up when he watches you explain the exercises tells you enough.

In the hour that follows, you two walk through the exercises, trying out each one, and you’re almost three quarters through all the motions you planned today right before you show him how to angle his shoulder before a new exercise.

“How are things feeling? Anything hurting? Anywhere?” you ask anxiously as Minghao comes out of the last stretch you showed him with a pleasant look on his face.

“No, not like pain pain,” he says casually, leaning back into the chair. “Not the kinda pain from the strain, but I feel a bit of tension on my shoulder from keeping it in that position for too long.”

“Okay great,” you say, typing it down onto your digital notepad. “We’ll try and switch up that one next time so your body is completely relaxed from now on.”

“Thanks. What’s the next exercise?” Minghao asks curiously upon taking in the information. You vaguely think to yourself about how you enjoy his growing warmness—he’s been a lot more positive these past sessions with his rapid progress, and it’s bringing a much lighter atmosphere to Room C.

You explain the movement to him, explaining to him how to lift his shoulders just enough to circle them backwards without too much movement. It’s going pretty smoothly like the other exercises; you explain, Minghao listens, you adjust, Minghao lets you.

Right now you’re about to lean in, hands brushing over his shoulder blade to guide them to a more steep angle, explaining to Minghao how to fix his posture. Your fingers brush over his collarbone and jaw a few times in the process, your eyes keeping steady on making sure he doesn’t make any abrasive movements.

“There we go,” you tell him after showing him how to do the circular movement with his shoulders. “Why don’t you try it by yourself?”

Shooting you a thumbs up, Minghao complies, lifting his shoulder forward first slowly. He’s going through the motions of everything pretty normally—after all this is just like any other exercise so he doesn’t really worry that much until—fuck.

Holy shit, that quick but sharp pain stings so bad.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask worriedly when Minghao stills, his eyes widening.

So much. So fucking much, Minghao thinks to himself.

“Talk to me,” you say, moving closer to him so you can move your hands over his shoulder and lead them back down to a natural position.

“It h-hurt for a second. Really bad, but then it was gone,” Minghao says breathily. You purse your lips together and Minghao feels his heart sink to his chest when you turn around and type some stuff he can’t read from where he sits. “Is this like—” He needs to pause to collect himself so the nerves don’t get to him. “—is it bad?” When you hesitate to respond, Minghao already knows his answer. “Fuck.”

“Look, it’s just hurting in that spot for this exercise. The rest of your progress is amazing, but we’re just going to need to take it slower since you’ve probably just overexerted the muscle a little bit.”

“So I’ve been set back, basically,” Minghao says bluntly, his tone doing a full 180 from just a few moments earlier.

“Not a setback …” you sigh. “Just a sign that we need to go slower right now.” You watch him worriedly when he presses his lips together and doesn’t meet your gaze.

“So a setback.”

You gulp. “You can’t think of this like that. I told you from the start that progress is never linear and—”

“I don’t give a fuck, okay?” Minghao breaths out, and something about the way he says it with such a curt, tense tone almost makes you lose your composure. “This is—fuck, this my career okay? I can’t afford any setbacks.”

“I know that and that’s why I’m your doctor, okay?” you say, a bit more harshly than you intended.

You don’t understand why you’re letting his hostility get to your head all of sudden—it isn’t like you haven’t had frustrated patients before. Fuck, you’ve had people cry, sob, break down in this same room over slow progress but something about the way he looks so disheartened has your heart clenching.

“I’m here to help you,” you reiterate, your tone more composed than before. “But I can only do that if you let me.”

Minghao eyes flicker between your wide eyes and his hands in his lap. There’s a growing knot that ties in his throat, and he’s too afraid to open his mouth to speak, too afraid of what he might say. Instead, he just huffs and stands up.

“Sorry,” he finally musters up, eyes trained on the ground as you watch him carefully for his next move. “I’m leaving.”

You don’t stop him as he walks away.

When Minghao walks into the reception a few days later, he’s not surprised to see that you aren’t the one greeting him. He thinks back to the way your lips were pressed into a tight line when he walked out last week. It was the last time he’d seen you in the past few days, and some weird mix of worry swirls in his stomach.

Were you avoiding him? He wouldn’t blame you if you were, but he feels guilty for thinking that way. You wouldn’t let something personal get in the way of your work, Minghao knows that for sure.

Still, he bites his tongue when he briefly considers asking Jeonghan where you are. Would that be overstepping? It’s not like there haven’t been sessions where you weren’t there, but something about the thickness in the air around him tells Minghao that there’s something he should be worried about.

As if he could read Minghao’s mind, Jeonghan speaks up. “Doc’ll come in around the end. It’s her mom’s birthday so she’s out for most of the afternoon, but she’ll be back for the last half an hour,” he says casually, not really expecting to turn around to see Minghao looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“H-her—” Her mom? Minghao wants to ask but something stops him from saying it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not here. Something feels wrong. “That’s fine,” he mutters, pursing his lips before looking at the ground.

He can feel Jeonghan’s curious gaze burning into the back of his skull, but Minghao only doesn’t move as he keeps quiet. They soon fall into the regular pattern of starting off with mobility exercises before doing a check of his range of movement.

It’s nearing the final hour of his session when Jeonghan excuses himself for a moment. Only two minutes passes before there’s a knock at the door, and then some footsteps leading in.

“Good afternoon Minghao,” you greet softly upon walking in. The man glances up at you, eyes widening when he takes in your figure.

“Oh—uh, hey.”

Minghao wants to bash his head into the wall. Hey? Seriously? That’s all he could muster up? Hey?

“Jeonghan gave me the rundown,” you tell him, looking away as you lift a clipboard and squint to read the tiny text. “No more sharp pains … returning mobilily …”

You hum slowly as you read off the notes your assistant left for you, not meeting Minghao’s gaze. He wonders if that’s what you intended. “Seeing as things are going smoothly for now, we’ll continue with the low-risk exercises and—”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao blurts out. He wonders what compels him to do it, but when you finally meet his gaze, he realizes that he just wanted you to look at him.

“Mi—”

“I’m sorry for how I acted last time. I shouldn’t have said that stuff to you. I was frustrated and took it out on you, and that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”

Your lips are pursed by the time Minghao is finished. He’s said enough, but when he peers up at you, his eyes speak a story of their own.

“It’s okay,” you respond with no hesitation, before turning back to your clipboard, scanning over it a few more times and then setting it down.

You smooth your hands over your lab coat, and for a moment Minghao wonders what it would feel like to have your palms run down his neck, pressing into his skin so gently yet with such fervor, fingertips ghosting over—

Minghao shouldn’t think like this.

“Jeonghan told me that it’s your mom’s birthday,” he finally breaks the silence. It’s the first time either of you have actually brought it up, and the reality of it all—fuck, it’s hitting you so hard that there’s already tears pooling in yout lashline.

You silently curse yourself for forgetting to tell Jeonghan not to tell Minghao anything. It’s okay, it isn’t like he knew any better, you tell yourself as you blink rapidly, trying to shoo away the tears.

“Mhm,” you hum, hoping he doesn’t probe any deeper. You aren’t sure what you should say.

You’re silent, and Minghao itches to reach forward, to rest his hand on your shoulder, to smile at you, to say all the things he’s been thinking about you but he just can’t. All he can manage is to clear his throat, causing you to look up at him expectantly.

Fuck, what should he say? “I’m um—I’m glad. Glad that she’s uh—that everything worked out.” That’s fine, right? There’s nothing wrong with that statement, Minghao’s almost sure of it so … so why in the world are you crying?

Shoot, did he fuck up? You’re sitting in the chair right next to him, head in your hands as you cover your face and turn away; your cries are soft but just loud enough for Minghao to hear over the rush in his ears, just loud enough for him to feel the ache, just loud enough for him to get the message.

Oh.

The first time you meet Xu Minghao, you’re in middle school. Seventh grade and walking into Algebra, going to sit down on your regular seat. Five minutes into class and a new boy walks into the room, handing your teacher a slip before being directed to sit down at a spot a few tables over.

He’s got short, dark hair, cat-like eyes, and a bit of tall, lanky figure as he slinks down into the chair. Your teacher claps her hands together and announces that there’s a new student in class. His name’s “Xu Minghao,” she said.

You don’t really remember his name at first. It isn’t uncommon for there to be new students on campus. He’s not in many of your other classes you realize as the day goes on, and so he slips your mind. Maybe you work with him for a few assignments throughout the year, but not enough for you to wave at each other when you pass the other in the hallways.

Five years later and you’re in your final year of high school. Time has passed, you have changed, Xu Minghao has changed, but what remains the same is what you are to each other. Strangers.

You’re paired with a stranger for your final senior Literature project.

“Do you want to write a paper, or do the poster?” you ask as he sits down next to you once the pairing assignments. Your teacher had given you two options on how to go about the project. “I don’t really mind either or,” you admit.

Minghao hums, setting his copy of Macbeth on the table before turning to you. “Poster? I think I’ve done enough writing in this past year to last me a lifetime,” he tells you with an obvious sigh.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Were you in Biology?”

He nods. “Regretfully.”

“Oh so you also had to write that whole research paper. Damn, that thing had to have shaved at least ten years off my life.”

“Ditto,” Minghao grumbles, running his hands over his face. “Oh god, just thinking about it is making me queasy. I’m so happy we’re in our final semester.”

“So we agree on no paper, just the poster?” you finalize.

Minghao agrees, “Yeah, that’s great.”

One week later and Minghao is at your doorstep. “Cool set up,” he notes, stepping into your room, looking down at the poster splayed out with markers all over.

You grin. “Thanks—I kind of like being artsy and stuff sometimes so I was pretty happy to do this when you said you also wanted to do the poster.”

“Seems like I made a good choice then,” he replies, sitting down on the opposite end of the poster and pulling out a notebook and his book. “I did some work and got a bunch of lines that we could use as citations in different parts.”

“That’s great,” you say, picking a pen. “Let’s get started then?”

You two get straight to work, and all goes smoothly. Minghao is a good worker, you’ve noticed. His friends are quite fun—you’ve seen him with them in the hallways sometimes—but you start to realize that Minghao doesn’t let himself sacrifice his work ethic for fun.

You make quite some progress over the next hour or two, and you’re just about to bring up one of your ideas. “So over here, I was thinking we could write out the context of the play and then—” You’re cut off by the voice of your older brother at your door. He’s looking down at his phone with his lips pressed into a tight line as he speaks.

“Mom’s starting another cycle of chemo this Thursday so—oh, sorry,” Beomgyu says quickly upon looking up and seeing you have a visitor. “Come to my room when you’re done,” he mutters before turning on his heel.

The silence that envelopes your room is deafening.

You don’t say a word as you take a deep breath and pick up a different colored marker. You clear your throat. “So back to what I was saying …”

The next time you work on the poster, it’s at Minghao’s house.

You wear a blue gown at graduation. It’s a sunny day in June, and you’re sweating a little through the silk fabric, but it’s okay.

Your father and Beomgyu are there in the stands, but your eyes can’t help but be pulled to the empty seat next to them. Your mother said she’d try to make it, but broke the news last night that it was a dream too high up to reach.

It’s okay, you had told her, but as you clutch your diploma close to your heart, all you can think is, no it’s not, no it’s not, no it’s fucking not.

You sit through the rest of the ceremony with a silence and all around you, you see your peers’ smiling faces, the encouraging words of the dean, the cheers of the crowds, and somehow you feel so lost in it all. When you’re finally dismissed, everyone claps and revels once more, but somehow you can’t find the voice in your throat to join them.

Slipping through the crowds of people who line up to take pictures with their friends, family, and all the sort, you slip out of the small stadium and into some hallway.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, raising your hand up and whipping it forward towards the brick wall. You wince, bracing yourself for the pain, but the sting never comes. Something warm envelopes your wrist, and when you finally blink your eyes open, you see a stranger.

“I don’t understand what you’re going through,” Minghao finally says. “I won’t pretend I do either, but it’ll be okay.” He hugs you and your face is pressed into Minghao’s own blue gown that is about to turn a few shades darker.

You cry. You cry harder than you think you’ve ever cried before.

You don’t know what it is about the way he speaks. Maybe it’s the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the way he smells. Maybe it’s everything, but whatever it is or isn’t, you don’t stop crying and for a gracing moment, you bask in catharsis.

And then, you hear Beomgyu’s voice calling for you from a nearby hallway, so you pull back. Minghao presses his lips together and lets you go, hands dropping to the side as you wipe away the tears. There’s a darker blue splotch in the middle of his chest, but he says nothing of it.

You don’t say a word as you step back—the only communication you share is a nod, but you swear on every last star in the sky that he has said more words to you in that moment than anyone has told you in your entire lifetime.

You don’t see Minghao’s face until it’s seven years later and he’s plastered on the screen as SECTOR’s newest recruit. He’s got phenomenal potential as an F1 racer—greatest new talent in a while—you hear the host of the channel say, but as you look at his picture on the screen, all you see is the face of a stranger who’s held you tighter than anyone before.

The last time you saw Minghao, it was through tear-blurred vision as you scurried out of Room C—you had to tell Jeonghan through broken sniffles to wrap up the session with Minghao—that the weight of the day had gotten to your head and that you needed to take a breather.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. You retreated to your office soon after, staring at the photo of you and your mother that sat at the corner of your table, and then you cried a little more.

It’s the next day when you’re back in the office. Two patients had just finished up, and you’re sitting in your office, filing through some emails when you hear the familiar ringing of the front door opening. You furrow your eyebrows to yourself, not recalling having any other patients scheduled for at least another two hours.

Had Jeonghan and Seungkwan taken their break earlier than you thought? No, that can’t be possible because they always let you know when they’re heading out and—

“Doc!” you hear Seungkwan’s voice call out to you from down the hall. “Could you come here for a sec’?”

Frowning, you close your laptop and stand up, walking out the doorway and down the hallway towards the front entrance of the clinic. “What is i—oh.” The question dies on your tongue when you see Minghao standing in the reception.

Something in your stomach churns at the sight of him—eyes slightly blown out, lips parted but somehow curved downward in a way that has your own lips frowning. The events of the past few days crashes down on you, and you bite down on your bottom lips in hopes that it’ll ground you in reality.

Seungkwan stands behind the main desk, looking at you with some sort of awry expression, and you catch Jeonghan coming down from the other hallway to catch the odd situation. Minghao doesn’t seem to mind though, eyes zoning in on you.

“I need to talk to you,” he says. You feel Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s gazes burn into the back of your skull.

Glancing at them, you point to the door. “You guys can take your lunch break now,” you tell them before turning your attention to Minghao. “Let’s go to Room C?”

He follows you in an instant, slipping into the seat that he always does as you close the door behind you and walking up to stand in front of him.

You can hear the words already coming together on his tongue—I’m sorry—and so you open your mouth before Minghao can even say it.

“I’m sorry,” you say, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

“No, I—I shouldn’t have said anything. I had no idea you—” Minghao stops himself. He doesn’t know how much is too much.

It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since graduation.”

“Me too,” you respond in an instant. “I see so much of myself in you,” you tell him.

“Stop, I—our situations aren’t comparable and—”

“Let me be the judge of that, yeah?” you cut him off with a small smile and through tears, cupping his face. The skin over his cheek bones are soft when you run your thumbs over them. “When everything is going wrong and you’re so angry, and you’re blaming all the wrong people but you can’t help it, and it makes you feel worse and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”

“Yeah.”

You inhale steadily, feeling hot water meet your hands and trickle down to your wrists. Minghao is crying, and suddenly you are hit with waves of deja vu. “I get it, okay?” you tell him, even though you know that Minghao already knows. You get it better than anyone. “It’ll be okay.”

The echo of his words from all those years ago crashes down on you, and suddenly Minghao pulls your arms down causing you to hunch over so your face is right in front of his.

“I’ve thought about you everyday since then.” The words come out of your mouth in a soft whisper. “Even when she passed away a few months later.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes closing and head titling forward so that your foreheads press against each other. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, stroking his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry—you were right. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I—I’m sorry, I just—”

Something about the way Minghao says the word sorry not from his throat, but from his stomach, has your mind twisting in ways that you can’t comprehend. The sound is so guttural and heart-wrenching, and this time you want to cry because he’s got nothing to be sorry for. Not a thing.

And so you kiss him.

You kiss Minghao because he is no longer a stranger. Because he is crying for you and you might as well cry for him. Cry for him, but you have done enough crying to last you a lifetime and so you kiss him instead, because they speak the same words: I love you.

And his lips are soft, his tongue warm, his hand ghosting over your arm is gentle, and you can hear it. You hear it in the way he moves against you—he understands and you want to cry again because he’s always understood, and so you don’t cry but only kiss him deeper.

“I made you something,” he admits. “It’s in the car.”

You’re thankful you sent your two coworkers out when you did, sparring all four of you the awkwardness when you and Minghao slip out of Room C and out the clinic towards the parking lot and to his car.

He pulls a blanket out from the passenger seat. It’s hardly big enough to cover your lower half but it’s bright and blue and warm, and somehow you feel your eyes well up with tears that you can’t seem to stop this time.

“Did you—did you make this?” you choke out as Minghao stands in front of you, handing the cloth over as you run your palms over the loose threads and yarn that poke through.

“Crocheted it myself,” he tells you, standing from a couple inches above, as you marvel over his work. Minghao thinks he’s done a poor job—you could probably do better—but you clutch the blanket with such vigor that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you. “You’ve helped me so much,” he says instead.

“Fuck,” you mutter over harsh breaths. “Y-you made this.”

“You taught me,” he corrects, and that’s when the dam breaks.

And this time Minghao hugs you, and you can tell he’s being careful about his neck and in all your frenzy you almost want to push him away and say, “Don’t move so much!” but then his arms fold in on you like a blanket of their own and you crumble.

You crumble into happiness because through everything you’ve ever been through, Minghao still holds you tighter than one holds onto life itself.

“I don’t think I can come here on Sunday next week,” you tell your boyfriend as you peer down at your phone. You’re leaning over his kitchen counter going between looking at some emails and glancing at the screen.

Minghao groans, and you bite back a smile. “Are you serious? Why?”

“Yes I’m serious,” you huff, rolling your eyes playfully. “My brother’s visiting town for a bit.”

“And I can’t meet him, why?” Minghao asks with a raised brow.

You laugh. “Good point. I haven’t told him I’m dating yet though. Might be too big of a ball drop if I tell him I have a boyfriend right away. A boyfriend who’s SECTOR’s best racer, might I add,” you say, pouring yourself a glass of water from the fridge before joining Minghao on the couch.

“It would be a good surprise though, right?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah yeah, whatever floats your boat,” you shoot sarcastically. “But seriously. I’ll see if I can get you two to meet, but I really can’t see you on Sunday. I have to pick Beomgyu up from the airport.”

“Got it,” Minghao agrees, shuffling closer to you as you both focus on the TV. A live interview with Kim Mingyu plays on the screen, the young man talking about his recent rise in recognition. You two sit in silence for a couple of minutes before Minghao speaks up.

“I fucking hate not being able to do anything,” he groans, shifting onto your shoulder slightly. His condition’s gotten exponentially better in past couple of weeks, but you instructed for him to wait at least two more weeks before fully getting back to training.

He’s been restless ever since, you’ve started to notice. “Do I really need to wait?” he mutters, lips close to your ear as you cuddle into his embrace.

You pull back slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yes! I told you—it’s a part of the process.”

“Fuck the process, I wanna drive again!”

“Too bad I guess,” you say with a shrug, turning your attention to the TV. The channel moves on from the interview to talk about some updates, and eventually somewhere in the mix, Minghao’s name comes up, and you hear the man next to you curse under his breath.

Chewing on your tongue, you debate for a few moments on what to do before reaching for the remote to shut the TV off.

“Hey! I was watching th—”

“Do you ever stop complaining?” you huff, stepping out of his embrace much to Minghao’s dismay. “Stop moving,” you order him, sliding down onto your knees in front of his legs.

“What are you do—oh.” You hear the words dry on his tongue when you nudge your body between his thighs, inching closer to his groin.

“You’re so restless,” you hum, trailing your fingers from his knees, over his thighs, and finally let the ghost over the growing tent under his sweatpants. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” you suggest, toying with the elastic waistband of his pants and boxers.

“O-okay,” Minghao agrees, and you grin at the way you see his cheeks flush pink when you inch the fabric off of his pants. His cock springs out, hardening under your gaze as it slaps against his lower adobe that’s still covered by his shirt.

You think for a moment to help Minghao out of his shirt too, but with the pretty pearl of precum dribbling off his slit, veins pressing up all against the length of his cock—all of him aching just for you—you start to feel your mouth water, forgetting about anything that isn’t having Minghao’s cock in your mouth.

“Careful with the right arm, ‘kay?” you tell him, a sly smirk tugging at your lips when you bring them down, dragging them over the base of his length all the way up to the glossy tip where you place a wet kiss.

“Y-yeah—fuck baby,” Minghao grunts when you envelope your lips around his throbbing tip, tongue swirling over the slit at the top as you do so. His left arm makes its way into your hair, fingers digging into your scalp when you pull back to take a deep breath.

Saliva drips down the corner of your lips, and as you look up at Minghao with wide, glossy eyes, he thinks he might bust in on the spot. “Go on baby,” he murmurs, using his firm grip on your head to nudge your lips closer to his pink tip. “Put it in …” he instructs, and when you grin and open your lips wide once more, Minghao knows he’s too far gone to be saved.

“You’re so hard Hao,” you whisper against him, tongue tracing constellations over the base of his cock when you reach to cup his balls, massaging them under your palms.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” Minghao moans, and the sound is so guttural it has your own pussy clenching around nothing. Your skin burns when you take him into your mouth again, cock sliding further down your mouth than before.

He’s so thick, and you feel every last curve of his cock, every last vein, against your cheeks, pressing against your tongue—Minghao is all you can taste, and you might go drunk on the sensation alone.

And he isn’t faring quite well above you either—his hand in your hair has got a firm hold but if anything, Minghao is losing touch with reality. Your mouth is so soft and so warm, your tongue so meticulous with the way it’s swirling around his tip when you slip off his cock before pushing your mouth back down on him—he’s going fucking crazy.

“Baby—oh baby,” the words rumble at the base of his chest, egging you on. With every bob of your head, you start to take him down further until his fat tip is battering against the back of your throat and yeah, it’s got tears pricking at the corners of your eyes but he’s moaning and grunting and squirming all for you and you just can’t seem to fucking stop.

“Shit, shit, shit—baby, ‘m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he warns when you deep throat all of him, your nose nearly pressing against his pelvis as you press your eyes tight and revel in the sound of his moans, the feeling of his hands in your hair.

You take his slice of warning as a token of advice, pulling back for only a breath before attempting to do the same thing again, shoving his cock into your mouth and down your throat, rubbing whatever you can’t with your palms as wetness smears all over your lips and cheeks.

“Oh—fuck, I’m—”

When Minghao cums, it’s with his chest singing your name. Breathy moans—calls for you—as you suck him through the high, hot white painting the inside of your cheeks and tongue. You pant heavily when you finally pull yourself off of him, swallowing all that is left of him in your mouth, and then he looks at you with flushed cheeks and you both grin.

And when you climb up, Minghao hugs you. He hugs you like a blanket—like the blanket he made you, the blanket you taught him to make—and you two bask in this moment because Minghao is no longer stranger, but he is here and he is in your arms and you are in is, and there isn’t any other place you’d rather be.

a/n: mika ramble time! whatever demonic sickness has been haunting me for the past 5 days will NOT get the best of me. i have been aching to get this fic out since like september and it was initially supposed to be posted on hubbie's bday but :/ unfortunately i was a bit late bc life gets in the way ;c overall i'm really happy w it! personally, i think this is among the most emotional fics i've written, and i am extremely proud of myself for some parts of this so !! yea !! if u enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it, pls feel free to leave comments / reblogs >_< they mean the world to me ^^

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #svt angst #minghao smut #minghao x reader #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao smut #xu minghao fanfic #xu minghao angst #minghao angst #the8 x reader #the8 angst #📝 writing #flight of the stars

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foreingersgod · 5 months

Note

Could you write something for Caitlin? Maybe the reader is dating Caitlin and on the Iowa basketball team with her and she gets injured from a technical foul?

of course you can! thanks for the request!

Twisted Ankle . CC

paring: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis:

༶•┈┈��♡୧┈┈•༶

you guys were down by 1 against lsu, the pressure was on and all of you were feeling it. the stadium was buzzing with anticipation as you and the team prepared for the final seconds in the game. while everyone was setting a tight strategy for the remainder of the game, hoping it would clinch another win for iowa, you noticed caitlin across from you. she was in her head again, biting her lip and trying not to get too frustrated.

“Y/L/N, we’re going to seriously need you right here” kate pulled you aside for the remainder of the timeout “you’ve got to get in there, ok?”

you nodded your head, taking a swig of water and wiping the sweat from your brow “you got it”

shortly after, the whistle was blown, signaling it was time to start the clock. you all took your positions, waiting for the game to commence. caitlin stood vigilant, trying to find one of you who was open. you quickly passed by your opponents, trying to get open for her.

almost instantly, she spotted you, attempting a pass in your direction. you went to jump in the air, arms up and ready to catch the ball, but before you get your feet off the ground, a player had collided with you.

you went down, smacking your head hard against the court floor, ankles twisting as your opponent interfered with your landing. it all happened so fast, the pain from your head and ankles shooting through your your body. you felt like the air was knocked straight out of your lungs. your vision was starting to go blurry and your ears were starting to ring.

upon your fall, the whistle was blown and the crowd went silent, eventually noticing you weren’t getting up and gasping with worry. despite your fading vision and lack of hearing, though, you could make out several people surrounding you, trying to tend to your injuries, calling for assistance. some you could tell were medics, others probably from your team, and most definitely caitlin. she was the first one at your side, you assumed, feeling her familiar hands on your face, trying to get you to open your eyes.

“hey, baby, baby you gotta get up” she whispered, voice wavering. from your lack of reply she hollered “hey we need someone over here now!”

you could feel yourself being rolled onto a some sort of stretcher or gurney and being carried into the rehabilitation room (idk lol sorry if this is all inaccurate). figures of people whooshed by you, lights rushing over your head as you were sped down the hall. you could hear the announcers of the game behind you, the game was going to continue without you there.

as you were being tended to, still rushing to get you to a private area to properly take care of you, you felt your remaining vision faltering even more. it was too hard to keep your eyes open anymore, no matter many times the medics tried to keep you awake. eventually, your vision went completely dark.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

“is she going to be ok?” caitlin asked a nearby medic as they gently placed you onto the stretcher, trying to get as close to you as possible.

“we don’t know what happened other than that she got plowed down pretty good” the medic said hesitantly “it was a pretty nasty blow, but i’ve seen stuff like this before, i’d bet she’s gonna be ok”

she nodded, swallowing her nerves, trying to relax her body. others on both teams gathered around her to try and reassure her that everything was going to be ok. the poor girl that knocked you down was genuinely upset, claiming that she didn’t intend to hit you that hard at all. but caitlin ignored what everyone was saying, trying to not get riled up and focus.

“we’ve gotta finish this, caitlin” kate appeared at her side “i know you want to get back there with her, but there’s just seconds left, you can do this.”

caitlin said nothing, obtaining her position, ready to run out the clock. she was upset that you couldn’t be here, worried that they wouldn’t be able to do this without you. but she powered through, passing the ball to hannah for a beautiful lay up, finalizing another iowa win.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

“is she awake? can i see her?” caitlin asked a crew member, requesting to see you the second game was over.

“you should be able to go in, but she’s really sensitive to everything right now so…just be gentle with her” she was already bursting through the doors, anxiety racking her body.

she saw you, laying on a cot, head elevated and an ice pack sat neatly on top of your head. you had your eyes squinted shut from the brightness of the fluorescent lights. your left leg was extended, also perched on a pillow, wrapped in layers of gauze.

her heart shattered, seeing you laying there, clearly in pain. she walked over, causing to open your eyes, snapping in her direction.

“hey superstar! you guys did it!” you gave her a toothy grin, trying to sit up.

cait sat down on a stool next to you, taking your hands in hers, kissing the backs of them “no, WE did it, couldn’t have done it without you” she smiled back. “you had me going crazy out there baby, thought i was gonna die”

you tried to lighten the mood with a laugh “eh, i’m fine, just a headache and a sore foot”

“headache? sore foot? YN you smacked your head on the court and twisted your ankle” she ran her hands soothingly up and down your arms.

“ok yea, but i swear i’m fine, please don’t worry about me too much, ok? please?”

“well you made it incredibly difficult to not worry when you went unconscious out there” she retorted “i’m just glad you’re ok, i don’t know what i would’ve done if it were any worse”

“i know, im sorry” you smiled sadly

“don’t be, it’s not your fault” she leaned over, kissing you softly “but you’re going to need a lot of rest and a super awesome girlfriend to take care of you for the next little while”

“oh! know where i can find one?” you teased, playfully nudging her shoulder.

she pretended to scoff in annoyance “ok, i see how it is!” she fake-stormed off, pushing off the stool.

“no wait!” you laughed, pretending to pout in return “come back! you, i meant you, please don’t go!”

she stopped, sauntering back over to you “wouldn’t dream of it” she brushed stray hairs away from your face, smoothing her thumb against the skin of you cheek. “i’ll go grab the team so they can come in and check on you…but after that we’re heading straight home and getting you into a nice bath alright?”

“you trying to get me naked, clark?” you batted your eyelashes.

“for once, i’m actually not” she placed another kiss to your forehead “tonight i just want you to relax, hm?”

“yes m’am” you hummed “i don’t know what i’d do with out you, really. thanks for taking care of me, baby”

“always” she replied.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: short little request, enjoy!!

#caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark oneshot

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sevcasejay1chicago · 10 months

Text

Im with you- Matt Casey

Summary: When an ovarian cyst ruptures on the job, Matt and Firehouse 51 take care of you.

Warnings: vomiting, cursing, probably inaccurate medical stuff even though I do have PCOS and get ovarian cysts.

Authors note: You asked and I’m delivering. Here’s a fic I wrote a while back. I hope you enjoy!

——————————

You and Matt have been together for a couple years. You have been best friends since you both joined 51, straight from academy. You and Matt shared everything. Your feelings, thoughts, personal issues, a bed. Everything was out in the open. Though Matt was your lieutenant, you never let it effect your job or your relationship. You said it was one of the perks of starting off in the house together. He saw you and your strength. He knew you could take his spot any day, but you were content with just being part of the company.

You started feeling some major discomfort on a call. You were doing a sweep with Severide when you kicked open a door, causing the fire to blow back, sending you and Kelly flying through the air.

“Y/N!” You were sure you heard Kelly scream your name, but your ears rung as you laid against the wall. Kelly quickly shut the door and made his way toward you. “Look at me! Say something!” He yelled, grabbing you by your jacket and making you face him.

You were a little further toward the middle of the door than Kelly, which kept him from flying far. You just went through the air hitting the wall HARD. You were disoriented and had some major ringing in your ears.

When you couldn’t focus on him, Kelly called a mayday of sorts through the radio. “Emergency! Emergency! Fire fighter down. I need a medic to meet me out front.” Kelly yelled, not wasting another second before he pulled me up and into his arms. “I’ve gotcha. Your okay.”

“Who?” Chief Boden asked.

“Y/L/N.” Kelly said just before he broke into a sprint when he saw the exit.

Outside, Dawson and Brett were waiting with a stretcher. As soon as Kelly put you down, Dawson was ripping the mask off your face. The light assaulted your eyes, but the fresh air was like a kick in the butt, which was exactly what you needed.

“I’m fine.” You murmured, attempting to push yourself up.

“Y/N.” Dawson said, pushing you back down with a shake of her head. “You were unresponsive for almost two minutes. I need to check you out.”

I shook my head, regretting it as soon as I did it. I laid back, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I said I’m fine Dawson.” I growled out. Finding the strength to sit up, I swung my legs over the edge of the gurney and tried to stand. My legs failed me as I collapsed into Kelly with a pained gasp.

“Fine my ass Y/L/N.” Kelly said, picking you up and putting you back on the stretcher.

“What hurts hunny?” Brett hummed, allowing Kelly to rip your jacket off as Dawson ran to help a civilian.

“My right side. Like all of a sudden.” You gritted out, swatting Kelly’s hand away as he palpitated the area. “Ow Sev.”

“Sorry.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s not too hard like internal bleeding.” He informed Brett. “I’m going to go update Casey. He looks ready to abandon the company to come check on you. You ladies talk.” Kelly said, leaning over to place a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be back.”

Once Kelly walked off, you snuck a glance in Casey’s direction. He was talking to the crew, giving orders, but his eyes stayed trained on you.

“When did this start? I don’t see any bruising or signs of a contusion.” Brett murmured, moving back to let the sunlight hit that area.

“I mean, it’s been a dull pain for a while now, but this is the first time it’s been bad enough to effect me.” I said, leaning my head back and breathing deeply. “I have an appointment set with my gyno tomorrow. I’m fine, really. Just extra sore.” I tried to reason, but I was fighting to keep back a sudden wave of nausea. “It’s uh.” I swallowed thickly before continuing. “It’s a normal woman thing I think. Matt knows. Just give me an anti-inflammatory and zofran and I’m good.”

“Zofran?” Brett asked, stopping as she was pushing me to the ambo, which I suddenly realized meant that Kelly was back and helping.

“Yeah. Kinda nauseous.” I said, shaking my head. Kelly hummed and placed a hand on my thigh.

Brett did a thorough head trauma exam before giving me the all clear once she was sure that I didn’t have a concussion. Kelly spent the entire time texting while I was being treated. He was listening and keeping Matt up to date as I waiting to be discharged from the rig.

“Casey said to ride back with Ambo and go straight to his office when we return.” Kelly said, leaning up to place another kiss on my forehead, jumping out of the rig before I could protest. He hit the doors and Dawson, whom I never noticed jumped back into the rig, drove back to the house.

“Well, looks like I’m off the rest of this shift.” I sighed, leaning back and trying to relax as Brett dimmed the lights to the rig.

“Might not be such a bad thing. He’s just looking out for you.” Brett said, sitting on the bench and buckling me around the waist to the stretcher before buckling herself in and propping her feet up to use as a makeshift desk. “Get some rest. We got 20 minutes till we get back.”

I gave her a confused look. “We shouldn’t be that far out.” I mumbled.

“Dawson has to pick up lunch.” Brett replied. “Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

——————————TimeSkip————————-

I woke up to someone softly pushing the hair away from my face.

“Hey Hunny. Come rest in my office.” Matt whispered, trying his best to coax me awake.

“I don’t feel good.” I whispered, leaning my head forward and into his hand.

“I know.” Matt soothed. “I’ll carry you.”

Matt unlocked my seatbelt and gently lifted me into his arms. Doors were opened for us as we made our way through the house. The common area went quiet as we passed through, shuffling could be heard as doors were opened until Matt got to his office.

“Hey Matt.” Kelly whispered, stepping in and closing the door. “Brett gave me these. How’s she doing?”

Kelly shook a sick bag out and put it on the side table and then stashed the rest on the desk. Matt laid me down slowly, pulling the covers over me gently and turning me onto my side into the recovery position. I kept my eyes closed, wondering why Brett never gave me the Zofran, making me focus on not throwing up.

“Doesn’t feel well.” Matt said, sitting next to me and pushing my hair back again. “Baby. Kelly has a sick bag here if you need it. I gotta talk to Boden and fill him in. I’ll be right back.” He said, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Can you stay with her a minute?” Matt asked Kelly.

“Anything for you guys. You know that.” Kelly said, standing and switching spots with Matt. The door closed softly as Kelly sat next to me. He placed a hand on my back and rubbed soothingly. “Let’s be real. Need to go to med?” Kelly asked, knowing I wouldn’t fess up to Matt unless it was dire.

“No.” I gritted out, frustrated by the whole situation. The pain was subsiding, but the nausea was ramping. “It’s a girl thing.” I simplified.

“Your sure?” Kelly asked, leaning forward and grabbing the sick bag as he saw me pale.

“Mhmm.” I said, not daring to move.

We sat there in silence. I was trying to steady my breathing as Kelly continued to rub my back. He was at a loss. He knew I hated being sick, as he has dealt with a sick me before, but he knew it was gonna happen.

“Sit up. I know it’s gonna happen.” Kelly said, moving to stand and help gently guide me into a sitting position. “Hold this. I’m gonna call Matt.” He instructed, placing the bag in my hand. Kelly went to the door and opened it, yelling for Matt. He knew not to leave me.

The nausea was winning and I began to freak out as Kelly called out again. “Kel- hurlk” I tried to warn him, but got cut off with an unproductive heave.

The door slammed shut as Kelly raced toward me. “Fuck.” He muttered, helping me hold the bag under my chin. With his other hand, he used his radio to call for Matt. “Case. You’re needed in your office. Now.” He said into the radio. A quick “copy” from Matt was all that was heard before I started retching harshly. “Shhhhhhh. Breathe.” Kelly murmured. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“What’s going on?” Matt exclaimed, running and sliding to a stop in front of me. “Baby? It’s okay. I’m here.” He soothed , taking my hand and pushing my hair back. “Dawson’s gonna check your vitals, okay?”

I nodded as I finally started throwing up all the breakfast that I forced down. Kelly kept holding the bag and rubbing my back, Matt held my hand and kept my hair out of the splash zone, and Dawson went about checking my vitals.

“Pulse is fast. Oxygen is mid 90s. Pressure is slightly low, but not worrisome.” She said. “Any other symptoms?” Gabbi asked Matt.

“Ovarian cysts. Think one ruptured on that call.” Matt muttered. “Never seen her this bad before.”

“Does it hurt, Y/N?” Gabbi asked. “Just squeeze once for no and twice for yes.” Gabbi took my hand and felt me squeeze once. “Good. No pain.”

“What does that mean?” Kelly asked, noting how much I was vomiting and the sweat building up on the back of my neck.

“So, sometimes a cyst can rupture and be infected. This is her body getting rid of it, which is probably why Brett didn’t give her anything for the nausea.” Gabbi explained, writing some stuff down. “If she starts running a fever, tell us and we will take her straight to Med. I’d suggest camping out here for a few hours to make sure she doesn’t spike one. Then you can go home and get her rested.” Gabbi said, patting Matt on the shoulder and walking out.

“Breathe sweetheart. Your gonna need to switch bags in a second if you need to.” Matt said, trying to see my face better. He reached over and grabbed a new one, making a quick switch with Kelly and holding the new bag under my chin as Kelly disposed of the old one.

Talking could be heard as he opened the door. Gabbi and Boden’s voices floating in.

Suddenly, a cool cloth was placed on the back of my neck. “Herrmann got you a rag Y/N.” Kelly said, resuming his post of rubbing my back. “Chief has Herrmann taking lead on truck for the remainder of shift and offered to let me hang around to help unless Squad is needed.”

“Thanks Kel.” Matt said, patting his friend on the knee. “You done baby?” Matt asked, noticing the few coughs I was letting out, but also the lack of vomit.

“Yeah.” I breathed, leaning forward and resting my head on Matt’s shoulder. “It’s awful.” I moaned, resting my forehead into the crook of his neck.

“I know.” Matt whispered, reaching up and wiping my face with the rag from my neck. “Wanna brush your teeth and shower before taking a nap?”

I nodded and tried to stand when Matt helped me up, but swayed dangerously as I suddenly became lightheaded.

“Woah.” Kelly said, bracing me from behind. “You okay?” He asked, keeping me steady with hands around my waist.

“Yeah.” I breathed. “Just lightheaded s’all.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head onto Matt’s shoulder again.

“I gotcha.” Matt said, picking me up and taking me toward the bathroom. “Can you grab her go bag Sev?” Matt called over his shoulder.

“On it.” Kelly replied, jogging toward the locker room.

Matt wasted no time in getting me to the bathroom. He sat me down on the counter and pulled my head back into his neck.

Herrmann came into the bathroom with a sprite in his hand. “Cindy used to have this problem. This outta help.” He said, placing the can on the other side of the sink. “I’ve got Mills running to get some popsicles too.”

“Thanks Chris.” Matt said. “You’re a good man.”

“Anything for her.” He said, rubbing my arm. “It’s gonna be okay. You just get to feeling better.” He then patted Matt on the shoulder. “Take care of my girl.”

“Always.” Matt said, turning and placing a kiss to my head as Herrmann walked out and Kelly walked in.

“Got your CFD hoodie.” Kelly said to Matt, “I got everything else out of her locker though. Toiletries and her clothes. Also grabbed your stuff too Case.” He said, putting everything on the counter. “Need anything else?”

“Nah.” Matt said, shaking his head as he looked around. “Just set some towels in here. I’m gonna shower with her. I don’t trust her balance.” He said, rubbing my back.

“Good man.” Kelly said, patting Matt on the back. “Holler if you need anything else.”

“Thanks Sev.” Matt said, watching the Squad lieutenant leave. Finally, he turned to face me. “Ready to get cleaned up?” He asked gently, pulling away to see my face.

“Then nap?” I murmured, pouting at my boyfriend.

“Nap and cuddles.” Matt confirmed, nodding his head.

With that confirmation, I was satisfied and found the strength to get cleaned up. After brushing my teeth and gargling twice, Matt helped me off the counter and to the showers. He sat me on the bench before striping and going in to turn on the water. With quick persuasion, Matt was able to talk me into the shower. He made promises to keep me steady and to sit me down if I needed it, seeing as Mills just finished scrubbing the showers.

Once under the water, which was a little cooler than I usually liked it, Matt kept a secure hold on my waist, leaned down and kissed my head, then adjusted me so that my back was getting the brunt of the shower.

“Mmmm.” I moaned, practically melting in Matt’s hold. “S’ nice.” I mumbled into Matt’s chest, pressing my forehead into it.

“I know baby.” Matt said. “We can stand here for a moment, but we need to get cleaned up and get you resting.” He said, reaching around me and engulfing me in a hug. “You just relax.” He whispered.

“Mkay.” I sighed, losing any fight I could have left.

When Matt noticed me getting heavier, he made quick work of washing my hair and body before calling Kelly.

Matt only trusted you with very few men, one of which was Kelly Severide. You all had made a quick bond when in the academy and Kelly picked you up off the floor more times than you could count, but that was before Matt. Matt didn’t like overstepping, but Kelly had no problems helping you out in a bind and was there for you in more ways at the beginning than Matt, but you knew it had to do with Haily and not because Matt didn’t like you, so you never let it affect your relationship now. Kelly knew his boundaries, even now, and was the one person you trust other than Matt.

Kelly walked into the bathroom and scooped you up in a towel. Once Kelly had the towel firmly secure, he took your microfiber head wrap towel and wrapped your hair up in it. Then, he helped guide you into Matt’s CFD hoodie and stayed with you leaning into his shoulder until Matt came out of the showers.

“Thanks Kelly.” Matt said. “One more favor.” Matt said, cringing slightly into himself. He hated asking for help, but you were pretty out of it at this point. “Mind getting more bags from Brett and Y/N’s fan from her bunk and taking it to my office?” He asked, pulling on his underwear and pants before trading with Kelly.

“Hey man.” Kelly said, taking Matt by the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. You guys are family. I’ve already got it all taken care of.” He smirked.

“You’re a life saver.” Matt said, turning and hugging Kelly once he was sure you wouldn’t fall over.

“I get that a lot.” Kelly laughed, the sound echoing behind the man as he walked to the door and exited the bathroom.

Matt helped me into some pants and left our stuff, claiming he’d get it all later, but knowing that someone else was probably waiting to come in behind you both and get everything situated. Once in his office, Matt laid me down near the edge of the bed, closed the blinds, and turned off the lights. He left the blinds connected to Kelly’s office window cracked enough to give him some light to see you, but also give Kelly a way to see if you and Matt needed help.

Once the fan was turned on and he was sure the radio was turned off and I didn’t need anything else, Matt crawled into the bed behind me, spooning me with an arm around my waist. He carefully rubbed my stomach and placed little kisses on the back of my neck.

“Get some rest baby.” Matt whispered, peppering my shoulder with kisses before leaning up and kissing my cheek. “I’m with you. We will get through this.”

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

@daggersquadphantom

@mattangel11

@stellakiddsblog

@100yroldteenagers

@senjoritanana

#one chicago #one chicago x reader #matt casey #kelly severide #matt casey x reader #comfort #kelly severide x reader #fluff #pcos #tw emeto #tw emetophobia #emetophobia

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diejager · 6 months

Note

Hello! I hope you’re doing well!! I was wondering if I can request more of percht König! If not that is totally okay!! Thank you ^^

Cw: blood, gore, injurie, inaccurate medic stuff, violent shift, tell me if I missed any.

He couldn’t remember much, after a rough and impromptu shift, his bone cracking and spine reshaping, snapping back together after his fat and muscle stretched along his back, his body rippling and shuddering, howls ripping through the stormy sky. Urgent shifts had always been painful, his body hastily and roughly shaping into the beast he was born as, leaving the ground beneath him bloody and his limbs shaking and throbbing with agony. His mind was a blur in the moment after it, every shape muddled, smell enhanced, his hearing filled with the loud beat of his heart, gurgling screams and booming shots, and his mind blurry.

The last thing he remembered seeing was the insurmountable number of enemy, a trap they’d fallen into and left surrounded and caged, only knowing that he and Ghost had fallen into a stupid trap. Like a fly stuck in a majestic spider’s web, the intricately woven lines spun and interlaced to build the trap, unsuspecting and invisible until they flew into it; buzzing and squirming against the sticky web while the spider, big and dangerous in it’s beauty slowly crawled over, long and delicate legs threatening to stab the fly. They had stupidly fallen for an embellished trap by their backstabbing ally.

And when he woke up, laying in the biggest bed in the infirmary, the thick taste of iron lingered on his tongue, the disgusting flavour of rotten human skin and fat, the muscle fibres breaking so easily under his sharp teeth and eyes heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion. He was glad the lights were dimmed, the air sterile but gentle on his sensitive nose and the sheets soft around his rough and scarred skin. He layed naked, body tense under the blanket in his private corner of the infirmary, a thick, grey curtain hiding him from wandering eyes or other patients.

He relaxed when he saw you poke your head between the wall and curtain, a mask hooked under your chin to flash him a gentle smile, slowly approaching his bedside without spooking his frantic and confused mind. He tried to smile back, but his balaclava would barely show it with how subtle the curl of his lips was, his tired eyes fleeting over the heavy bags under your eyes and the worried air that oozed off your shoulders as you sat on the chair beside his bed, a clipboard placed on your lap.

“How do you feel, König?” He loved how soft your voice was, the quiet rasp of it to not worsen his pulsing headache, but he caught the worn tone. You probably stayed up the whole night, stuck by his bedside and leaving only to shower and get another cup of coffee.

“Tired,” he sighed, closing his eyes and slumping into the comfortable mattress and sinking deeper into his assigned bed, “Everything hurts.”

He heard you nod, scratching something on your clipboard, probably writing down his symptoms and noting down what you’d plan to give him for his pains.

“Headache?”

”Ja.”

The pen scratched again.

“Muscle pain and exhaustion.”

“Ja.”

You already knew that, he hadn’t heard you write anything, only the subtle sound of a page flipping.

“Do you want coffee or lunch before I give you painkillers?”

“Coffee.”

You placed the clipboard down, your boots quietly thudding against the slick floor and the click of a door letting him know you left his side. He appreciated your care, your tender affection to provide for him when he felt sickly or worn out.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #monster 141 #monster 141 au #monster cod au #könig x reader #konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig #könig x you #könig call of duty #monster!konig #monster!könig

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adventuringblind · 10 months

Text

Admitted

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Genre: angst

Summary: Reader has a breakdown and has to be addmited

Warnings: Self-harm, reader is admitted, probably inaccurate

Notes: Please bear in mind that I'm not schizophrenic. I've hallucinated because of medication, which was diagnosed as 'schizophrenic like', so that's what I'm going off of, as well as some extensive research.

Masterlist

Everyone seems to be interested in Daniel's love life. Something he really likes talking about - until they are just digging for gossip. The one thing Daniel won't let them pry into is the private life of his fiancé.

He himself is open, but he's also protective. Specifically of her and what she has to go through on a daily basis. It's not anyone else's business.

He knew she'd been struggling. Her medication was doing a number on her mentality. She's hates the side affects and it's a struggle everyday to get her to take it.

He should've known not to leave her alone for the weekend. He arrived at the paddock on Thursday and left on Sunday after his job was done. Getting home late at night is never ideal, but at least he's here.

He sets his stuff down quietly and slips into the bedroom. Daniel expected to he greeted by his sleeping fiancé. Instead, he finds her staring at the wall. A knife pressed against an already bleeding wrist and mumbling to herself.

He knows not to panic. Panicking will startle her. Daniel makes a conscious effort to step softly and announce his presence while crouching on the floor by her.

"Hey baby, can you talk to me? Tell me what's going on."

The fact her eyes are glassy and she's not looking at him is highly concerning. Her eyes flicker to different points in the room. "They won't be quiet."

"Yeah? Did you try to make them be quiet?"

She nods her head slowly. Tears slip down her cheeks as she finally looks to her wrist then to him. Her breathing picks up to a startling pace.

"No Danny - I'm sorry - please don't."

And god does it hurt him. But he knows it'll get worse if he doesn't get her help. She knows this too.

He hates leaving her, but it's so late they won't let him stay. He takes to sleeping in the car and calling anybody he trusts who will pick up the phone.

He's back in the hospital as soon as he can be. Daniel hates the psych ward. He knows it's probably the worst place to he considering, so he stays as much as they'll let him.

He can see the dark circles forming under her eyes. She's struggling to eat. It's absolutely gutting and he wants to take her home as soon as possible.

Finally, after a few days, she is allowed to go home. Exhausted and in need of a decent meal, but her medication is back on track.

He's going to start taking her to all the races at this point. Who cares what people think? He loves and wants her to be safe. Wants her to not feel like she's isolated and an alien on her own planet.

She's funny and kind and he loves her smile with every ounce if his being. She's extremely talented despite everything going on in her head.

So he'll love her and calm her thoughts because she means so much to him.

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yesitsmewhataboutit · 9 months

Text

Bloodlust

Vampire!Shoto Todoroki x Reader

➤ You’re leaving for a week. You and Shoto come up with a plan on how he’ll survive while you’re gone, but things don’t always go as planned

»»——⍟——««A/n: ngl yall, this sat in my drafts finished for MONTHS 😭I apologize. But uhh…. This will prolly be my last vampire au writing😅

Warning⚠️: blood, needles, medical stuff (I’m aware I’m not a doctor idc if it’s inaccurate), cliffhanger ending depending on how well you know me

Masterlist

̶̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶Requests open　»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶

Clothes, toiletries, shoes, snacks, and your carry-on. Yup, you're all packed. Only one last thing to do before you left for your flight.

Today, you're leaving for a week long trip for your job. You're leaving, and Todoroki's staying. As much as he would love to come with you, he has things to care of while you're gone. You're all packed, ready to head out the door, except for the last -most important- thing you have to do before you leave.

You leave your bags at the front door, opting to search for the boy in question. You find him sitting at the edge of your bed, scrolling through his laptop. "Sho, I'm ready to go, wanna start?"

He looks up, smiling at you and setting his laptop to the side, meeting you at the bedroom door in a few quick strides. "Yeah," he leans down giving you a quick kiss on the lips, "go ahead to the living room, I'll get the supplies."

You follow his instructions, sitting down and making yourself comfortable as you wait for him to get the items needed to draw your blood. Usually, Shoto feeds from you, but since he can't go with you, plus you're going to be gone for a week, you made the decision on him drawing blood from you to keep him fed while you're gone.

He comes into the living room, sets everything down on the table, and turns to you. He offers you his hand, a sign to give him your arm. When you do, he pauses. "You should probably lie down." You do, keeping your arm outstretched to him and relaxing on the couch. "Let me know if it hurts too much."

He goes the full nine yards, wrapping a tie around your arm, rubbing his finger over the spot he picked to make sure the blood is pumping. He does it all. He gives you one last look, needle in hand, before sticking you with it, watching your blood filter from your body, into the bag next to you.

"You sure that'll be enough?" you ask, noticing he only has two blood bags.

"Yes, Love. I'll need to pace myself while your gone," he says gently, bringing his hand up to rest on your cheek.

You smile, turning your head a bit to look at him. "I wish you were coming."

"I wish I was coming too. but it's ok, you'll be back in no time," he laughs slightly, "and I'll again get to drink from the sweet source." He leans over, playfully nudging his nose again your cheek, making you squirm and laugh for a moment before lays his hand on your stomach. "Don't move too much."

His tone says he doesn't want to waste any blood that might drip, but his eyes say he just doesn't want to accidentally hurt you, needle being in your arm and all, so you settle smiling at him and waiting to be done.

"Ok, one more, almost done," he says, pressing his thumb to stop the flow, changing the bag and securing it before hooking up a new one and letting it start filling again. "You're doing so well. Thank you for this." Shoto settles his hand into yours, rubbing his thumb in circles on your skin.

"Of course, anything for you, Sho. Just don't get caught with blood bags in the fridge and medical supplies in the bathroom while I'm gone," you joke, earning and laugh from him.

About halfway through the second bag, Shoto notices your eyes starting to flutter shut. You're fighting unconsciousness. Shoto scoots closer, his hand instinctively going to your shoulder. "Y/n? Hey, Love, do you need me to stop?" He barely waits for an answer before his hands are creeping down to unhook everything.

"No, no, I'm ok," you sigh weakly, "want- want you to finish."

Todoorki bites his lips, looking down at the three-quarters-filled bag. 'Ok, ok. Almost done, almost done, baby," he says quickly.

The second the bag is filled he wastes no time unhooking the needles and stopping everything, checking over your whole body, listening to heart rate, and letting you lay on the couch as he cleans everything. This is the first time you had done this, and everyone reacts to getting blood drawn differently, so it's not even a thought as Shoto offers to instead drive you to the airport, wanting you to rest in the car ride, of course, giving you and a small bowl of cereal and juice to eat before heading on the road.

"Thanks again. You know it means a lot," he says, pulling up to the airport drop-off area. You'd slept the whole ride, getting enough strength to make it through security, to the gate, and on your plane, where you'll probably sleep the whole ride.

"Of course, Sho. No regrets," you smile. "Be safe while I'm gone."

He laughs and frowns. "That's my line."

You smile. “Yeah, guess it is.” You lean to him, giving him one last kiss goodbye. “Love you.”

“Love you, too”

Your trip went well, and you're happy to be coming back. You missed Todoroki and your home. The first two days, things seemed fine, he'd text you and call when possible, keeping you updated, after though, things got quieter until it was just plain silence.

You chose not to let yourself worry, burying yourself in the work you had to do while you were gone and not thinking about it, knowing he's fine, he's strong, and he'll be home when you get back. Judging by the text you got from him before you boarded the flight home, you knew the last few days must have only been paranoia and circumstances:

See you soon, Y/n.

You pull up to your home and get out, getting your bags and walking to the front door. There's something running through your veins. Partially excitement to see Shoto again, but also something else. Fear? Dread? You weren't sure, but whatever it is, it still pushes you on as you unlock the door and open it.

If it wasn’t fear that you felt before, you definitely felt it now. The house was dark, only light coming through the blinds lit it enough for you to see. And it’s cold, any colder you’d be able to see your own breath. Things are scattered everywhere, almost like someone went into a fit of anger and started throwing things.

You leave your bags on the floor, forgotten about as you step forward, Shoto’s name on the tip of your tongue, but dying in your mouth before the first syllable even comes out, a flash and small burst of cold air going past you, and then you feel arms circle you from the side, pulling you into a cold body.

Your breath is caught in your throat as you feel Shoto’s breath on your neck. You try to speak, try to move, but he’s strong, keeping you pinned against him, even at the weird angle.

His hand grasps your neck, tightening around it and keeping you still as he leans in. You feel panic start to rise in your bloodstream. What could’ve happened? He said you left enough blood, everything should have been fine. But you know this, you know the signs, you caught a quick enough glimpse of Shoto’s blown pupils. The way his usual eye colors are gone, you feel his tight grip in every move he makes. The look on his face tells it all.

This is Shoto’s bloodlust.

He’s only been in bloodlust twice before around you, but both of those times it wasn’t necessarily geared toward hunger, but now, you’re not sure what’ll happen. But you still hold on to the thought that Todoroki knows you, he loves you, and he isn't going to kill you. He’d rather go through all his life again and have to redo every moment again before he drained you of all the blood you need to live. You trust him.

Todoroki squeezed his hand around your neck, making your pulse jump once again as he drags you to his mouth, also leaning down all at the same time and opening his mouth.

There’s no second thought, no hesitation or regard, only the pain of the bite. The feeling of his fangs digging into your skin, eager and draining your blood. It’s fast, so fast you can almost feel the blood rushes out of you, a big change compared to how he usually does it, slow and steady, letting you savor the tranquil feeling like you usually do.

You can feel his arms wrapped firmly around your body, and for a second, he pulls away, but only so he can turn you, making your chest flush against his as he digs his fangs into your skin again.

This time, it only lasts about ten seconds before you feel your vision to go. Your body feeling heavy, and suddenly so much more tired than seconds ago. Your eyes flutter shut, and your legs go out, consciousness slipping from your grasp.

Todoroki feels your body going limp, and he secures his arm around you, keeping you against him as he continues to feed. He carries you to the bedroom, his mouth still attached, and he lays you on the bed, his body fully over yours as your blood begins seeping from his mouth, and he continues to feed.

Shoto loves you, he protects you, you trust him. Shoto would never kill you.

Masterlist

#shoto todoroki #todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki angst #vampire todoroki #vampire shoto #shoto angst #todoroki x y/n #todoroki shoto scenarios #bnha todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader

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diagonal-queen · 11 months

Note

hello can i request dazai, kunikida, and fyodor with an insomniac s/o who's really tired after a busy day but can't seem to fall asleep no matter what and gets frustrated bc of it

"Can't sleep?"

♡ pairing: Dazai Osamu, Doppo Kunikida, Fyodor Dostoyevsky x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How do they help their S/O with insomnia get to sleep?

♡ cw: Reader is an insomniac (I genuinely don't know how that would manifest itself as a trigger but hey! I'm just one person in a sheltered world. Stay safe everyone <3), probably super inaccurate because I myself am not an insomniac and don't really know everything about it, Dazai horny, mentions of taking medication, mentions of alcohol, swearing

note: I feel like garbage cus my writing takes forever and I feel like I'm letting y'all down for taking so long with reqs, but I don't know what to do to fix itttttttt. Apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Dazai:

Well reader. You're lucky you cuffed yourself a night owl

He'll help you calm down from your frustration and tell you that it's fully normal. Everyone has trouble falling asleep, and you just haven't figured out an effective routine yet. He doesn't really know what he's talking about but if it makes you feel better then meh

His first suggestion would probably be sex, to tire you out. Even better if you go for multiple rounds just to be sure~

Yeah right Dazai, like anyone's gonna wanna fuck every single work night (besides him lmao). Safe to say, the idea is thrown out pretty quickly

He'll throw some similar ideas around (not necessarily sexual but certainly 'if they're tired out then they'll fall asleep faster') but those are all just temporary solutions, so he gives up quickly. What else did you expect from him?

He might also suggest drinking yourself to sleep since alcohol is a depressant and makes you tired. You have to remind him that excessive drinking is actually not good for you and should NOT be used as a substitute for sleep meds

He reckons that it's best for you two to let sleep overtake you naturally, and so you may as well just stay up for now.

From then on Dazai treats every single night like a sleepover. He'll wanna watch movies, eat snacks, and talk all night even if it's a work night and you absolutely shouldn't do that

If you want, he's happy to do something more chill like cuddling while sharing a pair of earphones playing mellow music

Whatever it is that the pair of you decide to do, he'll likely find that it helps him just as much, maybe even more, than it helps you. And he's grateful for that

Kunikida:

I feel like Kunikida also has at least mild insomnia, so he knows just how you feel and is right there to help you out

He's got it all ready. Fans/blankets to balance out the room's temperature, a warm drink (milk, tea, whatever you prefer), basically all the stuff Google would suggest

He would do all of that stuff alongside you even if he's already tired enough to fall asleep on his own because he understands the struggle. He doesn't give up until you're asleep and honestly get you a man who would also do that

He also discourages you from things like caffeine before bed or napping during the day to help you get more sleep at night

He'd make a whole new bedtime routine for the two of you and adjust it based on what works, it'd be like a whole thing that he takes super seriously

He'd suggest reading before bed and recommend/lend you books that he likes, and also read to you if you really pleaded for it. He really enjoys reading and he would be thrilled if the pair of you had a little thing you did together <3

If they don't give any side effects/react poorly with any meds you may already take then he would also give you some of his sleeping pills (because let's be real he's fully stocked with them. this man)

Kunikida would let you cuddle him in your sleep whether or not he likes it or it makes him sweat, because let's face it you need the sleep and he needs the physical touch. It's basically a win-win

He gives you permission to wake him up if you can't sleep and need his help, or if you want company in your waking time.

He honestly does whatever it takes to help you because he cares so much about you. Perfect man fr

Fyodor:

Bold of you to assume that Fyodor sleeps. Like ever. He's too busy being evil or something

When he learns that you're an insomniac he's fully willing to let you stay up late with him while he's working if you're in need of company. He doesn't care whether you're just on your phone or reading a book or whatever

If you ask him he'll also let you sit in his lap and cuddle him (as long as you don't bother him- if you do he's sending you right to bed)

Fyodor knows that calming music is a good way to help people sleep, so if you're down he'd be willing to play something mellow and soft on his cello for you

He probably wouldn't admit it but he kinda likes that you find it hard to get to sleep since it gives him an excuse to spend more time with you

But if you really do wanna get to bed then he'll have some tea made for you and he'll read to you. His voice is very relaxing and nice to fall asleep to and he kinda knows it (he's smug about it too because he's a bastard)

If you find that you actually sleep better in his presence then he's more than happy to move a couch into his office and let you sleep there.

He's also happy to forfeit (SOME) work so he can come to bed earlier and help you sleep. And he's also happy to cuddle you because you're warm

Fyodor will basically just help you get to sleep with methods that he uses to get himself to sleep because it's the only way he knows how. Even if it doesn't work please give him credit for trying because he really is trying super hard T-T

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco

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upsidedownmvnson · 6 months

Text

crash landed

A/N: i want to branch out on this blog and write for other fandoms too, so im dipping my toes in my baby poe dameron's pool

summary: you and poe are stranded on an unknown planet after a dicy shootout. and your injuries are getting worse by the minute.

warnings: probably inaccurate star wars stuff, graphic descriptions of injuries (maybe), broken bones,

"poe?" you whispered, shaky voice barely cutting through the loud wind noises rattling the loose metal of a broken starfighter.

he grunts, barely looking away from the twisted metal he's trying to bend back in shape with pure will. it's been hours, and with no working comms, and no working beacon.. it was time to start considering alternate escape routes.

"ugh - if it would just-" he grunts again, pounding his fist once against it, the sound lost beneath the other crashing titanium pieces.

"poe..." you said, again, holding onto your shoulder. it was starting to really hurt, and you could barely move your arm, you were sure it was broken, and with the adrenaline of a crash landing fading, it was really starting to be a problem.

he looked at you, lips tight and tense, none of the usual spark in his eyes. his mouth softens into a light frown when he sees you cradling your injury.

"if we don't leave soon i dont know how far i'll be able to go," you say, raising your voice to be heard over the weather.

"we don't even know where we are!" he shouts back, frustrated and angry.

"i know but..."

"how am i supposed to get you out of this!?"

but he softens even more when your lip quivers, and he knows he's being cold - but look at what he's done. he's hurt you. he's gotten you lost on some outskirt planet with no way out, and no medical supplies. he's just proven about himself what he always feared might be true ... he can't protect you.

"I'm sorry!" he shouts, he looks around, and harshly scratches his thumb on his temple. "you're right! we have to move."

"take the comlink! i'll try to fix it when we get ..." you squint, "somewhere."

he grabs it, although he doesn't believe you can fix it. it doesn't even look like scrap metal anymore. totally crushed during the crash landing. if he had just jumped instead of trying to outmaneuver, this wouldn't have happened. he could have gotten you to safety but he was so sure that they wouldn't see his flip coming, but they did... and managed to target the gun you'd been using at the back of the ship, causing a small explosion and sending you against the side of the ship and then when you weren't answering he...

he lost all control and crashed the ship. he was the best pilot the resistance had, and he crashed with the most precious thing in his life depending on him. he was a failure.

when he climbs back down from the trashed fighter, he puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you forward. you were disappointed when he let you go. usually, he'd find any excuse to keep his hands on you, but now he dropped his touch as soon as you'd started walking with him.

you walked quietly, holding the ripped fabric on the shoulder of your suit closed with your good arm and kept the other as snug to your chest as you could. you felt like you were trying to hold yourself together.

you knew this was your fault. if you had just made the shot... you guys wouldn't be in this mess. and the man you were in love with - and arguably the most important pilot in the resistance - wouldn't be stranded in this nowhere place. and you wouldn't be a limping burden. you try your best to hide it. to walk normally and disguise your wincing.

"i'm sorry," you say finally, unable to stand one more moment of uncomfortable silence. you'd never struggled to talk to poe before, normally you can't get him to shut up. "I should've been able to hit the fuel tank, i knew where it was and i missed the-"

"this wasn't your fault," he cut you off, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "none of this is your fault, it's mine."

you could barely hear him, and you were about you respond when both of you were taken by complete surprise as you yelped, your ankle giving way under you with a sickening crunch. poe heard it over the wind, and caught you before you could completely hit the ground.

you cried, trying to say something about the pain but all that came out were a few strangled syllables.

"hey, hey, hey, it's okay! i've got you!" but he's panicking. he can't support you with your arm in that condition, and he can't get you up because of the leg. he's sick. he can't breathe thinking of what's he caused. he picks you up, cradling you as close to his chest as he can as he frantically looks around for anything, anything.

a cave in the face of a rockside is all he can see, and he escapes to it's safety, at least able to get you out of the wind for a minute while he thinks. he sets you down as gently as he can, his heart shattering with each deep sob you release.

he looks around, as if help will just appear in the cave. and he stands up, watching you curl into yourself.

"poe, i'm so sorry." you sob, not noticing his confused expression as you hide your face in your arm, words coming out choked and pathetic you say, "look at what i've done."

"you can't -" he pauses, "you didn't do anything wrong, this mess is my fault."

he wants to stop and comfort you, but he doesn't have time. he has to save you, he has to save. you. he's freaking out. he's failed you, the mission, leia, all because he assumed he was better than some first order pilot.

"i have to find you some help," he says, crouching down close to you and moving some hair out of your face. the blotchy, red cheeks, and swollen eyes that hold nothing but pain behind them, made an unexpected tear fall from poe's eye, but he catches it on the back of his hand before you can see. "why can't wait these injuries out, okay?" you nod sullenly, unable to force out anymore words. "do you have your blaster? hm? can you look at me?" he asks, and you do. "i'm going to run okay? i'm going to find you some help."

poe runs for an hour, but aside from the weather finally yielding, he finds nothing. he nearly gets lost on his way back, but finds you sitting up against the hard rock wall, blaster disassembled around you, as you fiddle with the small broken comlink.

"you're sitting."

"i'm totally numb," you whisper, and you're both quiet. you both know that's not a good thing. "i don't know if it worked... but i tried to send out a signal. the transmitter looked functional enough, but the mic was broken beyond... I..." you trail off. "i hope they find you."

"us," he corrects harsher than he means to. "they're going to find us."

you smile. "you should go."

"what????"

"you can come back for me later but -"

"-no-"

"-we shouldn't both rot in this-"

"-stop saying this crap, seriously-"

"hellhole, and you're too important to lose and-"

"stop!" he shouts, crouching down to look in your eye, passion and frustration covered his face, "you're too important, don't you get that!? don't you get anything? i can't lose you too." poe's resolve falls faster than it rose, and he's sobbing before you've even really processed what he's said. "i won't survive it. if i lose you. i won't survive."

"poe?"

"i love you, you idiot."

but then you passed out. and poe is screaming your name, tapping gentle slaps on your cheek to wake you, but it's not working. he's worried you hit your head.

"what do i do!?" he's looking around, but there's nothing. he knows there's nothing. "what do i do!?"

but he hears something outside that sounds like yelling. and he doesn't care if its first order, pirates, or whatever, he doesn't care. he'd surrender himself to save you. he's only got a half broke blaster, but he's got the spark he needs to save you.

he hides behind a tree when he sees figures, waiting to ambush the first person and steal their weapon, but when he grabs them, it's finn looking out of breath and terrified.

"poe! maker, we couldn't-"

"come on!" poe shouts, ignoring his friend, letting go of the fistful of shirt he had, and taking off full tilt back to where you were. finn was hot on his trail, silent. while chewie ran not far behind, roaring in worry. no one liked the crazed look in poe's eye, especially when they knew it was bad sign you weren't with him.

when they're back to you, poe first checks your pulse, his own nearly stopping with anxiety. but however shallow, it was there, you were still there.

poe scoops you up, holds you close to his chest for a second, whispering a secret plea for you to stay with him, and let chewie take you in his arms, begging him in broken words to be gentle with you.

and then poe just sobbed as they rushed back to the ship.

you didn't wake up for a full month. poe ran defensive missions, or short trips. but he couldn't stay focused long enough for anything longer.

when he returns from a simple fetch & return for leia, he's greeted by rey and rose waiting in the hanger, chatting excitedly. at first poe is annoyed, as he takes his helmet off and shakes his hair out. how could your friends find a way to stand around and chat and smile... but when they look at him with wide grins, he hesitates to feel hope. they've said nothing but his heart is racing. he thinks it may beat clear out of his chest,

"someone wants to see you," rose singsongs, laughing as poe throws his helmet on the floor and takes off down the hallway, following his usual path straight from the hanger to the medbay.

he stops in the doorway, panting as he takes in the sight of you smiling with finn, who was sitting on the chair closest to you. he gets up when he sees poe, says goodbye, and leaves, patting his friend on the shoulder as he passes.

"you're awake," he says, taking finn's seat, and scooching it even closer to you. he gathers up your hand in both of his, and leans forward to press his forehead against the back of your hand. "please, forgive me."

"forgive you? for what?"

he scoffs, leaning back but maintaining a secure grip on your hands. "well, for nearly killing you, mostly."

"poe, i missed the shot. i had the shot and i missed it, it's my fault."

"no," he says, sternly, in a commanding voice you don't even recognize, and you listen, watching him with kind eyes. he could live in them, melt into them, stay there forever. "you saved us. you made a beacon out of a gun and a broken comlink. you're a genius, you're... you're so..." he grunts in frustration when the words get lost. "i almost lost you..." he whispers, kissing the back of your hand. he leans his forehead back onto your hand, whispering again and again how sorry he was.

you smiled sadly at him. he looked thin, had bags under his eyes. you doubted he has been sleeping, finn said he'd spent every night by your side, curled up uncomfortably on the metal chair.

"nah," you chuckle, "i always was gunna come back to you."

"and how do you know that, hm?"

you grin, winking, "because i love you, you idiot."

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fic #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #fanfic #fic #oneshot #poe dameron one shot #poe dameron oneshot

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tempvstas · 1 year

Note

Hello! If requests are open (if not please ignore this) may I request headcanons of Octavinelle plus Riddle (separately) with an s/o that has a fairly weak immune system and gets sick easily? Have a good day/night and look after yourself!

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Content Warning(s): probably ooc octatrio, i've been burnt out so character portrayals may be inaccurate

Character(s): GN!Reader(no pronouns mentioned), Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Riddle Rosehearts

Authors Notes: HI YES IM GONNA TRY AND FINISH REQUESTS SO YES I CAN DO THIS AND TY FOR YOUR CONCERN <3

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Azul Ashengrotto

Constantly fussing over you, he's quite literally the definition of a mother hen that's absolutely whipped for you

He's always making sure that you're hydrated and eating properly. It's not good to skip out on meals!

Has medication and other necessities in his office for whenever you aren't feeling well. Having coughing fits? He has cough syrup for alleviating the symptoms. Your muscles feel sore and achey? He's pulling out salonpas and asking you where you need him to put it. Runny nose? He's handing you a pack of tissues for you to carry.

Jade Leech

Malewife

Has everything you would ever need. And he's constantly by your side to ensure that you're okay. Not as overbearing as Azul but you can see through his actions that he worries about you

He teases you lightly when you tell him you're sick again. He'll pat the top of your head affectionately before draping his jacket over your shoulders, hands lingering as he ensures that it's on you securely and taking you to Mostro Lounge to get you something warm to eat.

Floyd Leech

Huhhhhh? You're not feeling well again? Well it's not his problem (jkjk he loves you lots)

Not necessarily the best at taking care of you, but you do notice that he lingers by you a lot. Surprisingly he's on his best behavior and you have no problem wrangling him in when he's "being difficult" as Azul puts it.

He lets you lean against him for support when you're feeling tired and picks you up and carries you around (embarrassing ik, but he has no shame)

Riddle Rosehearts

He feels a little helpless because he does his best to stay in good health in order to maintain his grades and not fall behind in his studies, so he rarely becomes sick himself.

He's not an expert at cooking but he learned simple recipes(with the help of Trey) like chicken soup and stuff to help you feel better when you're feeling especially unwell.

He'll stay by your bedside quietly reading a book or working on his homework while you rest. He has a thermometer and some medicine on your nightstand, observing your condition. He refuses to let you do anything, insisting that he does it for you fearing that you'll strain yourself, or worse get hurt in your weakened condition,

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hisonlyreid-er · 8 days

Text

School Girl Crush Pt 5

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part5| A new BAU member appears and Spencer sees her as a little threat to his status of boy genius. Being unable to get comfortable with each other causes some issues within the team. Will they be able to move past it and work together?

Spencer Reid x FemBau!OC Warnings: Violence, injury, blood, guns, mild swearing, talks about drugs and painkillers, medical stuff(probably inaccurate)

"Garcia. Can you confirm the address?" I held my phone to my ear, creeping around the side of the house in the dark. This lead seemed like a dead end. No one was here. My gun was heavy in my hand as it hung by my side. The address is correct Lyn. I just had to make sure. "Well, there's no one here Gar.."

A loud shot ripped through the phone. Garcia froze, eyes glazed over as she tried to listen for anything. "Lyn?! Agent Colesta!" Fear burnt her chest. That was a shot. There had been a shot and now she wasn't answering. It took a few seconds for her to come to her senses. Her fingers hit keys frantically. Hotchner. His steady voice was little comfort. "Sir, Lyn..Agent Colesta. She....she." Penelopes rambling was incoherent. Garcia. Calm down. What happened? Forever the voice of reason. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself. "Agent Colesta was checking out that lead. She was saying there wasn't anyone there, I heard a shot and she isn't responding." Saying it made her panic again. Send us the address Garcia. Then the call cut off. She had already send the information to them. All she could do was wait.

Hotch pocketed his phone. All eyes were on him, waiting for whatever Garcia had been so panicked over. "Agent Colesta may have been injured. Morgan, Prentiss, Reid are coming with me to apprehend the unsub. JJ, Rossi, you stay here to route any calls or information we might need." A silence settled over the team as they jumped into action. In a matter of minutes, they were in the cars, vests on. The house was 7 minutes away and the drive there was the worst. Everyone was on edge. Lyn had been with the team for 9 months and had developed strong relationships with each and every one of them. Spencer sat in the backseat, leg shaking. There was this indescribable feeling. It was fear, sorrow, guilt, anger all rolled into one. The idea of Lyn being hurt, or worse, ignited a physical pain. He didn't have chance to question it. His main focus was on the moments until the car stopped.

They kept formation as the team rushed through the property. Hotch signaled for Prentiss and Morgan to go to house and find the unsub. Reid ran around the side of the house, eyes scanning for any sign. His gun was in his hand but his main focus was on finding her. And find her he did. Agent Colesta was laying on the ground beside the house, unmoving. Dread surged through him. She wasn't moving. His fingers found his earpiece, connecting him to his team members. "Found her. We need EMS." He didn't wait for a response, kneeling down next to his colleague. "Agent Colesta." His attempts to call out to her were pointless, her head lulled to the side, her face pale. She had been shot. They had expected that but seeing it, was so much worse than Reid could ever have imagined. Her left shoulder was coated in blood, pooling onto the dirt beneath her. Even in the dark, the red was so prominent that it made him feel slightly sick. All his genius left him for a moment. Pressure on the wound. Reid told himself what to do. His hands found the gunshot wound, pressing down on it, hard. Based on the time of Garcia's call, she must have been bleeding out for around 11 minutes. Every statistic was running through his head. Chances are that she would be fine. The bullet hadn't gone through anything vital. Even if the statistics pointed to her being okay, Reid couldn't shake the horrid feeling settling into his chest.

Reid didn't know how long he had sat there, holding her shoulder. Time wasn't real in that moment. All he knew was the fear he had. A hand tapped him. "Reid. EMS are here." Morgan's voice managed to break through his trance. Looking over his shoulder, the doctor didn't release his hold. He didn't let go when the lights of the ambulance came into view. It took Morgan physically prying his friend away, to let EMS do their jobs. Reid stared down at his hands. Blood coated his palms, turning his skin sticky and making it feel tight. The germophobe in him was repulsed by the sight, the unhygienic conditions coating his hands. But the rest of him didn't care. The young doctor fought out of Morgans hold, following the paramedics as they wheeled Lyn away. The others watched on in a mixture of concern and disbelief as Reid rushed towards the ambulance. They had never seen him look so desperate. It was Hotch that stopped him, stood in front of him. "I can ride with her in the ambulance." His eyes didn't leave her unconscious figure. "No. I'll go with Agent Colesta. You clean up and meet us at the hospital with Morgan and Prentiss." Reid wanted to argue but the finality in his tone was glaringly obvious.

Doctors gave Agent Colesta the all clear, explaining her condition to Hotch. A mild concussion, a gunshot wound to the shoulder. The rest of the team was gathered in waiting room, scared for their friend and colleague. The unsub was in holding, ready to be processed and sent down for his crimes. Reid was bouncing his leg, his nervousness pouring out of him. They didn't need to be profilers to read him. If the situation wasn't so serious, they might've teased him. But it wasn't the right time for some lighthearted banter.

Hotch appeared, face as blank as ever. Everyone sat on the hard plastic chairs looked over at him expectantly. The amount of hospital visits the team had racked up together left them with a permanent anxiety whenever they were within a 2 mile radius of the wretched building. "She should be fine. Mild concussion and a gunshot wound to her left shoulder." A wave of relief washed over them. "Can we see her?" Emily asked the question that was on all of their minds. "Only one person at a time." With that, Hotch dismissed himself as his phone began to ring again. It was JJ who stood up first, walking down the hallway to find the right room. The beeping of machinery was the first sound to greet her. A white hospital room held a bed in the centre of the room. Agent Colesta lay beneath the white sheets, looking incredibly peaceful, copper hair tucked underneath her head. There was a chair pulled up to the side of the hospital bed. Wires emerged from beneath the blanket, connecting to a variety of machines. JJ took a seat, watching her friend breath and her heart beat on the monitor. Over the last 9 months every member of the team had developed a close bond with Lyn. One by one they entered the room, sat for a little while and swapped with the next person. JJ just hoped she would be fine and back on her feet in no time. Morgan cursed himself for not being there. Rossi started to plan a way to cheer her up while she recovered. Hotch could already see the fight he would have to have with her about taking time away from work to recover and it make him smile a little, only on the inside though. Emily was preparing all the jokes she could make when Lyn could hear them, already missing the friend who matched her sense of humor. Then it was Spencer's turn. He couldn't bring himself to look at her unconscious face. A small pool of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach. Logically, Spencer knew it wasn't his fault but he couldn't shake the thought that he should've been there, he should've got there quicker. He reach over slowly, taking her hand in his own. Her fingers were limp and cold to the touch. He had washed the blood from his hands ages ago but it was as if he could still feel it, tightening his skin. It was late in the night so Reid felt his eyes become heavy.

Hotch placed a hand on Reid's shoulder, waking him from his sleep. The doctor had fallen asleep with his head on the side of the hospital bed, his hands clasping Lyn's. Spencer shot up, a little startled. His eyes first flick to Agent Colesta before looking over to his boss. "Go back to the hotel Reid, get some sleep." The order didn't sit well with him. "I'm fine Hotch." That earnt him a pointed look. "Get some sleep. Come back in the morning, no earlier than 8." There was no space for argument. Reluctantly, Reid released her hand, standing up and exiting the room, sparing one final glance over his shoulder at his colleague. Hotch took a seat, deciding at least one of them should stay. Agent Colesta was a key part of the team and regularly raised spirits so it pained Hotch to see her so vulnerable and injured.

The lights to the house were off and it looked completely empty. I had a name in the file sat on the passenger seat of the SUV. He was a possible witness to one of the recent murders. Majority of the team was back at the precinct, working on the profile. I tried knocking on the front door anyway, just incase. Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. I moved my jacket to the side, grabbing my phone and dialing Garcia. As it rang, I walked around the side of the house. "Garcia. Can you confirm the address?" I held my phone to my ear, creeping around the side of the house in the dark. This lead seemed like a dead end. No one was here. My gun was heavy in my hand as it hung by my side. The address is correct Lyn. I just had to make sure. "Well, there's no one here Gar.." Pain erupted in my left shoulder. My hand dropped the phone, it smashing instantly. The ringing from the shot echoed in my ears. I could see the shooter running around the back of the house. I didn't even think about it before I was running after him, gun in hand and ignoring the pain and blood. The adrenaline coursing through me pushed me after him. I managed to shoot him in the left thigh, slowing him down slightly as he limped away. My body felt heavy as the world tilted. It was obvious that I was losing a significant amount of blood from my wound. My knee's buckled and I hit the floor, my gun lost from my grip. The ground was incredibly hard as my head hit the floor. I could feel myself bleeding out on the dirt. My team would be here soon. Garcia would have contacted them the second the call cut out. I wasn't that far from the police station. I just had to wait a little longer. The unsub was injured. They'd get him. I could feel unconsciousness threatening me. I knew that I needed to stay awake as I had probably gotten a concussion when I fell, but it was too much. My head lolled to the side and the last thing I heard was the screech of tires.

Everything hurt. There was a beeping to my right. A tightness across my chest. With all my energy, I pried my eyes open, grateful for the dim lights. The sterile smell of hospitals always unnerved me, it was too clean, too artificial. It always reminded me of all the trips I took to A&E as a child in need of stiches or x-rays. I looked around. My eyes caught on a figure sat in the chair beside me. Hotch was slouched a little, tie loosened ever so slightly. Considering the lack of light, it was safe to say it was quite late. I was a little surprised that Hotch had stayed. My weariness began to fade, my senses returning to me a little more. There was an aching in my left shoulder. No. Not an aching. There was a blinding pain radiating from my left shoulder. A small noise bubbled in the back of my throat. That captured Hotch's attention. His eyes found mine and he gave me the slightest smile. "I always knew I was your favourite." Even in my state I was absolutely hilarious. "Don't tell Garcia." Was SSA Aaron Hotchner making a joke? Oh my God. He was. I chuckled slightly as I shifted to try and get a little more comfortable. My movements only worsened the already excruciating pain. I scrunched my face in agony. Without saying a word, Hotch stood up and left the room, stopping a nurse in the hallway. I could remember every detail of what happened. The shot, running after the unsub, collapsing. There was a faint memory of a warm hand clutching mine but it was distant, as if it could have been a dream or hallucination.

After a few pain filled minutes, Hotch came back followed by a doctor and a nurse. There was a flurry of questions to rate my pain, how I was feeling, stuff like that. I tried my best to answer them but I was struggling to keep up. All I wanted was to go home, see my friends. I felt like a test subject as they poked and prodded me, shifting the top of the hospital gown to reveal a bloodied dressing wrapped across my shoulder and around my chest. There's a distant conversation about pain meds of some sort but it was all lost to me. I trusted Hotch to make all the decisions, seeing as he was listed as my next of kin since all my family was on a different continent. His serious expression remained as he spoke to the doctor, discussing the best course of treatment. In the end, the nurse hooked me up to another IV, pumping morphine through my veins. My head grew clouded, the drug dimming all my senses. I was pretty sure Hotch was asked to leave when the nurse changed my dressing. After that, I fell into a morphine fueled sleep.

It took them 2 days to discharge me. Even when they did, I was pumped full of pain meds. I was a little loopy the whole time. The team stopped by on their way to the jet, bringing my overnight bag with them. "I'm gonna have a cool scar now. Watch out Morgan, you've got some competition." Derek laughed as my really bad joke, probably out of pity but I was so out of it that I truly believed I was the next Peter Kay. Prentiss offered to help me get dressed before being released. I was so sick of the thin hospital gown that felt like shitty paper. Emily helped me with my t-shirt, sliding it over my injured shoulder. My left arm was in a sling to keep moving it to a minimum.

While I had been discharged from the hospital, I hadn't been cleared to fly just yet. Because of that, I wouldn't be going on the jet with everyone else. Originally, I was meant to be driving with Hotch. Our case had only taken us around 4 hours away from home so it wasn't too difficult to get me back home. However, all morning he had been taking calls and checking his watch. "You should go on the jet Hotch. Whatever that is, is more important." He seemed torn at my slightly slurred words. "You need to get back and you can't fly." He tried to reason but there was a nagging in the back of his mind. "I can drive." A new voice joined the conversation from the doorway of my hospital room. Reid stood there, a small bunch of flowers clasped in his hand. My heart melted just a little. "You don't have to Reid." Spencer wasn't the biggest fan of driving and everyone knew it. "I can do it Hotch, really."

And with that, I found myself in the passenger seat of an SUV with Reid behind the wheel. We set off about mid afternoon, driving for hours. The small bouquet of flowers sat on my lap. At the start of the journey I tried to make some conversation but the drugs just made it come out as incoherent ramblings. Spencer didn't seem bothered by it, responding to what he could, smiling at me when I made absolutely zero sense. The radio played quietly in the background as the sun set. I hummed along as I stared out the window. Every time I went for a long drive over here, I was always shocked that there were no roundabouts. Back home there was one every 2 seconds but here, they're non-existent. I tried to push the thoughts of home from my mind. I hated that the painkillers made me feel as if I had no control over my mind or body.

I hadn't been paying much attention. So I was a little surprised when the car slowed to a stop. We were parked in front of my apartment building. I turned to Spencer as he turned the engine off. "Thank you." My voice came out all high pitched and wobbly. His eyes were filled with concern. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?" The words fell from his lips in a hurried cascade. I shook my head as tears welled up in my eyes. He reached across and held my hand. It was a comforting, familiar feeling. "What's the matter then?" I knew I was being emotional because of the drugs but I couldn't stop it. "I miss home." The whisper released the tears and they rolled down my cheeks. "Do you want to go back to England?" There was this look on his face, that when paired with the tone of his voice, broken my heart a little more. My tears fell quicker, turning into small sobs. "No, I like it better over here." The words mixed with my sobbing made no sense. God, these pain meds were really screwing with me. There was a little bit of humor in Spencer's eyes but he tried to keep a serious expression, probably as not to upset me further. "Lets get you inside." He quickly got out of the car, grabbing my bag and opening my door. Like a gentleman, Reid led me towards my building as I tried to calm myself down. By the time we had reached my door, all tears had stopped. He retrieved my keys from my bag, opening my front door.

Spencer put my flowers in a vase, got me a glass of water and sat down on the sofa next to me. The meds were wearing off a little but I was still as high as a kite. "Thank you for driving me Reid." I dropped my head back against the cushion. "It was actually a lot of fun, I really enjoyed our conversations." I knew he was just humoring me but it meant a lot. "I like it a lot better here anyway." I gave him a toothy grin. "Really?" His smile made my heart flutter. Stupid crush. "Yeah, things are just better for me here." Our eyes remained locked as I spoke. He didn't say anything, as if he was waiting for me to continue, explain. "I never really had many friends back home. You guys welcomed me and made me feel like family, I've never had people be so nice to me before." His eyes turned a little sad. "And, there's no you back home." My words were slurred slightly but my new found confidence was as clear as day. Spencer's face grew shocked and his cheeks flushed ever so slightly. "I was so bummed when I thought you hated me because I really like you Spencer. You're probably one of my favourite Americans, after Garcia of course."

Spencer remained flustered the whole way home. Lyn's words echoed through his mind. The look in her eyes when she said those words. "I really like you Spencer." Like a friend. Like a good friend. Nothing more. Yet the mere thought that there was even a slight chance she felt the same way as he did made his heart beat erratically. Stupid crush.

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queenofsimpsblog · 2 years

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You said requests were open soooo can I request a kind of Protective!Shuri x reader where the reader is so overwhelmed with her classes (or just one particular class - for me this semester it’s statistical coding as someone with NO coding experience, if you wanted to be specific) and Shuri, who’s already insanely protective, is comforting the reader? I can imagine Shuri just being so sweet, kissing away tears and in all seriousness telling the reader she “can drop the class right now” because if it makes her girlfriend upset, she doesn’t need to do it - Shuri’s the Queen of Wakanda, she’ll make sure they let you drop (to which the reader obviously says no - it’s a part of her major!). I just love it when people write Shuri as so attentive and protective instead of mean or toxic. Thank you SO MUCH if you write it!! I’m definitely requesting this fully for myself because it’s not even the second week of the semester yet and this coding is kicking my ass 😅 anyway thanks again if you do, no pressure if you don’t want to!!!

stressed out - shuri x reader

A/N: awwww that’s such a cute idea!! so sorry it took so long for me to write this… also i have absolutely no idea what statistical coding is like so i’m just making stuff up about it so sorry if this gets a little inaccurate

i added a bit of ✨spice✨ to the plot, hope that’s okay!

“code failed. please try again.” the robotic voice of your laptop taunted you as you groaned, rubbing your eyes.

statistical coding, in general, was a challenging course. even more so for people who had zero coding experience like you. but since the course was an important aspect of your major, you couldn’t drop it.

you were having an existential crisis at this point. your professor gave an assignment to design an algorithm to organise the medical files of your class, which had 150 people. the medical files were, of course, fake, to protect the privacy of everyone. the objective was to get everyone to more comfortable with organising several data samples. the assignment was kicking your ass.

beep.

your phone buzzed from your bed. you picked it up and looked at the notification.

shuri

hi sthandwa! we still on for today?

you groaned again. shuri planned a cute cafe date for you today. you were super excited until your professor’s assignment destroyed your friday night.

you

i’m sorry babe, gonna have to cancel

i don’t feel well

you hated lying to her. but it was just embarrassing to admit that you were struggling. shuri was the queen of wakanda, a genius. you already felt like you were inferior and weren’t enough for her. telling her you were struggling in a course she could probably finish in her sleep was something you’d never do.

you sighed and rubbed your eyes again, reaching for the monster can on your desk and chugged the remainder, chucking it in the trash can. cracking your knuckles, you pulled open your textbook to find the instructions for developing codes to organise large data samples.

about half an hour later, you heard a loud knock on your dorm door. you looked up and frowned. i didn’t call anyone over, who could it be?

you yanked open the door and saw shuri standing on the other side, looking angry.

“shuri? what’s up, why are you here?” you opened the door wider for her to enter.

“shouldn’t i be asking the questions? you tell me you don’t feel well, then you just go offline. i spammed you so much and you didn’t reply. i was so worried,”

“i’m sorry i was working,”

“shouldn’t you be resting if you’re sick?”

you sighed.

“fine. i lied. i’m not sick, i’m just busy,”

shuri scoffed at your words. “busy? you never lie to me sthandwa. what’s going on? is there someone else on the side?”

your eyes widened. “no! of course not! i was just doing some class work, alright? not a big deal. you can leave now,” you snapped.

shuri paused for a moment, realisation slowly hitting her. she noticed your locks looked messy. the bags under your eyes were huge. your skin looked pasty. and you looked incredibly exhausted.

you were stressed out.

“sthandwa, are you okay? and don’t give me some bullshit that you are, cause i know you’re not. tell me truth usana, let me help you,”

and with that, you broke down. sobs wrecked through your body as you collapsed on the floor, shuri quick on your side to hold you. you stayed like that, in her arms, for nearly half an hour. that’s when you calmed down and kept your gaze on the floor. you were too scared to admit to her what was on your mind.

“y/n, look at me,” she demanded softly. when you refused to move your head, she grabbed your chin for your gaze to meet hers.

“talk to me,”

you sighed and accepted your fate.

“i’m just stressed about my statistical coding class. my professor is an asshole that gives assignments all the time cause he thinks it’s helpful. but it’s not, cause he can’t teach for shit. and i’ve just been scared to tell you because…” you paused, not wanting to continue. shuri gently nudged you with her arm, which forced the words out of you.

“i just don’t want you to think i’m stupid. you’re a genius, and i’m just… average,” you sighed, tearing up again.

“sweetheart it’s alright to struggle every once in a while. i struggle sometimes too. my job isn’t easy,” she chuckled and you let out an exhausted smile.

“just because i make it seem like i understand very complicated things at the first reading, doesn’t mean that’s always the case. i think you’re wonderful. and you’re not stupid! not even close. you remember that one time i struggled to make this code, and you pointed out that it was because i added the numbers instead of multiplying them?”

you laughed at the memory. shuri smiled, knowing she was improving your mood.

“and you know, if it’s too much, you can drop the course. i can let the dean know. i hate to see my love overworked like this,”

“babe, you know i can’t do that! this is my major, i have to suck it up for the next couple years,”

“i refuse to let anyone make my princess feel like she isn’t worth it,” you swooned at her words.

both of you stayed like that together, in silence. it was peaceful. shuri’s presence had that effect on you.

she broke the silence. “okay, how about we take a little study break? go get changed. i’m taking you out for dinner,” you smiled and grabbed her shirt collar, pulling her into a sweet kiss.

oh, what would you do without your sweet shuri?

#shuri x reader #black panther #wakanda forever #shuri #letitia wright #shuri x black reader #queen of simps does it again

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hoejosatoru · 1 year

Text

In The Shadows

Pairing: Fem!reader x Vigilante!Draken

Summary: When a masked man saves y/n’s life, she insisted on patching up his wounds. Despite the danger, she finds herself drawn to him.

Word count: 11.6k I’m so sorry I got carried away

Warnings: threats of violence/assault (from side characters not drakes), guns, being slapped not for pleasure, probably inaccurate medical stuff, needles, stitches, lots of blood, tasting blood is mentions, kidnapping, oral fem and male receiving, fingering, cream pie, pet names, not proof read sorry

The only sound that filled your ears as you walked home were your footsteps and water droplets hitting the pavement. It passed through your mind that it must have rained while you were at work. Not that you had a second to notice. You barely had time to go to the bathroom, let alone play weather-watcher. You loved being a nurse, loved the fast-paced environment, how the hospital was like a living, breathing being and you a part of its lifeblood.

It invigorated you and exhausted you. Some days more so the former and some more the latter. Today was absolutely a latter day. The ER was jam-packed, a never ending stream of complaints, pains, blood, injury, and fear. That was typical, as was losing patients. However, the loss of a patient today was weighing heavily on you. He was a young man, about your age, which you reckoned was fueling your obsessive thoughts. It was always strange to treat someone your age; it was like looking death in the face.

There was nothing you could have done, your coworkers told you and deep down you knew they were right. Still, you couldn’t help but turn over every step you took in your head, trying to figure out what you could have done differently to keep the patient alive. Had you not been so consumed by these thoughts, maybe you would have heard a second set of footsteps joining yours.

“If you scream, I’ll kill you,” a rough voice hissed in your ear, gloved hand covering your mouth from behind. You felt some sharp and cool press against your back and you knew immediately he had a knife pointed at you. You tried to wriggle away instinctually, but your assailant only gripped you tighter. “If you run, I’ll kill you too, bitch.”

Suddenly you were falling, shoved to the ground by two heavy hands. You flipped over frantically, finding a ragged looking man standing over you. He had an evil sneer and eyes that promised violence. Adrenaline flamed through your body, putting you into survival mode. You looked around desperately, hoping to see someone who could help or something you could use for a weapon. You instantly regretted taking a shortcut through an industrial area; it was devoid of anyone at this hour. There was a metal pipe about a half block away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the world. You were trapped.

“What do you want,” you croaked, hoping the 20s in your wallet would appease him.

The man crept over you, like a spider approaching his prey. You were caged in by his limbs, suffocating on the stale odor of his body. “You. And your money,” he replied.

“Please,” you begged, “Just take the money and let me go. I won’t call the police, please.” The second the words left your mouth you knew it was useless. This man was not driven by monetary gain, you could see, but by violence. He was getting off on your fear.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spat, pressed the blade to your neck, “Shut up and listen and I’ll let you live.” Your body went still; you knew more than anyone that a nick to your jugular could be game over. As the assailant started to fumble with his jeans, a sense of rage washed over you. This was not going to happen to you, not without a fight at least.

Your brain was working overtime, concocting a plan to wait until he pulled his dick out, when you assumed he would be most vulnerable, and kick him in the balls as hard as you could. Then run for your life. It was stupid and could very well get you killed. Somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered if this was some sick karmic justice for the patient that died. A life for a life. You couldn’t focus on that, though. Your full attention was on the man in front of you. You were bracing yourself as his pants unzipped, getting ready for the right moment.

Suddenly, the man was off of you. You couldn’t process what had happened, just that there was a weight, a darkness over you one second and now there was not. When your brain caught up to your eyes, you saw a second figure dressed all black with plain black cloth covering his face from the nose up. He had ripped the attacker off of and was now looming over him as he had you.

You scrambled to your feet, pressing yourself against the cool, damp brick wall. You watched the scene play out, hoping that if you flattened yourself enough they would forget you were there.

“The fuck is your pr-” your attacked was cut off by a swift kick from the man in black. He went reeling, crumbling with moans of pain.

The man in black turned his attention to you, “Are you okay?” No, but yes. You nodded, unable to push words through the veil of shock over you. Then, the attacker was up again, rushing towards the masked man. You pointed, possibly even said, “Watch out,” but it was too late. The attacker slashed the masked man across the bicep. He grumbled, a sound of annoyance, like when you found a mosquito on you, rather than one of pain.

He grabbed the assailant’s wrist, twisting it until a sickening snap filled the air. The assailant wailed, dropping the knife. The masked man kicked it far away, before giving the assailant a few kicks of his own. He begged for him to stop.

“Would you have stopped if she begged you to?” the masked man questioned venomously. You knew the answer to that. “If I ever see your fucking face again, I’ll do worse than this.” With a final punch, your attacker was out cold. The masked man picked him up with ease, tossing him into one of those green industrial garbage bins and slamming the top shut.

The man turned and looked at you, well you think he looked at you. His mask was a continuous piece of cloth with no eye holes. You weren’t sure how he saw at all, but clearly it wasn’t an issue. He approached you and you knew you ought to be scared of this man who was clearly very strong and not afraid of violence, but none of you felt afraid. He was nothing like the man currently taking a forced nap in the garbage.

“Are you alright?” he checked again. You nodded and he turned to leave.

“Wait!” you found your voice, “Your arm.”

The man shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the wound. Even though it was dark and he was wearing a black long sleeve, you could see it was bleeding a fair amount. “It’s nothing.”

“You need a hospital and stitches, most likely,” you replied.

“I can’t go to hospitals, they ask too many questions,” he dismissed you gruffly, “It’s a scratch, it will heal on its own.” He turned again, but you stepped in his path.

“Even if it was just a scratch, which it definitely is not, that knife is probably filthy,” you replied, “If you get an infection in your bloodstream, it’s game over. You really want that guy to be the reason you die?”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “I just can’t, okay?”

“Let me help you,” you insisted, “As a thank you. I’m a nurse.” You fished your hospital badge out from under your shirt, flashing at him as proof. “We don’t have to go to the hospital, just my apartment. I won’t ask any questions.” You’re not sure why you felt so compelled to help this man, but it felt like an absolute necessity. He may have saved your life, this was the least you could do. Plus, a selfish part of you knew if you went back to your apartment all alone after this incident you would probably have a full on panic attack. You desperately needed the distraction.

The man was silent, considering your offer. “It is dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than bloodborne pathogens.”

He sighed, caving to your demand. “Fine.” His one stipulation was that you could not walk there together, which you didn’t argue. You gave him instructions to your place and told him which window he should look for. You didn’t realize until you walked away that he meant to come up through the fire escape.

You hurried back to your place, wanting the safety of your four walls. As you walked, the adrenaline wore off and you felt the full impact of having a near death - or at least near assault - experience. Your body was buzzing and felt heavy. You couldn’t quite catch your breath. Finally, though, you arrived, giving you some relief.

You dropped your bag by the door and kicked off your shoes. You went down the hall, collecting some towels and your first aid kit. You knew it would be best to do something like this in a bathroom, however your crappy little apartment had an even smaller, crappier bathroom. There would not be enough room for this man - who was rather large, over 6 feet you reckoned - yourself and your supplies. So, you spread out a big towel on the kitchen table (it doesn’t get used much anyways) and set out all the supplies you would need. It dawned on you then that he could just have used this to give you the slip and never intended to come.

That fear was quelled by a knock at your window. The man was crouched on your fire escape, mask still on. You told him he could come in. “You should really keep that locked,” he said as he slid inside.

“You can lecture me later,” you replied, patting the towel on your table, “Sit.” Wordlessly, he followed your command. He was a big, solid man, your table groaning under his weight. The black shirt he wore strained over his muscles. Who is this guy, you wondered.

You slipped on a pair of gloves. “Mind if I roll up your sleeve?”

“Go for it.” You carefully slide the sleeve up the length of his arm, as to not disturb the wound. Blood has dripped down his bicep, a very muscular bicep you noted, down to his elbow. Thankfully, though, the blood seemed to have stopped. You used a damp washcloth to gently remove the blood from his skin. This close to him, you could breathe in his scent. It was woody and smokey with a hint of motor oil and the metallic tang of blood. Oddly enough, it was not unpleasant.

“I have to thank you again for saving me,” you said as you washed away the blood, “If you didn’t get there when you did…” your voice trailed off thinking how badly it could have ended.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. You wanted to talk to him, learn about him, but he seemed guarded. You dropped the bloodied towel onto the floor, switched to some gauze soaked in saline. You worked your way closer to the wound area, gently cleansing it.

“Is this, like, a thing you do often?”

“No questions, remember?” his tone was a bit lighter. That was progress.

“Not a chatty guy?”

At that he smiled slightly. “Not really.” You prepped the medical needle, thread, and forceps. “Have you been a nurse for long?”

“Are you worried about my skills?” you mused.

“I thought you wanted to chat,” he replied. Touché.

“About 4 years. But don’t worry I could do stitches in my sleep,” you replied, “Might hurt a little, though.”

He just about laughed. “I think I’ll survive.” His voice was deep and strong, like a rich cup of black coffee. The more he spoke, you found yourself drinking it in. His jaw strong and square, his lips full. There was something alluring about this man. A stupid thought. You didn’t even know what he looked like and yet your heart was skipping a beat. Focus idiot, you told yourself.

“By the way, how do you even see? Your mask looks like a blind fold,” talking took your mind off how he made you feel.

“You’re not good at the whole no questions thing,” he huffed, “but it’s a special fabric that functions like a one way mirror. I can see out but no one can see in.”

You got to work on the repetitive process of suturing. Needle in, needle out, knot, snip, repeat. If it hurt him at all, he didn’t show it. He didn’t so much as flinch. “You’re a good patient.”

“Not my first rodeo,” he replied.

“So you have been doing this awhile,” you caught.

He sighed, a deep, sweet sound, “Yeah I guess you could say that.”

“For fun?”

“For safety. Too many shitty people in this city and not enough people doing anything about it,” he replied.

“You could say that again,” you replied. The crime rates have been going up recently. It was unnerving.

“It’s not much, but it’s something. If I can help a few people it’s worth it.”

You finished up the final suture, almost sad knowing he would leave. “Well, as one of those people you saved, I really appreciate it. And you’re all done. I’m all out of lollipops, though.”

At that he laughed, “Worst news I’ve gotten in a while. But thank you, I appreciate it.” He paused, rolling his sleeve back down carefully. “Can I ask one more thing of you?”

“Of course,” you replied as you cleaned up.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this. I’m trying to… stay off the radar. The less people that know about me the better. Also,” he hesitated, “I don’t want you to be in any more danger. There are people who don’t exactly like me.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” you replied, “And if you ever have any other medical stuff you can come here. I’ll help you, limited questions asked.” He smiled softly in a way that told you he would most likely not take you up on that offer. It made your heart sink a little, but it was probably for the best. Inviting a strange man into your home probably wasn’t smart, even if he did seem nice.

“I imagine your name is off limits,” you said as he slid the window back open.

“I’m sorry, it’s for the best,” he replied, stepping back out into the cool night air. “Take care of yourself.” With that, the window shut and the masked man was gone.

***

You kept your promise, not telling a soul about the masked man. You started calling him Shadow in your head, for his fully black outfit and lack of distinguishing features showing. It was silly, but easier than ‘the masked man.’ In any event, you kept it to yourself. It was hard because the near assault rattled you, but you couldn’t tell anyone that it almost happened without telling them why it didn't happen.

Work was the perfect amount of busy following the ordeal. It was as if it knew you needed to keep your mind off things, though not so much that you would be overwhelmed. After about 2 weeks, you were certain you were not going to see Shadow again.

So you were very surprised when he appeared on your fire escape again. “I told you to keep this thing locked, any weirdo could get in,” he said by way of greeting as he slid through the window.

“Are you one of the weirdos in question?” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t give way how excited you were to see him. You were acutely aware, though, that you were in ratty old pjs. He couldn’t have picked a night where you wore the cute matching set you bought yourself last Christmas?

“Probably, given the circumstances,” he answered, groaning a little and he pushed the window back down.

“You’re hurt,” you stated the obvious. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t, but it was odd for him to show it.

“I’m alright,” he waved away your concern, “I just got hit in the ribs pretty bad. I’m afraid I might have broken one. I wanted to know if you could tell.”

You pulled a chair out for him. “Well the only way to know for sure is to get an x-ray, but I’m guessing your no hospital policy hasn’t changed.”

“Correct.” You left him to sit while you dug out a stethoscope from your first aid bag. You slung it around your neck, going back to him.

“Can you lift your shirt for me, please?” He did as he was asked, revealing his torso to you. He was as muscular as he looked, almost annoyingly perfect. You ignored the little line of hair disappearing into his pants, focusing his side. His skin was an angry red, with the deep indigo of a bruise beginning to form. “Did you get kicked by a horse?”

Shadow shook his head, “Just an idiot with steel toe boots.”

You gently ran your hand over the area, pressing lightly at different spots. “Does any of this hurt?”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel great, but nothing too bad,” he replied.

You continued to prod, “Any trouble breathing? Or pain when you take deep breaths? Like a sharp, stabbing pain?”

“No and no. It feels sore, but I wouldn't say it’s a stabbing pain.” All good signs. You wanted to check with the stethoscope just to be as sure as you could. You pressed the cool medal to his ribs, instructing him to take deep breaths. You moved the stethoscope around, listening for the telltale sound of bone grating against bone, which would indicate a fracture. You never heard it.

“Well I can’t say for certain without an x-ray, but all signs point to not fractured,” you told him, “Some ice would probably be good, though.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” You fetched him a pack, gently pressing it to his side. His hands slid over yours to take over, making you blush. As you stepped back, a scar on his lower abdomen caught your eye.

“What happened there?” you asked.

A whisper of a smirk crossed his face, knowing the response he usually got to this. “I got stabbed when I was 15.”

“15? Jesus. You really have been at this awhile,” you replied.

“Yeah, I was sorta… in a gang when I was younger,” he stated, shifting in his seat. That shocked you more than the fact he got stabbed.

“You don’t seem like the gang type,” you replied.

He shook his head, “I know what you’re thinking, but we weren’t bad. Just a bunch of kids that like motorcycles really,” he paused, smiling fondly at a memory you couldn’t see, “We looked out for each other and the people we cared about. We weren’t into drugs or weapons or hurting innocent people. I actually got this scar going after the gang that hurt a friend’s girlfriend.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have judged,” you said, “You’re a good person.”

He let out a deep sigh, “I wouldn’t go that far. And I should get going, I’ve taken up enough of your time already.”

“Shadow, wait,” you called, not ready to let him go.

He turned to you with a teasing smile, “Shadow?”

Your face burned red and you huffed, “Well you wouldn’t tell me your name, I had to improvise. Don’t laugh!” But it was too late, he was already fully laughing.

“I like it, maybe I should make that hero name. Get myself a cape or something,” he teased you. You threw a towel at him, which only made him laugh harder. Even though it was at you, it was the sweetest sound you’ve heard in awhile. “You know,” he said, “you never even told me your name.” You actually hadn’t realized that.

“Y/n,” you told him.

“Y/n,” he repeated. Your heart caught in your chest. “You can call me Draken. It’s a nickname, but it’s what all my friends call me.” Friends.

“Does that mean we are friends, Draken?” His name was sweet in your mouth.

“We shouldn’t be,” he replied, “If you knew what was good for you, you’d stop letting me come here. If they were to ever find out, they’d go after you. They’d do anything to get information on me.” The concern in his voice unnerved you; Draken didn’t seem like a man who feared much.

“Who are they?”

“I really shouldn’t I- fuck, I don’t want you to be in the middle of all this shit. It’s dangerous,” Draken replied, “Now would be a good time to tell me you never wanna see me again.” It was supposed to be a joke but there was a pleading edge to it.

“Sorry, you’re not getting off that easy,” you told him firmly, “Shouldn’t I know about what could be a danger to me?” Draken conceded, telling you about an organization called Bonten. They were a front for drugs, weapons, and anything else unsavory you could imagine. Draken explained that he was on a mission to take them down, which, naturally, they didn’t like. They had a hit out on him. Mostly, he said, he goes after their streetmen, trying to get information on where their HQ is, or anything that would help him stop them. However, there are times where he steps in to stop unrelated crimes, like when he saved you.

“Shit, how come you’ve never gone to the police?” you asked. You never liked the idea of Draken going after bad guys, but knowing they were specifically going after made your stomach twist.

“They’ve got half the cops in this city on their payroll. If I walked in there with information on them, it’s likely I wouldn’t walk back out,” he explained, then added with a sly smile, “Plus the other half of cops don't like it when someone can do their job better than them.”

“That’s a lot for one person to worry about,” you replied. You wished you could touch him, squeeze his hand, but he was finally opening up. You were too scared to do something that would scare him away.

“Now you see why I don’t want to involve you in this,” he said.

“I think it is all the more reason for you to have someone to take care of your injuries. Promise me that you’ll continue to come if you need it.”

He hesitated, but finally stated, “I promise. But we have to be careful. Don’t tell anyone about this. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you got hurt.” You agreed, saying you wouldn’t tell a soul. Draken asked for your phone, which you gave over. “I’m putting in the number to my burner phone. If something happens or you’re in trouble, please call me.” He cracked a smile handing the phone back to you, “I made the contact name Shadow.”

You swipe the phone out of his hand, “I hate you.”

A sad smile flitted across his face. “I wish you did, it would be easier. Goodbye, y/n.”

“Goodbye, Draken.” The taste of his name made the goodbye less bitter.

Over the next few months, Draken would come in when needed. It was bittersweet, you loved being able to see him, but hated that if he showed up it meant he was hurt. The longer you went without seeing him, the more anxious you got. Once three weeks had passed without him coming by and you feared the worst. You kept conjuring up images of him bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere until he showed up at your fire escape. Luckily, none of his injuries were too serious. Mostly cleaning out and bandaging cuts, checking to make sure bruises were just bruises and broken bones. By some miracle, they never were. You only had to give him stitches one or two other times, but they were pretty small. From what you could tell, Draken was very good at what he did.

As he came, you were able to talk more and more. He was still very guarded, never lifting his mask, telling you his real name or any information that was too personal. Still, you got tidbits here and there and felt like you were getting to know him better. You cherished every scrap you were given, weaving them together to try to get a full picture of him. It frustrated you terribly that you didn’t know what he looked like, but you let your imagination run wild.

You had just gotten home from a friend’s dinner party when Draken was knocking on your window. It had been a little over a week since you last saw him, so it was hard to hide your excitement. You didn’t like to show how you felt around Draken, scared that he would run if he saw how invested you were in him.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, looking you up and down. Well you think he did by the way his head moved, but you couldn’t be sure. You were glad you picked your favorite silky dress to go out in . Finally, you thought, he was seeing you in something other than sweats and scrubs. You were so vindicated you almost didn’t notice the blood dripping from his nose.

“Never,” you said, grabbing some tissues from the kitchen.

“You go on a date or something?” Draken asked. He tried to sound casual, but something was off in his voice.

You smirked, teasing him, “Yeah, with this guy who said he works for a company called Bonten. Ever heard of them?”

“Ha ha,” Draken replied dryly. “Guess it’s obvious why I’m here today.” He gestured to his nose. You gently dabbed at the blood, which had dripped down to his lips.

“Your split lip healed nicely,” you noted when you wiped all the blood off. There was only the faintest scar from where it had busted open a few weeks ago. You lost yourself for a moment, running your thumb along the plush of his lip. You blushed, feeling like you got caught doing something bad. You went to lower your hand, but Draken grabbed your wrist, putting your thumb against his lips and kissing it softly. “Draken…” you breathed.

“I’m not sure if my nose is broken,” he whispered in a way that said he wanted to say something else, but was scared to. Like he was silently urging you to understand a hidden meaning. He had stepped closer to you, his smokey, cedar scent making you dizzy.

“I-I can’t really see it with your mask on,” you replied softly. Your heart thudded in your ears as Draken wordlessly brought his hands to the back of his head, untying the fabric and letting it fall to the floor. You gasped, finally taking in the man before you. You were most surprised by the tattoo on the side of his head, but it suited him perfectly. His black hair was braided back, but two strands framed his strong, handsome face. The soft lavender bruise across his nose couldn’t even marr his beauty. His eyes were so dark you felt yourself getting lost in them already. “You’re so beautiful.”

Draken chuckled softly. “I’ve been wanting to say those exact words to you for a while now.” Then your face was cupped in his hands, his lips pressed to yours. Your head was spinning, feeling his lips against yours. He tasted good, even with a slight aftertaste of blood.

You pulled back breathless, “Wait your nose.” Draken pulled you back in, “Fuck my nose.” Well who were you to argue?

Draken’s hands slid up and down your body, rough and warm. You let your hands explore as well, loving being able to touch him for pleasure, not to patch him up. Draken backed you up so you were pressed against the wall. You loved how he towered over you. He put a thigh between your legs, pressing upwards. You let out a soft moan feeling his thigh come in contact with your clothed pussy.

“Gonna make pretty noises for me?” Draken cooed. He kissed down to your neck; you tilted back allowing him full access. The strap of your dress slipped off your shoulder as you ground against him. Draken took the opportunity to place a kiss on your shoulder. He pulled your dress down until your boobs were exposed, licking and sucking at your nipples, making you whine.

“Need you,” you gasped. You raked your fingers down his chest.

“Fuck, I don’t have a rubber,” Draken cursed, “But I got an idea that will test if my nose is broken too.” You gave him a confused look, which he returned with a sly smile. He dropped to his knees, the sight of him looking up at you making you flush. He kissed your ankle, your knee, all up your thigh, then ghosted over your underwear before repeating on the other side. You squirmed, aching for him.

“Don’t tease,” you pleaded breathlessly. Draken couldn’t deny you; he wanted you just as badly. He slid your underwear down your legs, a groan escaping his lips at the strings of arousal that went with it. Draken pulled your knee over his shoulder, looking up at you as he licked a striped up your pussy.

“So fucking sweet,” he murmured before fully diving in. Draken was not shy about eating you out at all. He pressed his face deep into the apex of your thighs, his nose nudging your clit. If it caused him any pain, he didn’t show it. He sucked at your clit, then let his tongue wriggle up inside you. You gaspeds, hands tangling in his hair. The braid had long since fallen, his raven locks flowing freely. Draken smirked to himself, feeling you roll your hips against him, greedy for more. “Go ahead baby, fuck my face.”

“Fuck, Draken,” you whined. His filthy words make your pussy clench. Draken - quite literally - ate it up. He loved how you responded to his words, his touch, his tongue. Within moments, your orgasm was upon you, pumping a rich bliss through your veins. You shuddered and moaned Drakens name as he gripped your thighs to keep you from toppling over. He let you ride out your high, savoring your taste on his tongue.

When you finished you sunk to your knees next to him. You gripped his face in your hands, pulling him in for a deep, sloppy kiss. You slid your hand down, running it along the bulge in his pants. Draken’s breath caught in his throat as you gave him a squeeze. You fumbled with the button on his pants until you were able to yank them down enough to slip his cock out from his boxers. Draken laid back, propped up on his forearms looking at you.

“You don’t - shit - you don’t have to, fuck-” he trailed off when you licked up the underside of him. He was long and thick, heavy in your hand. You wanted to taste him so bad.

“You were saying?” you teased. Draken didn’t protest, allowing you to wrap your lips around his head. You sucked at it, swirling your tongue over the slit, making Draken hiss. You let some spit drip down his length, giving some lubricant for your hand to slide up and down him. You bobbed your head up and down, allowing your hands to squeeze the parts you couldn’t. He was so big it made your jaw ache, but you didn’t mind.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” Draken moaned. You focused your mouth on the tip, which made his breath quicken. You loved the way his stomach clenched as you sucked at his tip. His hips twitched and a breathless moan filled the room as he came, filling your mouth. You swallowed the slick salty release eagerly.

You collapsed on his chest, both of you catching your breath. A silence settled over you that started comfortably, then stretched out a little too long. Draken, you noticed, was oddly stiff. A pit formed in your stomach.

“Draken do you… do you want to stay over?” you tried, hoping he’d enthusiastically agree and that you were being over sensitive for no reason.

“I… probably shouldn’t,” he replied uncomfortably.

“I wouldn’t make you sleep on the floor,” you tried to joke, but it died on your lips when you saw his face. Something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”

“This… I shouldn’t have,” he replied, voice strained. He saw your face fall and continued quickly, “It’s not you it’s - fuck I don’t wanna say that. I just -I don’t have a normal life. All this time we spend together, the closer we get, it all puts you more in danger.”

“I don’t care, I feel safe with you. We could make it work,” you pleaded. You felt desperate, like you were gripping onto sand that would inevitably slip through your fingers.

“You deserve better than what I can give you. I can’t even take you out on a date. If my identity got out to Bonten they would go after everyone I cared about to get to me. I can’t put you in that kind of danger.” You were both sitting up and Draken was pulling his pants back up. He was leaving, you realized, he hooked up with you and now he’s leaving you. A wave of anger burned through you.

“You couldn’t have fucking figured that out before we… did that?” you snapped, “Were you just trying to get in my pants this whole time?”

Draken looked at you, hurt. “I would have hoped you’d know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“But how could I?” you fired back, “You keep me in the dark about everything. Only ever come here when you need something. Then we have sex and suddenly it's too much?” Deep down you knew it wasn’t like that; you knew Draken was not using you. Yet your anger was in full control now.

“I’m sorry y/n. I fucked up, I know how bad it looks,” Draken replied. He sounded broken up. “I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away, it wasn’t right. I… I’m going to stop coming here. I think it’s for the best.”

Everything was crashing around you. You didn’t want him to see you cry, swallowing your tears as best you could. All you could say was, “Go, then.” And then he was gone.

***

It had been a little over 2 months since you last saw Draken. You flipped between sad and angry. Mostly just sad, though. You missed him so bad it ached. You wanted to tell him how mad you were. You wanted to kiss him. Most of all, you wanted to know he was okay. Night time was always the hardest; you spent far too much time staring at your fire escape hoping he would appear. You wondered who, if anyone, was taking care of him now.

You never thought you would see him again, which was why him showing up covered in blood was so shocking. He opened the window, falling through with a heavy thump before you could even get up off the couch. You’ve never seen him look so bad.

“Fuck Draken what happened?” you rushed over to him. You saw that he was bleeding heavily from a wound in his leg, as well as one from the head. His mask was soaked, excess blood dripping down the side of his face.

“I’m sorry, y/n, I’m so sorry,” Draken mumbled, “Didn’t know where else to go.” The words came through huffed breaths.

Tears welled in your eyes. “Shh, it's okay Draken. You’re going to be okay. Just hold on for me.” You pushed your tears away and went into nurse-mode. You gathered up all the supplies you thought you would need. Draken was fading in and out of consciousness when you returned, mumbling sorry again when he saw you. “You can apologize later, just hold on for me.”

You cut through his pants, finding a gash that was the source of the bleeding. The blood was a deep maroon, not the bright red of an artery injury. You let out the tiniest sigh of relief. If his femoral artery had been nicked, he would be a dead man. Still, the wound did not look good. For a brief second you considered breaking the rules and calling the hospital, however you didn’t know how you would explain this without outing Draken. But if he died, that would be a big problem too. You decided then and there that come hell or high water, he is not dying.

You yanked the belt off his pants, using it as a make-shift tourniquet. You figured it would be too hard to get the wound above his heart, what with it being on his thigh. Instead, you jumped right into applying pressure. You used your left hand to reach up and peel off his mask, which was sticky with his blood. It revealed a cut above his eyebrow. It would need stitches, you assessed, but it wasn’t life threatening. Head wounds bleed like crazy; they’re almost never as bad as they look.

You used your need to hold pressure on his wound. Draken groaned, a welcome sound. It meant he was still conscious. Though you could tell he was fading. He was pale from the blood loss. You used your free hands to cut open his shirt and rip it away. Thankfully you were met with no other wounds. Well, visible ones anyways. He was scraped and bruised, but nothing that required immediate attention.

“Didn’t know you wanted my clothes off so bad,” Draken tried to joke. His breath was ragged, making your heart pinch.

“You did know that,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. His eyes fluttered. “Don’t you dare Draken.” But his lids didn’t open. He was still breathing and still had a pulse, so he was just passed out from the blood loss. You needed to work fast or this could be bad. You checked his wound and, thankfully, the bleeding had slowed.

You, being the neurotic planner you were, had a feeling something like this would happen when you started treating Draken. So, you filled an IV bag with your own blood. You won the genetic lottery and are the universal donor. It was a morbid thing to do, but right now you were glad you had. You fetched the bad from your fridge (hidden behind your favorite juice. Definitely morbid) and worked to hook Draken up. His veins were a little hard to find from the blood loss, but you got it soon enough.

You returned to his thigh wound, which had stopped bleeding. You nearly cried out with relief. You pulled on gloves, carefully inspecting it. It was a long gash, but not deep enough to cause permanent damage. You cleansed it until you were satisfied, checked to make sure it wasn’t still bleeding, then started stitching like a mad woman. You lost count of how many it took, but finally it was done. You moved to the cut on his face and repeated the process.

Draken was still knocked out, but his breath never faltered, which was the only thing that gave you comfort. You then began cleaning the blood off of his skin as gently and quickly as you could. You cleansed and bandaged some of the smaller cuts and scrapes. Then, you shifted your futon into a bed. You laid out an old bed sheet and then very carefully pulled Draken over. It was not easy, given his stature, but your experience handling patients larger than yourself helped. You put a pillow under his head and a few under his leg to prop it up. You’ve done all you could for him, now you just had to hope it was enough.

You worked on cleaning his blood up off your floor. It took a bit of work, but finally it didn’t look like someone nearly bled out in your living room. You bagged up his clothes and most of the towels you used. You weren’t even going to bother trying to get the blood out. You took the last clean towel you had and took the quickest shower possible to get all his blood off you.

When you came back out, he was still resting peacefully. You carefully crawled into the bed next to him, finally letting a few tears flow. You kissed his forehead gently and whispered to him, “Please be okay, Draken. Please.” You slept next to him - though it was less sleeping and more you carefully watching his chest to ensure it was still rising and falling.

At some point you must have dozed off, because the next time you opened your eyes there was sunlight streaming through your window. The soft, golden kind that told you it couldn’t be much past sunrise. You were between sleep and wake when Draken started shifting beside you. You practically sprung up, all traces of sleep gone.

“Y/n?” his voice was hoarse, but so welcomed.

You were nearly in tears. “I’m here Draken.” You looked over his body. It was beaten and bruised, but all the stitches held overnight. His color came back and his eyes had a spark to them. The vice of anxiety eased off your chest.

“What happened? What time is it?” his brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He saw the IV hooked up to him and shot you a confused look. “How the…?”

“You were in really bad shape last night. I don’t know what happened before you came here, but I-I thought I was going to lose you for a few seconds,” your voice shook as you thought about his eyes fluttering shut. “It’s ab0ut 8am right now. And well… I gave you my blood.”

You expected Draken to be horrified, but to your surprise, he laughed. “And I haven’t even taken you out to dinner.” You laughed, brushing away the few tears that had welled in your eyes. You were so relieved to see him in good spirits. “Am I gonna live? With all appendages intact?”

“Yes, but only because you have the best nurse in the world,” you replied.

He smiled. “That I do.” He tried to sit up, groaning.

“But you should take it easy,” you said, trying to get him to lie back down. You compromised for being propped up on his elbows. You gave him a glass of water, which he downed quickly.

“Fuck that was good.” Draken looked down at himself, just in his boxers. “Wow you really want to get my close off, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up. They were covered in blood. I didn’t wanna stain my couch.”

He looked over at you, taking in the pillow and blankets beside him. “Did you sleep with me all night?”

Blush dusted your cheeks. “Yeah I-I didn’t wanna leave you. I was scared something was going to happen.”

Draken’s eyes darkened. “I’m so sorry y/n.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, I have a lot to be sorry for,” he replied, “Not just for showing up here and scaring the shit out of you. Though that was definitely not right of me after… everything.”

You shook your head. “I’m glad you did. Well, I mean I’m not glad that you were so hurt, but I am glad you thought to come here. I would never want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Still,” Draken sighed, “What I did that last time we were together was wrong. I never should have left you like that. It was so fucked up of me. I… I just care so much about you. I realized in that moment that I like you far more than I ever should have let myself and that scared me. Because if Bonten ever found out… I couldn’t forgive myself if you were hurt.”

Your heart pinched at Draken’s words. Though it stung for him to leave when he did, knowing he was so scared made you sad. You hated that he had to live like that. “I forgive you,” you replied, and meant it fully. “I know what you do must be really hard on you. You don’t deserve to feel that way.” You paused, debating if you should say what you were thinking. You decided to go for it. “For what it is worth, you are worth taking a risk for, Draken.”

Draken’s eyes softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “Does that mean I can take you out on a date?”

You smiled widely. “Yes, you absolutely can. After you’re healed though.”

“Suddenly I feel a lot better.”

You giggled. “You need at least a full day's rest. I won’t go out with you any sooner.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but deal,” Draken replied. “And I want you to know my real name is Ken.”

You groaned. “You’re telling me your real name was right in front of me this whole time? Disguised in a nickname?”

Draken - Ken - laughed at your indignation. “Guilty. But if it makes you feel better, the people closest to me call me Draken.” It did make you feel better; you liked the thought of being someone who was close to him.

You were able to convince Draken to spend another whole day resting at your place so you could monitor him (it really didn’t take more convincing). You made him breakfast, which he devoured. A good sign. He also took a shower and came out in a particularly low towel that made you squirm. You ran into a problem when you realized you trashed all his bloody, cut up clothes, meaning he had nothing to wear. Even your largest sweats looked so ridiculously small on him you both busted out laughing.

“You really don’t have to go get me clothes,” Draken said, who was now just standing in his boxers. You were trying, and failing, not to stare. You couldn’t believe someone could just… look like that.

“Well considering your only other option is walking home in your underwear, I think I do. Besides it’s just a few blocks away, it’s not a problem at all.” You could tell Draken felt bad but he didn’t argue. And it really wasn’t a big deal, you were back with proper fitting sweats in less than 30 minutes.

The two of you just hung out for the rest of the day. You enjoyed getting to know the real Draken, the man behind the mask. He was intelligent, funny, and really sweet, despite his hard exterior. As the hours passed, his color came back fully and his pain was diminishing. He was still a little achy, but all things considered, he was doing well. He ended up in your bed at night, you insisted even though he tried to say the couch was fine. He only agreed to sleep there if you slept there too, refusing to put you out of a bed in your own home.

Nothing happened between the two of you, though you felt like your bodies were alive with a current. You were so aware of him next to you, the weight of him on the mattress, his scent, the sound of his breath, it was like a magnetic force pulling you to him. You didn’t act on those impulses, though. It wasn;t just that you knew his body needed more rest, you were scared of pushing things too far again. Even though he said he wanted to take you on a date, you were still afraid he might change his mind.

Those fears, however, did not stop your unconscious mind from cuddling up to him in your sleep. You were thoroughly embarrassed when you woke up wrapped around him, apologizing profusely. Draken did not seem to mind one bit.

“Do I have medical clearance to take you on a date tomorrow?” Draken asked as he slipped his shoes back on. Your heart fluttered with excitement that he wanted to see you so soon.

“Hmm, I think that can be approved,” you replied. Blood volume usually is back to normal in about 48 hours, so he should be okay by then. You explained that it did take a few weeks for red blood cells to regenerate, so he should take it easy and stay hydrated. “Let me know if you feel dizzy or weak. You should be okay since you haven’t experienced that, but still call me right away if you do. And no strenuous… activities for a few more days.” You gave him a pointed look.

Draken put his hands up innocently. “I can leave the mask off for a few nights. I’ve got more important plans, anyways.” You couldn’t help but smile stupidly as you said goodbye.

The next night you were in your room trying to find an outfit to wear for tomorrow, when you heard a noise in your living room. Draken, you thought, hurrying out to see him.

You stopped dead in your tracks. The person standing in front of your open window was not Draken. Behind the fear that surged through your body you heard Draken scolding you for not locking the damn thing.

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” the pink-haired man said.

“What are you doing?” you asked stupidly. You body told you to run but you felt frozen in place.

“I think we have a mutual friend I’d like to discuss,” he replied nonchalantly. His cheeks were scarred, making his fake smile look more like a sneer.

“What do you-” Your eyes widened when you realized. This was a member of Bonten, you knew it your bones. Fuck. Finally, your body caught up to your mind. You sprinted back to your room, locking the door behind you. You heard this man sigh behind you, as if you had the nerve to run from someone who broke into your place.

You scrambled for your phone as he banged on the door. The whole frame shook and you knew the shitty old wood was not going to hold up. Your hands were shaking, making it difficult to click through to Draken’s number, but finally you did.

“Please pick up, please pick up,” you frantically whispered. You yelped as the door started to splinter.

You nearly wept tears of relief when you heard Draken’s voice. “Y/n? What’s up?”

“Please help me!” you cried. The door clattered to the ground, making you scream.

“Y/n? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

The man grabbed your ankles, pulling you away from the phone. “They have me! Please, help!” You were screaming and crying, unable to fight the fear. You could hear Draken replying, but the man stomped on your phone, cutting him off. Before you could even react, a sharp pain radiated through the back of your skull and the world went black.

***

The world came back to you in fuzzy blinks. The first thing you noticed was the dull ache in the back of your head, the second was that you were bound to something cold and hard.

“Sleeping beauty’s awake,” a voice announced. You looked up, funding three men staring at you, one was your capture and the other two were purple-haired strangers. They were dressed expensively, though you were in what looked like a run-down old warehouse. They were not exactly how you would picture gang members, but there was an air of menace about them despite their colorful dress. Especially the pink one.

“Finally, been sick of waiting around,” the pink one huffed. “You’re going to cooperate and answer our questions, y/n.” It unnerved you that he knew your name.

The one with short purple hair tsked. “Jesus, Sanzu, you’re scaring the poor girl.” He turned to you, a slick smile on his face. “Sorry for my friend, he’s not good with people. Especially not pretty girls.” Sanzu grumbled something under his breath, while the longer haired guy with glasses rolled his eyes. “I’m Ran, it’s nice to meet you.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. He spoke like you were meeting a new friend, not like you were being held hostage.

“Not very talkative, huh?” he asked with faux sincerity. “Going to need you to speak for me, angel. Got some questions for you.” Ran went to push hair out of your eyes, making your jerk back.

“Don’t touch me,” you spat.

He chuckled, unperturbed by your tone. “She speaks! Think she likes me better, Sanzu.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Would the two of you stop fucking playing around?” the longer-haired man interjected. “We don’t have all fucking day. The boss is waiting.”

Ran rolled his eyes. “My brother’s such a party pooper. But it’s true, we are kinda in a hurry. So I’ll get to the point: you know someone we are… very interested in meeting.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, keeping your voice as steady as possible.

“No?” He reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a photo of your apartment building. It was fuzzy, but you could see yourself in the window as Draken climbed in from the fire escape. Your pulse spiked. “See, I think I'm a nice guy, y/n. But I really hate being lied to. And so does my friend Sanzu, only his methods of interrogation are a little more… ruthless.” He paused, letting his words sink in. Your throat felt tight and your palms itched with anxious sweat. These men were not afraid to hurt you. “Now with that in mind, I want you to tell me how you know this man.”

You debated trying to lie, but it was clearly pointless. They had photo proof you knew him. You felt violated and sick that you have been watched for that long, but you couldn’t focus on that now. You formulated a response to get them off your back without revealing too much. “H-he… helped me one day. I was getting robbed and he stopped them.”

“Go on.”

Fuck you knew that wouldn’t be enough. “He got hurt and I offered to stitch him up for helping me. I’m a nurse. It was just a favor I-I don’t know him.”

“Hmm,” Ran considered your words, “And yet he went to your apartment on multiple occasions?”

Your stomach clenched with fear. They’ve been watching you for so long. “I-I offered to help if he needed. But I don’t know anything about him. He never showed me his face or told me his name,” the words tumbled out of you in a breathless mess.

“Am I supposed to believe that? All those late night stops at your place and never once told you his name? Showed you his face?” Ran questioned, his hand ran up and down your leg in a casual manner. “Don’t know how he could resist a pretty girl like you. I’m finding it hard myself, and we just met.”

You felt nauseous. “He never did, I swear,” you lied, “He was very secretive. He only ever stayed long enough to receive medical attention and that was it.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Sanzu jumped it, “Your methods are shit, Ran.” He shoved the purple-haired man aside. He crouched down to look in your face. “You’re fucking lying to us, I can tell.”

“I’m not I sw-” The crack of a hand across your face silenced you. You were stunned, cheek stinging and mouth filling with the metallic taste of blood. Ran gave you a ‘I told you so’ shrug.

“Do we look stupid or something?” Sanzu demanded. “You must know something about his identity.”

You would never give Draken up. Not just because it was wrong, but because you knew these men were going to kill you either way. You’d rather take his secret to the grave. “I don’t. I told you everything.”

Sanzu pulled a gun out and pointed it at you. You nearly screamed as you struggled useless against the rope that tied you. “Please don’t,” you cried. It was one thing to know these men wanted to harm you, but looking death in the face was something else entirely.

Ran and the third man didn’t even blink as Sanzu cocked the gun. He placed his finger on the trigger. He fucking smiled. “Last chance.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as tears streamed down your cheeks. You didn’t bother begging; you knew your words didn’t matter. You heard a loud bang, your body tensing as you braced for the pain… wait, why weren’t you in pain? You dared to open your eyes, finding Sanzu knocked out on the floor in front of you, a metal rod on the floor next to him. There was a flutter of movement around you, but you saw a familiar shape running towards you.

Draken.

He had another rod in his hand, which he was currently using to fight off the purple-haired men. Another gun was pulled out, followed by a loud BANG, but Draken dodged it. He lunged at Ran, the wielder of the gun, twisting it out of his hand with a loud snap.

“Fuck,” Ran groaned in pain. Draken snatched the gun off the ground and aimed it at Ran’s brother. He lifted his hands to indicate his surrender.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Draken yelled. When they didn’t move he fired the gun in the space between them, which set them off running. Draken was at your side in a blink of an eye. He kicked the gun out of Sanzu’s limp hand. He gave him a kick to the ribs for good measure, but he was out cold. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” you hiccupped. Tears still fell, these were one of relief. The second he untied your wrists, your arms flew around him, squeezing him tightly. He held you back, gripping you for dear life.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Draken soothed, “You’re safe with me.” Draken took you in his arms and ran. You tucked your face into his chest, breathing in his scent, absorbing his warmth. Your nerves were still a wreck, but you knew at that moment you were safe.

You weren’t sure how long Draken had been carrying you for when he came to a stop. When you looked up, you were at the back of a bike shop. “Are you okay to walk up the stairs?” Draken asked.

“I’m not hurt,” you confirmed. Draken set you down, but kept an arm around you as he led you up the stairs.

“This is my place,” Draken explained, “I want you here with me tonight if that’s okay.”

You nodded, not wanting to be anywhere else. “Thank you.”

Draken scowled. “You’re bleeding.”

Your hand went up to your mouth, feeling the wet blood from your lip. “It’s just a little cut, I’m okay.” Draken stepped to you, his hands replacing yours. He gently ran his finger along your lip, making you shiver. Anger burned in his eyes.

“Those fucking bastards hit you. I’m going to kill them.” You leaned into his gentle touch. You knew you should tell him not to, and eventually you probably would, but right now you could object to the thought of revenge on Sanzu.

“I just wanna be with you now,” you replied.

Draken kissed your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere now, I promise. Why don’t I get a shower going for you?” You nodded and followed him to the bathroom. He set the shower up, letting it get steamy. He placed a fresh towel on the rack. “I’ll be out in the living room if you need anything.”

“Wait!” The thought of Draken not being there, even for a second flooded your body with anxiety. “I… I don’t wanna be alone,” you admitted, not being able to look at him. If Draken thought the request was strange he didn’t show it.

You both stripped down and stepped inside the shower. You didn’t really look at Draken, not that you hadn’t seen him naked before, but you still felt like you were in a daze. Besides, it didn’t really feel sexual, even though you were both completely naked. It was a different kind of intimacy as you turned towards Draken and hugged him.

“I got you, y/n, you’re okay,” he cooed, rubbing your back. Between the heat of the water at your back and the warmth of his body pressed against your front, you slowly felt your body relax. You felt Draken’s hands in your hair and it wasn’t until your nose filled with the scent of spice that you realized he was washing your hair.

You were both silent as Draken cared for you. After your hair, he cleaned your body with a washcloth and soap. You loved that it was making you smell like him. Normally you feel a little embarrassed to be so bare in front of someone, but Draken puts you at ease. He did your face last, gingerly washing the blood off your lip.

“Never thought you’d be playing nurse,” you commented.

Draken gave you a soft smile. “Good thing I learned from the best.”

You stayed in the shower until the water got cold. Draken helped you out and you giggled as he tried to fit the one towel around the both of you. Eventually he gave up, wrapping it only around you and then scooping you up.

“Thank you, Ken,” you said softly, as he sent you down in his bed.

“You don't have to thank me. I should be apologizing.” You hated the hurt look in his eyes.

“Please, don’t. Can we just rest?” you pleaded.

Draken didn’t argue, letting you rest on your head on his chest. Under the security of his arms, your body succumbed to a deep sleep.

***

You stayed with Draken over the next few days, feeling at home almost immediately. You cooked and Draken cleaned the dishes. You showed Draken some of your favorite movies and he let you wear his sweats (but he laughed at how comically big they looked on you). You called out of work, citing a family emergency, which bought you some time to figure things out. Draken took one trip to your apartment to gather some stuff you needed, but besides that you stayed together the whole time. You didn’t speak much about what happened until 3 days later, when you were settling into bed for the night.

“Y/n, we need to talk about what happened,” Draken said sitting next to you. His weight dipped the bed, causing you to slide closer to him.

Anxiety fluttered in your stomach, fearing he was going to ask you to leave or tell you he couldn’t be with you. There was no point in pushing it off any longer. “Okay.”

“You didn’t let me apologize that night, but I have to. I am so incredibly sorry for putting you in danger,” Draken said.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You saved me,” you replied.

“But if it wasn’t for me you’d never be in that situation,” Draken responded, “You… you could have been killed. Because of me. I could never forgive myself if you were hurt because of me.” The pain in his voice made your heart ache. “I feel like you would have been better off if you never met me. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, Ken, don’t talk like that,” you replied, taking his face in your hand. “You have done nothing but save me. Do I need to remind you why we met? I don;t even want to think about what could have happened if you didn’t step in then.” You shivered at the memory. “And you saved me today. I know that being with you has… complications, but I don’t care.”

“You should,” he sighed.

“You’re right, I should, but I don’t,” you replied, “I already told you, you’re worth it. And I still believe that even after what I’ve been through. I am going to choose you, Ken. Every time I am going to choose you… But if you don’t want me, I won’t force myself on you.”

“Never,” Draken replied quickly, “I want you more than anything. I just want you to be safe. I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe, I promise.”

“I know you will, Ken. And that’s why I’m not afraid to be with you, whatever the risk is.” A soft smile spread on his lips. “What?”

“I like when you call me Ken.” He pulled you into his lap. “We do this on one condition. You move in with me.”

“Are you holding me hostage now?” you teased.

He kissed your neck. “It’s not hostage if you want to be here.” He was right about that and there was nothing you wanted more.

“Consider me your new roommate then.” He kissed your jaw, making your pulse spike.

“I was hoping you’d be more than that,” he murmured against your skin.

Your body instinctively rolled into his as he gripped your hips. “And what were you hoping for, Ken?”

You didn’t miss the soft groan that escaped his lips. “That you’d be my girl.” My girl. You felt his words in your heart and your pussy.

“I’m yours.” His lips were on yours the second the words left your mouth. You were tangled up in each other instantly. You ran your fingers through his hair; it was out of the braid, which you loved. His hands trailed up and down your sides, before slipping under your shirt (well his shirt) and tossing it to the floor.

“So pretty,” he said before taking your nippled in his mouth. He palmed your other breast while he sucked on the other, making arousal pool between your thighs. You rocked against him, seeking relief.

Him playing with your tits was sending little jolts of pleasure down between your thighs, making you extra sensitive. “Ken,” you moaned, surprised that you felt on the edge already.

Suddenly you were flipped on your back, Draken over you. He reached behind himself and yanked his shirt off in one go. “Want you so bad angel,” he said, hooking his fingers into your underwear. “But I gotta prep you first.”

His fingers ran through your slick heat, making him groan. He pressed his finger into you, giving a few experimental curls. You wriggled beneath him, desperate for me. Draken obliged, pumping in and out of you. “So tight,” he noted, “Gonna need you to cum on my fingers before I can fuck you.”

“Please, wanna cum so bad,” you whined. Draken slipped another finger in you, watching how your pussy sucked his fingers in. The lewd sight made his cock ache. He pressed his thumb to your clit, needing you to cum so he could be inside you.

“Gonna make you cum, baby,” Draken replied, “Wanna hear you say my name.” His fingers pressed so deep inside you, farther than you’ve ever been able to reach. You could feel your arousal dripping out of you and coating his fingers. Draken leaned in, letting his tongue flick at your swollen clit.

“Fuck, Ken!” Your back arched off the bed and you came. The warm, wet feeling of his tongue on your pussy making your orgasm feel like fire in your veins. Draken smiled proudly at his work, then sucked your release off his fingers.

“Still so fucking sweet.” He stripped off his pants, allowing you to take in his naked form. You still couldn’t believe how good he looked. Not to mention how thick and hard and leaking he was and… fuck you were alreadying aching for him again.

“God you’re so fucking beautiful, Ken.”

He laughed. “No one’s ever called me beautiful. Are you just trying to get laid or something?” His arms were on either side of your head as he positioned himself above you. You felt caged in by him in the best way possible.

“I am definitely trying to get laid,” you kissed him, “But you’re definitely beautiful.” He let out another soft laugh and kissed you back.

“Tell me if I hurt you okay?” You nodded. Draken slowly pressed himself inside you, the size of him taking your breath away. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” His voice was gruff from the effort of not letting himself get lost in your tight, wet walls. He wanted to fuck you so bad, but knew he had to go slow with it.

His hips moved slowly, each stroke feeling sweeter. He was certainly the biggest man you’ve ever been with, but he knew what he was doing. “Feels so good Ken, loving having you inside me,” you assured him.

“Love being inside you,” he replied, pace quickening, “You feel like fucking heaven.” You gasped as his lower torso brushed against your sensitive clit. “Fuck, keep squeezing me like that and I’m not gonna last.” Despite his words, he showed no signs of slowing. The sound of his hips hitting yours and your slick wetness filled the room. It made you blush, but also filled you with an aching need.

“So close,” you gasped. Draken laced his fingers between yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

“Let yourself go, angel, wanna feel your pussy cumming all over my cock.” His words worked magic over your body, sending you over the edge. Your mouth fell open as you cried his name in breathless ecstasy. “Fuck, so good. So fucking good.”

Seconds later you felt Draken’s cock twitching inside you, filling you with his release. You loved how warm and full it made you feel. You kissed up his neck as he slowed, letting you enjoy every last bit of it.

Finally he stopped, kissing you sweetly. “I think I might be in love with you,” Draken admitted. The vulnerability surprised you, but made you smile.

“I think I might love you, too.”

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