#spent a few hours in the er but I’m fine now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

waywardxrhea · 26 days ago

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Won't Give Up - Spencer Reid

Heart's Desire (pt 1) / Soon You'll Get Better (pt 2)

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader

word count: 7,584

Going to a routine follow-up appointment with Doctor Rubio lands you where you least expected it: back in the ER.

content: ANGST, lots of medical stuff (vomit mentioned as a warning for those who are queasy), canon typical themes - mentions of threats to safety and guns (it's a criminal minds fic, what can you really expect?), some inherently political topics (death row and guns - nothing to sway one way or another, they're just mentioned), fluff at the very end

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Spencer asked as he gathered up his belongings in order to head to Quantico for the morning.

“I’m sure,” you replied before kissing his cheek and handing him a to-go cup of coffee, just the way he liked it, of course. “I’ve dragged you away from work and the team enough already over the last few months. It’s just a routine follow-up and test to clear me for field work again.”

“But, what if-”

“Ah, ah, ah!" you interrupted him with a quiet laugh following. A fond smile made its way onto your lips, and you ghosted your knuckles over Spencer's jawline as you told him, “I love you, and I appreciate your concern for my health more than I can ever express, but it’s okay for you to not be at every appointment.”

“I just worry…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you in for a hug.

“I know you do,” you mumbled into his chest. “I’ll call you when the appointment is done, though. Should take around three hours for everything.”

“I wish they would have just had you do an exercise stress test. You’re seeing if you’re cleared to go back into the field, so why not do it with something that would mimic that?”

You shrugged as he released you from the hug, telling him, “I guess because of how volatile my case was, they don’t wanna risk me falling out at the appointment.”

“That’s fair…” Spencer relented with a sigh.

“Now go, before you’re late to work!” you said with a quiet laugh, one last kiss for the road landing on his lips before he turned toward the door. “I love you!” you called after him.

“I love you too!” he replied, the boyish grin returning to his features. He never tired of hearing you say those three little words. He had heard you say them in a manner of different ways over your time spent together as a couple, and each one made him happier than the last. As he made his way to his car, he couldn’t help his mind from wandering back to daydreams of the, hopefully not so distant future, he had been having recently…

You looked up as your name was called by the receptionist, and the nurse who would be taking you back gave you a smile as you approached her. “You ready?” the bright young lady asked as she held the door open for you.

“As I’ll ever be,” you told her, now following her down the small hall and into a room.

As you got settled onto the table, the nurse started up the machine to take your vitals. You sat quietly as she took them and told you, “When we’re done with this, I’ll hook you up to the cardiac monitor so that we can track what’s going on in there as Doc gives the meds.”

“Sounds good,” you told her.

After hooking you up to the monitor, she opened a cabinet nearby and grabbed an IV kit and got started on giving you an IV so the doctor had access to give you the medications. When she finished and made sure it was working, she exited the room, telling you that she was going to grab the medications for the doctor.

When you were alone in the room once more, you got comfortable on the table as you took some calming breaths when your anxiety began to spike. You told yourself that you were going to be fine, that you would pass the test and be cleared for field work by the end of the week! Your positive thoughts were interrupted, though, and you had to sit up as you felt a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere, a dizzying feeling taking hold as you positioned yourself upright.

You jumped at the sharp knock that the nurse gave before entering the room, your heart racing in your chest as she opened the door to reveal herself with some medications in hand. She looked you over and asked, “Everything all right? You’re looking a little queasy.”

“Just got really nauseous all of a sudden,” you replied, a slow breath being blown out of your pursed lips.

“Oh! I’ll go ask if we can get you some Phenergan real quick!” she said, making a quick exit from the room.

When she returned, it was with the doctor, and she gave you a dose of the nausea medication through your IV. As the doctor washed his hands, another wave of nausea hit you before promptly being knocked away by the medicine. “Better?” the nurse asked quietly, concern evident in her voice. Finally being able to take a deep breath, you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes, nodding while you did.

There was a beat of silence that filled the air before Doctor Rubio cleared his throat and said, “Becca, I just got a message from the front desk saying that they need you to help with rooming other patients. The other nurse got stuck in a room. I can take it from here.”

“You got it,” she told him, taking off her gloves and heading out of the room.

When the door clicked shut, Doctor Rubio turned toward you with a syringe in hand that was filled with a milky white substance, and said, “All right, this is the first medication that we give for the stress test. Are you ready?”

“Yes sir,” you replied, adjusting yourself on the bed so you were laying down.

You felt a cool sensation as the doctor attached the syringe to your IV and began pushing the medication, and within moments your eyes were becoming heavy and your mind started to cloud. Before sleep could overtake your body, you heard his voice close to your ear as he said, “Sleep tight, Agent… Smile when you wake up, you’ll be on camera.”

When you woke up what felt like seconds later, you squeezed your eyes closed when they registered the bright lights shining at you from above, a noise of discontent leaving your throat. There was a stinging pain in your arm that had the IV in it that you tried to ignore while you figured out what the hell was going on. In the brief seconds that you had your eyes open, you saw some of your surroundings. You were in a room that mostly empty other than some equipment that was still covered in plastic. You must have been in the new wing of the hospital… Not that knowing that helped you at all…

A few seconds later, you turned your head and tried opening your eyes again. What you saw when you opened them was Doctor Rubio sitting at a laptop as a camera was trained right at you. When your eyes made contact with the logo on the back of the laptop, things started to click together. The logo matched the tattoo you noticed on his arm before. It was the very same one that was the symbol of a gun running group you took down when you worked for Homeland…

“Ah, you’re finally awake!” Rubio said as he stood up from the laptop and began approaching you. While he did, you tried to sit up, but couldn’t when you realized that you were restrained to the hospital bed he had you on. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” he said in a dark tone, and you were sure he was giving you a sick smile under the mask he was wearing, judging by the crinkles by his eyes. He leaned in close and said quietly, “And I wouldn’t say anything either, if you knew what was good for you. Every time you do, your time is cut even shorter.”

“See this?” he asked as he stood back up to his full height and gestured to a bag of fluid that was currently flowing into the IV in your arm. “This is potassium chloride. The very drug that they use on Death Row to stop people’s hearts.”

When he said this, your eyes widened, and he chuckled as he said, “I think you know where this is going, Agent.” There was a brief pause before he continued, saying, “Four years ago, before you worked for the FBI, before you joined the BAU, you worked on a special task force at Homeland Security. That task force was charged with taking down a group of people who worked under a man they called Schütze.” He flashed you the tattoo and added, “Schütze stood for our freedom. Our rights! And you got him sent to Death Row!” You had tried to ignore the part of your past, but you did remember that sometime within the last year, one of your old friends from Homeland had told you that Schütze had been given the injection...

Anger filled your chest when he said this and reminded you of the fear you faced during that takedown, and in a moment of rage, you bitterly told him, “Schütze didn’t stand for freedom, he stood for chaos and murder. The guns he smuggled into this country were responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths!”

“He stood for the second amendment freedoms that this country is trying to take away from us!” Rubio shouted. He tsked as he made his way to the IV pole and rolled the dial on the clamp so that the fluid ran just a little faster into your bloodstream as he said, “He knew that the only way for us to keep our weapons was to make sure they couldn’t be traced. He knew that one day, they would come for us all. He knew that with his product, we would be able to raise an army of freedom fighters to protect our rights!”

“You’re delusional…” you muttered as you took in the wild look in the man’s eyes.

“Tell that to the thousands of people watching the stream right now. They’re all here to watch you die,” he said while gesturing toward the camera. The roller on the potassium was opened up a little more as he told you, “When someone gets the lethal injection, they’re first given a large dose of a sedative so they’re unconscious. Then, they’re chemically paralyzed with just as large a dose of a paralytic. After that, they’re injected with potent potassium chloride, and their heart stops within a minute.” Rubio gestured toward the camera again as he said, “These people, though, want to see you suffer. I do too, if I’m honest. You see, ever since I brought you back here and you took a little propofol induced nap, I’ve been loading you up with potassium. As time passes, you’ll experience more symptoms of hyperkalemia, and we will all revel in the joy that comes with watching someone you hate slowly die.”

All throughout this time, you were struggling against the restraints holding you down, but as he neared the end of his monologue, you began to feel a staticy sensation in your arms and legs, as if they were falling asleep. To combat it, you opened and closed your hands to try and regain the feeling in them, and Rubio only chuckled as he said, “You’re already starting to feel it, aren’t you? That numbness you’re getting right now is one of the early signs.”

He sat back down behind the laptop before saying, “While that infuses, let’s read some of these comments from other followers of Schütze, yeah?” A sick laugh left his throat as he read, “‘If I knew the bitch was practically in my backyard, I would have shot her in the head myself.’ I wonder how close that one lives to you and your lovely boyfriend, Agent.”

“Leave him out of this,” you told him in a dangerous tone.

“Ooh these ones are asking who the lucky man is. Where they can find him. I do know where you live. It would just take a few keystrokes and they would all know too…” Rubio said with a sneer.

“You wouldn’t dare!” you snapped, which caused him to stand up and approach you with a dangerous look in his eye. He turned up the rate again, and this time you couldn’t even feel the sting in your arm as he did. Looking down at it, though, you saw how irritated it was becoming, and you knew that something was wrong if you could no longer feel the pain.

“Oh, I would, though,” he told you as he stooped down and began undoing your restraints. “If you can get out of here, be my guest, but I have a feeling you won’t be able to.”

With your arms and legs free, you wanted to rip the IV out of your arm and get off of the bed so you could make a break for it, but as you willed your arm to reach for the IV line to rip it out, you couldn’t even move it more than an inch. Your legs were no different, and in your attempt to get off of the bed, you just managed to flip over onto your side, facing the camera fully as you gave in. There was no way you were getting off of this bed. There was no way you were getting that IV line out. It was likely you would be dying in this room, in front of that camera.

As Rubio sat back behind his laptop and began reading more hateful and threatening comments to you, a wave of nausea far worse than before hit you. You tried to breathe through it, but couldn’t as the discomfort only increased as the seconds passed with no end in sight. You wished the medicine they had given you earlier was still in your system, but it seemed to be nowhere to be found as nausea took over and your stomach began to heave. You begged your body to hold on, but you couldn’t any longer, and it took all of your core strength to move yourself closer to the edge of the bed as you emptied your stomach onto the floor.

Hot tears began to flow from your eyes when you finally stopped throwing up after nearly a minute, the nausea still ever-present as you closed your eyes and tried to keep yourself from completely going into a panic attack. You felt humiliated. Broken. Defeated. You wished that Rubio would just get on with it. Kill you himself with one of those ghost guns he was so proud to support. Make it quick. But that wasn’t what they wanted… They wanted you to suffer.

And suffer, you did.

Another wave of nausea hit you, and you threw up again, but this time when you were finished, you could barely catch your breath. Your breathing was ragged as you tried to get oxygen into your lungs unsuccessfully, and the room began spinning around you the longer you kept on like that.

Panic set in soon after, and you could just barely hear Rubio’s commentary over the ringing in your ears. Not a coherent thought ran through your mind, and everything began to blur together. What you were sure of though, was the sudden pain in your chest as you felt your heart kick into arrhythmia. This one you were unfamiliar with, though. It was different from the one you were diagnosed with.

Even as you continued to find yourself in the midst of a panic attack, you felt your heart rate begin to slow over the next few minutes, going even more sluggish than your normal rate as time passed. Soon, black started to dot your vision and everything started to slow down as consciousness began to slip away from you. Through your clouded thoughts, you forced yourself to picture Spencer. If these were to be your last moments on this planet, you would at least be thinking of him. A tear slipped out of your eye as you pictured him smiling at you, and you swore you heard his voice as your thoughts began to fade…

Earlier…

One o’clock rolled around, and while he was sitting down to eat his lunch, Spencer checked his phone to see if you had called with any updates. When he didn’t see anything, he decided that he would call you instead. Maybe you had been given some anxiety medication for the procedure and didn’t remember to update him… Three calls going unanswered over the next hour began to worry Spencer, so he spoke with Hotch and told him that he was going to the hospital to check on you.

When Spencer arrived at the front desk of the cardiology center, he gave them your name and asked if you were done with your procedure yet. The clerk typed into her computer and told him, “It shows she hasn’t checked out or made her second follow-up appointment yet. The procedure should be done, though, so let’s go see how she’s doing.”

“Thank you,” Spencer said as he followed her toward the nurses’ station.

When they arrived in the area, their presence was unnoticed as a nurse who looked distressed was being spoken to by two people who looked like administration. “I don’t know what to tell you, Becca! The machine records show that at nine forty-eight, you took out three bags of potassium and a vial of propofol!”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t do that? Check the cameras if you have to! What patient was it even for? No one I was rooming today had low potassium. If they were that critical, I would have sent them to the ED!”

“All I know is that those meds were taken out under your name with an override by Doctor Rubio! I just need to know why! As for who it was for…” she said the last part as she ran her finger over the paper and stopped when she found what she was looking for.

Spencer felt like everything stopped when she read off your name. Had something happened? Why did you need that much potassium? Propofol was a potent sedative…why did you need that for the stress test? Before he could think, Spencer walked up to the small group and said, “Excuse me, I’m the medical POA for the patient you just mentioned. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Go ahead,” the stern woman told Becca.

“I got her to the room, took her vitals, and started her IV. When I came back with the meds for the stress test, she was super nauseated, so I got Doctor Rubio to order some Phenergan and grabbed that from the machine. I…” she paused for a moment as she thought through the story carefully. “I don’t remember hearing the exit tone for the computer… Doctor Rubio was right behind me and told me to wait for him to go back into the room. Maybe…”

“You better be damn sure of that story before accusing the doctor of something like that,” the other person said in a huff.

“Well, is she still in the room?” Spencer asked urgently as he started to piece things together.

“Let’s go see,” the clerk said as she began leading Spencer toward the room you had been taken to earlier.

When they got in, Spencer saw your purse on the chair in the corner, but no you in sight. Rage and fear gripped him tight, and his voice raised nearly to a shout as he asked, “Where is she?”

“I-I don’t know!” Becca said from behind Spencer. “They needed my help out here, and it got busy!”

“Where’s the doctor?” Spencer snapped as his mind raced a mile a minute. That was nearly four hours ago! Who knows what could have been done to you or where you even were!

“Sir, please don’t raise your voice or else we’re going to have to get security to remove you,” the administration worker told him as she approached, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she did so she could dial security.

“Remove me?! My girlfriend is suddenly missing from the procedure room she was supposed to be in after a sedative was taken out under her name along with a lethal amount of potassium! You need to be working on getting security footage of where she was taken!” Spencer shouted. He fumbled for his badge in his pocket and flashed it to her as he said, “She’s a member of the FBI, and if you don’t start working on helping me find her, we will charge you with aiding and abetting the abduction of an FBI agent and, so help me if it came to this, murder!”

“Agent, you need to calm down, you’re causing a scene!” the woman snapped at him, skepticism obvious in her eyes as she looked at Spencer's badge.

“It’s Doctor,” Spencer told her as he pulled out his phone and dialed Hotch.

“Everything okay?” Hotch asked as he answered the phone.

“She’s missing,” Spencer told him quickly. “The doctor took out a sedative and a lethal amount of potassium and she hasn’t been seen since. I need the team here to help me find her.”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said.

“Get Garcia to look into Doctor Jordan Rubio. He’s the one who might have taken her,” Spencer said before Hotch hung up and began briefing the team on what was going on at the hospital.

The rest of the team showed up right as Spencer was arguing with security, telling them, “The longer this goes on, the less of a chance we have at finding her! Do you really want-”

“FBI, what’s going on here?” Hotch asked, flashing his badge as he approached the group still standing in the hallway.

“You-you’re actually?” the administration lady said wearily as the team approached.

“Yes, he’s actually FBI, and so is the agent that is missing from that room,” Hotch told her sternly. “Now, what you’re going to do is take me to where I can see the security footage of the last five hours, and we’re going to figure out where she was taken.”

“Y-yes sir,” she said timidly as her eyes turned down toward the floor.

“JJ, Rossi, split up and start searching. Morgan, you’re with Reid. I’ll tell you if there are any updates from the security cameras,” Hotch directed, sending a look of concern Spencer’s way.

“There’s a brand new wing being built, we’ll head that way,” Derek said before gesturing for Spencer to follow him as he hustled away.

Spencer nodded and started to follow, worry evident in his voice as he began to say, “Derek, what if-”

“There’s no what if. We’re going to find her,” he told him firmly. “Now come on, we’ve got seven floors to search.”

Back in the security area, Hotch stood behind the person at the computer who was accessing the footage of the last few hours when his phone began to ring. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“I was looking into the doctor and found some pages that he follows under a pseudonym on the dark web. They’re all in support of Schütze, the man she took down when she worked at Homeland, and-”

She cut herself off abruptly, and Hotch heard the gasp of air that filled her lungs, so he asked sharply, “What is it, Garcia?”

“He’s live streaming right now… He…he’s… Oh, God, it’s awful, Hotch.” She swallowed hard before saying, “The stream is titled ‘Killing a Killer - Justice for Schütze’”

“Oh, God…” Hotch whispered, grabbing the back of the office chair in front of him. “Does it look like he has her in the hospital?”

“Yes, yes, there isn’t much in the room, but it looks like- Oh my God!”

“What?!” Hotch asked sharply.

“She’s-” Penelope had to turn away from the stream as she told Hotch, “She’s throwing up and it looks like she's having a hard time breathing! Oh, God…”

“Focus, Garcia! What’s the room look like?”

“Right! There isn’t much in the room, it looks like it hasn’t been worked in. In the corner of the shot, there’s a cabinet that’s still got factory packaging covering it,” she replied after taking a few deep breaths to settle her own stomach.

“Send me a picture of that video. I need to confirm with the staff that it’s here.”

“Sending it your way… Now,” she told him as she sent him the screenshot.

Hotch’s phone rang with a notification, and he quickly looked at the photo. Sadness and rage began to pool in his chest as he shoved it under the security officer’s nose asking, “Is this here?”

“Oh, God…” the man whispered as he looked at the photo. He was quiet for a moment before he nodded and said, “That’s in the new wing. I couldn’t tell you which floor, though.”

Without a further word, Hotch turned and started running down the hall, pulling a walkie off of his belt and radioing the others. “She’s in the new wing! JJ, Rossi, get there now! I’m heading there too. Morgan, Reid, what floor are you two on?”

“We cleared the first floor, she wasn’t there. Heading to the second now,” Derek responded.

“Okay. JJ go to the third, Rossi to the fourth, and I’ll take the fifth. Work fast, there are still two floors above those,” Hotch ordered as he rounded a corner and pushed open the new wing’s stairwell door.

“Three more doors, Reid, come on,” Derek said as he once again quietly closed a door so they wouldn’t give themselves away.

“Wait!” Spencer exclaimed quietly, holding up a hand for Derek to stop what he was doing. “Do you hear that?”

Derek strained his ears to hear, and after a few seconds heard what Spencer was. Two doors down, they both heard a male’s voice speaking and then…laughing. White, hot rage filled Spencer’s entire being when he heard the laughter, but before he could make a move toward the door, Derek held out an arm in front of him as he said, “Look, I get that you want to get to her, but we need to be smart about this, man! Treat it like any other case. I’ll go for the unsub and you go to her. Got it?”

“Got it,” Spencer said with a curt nod as Derek lowered his arm and raised the other to hold his firearm up as they approached the room.

Spencer’s heart was racing as they approached the door, and as they got closer, the voice of Doctor Rubio was unmistakable. The things he was saying were vile… Of people wanting to hurt you. Stalk you. Kill you. It was all too much for Spencer to hear those things being said about you, and he almost missed Derek’s queue to bust into the room. He zoned in just in time though for Derek to swing the door open and announce, “FBI! Hands where I can see ‘em!”

“You hear that everyone? The FBI’s here to arrest me! If you see their faces, they’re targets too!” Rubio shouted as he stood up from the chair he was sitting in after hitting a few more buttons on his keyboard.

“Jordan Rubio, you’re under arrest for the abduction and attempted murder of a federal agent. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law,” Derek started to say to Rubio as he shoved him against the wall to begin cuffing him.

Spencer paid no mind to what Derek was saying, though. The second he was in that room and saw that you were there, he shouted your name as he darted toward you. Taking a quick glance at the scene, he saw the IV bag of potassium pouring into you and grabbed for it, disconnecting the fluid from the line as quickly as he could. He saw your eyes closed and your body motionless on the bed, with only shallow breaths moving your chest up and down. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Spencer whispered as he stepped carefully to avoid the sick on the floor. He gently tapped your cheek to rouse you, and when you didn’t stir, he checked your pulse, shouting, “She isn’t responding and her pulse is 47! Morgan, radio Hotch and tell him we need the ER team here now!”

“By now her potassium level is likely nearing seven at least. That’s lethal. If she isn’t already gone, she doesn’t have much time left,” Rubio said with a sick laugh.

“Man, shut the hell up!” Derek told him as he pulled his radio off of his belt and informed Hotch of the situation. After he radioed Hotch and got confirmation that the ER team was on their way, he turned toward the computer and hit the mute button as he dialed Penelope. When she answered, he was quick to say, “Hey, Baby Girl. I’m sure you already found this stream, but before I shut it down, I wanted to make sure you don’t need anything from it for evidence.”

“Shut it down, I've already got everything I need,” she told him promptly. He did so, and after a few keystrokes, the thing was shut off. “Now get that sick son of a bitch away from her.”

“Already on it,” Derek said as he hung up the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, grabbing Rubio by the cuffs and nudging him out of the door.

When he got into the hallway, he had to jump out of the way of the ER team with their stretcher, who were quickly followed by Hotch, Rossi, and JJ as they all converged on the scene. “Is she gonna be okay?” JJ asked, out of breath from the run she just went on up and down the stairs.

“I hope so,” Derek said, shaking his head sadly as he watched you being stretchered out of the room. The team had a bag mask they were using to help you breathe, and a crash cart was on the bed just in case the worst happened as you were being transported. Spencer trailed behind, rattling off your medical history and what he knew about what happened as they went.

By the time you were in the emergency room, you had a team of nurses, a respiratory therapist, and a doctor surrounding you. As much as Spencer wanted to be by your side and hold your hand through this, he knew he would just be in the way, so he stood in the corner, helpless. One nurse who had run out of the room came back in, telling the doctor, “Her potassium level is 6.8.”

“We gotta K wash her. Courtney, put in orders for 80 milligrams of furosemide IV, ten units of regular insulin IV push, D50 IV push, and calcium gluconate IV. Order to recheck labs in an hour. Get a couple new IVs in her, this one’s badly extravasated. We'll some procaine hydrochloride 1% and lidocaine on board as well. She also needs a foley to monitor her output.”

“On it,” the nurse at the computer said before she began rapidly typing into the computer to get orders in. Other nurses began carrying out the other orders, working together to get everything done before the medications arrived.

Spencer took solace in the fact that after they gave you the medications, your heart rate started to head toward a normal rate, although the rhythm was still funky. When everything that could be done for the time was finished, Spencer was able to move from the corner, pulling up a chair beside the bed and lacing his fingers in yours. He let out a shaky breath as he lifted your hand to kiss the back of it, tears beginning to fall from his eyes when you didn’t show any sign of a response to him. “I’m sorry… I’m so…so sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken with emotion.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” came Hotch’s voice from behind him as he entered the room.

“I should’ve pushed to go with her to the appointment,” Spencer said, not turning to look at his unit chief because of the shame that filled his body at the fact that something like this even happened.

“How could you have known?” he asked softly. “That brain of yours is capable of many things, but telling the future isn’t one of them.”

There was a silence that filled the air for a few moments before Spencer said, “He has a tattoo. On his wrist. It’s the logo of the group Schütze ran. It was on the laptop he was streaming with.”

“Had you seen the tattoo before today?”

“No…” Spencer admitted. “I think she had though. The day we went to Rubio to get her diagnosis, she was distracted when he came into the room and washed his hands. He…” Spencer’s breathing picked up as he talked through the story and anger started to build inside his chest once more, his voice raising slightly as he said, “He even acknowledged that she saw it!” He finally looked toward Hotch, and he saw the anger in Spencer’s eyes as he did, a pang of sympathy resonating in his chest as Spencer plowed forward, telling him, “But she never said anything about it. Maybe she didn’t fully recognize it. The human brain tends to block out certain things as part of a trauma response, especially in cases like hers where she was threatened by the group’s followers for a while during the court proceedings. They stopped after a while, so she stopped worrying about them. Filed it all away in the back of her mind...”

“So, do you blame her?”

“W-what?” Spencer asked, shocked at the question. “Of course not!”

“Then don’t blame yourself, either,” he told him, a light squeeze on Spencer’s shoulder as he did. Before he turned to go, Hotch added, “The bureau's got US Marshals on the way to keep watch over the two of you. With the threats that were coming from that stream, safety is a vital concern right now. Until then, Morgan is going to stay here with the two of you, and a thoroughly vetted police officer will be posted outside of the door.”

“Thank you,” Spencer said with a short nod.

“I’ll be checking in, but for now I think you need to focus on someone else,” he said with a small smile on his lips as he nodded his head toward you.

When Spencer turned back toward you, he saw your eyes fluttering open, and a wide smile made its way onto his lips as he whispered, “Hey.”

“Spencer?” you asked wearily. A quiet sob fell from your lips before you said, “You found me…”

“Not just me, Derek too,” Spencer said as he grabbed your hand once more, right as the door opened to reveal Derek walking in. He squeezed your hand as he told you with all the sincerity in the world, “I would never give up on finding you. Ever.”

A smile made its way onto Derek’s face when he saw your eyes open, and it was evident in his voice as he said, “Hey, Sunshine!”

“Did you get him? Doctor Rubio?” you asked.

Spencer looked to Derek for the answer, and he nodded, telling you, “He’s in custody right now. Charged with the abduction and attempted murder of a federal agent. He should get 25 to life without the possibility of parole. We just gotta do the work to make sure he gets life.”

As you nodded, you suddenly cringed at the pain in your arm, a sharp breath being sucked in as everything hit you at once. “Well, I can feel my limbs again…” you muttered as you leaned your head back onto the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed for some sort of relief that didn’t come.

You were quiet for a few moments before tears began to spill from your eyes as you said, “I’m sorry, Spence… I… I should’ve known, I just… I couldn’t remember where I had seen that tattoo before. I was feeling sick right before he came in, and it got worse when I saw the tattoo again, and I-I should have just left. I should’ve just gone home and-”

“Hey, hey, hey, this isn’t on you,” Spencer told you, remembering Hotch’s words to him only minutes before.

“Yeah, you can’t blame yourself for someone else’s actions. Especially those of a sociopath,” Derek reminded you.

You barely heard their words, though, as a wave of nausea hit you. It wasn’t as strong as before when you were in that room with Rubio, but you practically felt the color drain from your face as your stomach lurched a bit. “I need a nurse…” you managed to whisper as you covered your mouth.

Frantically looking around the room, Spencer spotted a package of alcohol swabs and grabbed one after hitting the button to summon a nurse to the room. He ripped it open and put it under your nose as he said, “Just breathe for me. In through your nose.”

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Smelling isopropyl alcohol helps relieve nausea. There are a few theories as to why, one of which has to do with chemoreceptors in the brain, and another to do with the body naturally reacting to the strong smell by breathing in a way that helps reduce the nausea,” Spencer told him as the nurse entered the room. “Can she have anything for nausea?” he asked when she made their presence.

“Yes, and I have to draw labs again to see what her potassium is, so I’ll do all that when I come back with that medicine,” she said, turning around and heading out the room.

The results of the lab draw were still critical, so they transferred you to the ICU in order to receive aggressive treatment to bring the level down to normal. As the evening dragged on, your symptoms waxed and waned, with occasional heart palpitations and nausea being your biggest complaints.

You were surprised that no one from the Bureau had come to question you about what happened. You were sure that it was heavily influenced by Hotch, who, you had no doubt was trying to give you time to heal before the barrage of questioning came. Your time to heal seemed to be up, though, when in the morning, there was a knock on the glass door and in came three people: Hotch, and two people who introduced themselves as agents from the Bureau and the US Marshal’s office respectively.

Hotch sent you an apologetic look as they pulled up chairs and the bedside table so they could take notes and fill out forms as they talked with you. The hospital staff were informed that they were not allowed in the room unless there was an emergency, and the questioning began.

During the line of questioning, you obviously had to inform the Bureau official taking your case about your relationship with Spencer, which earned a look of disapproval until Hotch pulled the papers you both signed out of a briefcase he had on the cabinet beside him. You took the agent through everything you felt was important to the case, telling him everything you could remember up until you blacked out.

When he was done with his questions, the Marshal agent straightened up some papers on the table as she cleared her throat. “Now, I know that you recall some of the comments that Doctor Rubio read to you while he had you down there, but we went through all that Agent Garcia archived, and we have some concerns.”

“Concerns such as?” Spencer asked.

“Well, we’re concerned that, even after the case is tried, there will still be a threat to her safety,” she told him. She turned back to you and said, “There were numerous threats for stalking, killing, and even sexual assault. Even more so than during the trial for Schütze. And we've already stopped a few trying to get into the hospital. From now through the trial period, you’ll have the full protection of US Marshals 24/7, but we would like you to go into witness protection afterward. There are thousands who still practically worship Schütze, and now that Schütze's been given the injection, and the man who tried to hurt you because of it is in custody...”

“I’d never be safe again…” you whispered, your eyes closing as a soft sigh left your lungs and a few tears fell from your eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait, you wanna put her into WitSec?” Hotch asked sharply, his hands going to his hips in a stern manner as he loomed over the agent.

“Agent Hotchner, I know that you have your reservations about this, and what happened with your ex wife was a total failure on our part, but-”

“But nothing! She-”

“She needs to be protected! End of story, agent!” she said sternly. “There are thousands of people out there, claiming to have these ghost guns that Schütze brought into the country, threatening her life. Trying to get into the hospital! If she isn’t put under the protection of the US Marshal’s office, she is going to die. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but that’s just how it is!”

“I’ll do it,” you told her, making a hush fall over the room.

Did you want to? No. Going into WitSec meant leaving everything behind. It meant leaving your family behind. But it also meant that you had a chance of living. And you couldn’t take that for granted.

“I’m going with you,” Spencer said immediately after you gave your consent.

“Woah, woah, woah, Spence! Think about this for a second. You’d be leaving everything you’ve made for yourself behind. What about your mom?”

“She’s immediate family, she’d be able to go into the program too,” he replied.

The agent cleared her throat once more before saying, “The problem with that, though, Doctor Reid, is that you aren’t immediate family.”

Without missing a beat, Spencer grabbed your hand in between his and said something that completely shocked you. “Marry me. Before the trial’s over. We’ll have it in Rossi’s backyard. One last celebration as a team…as a family before we go. We’ll be legally married before you have to fully enter the program, and-”

“Spence-” you started to say, but were interrupted by him barreling forward with his thoughts.

“And before you ask, no, this isn’t a rash decision. I’ve had a ring for months. When you had your first scare in Tennessee, I realized that I can’t live without you, so I went with Penelope to pick out a ring for you pretty soon after. Why do you think I freaked out the other day when you were using that step stool to find something in the kitchen cupboard?”

You laughed quietly before saying, “I just thought you were being overprotective again.” Shaking your head and getting back on topic, you couldn’t help the smile on your face as you told him, “But yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Really?!” Spencer asked, tears welling up in his eyes as a wide smile made its way onto his lips.

“Yes, really,” you told him, leaning in for a quick kiss on his lips that he deepened for a moment before realizing that there were still three other people in the room.

“Sorry…” he mumbled sheepishly as he sat back in his chair.

“Well, I guess that settles it then. As long as the two of you are legally married before the court reaches a verdict, Doctor Reid and his mother will go into WitSec as well,” the agent said. “Since your face was on the stream too, you are also getting threats, Doctor Reid, but not to the same extent. There was going to be a separate conversation about that more privately, but…” She stood up and straightened out her blazer before saying, “Congratulations. Just tell the marshals when you plan on having the wedding, and we can get some extra protection for the night.”

“Thank you,” you and Spencer replied in unison as she and the bureau agent turned to leave the room.

When the door closed once more, Spencer looked over and said, “Hotch, I’m sorry, I-”

Hotch put his hand up to stop Spencer, telling him, “Don’t be sorry. Agent Monroe was right. I should be apologizing for how I acted. It was selfish to project my past onto others. Especially when it comes to something like this.” A smile started to make its way onto his lips as he said, “Now, it’ll be hard to find replacements for the likes of you two, but I’m happy to see you engaged. It’s a hard job to keep a stable marriage in, so I’m glad that you two will get the chance to make things work. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, a smile on your lips, but mixed emotions running rampant through your mind. Happiness prevailed though, and you couldn’t help the giddy feeling you got at the thought of being married to Spencer.

a/n: well that was a wild ride, now wasn't it? Spencer and Reader get to get married, but at the cost of losing their identities because of psychopaths who worship Schütze. the angst in this one was real, but so was the fluff when it was there! stay tuned for the fourth (and final) part of what's turned into a mini series! i'm gonna be so honest, i don't know when i'll have time to write it, but just know that it will happen!

also little disclaimer obviously all of this is made up. if there is a real person who goes by Schütze and runs a gun smuggling gang, that's a whole ass coincidence lmao

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss @i-live-in-spite @readingandbaking

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction

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natashashill · 1 month ago

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nothing a good kiss can’t heal

pairing: natasha romanoff x maria hill

word count: 2k

warnings: hospital setting, that’s it (?) it’s fluff!

a/n: this was inspired by the lovely rémi & proofread so thank you so so much @cthulhus-curse

summary: maria is an ER doctor and she keeps having the same patient: clumsy!nat, the two hit it off & nat has terrible luck

The first time Maria attended to Natasha, she had the pleasure of seeing her covered in bruises and some leaves in her hair. Luckily, the ER nurse had started on an IV drip for her and some painkillers, because there was no way that the beat-up red head wasn’t in pain.

It wasn’t Natasha’s fault, she was out on a trip with her friends. They decided to rent out some quads and run them around some local woods. The idea seemed fine and harmless at first. Unfortunately for Natasha, she ran through some rocks and got thrown off her vehicle, flying into some bushes. She groaned out in pain and tried to get back to her quad, but her entire body was aching. Her friends pushed her to go to the hospital and to her luck, she happened to run into the hottest doctor just as she looked a mess. Luckily, she was given some super nice painkillers.

“Ms. Romanoff? I’ll be your doctor today, I’m Dr. Maria Hill. Why don’t you tell me how you ended up here and what you’re feeling and we can go from there?”

“Well doc, I’m feeling suuuper good right now. The nurse must have given me the good stuff,” Maria had to stifle a laugh at that before regaining her composure. “As for how I got here, I can’t tell you. I don’t want to embarrass myself around a pretty lady.”

Maria’s cheeks flushed a small pink at that and turned her head towards the wall, trying anything to regain her professionalism.

“Unfortunately Ms. Romanoff-”

“You can call me Natasha.”

Maria sighed at the interruption before continuing. “Well Natasha, I’m going to need to know what happened to you so I can find out how to treat you.”

So Natasha was forced to tell her embarrassing story of how she got herself flung into some bushes. She may have altered a few details to save her dignity, but that's neither here nor there. Apparently it didn’t matter because it was quite obvious how amusing Maria found it.

“So Maria, can I call you Maria? I’ll call you Maria. What do I need before I’m good to go?”

“You’re technically not supposed to call me Maria, but I’ll let it slide for a pretty patient. We just need to run a MRI scan, and if it comes out all clear, we’ll recommend some good ointments for your bruises and you can be on your way.”

At the end of the day, Natasha ended up with a mild concussion and a few bruises, physically and to her ego. She was prescribed a few antibiotics for her wounds and was dismissed, while Maria had a great story to tell her fellow coworkers over drinks that night.

Two weeks later, Maria Hill found herself having the worst shift of her life. The ER was unusually packed and she was reaching the final hours of her 16 hour shift. Just when she reached her limit, she found herself walking into a room and spotted a familiar redhead sitting on the hospital bed.

The moment Natasha looked up, her face slightly paled and she let out a groan.

“Good to see you too, Natasha. What brings you in today?”

Natasha can only look sheepishly as she launches into her story. It started two days ago, when she got into an argument with her sister, Yelena, over who’s more flexible. They spent the past few days trying to out-do the other and showing which one of them was better. Unfortunately for Natasha, she found herself doing a cartwheel and slipped when her hand landed on the carpet. She lost her balance and landed awkwardly on her shoulder. Maria could only raise an eyebrow before sending her off for more scans.

The scans came back and showed that Natasha dislocated her shoulder. So she had the pleasure only further embarrassing herself in front of the hot doctor as she got put into a sling and a stern lecture for responsibility.

If only that would be the end of Natasha’s misery.

Another week later, Natasha returns to the hospital but prays that Dr. Maria Hill will not be her doctor today. Her prayers were not answered. So when she says a familiar brunette doctor stroll into her room, she refuses to make eye contact.

“Natasha, if you want to see me, you don’t have to keep getting hurt, you know.”

Natasha could only wish she was doing this on purpose. This time, it really wasn’t her fault. In her defense, if Wanda hadn’t to impress her boyfriend, she wouldn’t have been stuck trying to figure out all her complicated recipes. If she hadn’t been stuck figuring out the recipes with Clint, she wouldn’t have had to be around their great kitchen disaster. By great kitchen disaster, they ruined Wanda’s kitchen through a combination of messes and ruined recipes that overflowed. Maybe she could pin the whole thing on Clint instead, but these messes lead to her accidentally stepping through a combination of sauce, flour, possibly cookie dough that lead her to losing her footing. Which led her to falling so hard on her back, she couldn’t get herself up. At least Clint was nice enough to drive her to the hospital.

At the end of this story, Maria couldn’t even pretend to hide her amusement, shamelessly laughing out in the open.

“Alright Natasha, let me take a look at your back. Can you lift up your shirt for me, or take it off if it could be possible.”

“Well Doctor, if you want my shirt off you’re going to have to wait until the third date like everyone else, no special preferences.”

Maria held back a groan but couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “I mean I can’t really take off my shirt anyways, my back hurts too much for me to move at all.”

Right. Her back pain. Focus.

“Would you be alright if I lifted up your shirt for you?”

“You can do anything you want as long as it won’t hurt, although I may be into that too. Just keep checking in with me.”

Maria couldn’t even find a dignified response so she went straight to work. She softly rolled the back of Natasha’s shirt before lightly pressing around Natasha’s back to examine her injuries. To her credit, Natasha never outwardly complained, but Maria could tell that she was hurting by her back slightly stiffening or her sharp inhales. After taking some notes of the locations of her bruises, she came to the conclusion that Natasha simply needed to rest off this injury with some muscle relaxants, painkillers, and perhaps a few good massages.

Before Natasha could leave, Maria stopped her. “I have a personal rule about not dating patients so if you could manage to make it through the rest of this month without returning, I might consider going on a date.”

Natasha left the hospital even more flustered than when she entered if that was even possible. Today was the 7th, so she has 23 more days to go. It would be simple for most people, but not Natasha. Unfortunately, she was accident prone. It was like misfortune clung to her, ever since she was a kid she would constantly end up hurt. She was reckless and mixed with her clumsiness, it didn’t make for a good combination. She decided that she just wouldn’t leave her house, that’s all. Her job was mostly work from home anyways, all she had to do was never do anything or see anyone, simple!

She had managed to go up until the 29th without creating any problems for herself. Her friends had dragged her out that night for drinks and well, everything hit the fan. With alcohol clouding her judgement, she ended up overestimating just how close she was to the door, walking straight into the glass. She managed to hold off for the night, simply resigning to going home while pressing tissues against her nose to stop the bleeding. Clint was less than pleased when his car ended up getting some blood, but she promised to pay for the cleaning.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hold off the impending visit the next morning when she woke up to her nose throbbing. At that, she reluctantly drove herself to the hospital. While waiting for her doctor, she could only pray that Maria wasn’t on duty. To her recurring bad luck, Maria was on duty.

“Let’s hear it, Romanoff. What happened this time?”

“First of all, I got demoted to Romanoff, ouch. I worked so hard to stay injury free. As for my nose, a glass door happened.”

Maria let out a small snort before approaching Natasha and leaning in. Natasha’s heart started racing at the idea of a kiss, and her heart monitor sold her out on. The increased beeping at Maria’s close proximity absolutely killed whatever game Natasha thought she had, and started to accept that she might just need to find a new hospital.

Maria couldn’t hold back her laughter at the beeping and started wheezing. It wasn’t until she faced Natasha’s glare that she attempted to get serious. She went back to check in on Natasha’s nose, lightly pressing and touching to determine the extent of her injuries. To Natasha’s delight, it wasn’t severe and with a few weeks under some bandages, she should be okay.

To Natasha’s further delight, Maria handed her a small card with her phone number scribbled on the back.

As Maria headed out the door to deal with another patient, she turned around and gave Natasha a small wink before ending with, “I’ll cut you some slack and accept a date, text me a time and a place, and I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, if you can’t resist seeing me, text me and I’ll see if I can do house calls and spare you the trouble of coming all the way here.”

At that, Natasha beamed and exited the hospital looking giddier than anyone should with bandages wrapped around their nose. She texted Maria later that evening about her brilliant idea for their date at a park. They settled for Friday, and Natasha couldn’t stop the blush from settling on her cheeks.

As Friday rolled around, Natasha was stressed. She had no idea what to wear, and poor Clint had to be victim to her frustration. Then, she got stuck in so much traffic, she texted Maria 10 different apologies to assure that she wouldn’t be stood up. Lastly, right as Natasha spotted Maria sitting at a bench, Natasha didn’t see the twig in her path and practically fell right into Maria.

Lucky for her, Maria took it in stride with a bemused smile. The rest of their date went smoothly, the conversation alive and well as they exchanged stories about their jobs and daily lives. As they were ready to part ways, Natasha leaned in for a hug. As they pulled apart, their lips were simply inches away from each other yet neither could break the distance.

“I don’t normally kiss a girl after the first date,” Maria murmurs, “I might have to make an exception for my best patient. Something about you is special.”

With that, Maria closes the gap for them, and Natasha smiles into the kiss. All of her humiliating injuries in the hospital meant nothing to her, with this as the outcome. And she would do it again too, if it meant kissing Maria.

As they pulled apart, Natasha yelled out, “You know, I might be needing that house call soon, I don’t feel so well.”

“Oh, well I can’t let that be. Text me, Romanoff, and I’ll have to stop by this week.”

With that, both women left feeling lighter and happier than they were before, excited for what their blooming relationship held.

notes: needed to get this blackhill fic written asap ah my babies but i swear ill get through all the requests eventually! also be on the lookout for cowboy!agatha at some point this week hehe. i want more maria and natasha asks

#blackhill #maria hill x natasha romanoff #maria hill #natasha romanoff #talia’s fics ໒꒱.*

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seraphicsage · 2 years ago

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I want you there

a/n requested by anon! so excited to write all of these requests, I think I’ll keep them in the order of the request on the ask just to help me out lol! Hope you like them!!!!!!!!! Unfortunately I can’t write like I’m it’s based in Ireland- i was raised to talk like i’m middle class even tho we’re poor 😂

I was getting so excited for prom. I had picked my dress, decided how I was doing my hair, and makeup, everything. It was all planned out. It was amazing.

Until James told me that the Doctor Who convention is on the same day. Right when I’d finally plucked up the courage to ask him. What am I meant to do now? I was so excited, even if we were going as friends. It was going to be one of the best nights of my life.

Now, I’m stuck with the guys who asked me. A guy who is an absolute arsehole. Apparently I would rather go with him than alone. I don’t want to go alone. Not after I told Michelle how excited I was about who my date was going to be- avoiding the fact that it’s her cousin.

So here I am. Waiting on the steps in my house. In the dress I spent hours choosing and taking in to fit perfectly. My hair perfect, my make up perfect. And my date barely having spoken to me since he asked me out.

Oh. And he’s late.

Maybe it’s better if he’s late. Maybe it’s better if be doesn’t come at all. Maybe I should take everything off and tell my mum to pretend I’m sick if he does come.

I give up pretty quickly, I never wanted to go with him. I sigh and head up to my room. I stand in my room for a bit, just staring at my reflection in the mirror. I had never felt like I looked nice in anything I wore before. But I went all out. I saved every penny I could so I’d be happy with how I look.

But the more I keep staring at myself, the more I hate how I look. The longer I stand there, the more imperfections I see. I don’t know how long I stay there but before I know it I’m crying. All my friends were out having fun, probably not even noticing that I’m not there. And James is probably having fun at his convention.

I want to take everything off, get into my pyjamas, curl into bed and sleep. Then I can forget about this night completely. I start with my hair, slowly taking the pins out and letting my hair fall down.

Before I get very far I hear a knock on my door. Already frustrated I yell out, “Mum I told you I’m fine. I’m just going to bed and I’ll forget about it.”

“Um- y/n? It’s James.” I hear in response. I quickly scram to wipe my face.

“Hold on! I’m um- changing!” I yell out. When I’ve done the best job I can (which isn’t a very good one to be honest), I open the door and am faced with James. In a suit. And a Doctor Who scarf. With his hair done. Looking so, so handsome.

“James? What are you- why are you- huh?” I splutter out, unable to gather my thoughts.

“Wow. You look amazing. I- wow.” That takes me by surprise. After a moment he shakes his head and realises I’m still waiting for an answer. “Oh! Your mum called, she said your date didn’t show up.”

“Oh. It um really doesn’t matter. I didn’t like him anyway.”

“T-then why do you look like you’ve been crying.” I chuckle at that.

“It doesn’t matter. What about your Doctor Who convention? You were so excited for it.” He shrugs.

“I’ll go to the next one. Do you er, wanna go to prom together?” I almost start crying again at that. He looks so goddamn handsome, I want to mess his hair though.

“I look a mess, you’ll have to give me 10 minutes to fix all this.” I indicate towards my face. He walks towards me, just a few steps, looking almost nervous. “But yes, I’d love to.” He breathes out, smiling. “You can just sit on the bed if you like, and I’ll um try to fix this.”

He nods a little and sits on the bed while I get started on pinning my hair back. I think I can feel him staring at me, one quick glance tells me I’m right. “What?” I laugh, seeing him just watching me.

“You’re just- pretty. I mean you always are but you put a lot of effort into it and you just. You look perfect.” I can’t not blush at that, so I look away and finish off the look.

“Ready?” I ask him. He stands up and holds his hand out for me to take. I slide my hand into his and smile, standing up.

“Let’s go then.”

#james maguire x reader #james maguire #derry girls #x reader fluff #x reader oneshot

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urban-mutt · 5 months ago

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Perfect Someone: Chapter 2 - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You are a thief! You target old rich men. You drug them and steal from them while they're drink out of their mind. Your last operation didn't go as planned, and now you are an accomplice in a serious crime. And a plaything for your new sick friend.

Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Slurs, Transphobia, Homophobia, Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol, Smoking, Drug Addiction, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Murder, Reader will be abused delulu and traumatized, FTM Reader, trans reader, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, Daddy Kink, Forced, Angst, Inspired by Music, Biting, Age Difference emphasized, Sugar Daddy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, dead dove ig

anatomical terms: cunt, boypussy, microdick

words: 4022

ao3 link

So what does being friends mean? Having a creepy Sugar Daddy? No, not just creepy. He is a monster and you saw it. And you can’t do anything about it.

You can leave, but he’s right. You would have to leave the country to never see him again. Preferably north, where your crime career will end. Kinda not even a choice.

He gave you a room so you can go pick up your stuff from the hotel where you stayed and move there.

He also told you to stick to cash, the old-fashioned way. Which you did too. Turns out you don’t have that much money. Lalo asked about how much you made, and honestly you could work at Starbucks with the same levels of stress but less risk.

True, but freedom is priceless.

The next few days were weird. He would leave randomly and come back and not tell you much besides “it was work”. You’re not sure what his job is with such a schedule…

“You wanna go out? Or you’re still upset?”

Lalo asked you while you sat on the couch, watching some YouTube.

Is he serious? How can anyone be fine after seeing that? You are not that weak. You probably would be fine if not thoughts of it possibly being you…

“So you rape someone in front of me after telling me you wanted to do the same to me, and now I’m held hostage and I should feel fine?” You growl at him.

You are not scared of him. He can kill you, sure why not, he was planning that anyway!

He exhales loudly.

“You can leave. I just think leaving is dumb, so I let you stay.” Lalo shrugs.

“Is that so? Or you just wanna keep a sex toy that you won't have to kill?” You turn off the TV.

“¿Crees que eres especial?” He chuckles. “I’m just being kind. I don’t need a brat with amateur sex skills to keep as a ‘toy’. That’s why you can leave.” He looks annoyed. “I’m out. I’ll be home late.”

You don’t respond. Maybe sometimes you’re not as smart as you think you are.

Will he be home late? Is it already time for another hunt?

Fuck it. Fuck him. You get up and run to your room to take your still unpacked luggage. This is not what you want. You want to get drunk in the safety of your hotel room and get off to some furry porn like the good old days!

Running from him or running from yourself? Aren’t you a predator too? Didn’t you just help him do it to someone?

You spent half an hour in the hotel just crying. Thinking of what you’ve done. The next half an hour was busy with drinking everything the minibar has. You can afford it today. After all, you earned a lot by helping that freak rape and murder that guy.

You look at yourself in the mirror after trying to do your makeup in this state. You look like a hooker. You love it.

Same with your clothes. Something weirdos call clothes that are “asking for it”.

Cheetah top, jacket too big for you, blue tights peeping above your miniskirt. Clips from lingerie that hold stockings in place peeking from under the skirt. No underwear, and thigh high boots with heels, too dirty, too messy. Cool glasses, choker necklace and too many rings on fingers with acrylics you just popped on. Keeping two nails on the dominant hand short, obviously.

You put all your essentials in a handbag and leave the hotel room. Almost falling over on your heels.

You make your way to a familiar place and drink more. You are not sure what the end goal of this coping charade is… Getting too drunk? Having messy sex with a person you don’t know? What would someone else do? Probably the same… Nobody should judge you.

After a few more drinks, the barman refuses to pour you more. You leave to keep on going.

As soon as you get sober, you drink more. Then feeling sick, vomiting and repeat.

After another vomiting round, you hear “Hey, this is the men's restroom, princess.” from behind you. Ah, yeah? You turn around, wiping your mouth, looking at the guy who just said that.

“Do I f-fucking l-look like a woman to you?!” You growl.

“Yeah you do! You’re a hooker? I didn’t know they just let any tramps in here…” Guy says.

Twink right next to him chimes in.

“You’re a tranny?”

You don’t respond and just hit the first guy in the face. You keep beating him, putting your whole weight into the hits, while the twink tries to stop you. His nose is broken and bleeding, he’s hitting you back, but you’re so drunk it doesn’t hurt. You low-key smile when he starts yelling for help. You're pretty sure you gave him a concussion before the bouncer threw you out.

You walk off to the next destination. Something to eat.

What time is it, by the way?

Everything feels like a blur.

By the time you find a place to eat, you get sober again. Everything hurts now.

You walk into the diner that looks bad enough to not kick you out for looking and smelling like trash, and sit somewhere far from everyone. Sober thoughts of pain creep into your mind. You can’t help but tear up.

“Honey, what happened to you?” A black, mature looking waitress came over and put a menu in front of you.

You sob louder.

“Men are assholes.” You cry out and cover your face with dirty, bloody hands.

“Oh, hun, they sure are… Go clean up in the bathroom. I’ll get you something, okay?” She took the menu and walked off.

You get up and wobble to the bathroom. You look at yourself. You look like the final girl in a slasher film. If she was an idiot tranny boy…

You have blood on your hands. You killed that guy. Do you even remember his name? You are a predator, just like Lalo. You are not Lalo’s victim, you are an accomplice.

You finish freshening up and come back to your seat. Soon the woman brings you some aspirin, gum, a few bandages and food. You thank her for everything while breaking into tears again.

Food tastes four times better after you were starving yourself for so long. You leave a huge tip and run off to get back to the hotel.

You feel so embarrassed. You shouldn’t feel upset, right? You weren’t forced into that situation, you are just an idiot! You should feel guilty instead.

You are the only one who fucking knows where that man's body is.

Back in the hotel, you shower and finally sleep. Feels like a long nap. You can’t stop waking up thinking about cops breaking in. You look at the dreaded minibar. Refilled. Sometimes you wish you had friends you could talk to…

You take your phone to check what day it is, but your phone is… bricked. Screen shattered, and it won't turn on when you charge it. Good reason to cry and… Take another round at all this.

Who cares what day it is, anyway.

You swear it was at least another two days of you drinking nonstop. Same clothes, same bruises and same stomach pain.

You care less, though. What stage of grief are we at? Anger? Yeah, you are fucking mad. This is why you got into another fight.

It doesn’t matter anymore. You just dance it all away. Who cares about what happened. As if it is your problem. You are just as much of a victim. Why would you hate yourself for something that asshole did? You feel crazy. Maybe going completely mad will fix you.

“Y/N?” A voice calls out for you.

You don’t turn around to check. Many people with the same name as you on this planet.

But then you hear it again, accompanied by a firm grasp on your shoulder.

“Y/N.”

You turn and push that someone away. The man grips you by the arm, making you look at him.

He was right, this country is too small.

“Fuck off! Fucking rapist!” You push Lalo again, but you fail to make much impact while he holds you like this.

“Have you seen yourself?” He sounds so serious.

“Yeah! I’m fucking hot! Why?” You giggle.

“You look like a hooker.” He frowns. “What happened to your face?”

“I was in a fight.” You try to stand still.

He is silent for a moment.

“What!? Get off me!” You push him when he doesn’t say anything.

Lalo looks around and then back at you.

“Which hotel are you staying in?” He asks.

“Th—Theh… The red one?” You frown, thinking.

He thinks for a second before pulling you to the exit. You whine but don’t resist.

“People will think you’re my angry dad, and I’m your thot daughter…” You mumble.

“Yeah.” He agrees, seemingly just to shut you up.

He sits you in the back seat of his car. Well, he tries to. You do not cooperate and kick him lightly, acting like a child. His hand brushes against your exposed, hot cunt. Yeah, you still didn’t wear any underwear, just torn and dirty tights. He stops for a moment, blinking a few times.

“Wh— Where’s your underwear?” He says, confused.

“The fuck you care!? You’re not my dad!” You push on his thigh with your heel.

Your daddy issues are showing.

He exhales with tension and puts the front seat in place. You’re so happy to see him mad at you. Is he mad? Is he thinking of assaulting you? He totally is. Freak he is, he would only think of that.

“Sit. Stay.” He commands before locking you in his car.

You sit up, annoyed, looking at him smoking outside.

“Should I feel like a dog or a kid… dogs can feel angry at their owners? He… He is not my owner.” You mumble to yourself.

You lay back, putting your dirty boots places they shouldn’t be. You are so lonely. Your only friend is a guy you fucking hate.

Lalo comes back, plopping in the driver's seat.

“You feeling sick? If so, then tell me. Don’t vomit in here.” He says as he starts the engine.

“I hope you die.” You look at the stain your heel left on the car roof.

“Not what I asked.” He pulls out of the parking lot.

“I hope you die in a fire.” You mumble.

“Está bien. Lo entiendo. You’re hungry?” He sounds casual, yet tense.

“Hungy… Mhggh.” Thoughts of food make you a little sick.

“We can stop and eat somewhere. Won’t be able to eat at the hotel at this hour.” Lalo says.

“I rem-member. I remember when I made my parents sit and wait until midnight at the hotel bar because they would put-put out ham and cheese sa-sanwinches… An-an-and I liked them a lot… We were not in-in ‘Merica. We… we were on vacation.” You mumble out.

“Was it a long time ago?” Lalo turns on the blinker and makes a turn.

“It was… I was eight… Uhghh…” You hiccup.

“Then it was not that long ago, huh.”

You sit up again.

“It was…” You say as if it offended you.

“For you, it was.” He chuckles.

“How old are you?” You frown.

“I’m forty-four.” Lalo says it with some sort of pride.

“Ugh… You’re fucking old.” You wrinkle your nose and lay back down.

“Isn’t it why you wanted to rob me? Old and rich?” He laughs again.

You feel small. Feels weird, you don’t wanna feel small. You sob.

“Ay! No-no-no. You’re a big boy. No llores. You got yourself into this mess, you have to be brave and face the truth.” He reaches out to the back to touch you.

“I fucking killed a guy…” You keep sobbing.

“You didn’t. I did. You helped.”

“What’s the difference?! We will go in for the same amount of time!” You yell.

“Shh… Don’t scream. No we wouldn’t. I did enough shit to face the chair. You didn’t.” He strokes your hand.

“Sh— Shit, how many people did you fucking kill?” You wipe your tears with your sleeve.

“I did a little more than just kill, nene… We can talk about it later.” He lets go of you. “We are here.”

Later?! You want the info NOW! You growl to yourself.

He pulls you out of the car, leading you to some 24 hour place, it seems. You stumble inside, and he sits you in a corner booth and walks off to talk to the only employee in sight. Good thing, alcohol still lets you see well and be quite aware. You see him pay the guy a bit too much cash and then come back to you.

He sits in front of you, grunting like old guys usually do. You look away, staring into the wall instead.

“Now… What is all this? A temper tantrum? Gonna drink yourself to death?” He sounds so serious.

Is HE scolding you? For what?! For being upset about what happened?!

You don’t respond.

“Can’t process things like adults do, hm?” He touches your ankle with his boot.

“I’m retarded.” You still don’t look at him.

“Sí, me fijé. It is still not an excuse for acting like that.” He keeps talking.

You watch the lonely employee close the doors. Then another comes out of the kitchen with a plate of food and two drinks. And a few pills.

They put everything on the table and leave without saying a word.

“If your scheme is to attract old gay men and scam them…” He continues. “I'll tell you right now, nobody will like you if you keep acting up like that.” He takes a fork and a knife and cuts the meat on the plate for you.

“It doesn’t matter.” You look at the food with no interest.

“Me vale. Eat.” He puts the cutlery down and takes out another cigarette.

“You smoke a lot.” You say with the same monotone voice, not moving.

Lalo rolls his eyes.

“I have to quit cocaine somehow, no? Eat.”

You sit upright, but food still looks scary. You try to lift the fork, but it feels like eating with no hands would be easier.

“Here.” Lalo says as he lifts the fork himself and takes a bite. “It’s good. If you try harder, you can do it. Take the pills too, okay?” He gives you the fork back, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

Not so scary anymore. It is indeed easy, but you eat really slowly. Some of it falls into your lap. He is watching you eat, he looks weird.

He always did, you didn’t have time to think about it, but he looked like a serial killer all along. With his soulless black, black eyes. Guess it makes sense. But right now he looks kinda upset. What’s he sad for? Weirdo.

You finish your food and drink the meds, and he keeps staring you down.

“Ready to go?” He puts out the cig on the empty plate.

You nod, unsure.

He helps you get up, and you leave after one of the employees unlocks the door for you.

Feeling clueless is scary. You are scared, kinda. Also, curious. About what the fuck he is, anyway.

You can’t help but fall asleep in the car. Pills couldn’t be sleeping pills, no? No. He said he wouldn't hurt you, right?

This time he wakes you up when you arrive. You are at the hotel you stayed at, so you yourself have to lead. You feel more sober and less in pain now, guess that's what pills were actually for.

You open the hotel room and wobble inside with him holding you.

He was talking, but to be fair, you are too tired to listen. He didn’t insist on you listening either, it seems.

You are an idiot. A child. He is right. No adult would act like that.

You fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. When you wake up, the first thing you see is a glass of water. You reach out with no hesitation and drink the whole thing. Your throat hurts. And your body… and your head. You turn around to see Lalo lying next to you, he is writing something in his notebook. You never saw him wear glasses before while doing it…

“I hate you.” You say, your voice cracking.

He nods in response.

You groan and lay back down. Lalo shuffles behind you. Sounds like he sets his notebook and reading glasses away. He moves closer, hugging you from behind. You shiver, making a displeased grimace.

“Shh… It’s okay.” He almost whispers. “You stink. Let’s get this off you, baby.” He pulls on your top.

You groan, pushing him away with your weak hands. He doesn’t stop.

“Come on. You have to pay me back.” He forces the top off you, running his hands over your chest.

He traces your scars gently, reaching out to circle the nipple.

“Can you feel anything with those?” He chuckles.

You let the dry sob out and shake your head in ‘no’.

“Claro.”

He strokes your curves and meets your skirt. He pulls it down. You let him do it. Watching Lalo smile.

“How did nobody rape you yet? Young boys shouldn’t go out dressed like this, you know?” He pulls on your torn tights, taking them off as well.

Does he actually think that? Or is he just being a bigot on purpose?

“I’m not— It’s not—” You sob and cover your mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh… It’s okay.” He unbuckles his pants. “Don’t worry too much, okay? I don’t want people to hear you cry.”

That is not reassuring at all.

He pulls out his dick, already quite hard.

“P-please, don’t do this…” You cry out as quietly as you can, your voice cracking again.

That only makes his cock throb.

“Yeah, keep talking like that. Just don’t scream, okay? Be quiet for Daddy, okay?” He strokes himself while petting your hip gently.

Daddy? No way. You choke on your sob.

He moves closer, spreading your legs for himself. He gently puts two fingers in.

“You’re not a wet kind, huh?” Lalo looks up at you.

No you’re not, especially not without foreplay. First time was like that too…

“I’m sorry…” You cover your face.

“No hay nada de qué disculparse…” He gets up to look for a lube that you obviously have. “We all are different…” His tone is gentle and quiet.

As if he's trying to catch a wild animal. One tree branch snaps and you’re gone.

He finds lube and comes back to you. He is gentle and slow. Doesn’t change much though… you still don’t want him. You just wonder why he didn’t do it when you were knocked out? Why do you have to be conscious for this?

He fingers your cunt, slowly stretching you out. You take three fingers easily, physically ready for him.

“Do you have to be a brat? Can’t you be at least somewhat thankful?” He stops.

You swallow a lump in your throat so you can speak. It doesn’t help, though. It only makes tears fall off your lashes.

“You hate me that much?” He chuckles. “I saved your life and that's what I get, huh?”

He can’t actually believe his words, right? He is just being an asshole on purpose, right?

Lalo doesn’t wait for your response and just pushes himself inside you. He exhales in satisfaction. You want to push him away, but what if he has his knife? What if he will just kill you?

You break out crying.

“Oh, yeah, baby, that's good. Llora por mí. Llora por Papá.” He pulls you closer, almost hugging you.

You wrap your hands around him. Carefully, trying to feel the knife on his belt. He doesn’t mind it, just begins to move slowly.

There’s no knife, still he can just choke you to death… Like he choked the guy you helped him rape.

“You know why I like when they cry?” He is right next to your ear, you feel his chest and neck vibrate along with him talking. He pets you gently. Soothingly.

“W-why?” You ask, almost with no sound. Your throat is too stiff to talk.

“Their holes spasm around me. Feels great. Especially if I scarred them inside beforehand…” He keeps on with shallow, gentle thrusts.

“Scarred?” You ask, though you don’t want an answer… Talking feels grounding somehow.

“Sí,” He picks up the speed slowly, “I fuck them with a knife or something else sharp, like glass. I wouldn’t put my dick in if it was glass, though… Tiny shards can get caught inside.” He is quite casual about it. Too casual.

He feels good though… His dick fills you up well, too well. How unfair. Perfect dick on a perfect man who has no soul.

You make a tiny gasp, trying to keep yourself together.

“They—They— They must hurt f-from that—”

Lalo chuckles, changing position. Now he keeps you in a tight hug while still moving. Not so gentle anymore, but still pleasant.

“Oh, ellos lo hacen. They scream and beg. Some pass out, some stay awake and watch me fuck their bleeding holes. Mggh—” Lalo breathes heavily, clearly enjoying this conversation.

“Ha-hh—” You speak up. “Like that— One— uh, serial killer… Ah— Do you— Do you put needles and lead balls in their— Their— Genitals too? Hah—” And you finally relax in his hands.

Lalo laughs. Fuck, he is sick. Unfortunately, hot too…

“Where do you know all that from, huh? Your parents didn’t track what you were watching as a kid?” Lalo moves lower to kiss and bite your neck.

“Nh-nh— No. They didn’t care about me m-much.”

“Right. If they did, you wouldn’t fuck a man as old as me…”

Lalo bites and sucks on your skin, leaving marks, then he licks them as if he is a dog caring for a fellow's wounds. He pulls you up, sitting you in his lap, not stopping moving his hips, still hugging you. You hug him back again.

“Mgh— My baby is sick, huh? So lonely, he has to fuck old guys for a living?” He growls in your ear.

“I d-don’t f-fuck them!” You protest, hiding your face in his neck.

“Yeah? Why scam them, then? Holding a grudge? Your dad beat you or something?” He chuckles.

“Yellow…” You bite his shoulder.

“So you know what a safe word is, huh?” He locks his hands on your hips, leaning away to look you in the eye. “Then don’t complain about me raping you today. Sabías cómo detenerme.”

With that he let himself loose, fucking you harder. Does he know what yellow means!? Guess it doesn't matter… You indeed let him. It is your fault, not his.

He cums inside shortly after, insisting on making you come too. You hesitate, but It's nothing to him. You’re scared to say the safe word now… What if he will be upset?

He laps on your boypussy, paying close attention to your microdick, while fingering you until you are done.

He sits back, licking his lips, breathing heavily.

“Hope that wasn't fake…” He stares at you.

You swallow.

“I-I— I don’t know how to fake it…” You hold onto the sheets, violated and embarrassed.

He raised his eyebrows in a comical, cartoony expression before breaking out laughing.

“Eres un chico afortunado, ¿eh?” He keeps chuckling.

You look away in shame.

He lays next to you, pulling you closer. You let him embrace you. He kisses the top of your head while stroking your back.

“Tell me more about those scary stories you watch.” Lalo purrs.

“You know one where a real story about guys kidnapping and raping a girl for days was turned into a very graphic manga?” You ask.

“Nope, but… I’m intrigued.” You can hear him grinning.

#better call saul #bcs #better call saul x reader #bcs x reader #better call saul smut #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca x reader #cnc tw #cnc ftm #lalo salamanca x ftm reader #bcs smut #my fic

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myloveforhergoeson · 7 months ago

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tw: discussion of scars + childhood injury

“woah… what’s this?”

gingerly, roxy caught james’ left wrist between her calloused fingers, turning his forearm to face her direction as they cuddled on one of the many lounge chairs by the pool. with his well maintained tan from hours spent in the los angeles sun, the thin white line was almost impossible to spot; she’d certainly never noticed it before today.

thumb swiping over the scarred area, she felt james slightly flinch at her touch. “it’s nothing… old injury.”

removing the right arm slung around her waist, he shifted to the left a bit, dark sunglasses obscuring the look on his face. he covered the mark with his hand for a moment, palm over the area like a bandaid, before taking a breath and gathering his girlfriend in his arms once more.

with her ear to his chest, she could hear his heart race. though that might be due to their proximity, the feeling of his palms growing clammy on her bare skin told her otherwise.

she silently praised her choice of a red crop top for the day.

“i’ve got one on the back of my leg,” she said in response to the chill, moving her right foot into the air and wiggling it a bit to ease the tension she could sense radiating off of him in waves. “one of dani’s dogs didn’t like me very much. i got too close to her one day and she really decided to let me know… god, that shit hurt like hell.”

one of his brows raised, signifying she’d caught his attention. “you had to know that she didn’t like you. dogs are super vocal about that type of thing aren’t they? like, missy really hates logan. we think she can sense he’s more of a cat person.”

“i know you’re not blaming me for being viciously bit by a crazy animal right now. everybody else loves me! why should i assume bear felt any different?”

air shot out of his nostrils in a silent chuckle, tickling the top of her head, almost going unheard against the chatter of other hotel patrons on the deck around them. “the dog was named bear?! baby, you were totally asking for it!”

visions of the black labradoodle ran through her mind, much like how bear loved to run through dani’s family’s large, open property. “she was a total sweetheart when mag and dani were around her… maybe she doesn’t like gorgeous, talented women or something.”

james’ nose exhale turned into full on laughter, roxy practically bouncing off his chest as his body shook at her words.

from the table beside their lounger, roxy reached out to take a drink of the lemonade she’d picked up from the cafe, offering the cup out to her boyfriend as well.

after a long, slow sip, james’ free hand set it down before sinking into her long hair. instinctively, her arm draped around his waist. “i forgot to put the blade guards on my skates after practice one night. coach worked us so hard that day i was just happy to get off the ice and get home; too distracted by what my mom might be making for dinner to think straight. walked out of the arena with my bag in one hand and my stick and skates in the other, hit a patch of black ice before i reached her car, and ended up cutting myself up pretty darn good.”

just the thought of the sharp, stainless steel of an ice skate anywhere near her skin caused a shiver to crawl down the girl’s spine. “that must have been awful…”

“well a trip to the er, sixteen stitches, and a bunch of ibuprofen later i was feeling just fine. i think my ego was more bruised than anything. my mom was super freaked though.”

“well yeah,” roxy nodded, finger rising to trace the lines of the soft black tank top james wore, “any mom would be worried about such a substantial injury. i’ve never had stitches but i imagine sixteen means it was very big and very deep.”

closing his eyes, james took another breath. “deep? yes. big? eh. nothing like the time carlos got a metal plate put in his head.”

“jesus christ. i’m going to pass out just thinking of it…” her hand curled into a fist, taking the smooth fabric with it.

a few kids from their class were starting up a game of volleyball in the pool in front of them, sounds of shouting and splashing water distracting the writer from their conversation momentarily.

“but you’re right,” james continued. “my mom was worried - just not about me. more about the mark it would leave than anything… she even called an emergency meeting for her product development team to start work on a scar cream. i still use it to this day.”

roxy chose not to comment on the success of the cream if she was still able to see the mark that remained on her boyfriend’s skin, though her heart panged at his words. clearly, brooke’s concern had reached him, just for the wrong reasons. she saw it in the way he instinctively covered the area when she’d mentioned it, in the solemn way he discussed the product he still used, months, maybe years, after his accident.

without thinking, her fingers caught his wrist again from where they tangled in her locks and pulled his forearm to the sun once more. the scar stood out more prominently to her now, and now she couldn’t even remember what he looked like without it. it was part of what made james james. “she shouldn’t have made you feel that way... it was an accident; you were seriously hurt. who cares what it would look like in the future? what should have mattered was your safety in that moment and beyond.”

he didn’t respond to her, gaze somewhere off in the distance behind the tint of his shades. this time, when roxy swiped her thumb over the area, he didn’t jump.

“we all show concern in our own way i suppose,” he whispered into her hair, placing a kiss on her crown before resting his chin there.

as they cuddled by the pool, james hugged roxy just a little bit tighter.

#so yeah a kid bit me at work and it’s scarring. here you go.#thats all she wrote fic

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thenightlymirror · 1 year ago

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The last year of living by myself has really made me feel like maybe I could live anywhere. I really wasn’t sure. My life is entirely my job now. When I go to see friends, it’s just the people who hired me.

I am a little surprised how few people I know despite the fact that I basically live in the same city I’ve lived in all my life. I go out on the weekend to get a slice of pizza, and other than the kids working behind the counter, it’s just me. Sitting in my car in the parking lot, it’s just me. Napping in my easy chair in my apartment for two days waiting for Monday, just me.

When I was feeling woozy and nearly passed out alone in my apartment two months ago, I drove myself to the ER in the hopes that I wouldn’t have a stroke and crash on the way there. Nothing happened. I just got fed up after waiting in the lobby for an hour and a half and drove back home, and felt woozy for another week or so after.

I just finally had some tests done and I’m fine. I’m very anemic. But, I think I probably just had inner ear vertigo from being out in the cold for several hours the day before.

A digression on anxiety. I know I spent about a year of my life being gaslit that I wasn’t dying when I was, but I feel like maybe I can account for some of my ailments as just anxiety if I can expand the term to include more than I intuit.

I know what anxiety feels like, I assume. An anxious person is easy to spot. Flittering about. Second guessing. Hesitating. Picky. Makes things difficult and needs things to be their specific way which sometimes makes them an asshole with or without any self-awareness of this fact.

I have a certain thing that happens to me, where I feel some ineffable problem coming on, like I’m going to lose control of my leg, or my arm. I imagine a blood clot roaming around, in my gut, in my neck, my eye. Losing focus briefly and thinking, “It’s in my brain now.” I woke up twice before my pulmonary embolism with my leg paralyzed. I think what I imagine is that I’m about to lose some part of my body from the map of my mind. Nothing ever happens. I guess that one time I felt like I was going to fall down, but I didn’t. For several days, I felt almost stoned. Like my consciousness was just “off”.

Is that anxiety? Maybe.

It could just be that my anxiety manifests itself in this very specific worry. It isn’t necessarily Multiple Sclerosis.

I’m when I felt that strange vertigo, I just told myself, keep walking, nothing will happen. And nothing did. After another two weeks (two weeks!) it went away.

I know there’s other things. I supposedly have social anxiety, though no one has ever seen it. When I had a therapist, she said my alienation from other people was trauma from being bullied as a kid. Otherwise groundless. Could you imagine? Anthony Cox has no grounds for feeling alienated from other people. He just has trauma from being bullied as a child. What if that was true? Could you imagine?

That makes me think of the last time I saw my brother’s wife. She was with us in Wisconsin when I went canoeing with my parents and some of their friends down the Namekagon River. She’s my parents’ age, scientist. (Church of Christ, Scientist.) Smarter than most people. She had no problem talking to my parents’ friends from the bar. Sports or TV or whatever. I hardly remember. But I tend to be sort of quiet and miserable in those situations. I really don’t want to be, or come off that way. This is almost ten years ago now. I don’t feel any differently now.

But my brother’s wife’s impression was that I’m insecure because I’m fat. Haha. You know, that her grandma was fat, and everyone loved her. So I shouldn’t feel so bad about it. Hahaha I DON’T. Hahahah I have never known anything else. I know my perception of human nature is probably a bit different from most people’s because I have never been treated nicely just because I was good looking to anyone. Amazing to me that anyone on Earth exists that can take this for granted, but it’s actually most people. Most people walk into situations with strangers and the strangers do not secretly find them horrifying. They walk into situations and 20% of the time, someone could imagine having sex with them. Or something like that. Some people might walk into situations and most people treat them nicely because they would like the opportunity to fuck them, or respect the fact that other people would want to fuck them. Absolutely wild to me.

But most people aren’t totally fascist or so victimized that they are ever even conscious of this. Every once in a while they just see an unpleasant looking person, cross themselves, and put it out of their minds.

Anyways. All I know is that most people bore me to death, and this boredom is, worst case scenario, probably something that precedes people and their interests. My boredom comes first, and it finds reasons later. I become interested in things that are obscure and I like them because no one notices them. And then I feel isolated when no one can relate.

But I’m not sure I’m even interested in things anymore. Culturally, Harper is interested in pretty basic stuff. Star Wars and anime and stuff. But she can have a conversation about anthropology or linguistics or music theory or Palestine. That means a lot to me. It feels like I live in the same universe.

Or, the other thing. I’ve been listening to Otherworld and just constantly in this paranoid twilight zone where I feel the schizophrenic color of life turned way up all the time lately. Is that just anxiety? A very specific kind of anxiety. But I’m just some kind of snowflake and I think my anxiety is special? I’ve got 12-dimensional anxiety.

I guess I feel a deep loneliness around people who don’t feel any anxiety. What the fuck is wrong with them? And I don’t even like to feel vain anxiety. I’m pretty chill honestly. The world’s just fucked and I’m pretty calm about it, considering. Sometimes people channel this anxiety into very specific vices and scapegoats and that can be boring too.

I try to be very tolerant and forgiving with all of it. I think there’s other people alive in this world, somewhere, a lot less tolerant and much more happy than myself. Never the twain shall meet. Some other universe, these people. A little self-respect and a lot of petty snobbery and they’re living off pure sweet fat of the hog, posting liberal memes on facebook somewhere. Drinking at the bar watching the Lion’s game. Doing the same shit as everyone else anyway.

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rn-zane · 2 years ago

Text

LOCATION: The Emergency Room TIMING: Current SUMMARY: Chance has to go to the ER. Again. Zane is not a huge fan of reckless behavior.

It was always a strange sort of solace, clocking in at the ER. It was hectic and definitely heartbreaking at times but here, the pace of his thoughts finally seemed to match the outside world. Zane functioned here whereas back home, with Alma, he felt more like a child. It wasn’t a bad feeling, being protected and cared for but there was purpose to be found at the ER. And tonight was an easy one, assigned to the smaller cuts, bruises and dislocations. No fear of needing to call the crash cart or gnarly wounds that stayed glued to his retinas hours after he saw them.

The last patient had made his heart swell, a young girl with a greenstick fracture in her forearm from being pushed at the playground. He’d taken a bit too long with her, Zane knew that, but placing a ridiculous amount of stickers on her cast after he’d put it on had seemed necessary. She’d had a predisposition for dinosaurs and had insisted on sticking one to his name badge before leaving.

His next patient was older, 21 year old male with a sprained elbow. X-ray had come out fine so Zane just had to fix him up and send him on his way. There wasn’t much in the doctor’s note about the injury, not that it mattered, but an elbow sprain wasn’t too common in patients this age.

“Hi, there. I’m Zane, gonna be fixing up that arm so it doesn’t get messed up further,” he said cheerily, still on a high from his new young friend from before, as he walked into the room.

—--

Chance’s arm hurt like hell, but he was trying to stay positive. He also wasn’t particularly thrilled to be reminded how unfond of hospitals he was. He hadn’t been in an emergency room since he was a little kid, and for obvious reasons had avoided them like the plague ever since. The last few months had ruined that philosophy a bit. Between stitches and more than a few sprained limbs, Chance had spent more than a couple late nights lounging in the chairs of the lobby and waiting to be seen. It never stopped him from rushing from the place as soon as he possibly could.

He wasn’t convinced that his arm wasn’t broken. At least that was how it felt right about now. Chance had never had a particularly high pain tolerance, mostly because he had always avoided anything that could lead to injuries as much as he possibly could. His new lease on life had come with a questionable sense of self preservation. But what did it matter anyways? Once he was a zombie an injury like this would heal in no time. If anything, he should be annoyed that he wasn’t already dead. At least then the pain would be over quickly.

Chance wiped any doubt or emotion from his face as soon as he heard the nurse come in - replacing it with a bright and easy smile. At the beginning, the smiles seemed impossible to fake. Now, Chance had faked it so much that he was pretty sure he had made it. “Howdy Zane. My chart should tell you that I’m Chance. And should hopefully tell you that I’m good to go yeah? It’s not broken right?” He was going to tell himself that until it was true.

—

This guy was peppy and, thankfully, not drunk. Zane didn’t really have a fondness for dealing with drunk people since they made everything twice as hard. “Well, Chance, you are actually correct. Badly sprained though, so you’re going to sporting one of these bad boys for a while.” Zane turned to the man, holding a roll of elastic bandage he’d need to wrap the arm up in. “Got a choice of plain blue or red with hearts. Also, got some painkillers if you want them.”

He brought both rolls and the plastic cup of pain meds over to the metal table situated next to Chance, dragging up a rolling chair to plop down onto. “It’s better than a cast but you’re still going to need to be careful for the next few weeks.” Glancing up at the guy, Zane wondered how he’d gotten the injury. He didn’t look like he’d been in a fight and tripping was uncommon without alcohol or icy sidewalks.

“Doing alright? I’ve heard these can really hurt.” He paused for a second, making a motion for the man to uncover his arm. “How’d you sprain it?”

—--

Hell yeah, not broken! Wearing a sling wasn’t too bad, at least when compared to how bad the injury could have been. Once again, Chance scrapes by without major injury. Must be this positive attitude he keeps. “No contest. Red with hearts, obviously. I have a reputation to uphold.” He wasn’t quite sure what that reputation actually was, but it seemed like the right thing to say in the moment. “I may be an idiot, but I’m not a masochist. I’ll take the pain meds.”

Careful wasn’t exactly Chance’s forte, at least not anymore, but maybe he could manage to minimize his risks of injury at least long enough to get out of the sling. It would certainly keep Ariadne’s blood pressure lower for a few weeks.

“Oh, it hurts like hell. But I’m powering through.” Chance grinned at the man, hoping that was an indicator of his attempt to ignore the pain. “Oh, it was no big deal. I was with a couple of friends at Champlain Falls and one of those dudes dared me that I wouldn’t jump off the falls” Chance said this as incredulously as he felt when the guy had first baited him, “Obviously I had to prove him wrong. And I did obviously. But I missed have hit something on my way down.”

—

Zane snorted out a quiet laugh at the young man’s choice of wrapping, having somehow suspected what the answer would be all along. It was nice to feel almost giddy at work for a change, all warm from the last encounter and the easy joking this one brought. Just as he grabbed the arm to make sure it was ready for wrapping, the cause of the injury made itself clear.

“You what?” His eyes widened, staring incredulously at the younger man. A dare. A sprained elbow that could have ended broken or with him lying comatose somewhere, all for a dare? Like an unexpected slap, it hit Zane where he recognized the name Chance for. “You’re the humblebrag guy from online, aren’t you?” he blurted out, shaking his head at the realization. “No wonder you’re always in the ER if someone can literally tell you to jump off a cliff and you do it.”

A resigned sigh left him, good mood slightly spoiled now because people could be dumb. And what kind of friends would dare someone to jump off a cliff? Bad friends, at least in Zane’s books. He turned the arm in his grasp, gently despite the mild annoyance building up. This guy was reckless but a patient nonetheless. “What, someone else dared a friend to bite you, then?”

The teeth marks on Chance’s arm looked pretty well healed but still visible, clearly just one of the many marks this guy had managed to litter his body with despite only being 21.

—

The mood noticeably shifted once Chance explained the reason that he was there. He wasn’t exactly surprised. The emergency room staff never seemed particularly impressed with any of Chance’s injuries and even less so with the cause of them. Especially the nurses that had dealt with him on more than one occasion. That may have been how he had finally ended up with Zane. All the usual people passed him off.

“Okay, well technically no. They didn’t tell me to jump off a cliff. They told me I wouldn’t jump off a cliff. And I have a thing about proving people wrong.” As if that was any sort of defense. Chance surprised himself with the small twinge of embarrassment he felt in that moment.. Something about being scolded by someone similar in age to him hit harder than when the nurses decades older did it. That feeling was doubled when the man spotted the bite. It wasn’t a big secret or anything, but it wasn’t something that Chance was readily prepared to explain. He could feel his cheeks blushing, but he persevered through them and maintained the same, easygoing composure that he always held, “Couldn’t tell you. I’d like to say it was a night to remember but… well, I don’t remember it.”

Chance sat helplessly while Zane inspected his arm, “Do you make it a habit of judging everyone that comes into the ER?”

—

Shit. Zane had felt the steady pulse heighten slightly as he… well, as he scolded the younger man. It was a bad habit, and unprofessional to boot, but worry tended to come out as annoyance. Chance’s cheeks were turning red and yeah, wasn’t that just a punch to the gut. Way to make sure he never gets any wound checked out ever again, Zane.

Meeting the man’s gaze with earnest regret, he turned it so that the offending bite mark was no longer in view. “Honestly? Sometimes, and I shouldn’t. I scolded an old lady once for mixing up her medication and basically giving herself arrhythmia because she was too stubborn to get a prescription delivery.” She hadn’t deserved it and obviously, this guy didn’t either. People did stupid stuff and at least Chance had the good sense to get his arm checked out. “I’m sorry. Really. You wanna do a dare, that’s literally none of my business.” He offered what he hoped was a comforting smile, finally starting the task of wrapping up the guy’s arm so he could get out of here like he clearly wanted to. Instead, he’d gotten berated for his, admittedly stupid, choices.

“Not like everyone doesn’t do stupid things from time to time,” Zane spoke up after a moment, eyes on the task at hand. “I think I was six or seven when I got dared to swallow a rock. Don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom that mad.” She’d eventually had to take him to the hospital, something their people really didn’t fancy doing (what’s the use for medication when the world will end soon, anyway), when his stomach pains had gotten too severe. “Probably would have cried if some nurse had basically hinted at me being an idiot.” The nurse had been nice, kind, and it was a nice interaction to remember instead of getting focused on his mother at this moment.

“There.” Zane tucked away the end of the bandage, making sure it was all set in place. “No heavy lifting and maybe no cliff jumping for the next few weeks, at least?” A smile, hopefully conveying the message of a joke and not another jab at him. “Oh, and…” As an afterthought, Zane peeled the dinosaur sticker from his name badge, tapping it gently onto the already colorful bandage. “For me being a total dick. And you hopefully not complaining to my supervisor”

—--

Well, shit. Chance had thought the two were just building some rapport here, but apparently the only thing Chance had accomplished was making the man feel like a bad person and worse nurse. All Chance had really wanted to do was deflect from receiving any valid criticisms of his own poor decisions. Chance hated taking anything too seriously, but he also hated the idea of anyone hating him more. So some back peddling would need to be done.

“Hey, dude. Just to be clear I was like one hundred percent joking.” Chance tried, attempting to keep the mood light while also becoming as somber as possible. “I am fully aware that jumping off a cliff wasn’t my brightest moment. I don’t actually care that you think I shouldn’t go cliff diving on a regular basis. We both know who is actually right here. Just like it was totally that lady’s fault for mixing up her medication.”

At least Zane’s anecdote gave Chance a good reason to smile again, “Hell yeah. So what you’re saying is that you’re a daredevil too? Or six year old you was, at least. I dig it.”

As Zane finished up wrapping the bandage, Chance realized that he’d be escorted out. He didn’t love the idea that he may leave with the nurse thinking he was actually offended by anything said. “I’ll try to refrain from cliffs. I’ll stick with steep hills or flights of stairs instead.” Chance studied the dinosaur sticker on his bandages and laughed, “This is adorable and I will cherish it until it inevitably falls off.” He used his unbandaged hand to pat the sticker down for good measure. “How about I consider not sending in a formal complaint if you consider hanging out sometime? Seriously, my cousin would be thrilled if I made a friend that didn’t dare me to dive off cliffs regularly.”

–

It was huge weight lifted, seeing the conversation and mood move back to solid ground. With relief that he’d neither jeopardized his job nor the odds of Chance returning with his inevitable next injury, Zane felt like he could (metaphorically) breathe again. “Oh yeah, totally wild,” he said sarcastically, a small smile playing on his lips again now. It was funny to think that under any other circumstances, this back and forth banter would have felt pretty much impossible. Something about being in the hospital, scrubs on and persona solidified, made it so much easier to talk to people. A confident guy like Chance would have had Zane either fumbling for words or keeping his distance if they’d met anywhere else.

Eyes rolling at the joke, Zane made a decision not to comment on it, part of him feeling like there was maybe a little bit of truth to the words. Best keep away to spare the guy from another one of Zane’s worry scoldings. As he was wondering how many guys he’d met around his own age who would have, A, chosen a heart spattered bandage and B, been this happy with a dinosaur sticker, Chance caught him off guard.

Hang out sometime. Was that something people were able to just casually ask each other without freaking out about the response? Also, he wanted to hang out with Zane minutes after proving just how uncool he was about literally anything exciting? A bit flustered, it took him probably a bit too long to respond, at least longer than anyone sane would have. “Uh… yeah. Sure.” Sounding much less enthusiastic than he actually was, he added, “I mean, if only for your cousin. Obviously.” Tearing a small corner off a nearby paper, he scribbled his details onto it, feeling much too self conscious as he passed it on. “Just… you know, hit me up or whatever. If that’s what people say. I should probably leave the hospital more.” One bandaged arm, one possibility of a new friend.

#justtakingchances #just a sprain #p:chance #writing #chance.001

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ripley-ryan · 1 year ago

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I haven’t ever gone to the ER for pain. Only for other forms of illness. But I can tell you even then that from infancy neither I nor my mother were taken seriously when it came to getting me treatment. I won’t get too much into her experiences with healthcare here aside from the fact that I probably wouldn’t have ever even existed had it not been for my grandmother sticking by her side during emergencies. But I will tell you about a shared experience between us. Below the cut so this doesn’t take up too much space.

When I was born, I was vastly premature. Just short of making it into the third trimester. So obviously, I spent the first few weeks of my life in NICU. I finally arrive home. That Friday afternoon, I quit breathing. It’s temporary, I resume shortly after. But this is enough to prompt my mother to take me in. Now obviously this is a Friday afternoon, nobody wants to deal with the new mother and a baby that seems fine. But she refuses to leave until I’m treated. A social worker is even sent to speak to her. She asks, “Are you afraid to be alone with your daughter?” to which my mother replies, “No, I’m not stupid.” Thankfully a few minutes later I stop breathing again in the waiting room and someone finally takes me back. We leave with a little infant sized baby monitor.

This experience, I think, really highlights this kind of issue. I was an infant. I had no way to self-advocate. I’d only just come home from my first few weeks of life in that same exact place. So the only person I had to advocate for me was my mother. A woman with her first ever infant. On a Friday night when everyone just wanted to go home. Holding a baby so small she had to wear Cabbage Patch Kid clothes for the first few months of her life. Of course any doctor or nurse would assume she was nervous about finally being alone with such a small and fragile child. But she was right, I was having problems. And so I was on a breathing monitor for the next few months.

I’ve never been withheld treatment for pain in an emergency (although I have been told I can take a third! extra! advil if the first two didn’t work for my knee pain that was borderline debilitating at the time). But I have faced similar levels of disbelief. I recently had to gather medical records for an upcoming doctors appointment. I came upon test results from a 24/48 hour set of heart monitors from a few years ago. WHITE COAT HYPERTENSION was what the title of the page said. In big bold letters in case I somehow missed anywhere else on the page it said the same thing. Simultaneously, but at the bottom of the page in a place that wouldn’t immediately catch the eye, the paper read that I experienced enough of an anomaly that it could “result in more target organ damage and a more adverse clinical outcome.” It also took the time to list every factor as NORMAL even though those same numbers were the ones that prompted my doctor to even order those tests in the first place.

Now, I can’t fault all healthcare workers for not treating women the way they do men. I know how exhausted they are. How overworked and overburdened. But I think it’s fair that I should have known when they ran a pregnancy test on me as a teenager without notifying me beforehand. That also occurred during a visit to the ER in 2020. I was 15 and in the beginning stages of an allergic reaction to something I couldn’t put my finger on. Due to the nature of a disorder I have, it could have been anywhere from a cold or bug bite to a broken bone or surgery (although the latter two were clearly not the cause that time). But the cause didn’t matter. I was 15 and female and so despite my insistence I was not pregnant, they ran tests without telling me first. In retrospect, it’s nothing in the long run. It’s pretty harmless. But I think it’s definitely interesting what I was told and not told in my many visits to the hospital. For the white coat hypertension diagnosis, I was simply told that the results were slightly different than normal but showed nothing wrong with me and that I was fine. So I never bothered to read the results for myself, because when you’re told you’re fine, what else are you going to do? And for the pregnancy test, I was just straight up never informed of a test being run. Of course it was negative so there was nothing to report back, but it’s still something I should have been notified of.

This is honestly part of why I still sometimes call my mom back with me during specialist appointments. It helps to have an advocate around. Because when you’re female and not trained in the medical field, and your doctor is much older than you and has training, you’re very likely to be intimidated by the interaction, even if you are not intimidated by the person on the other end of it.

Early on a Wednesday morning, I heard an anguished cry—then silence.

I rushed into the bedroom and watched my wife, Rachel, stumble from the bathroom, doubled over, hugging herself in pain.

“Something’s wrong,” she gasped.

This scared me. Rachel’s not the type to sound the alarm over every pinch or twinge. She cut her finger badly once, when we lived in Iowa City, and joked all the way to Mercy Hospital as the rag wrapped around the wound reddened with her blood. Once, hobbled by a training injury in the days before a marathon, she limped across the finish line anyway.

So when I saw Rachel collapse on our bed, her hands grasping and ungrasping like an infant’s, I called the ambulance. I gave the dispatcher our address, then helped my wife to the bathroom to vomit.

I don’t know how long it took for the ambulance to reach us that Wednesday morning. Pain and panic have a way of distorting time, ballooning it, then compressing it again. But when we heard the sirens wailing somewhere far away, my whole body flooded with relief.

I didn’t know our wait was just beginning.

I buzzed the EMTs into our apartment. We answered their questions: When did the pain start? That morning. Where was it on a scale of one to 10, with 10 being worst?

“Eleven,” Rachel croaked.

As we loaded into the ambulance, here’s what we didn’t know: Rachel had an ovarian cyst, a fairly common thing. But it had grown, undetected, until it was so large that it finally weighed her ovary down, twisting the fallopian tube like you’d wring out a sponge. This is called ovarian torsion, and it creates the kind of organ-failure pain few people experience and live to tell about.

“Ovarian torsion represents a true surgical emergency,” says an article in the medical journal Case Reports in Emergency Medicine. “High clinical suspicion is important. … Ramifications include ovarian loss, intra-abdominal infection, sepsis, and even death.” The best chance of salvaging a torsed ovary is surgery within eight hours of when the pain starts.

* * *

There is nothing like witnessing a loved one in deadly agony. Your muscles swell with the blood they need to fight or run. I felt like I could bend iron, tear nylon, through the 10-minute ambulance ride and as we entered the windowless basement hallways of the hospital.

And there we stopped. The intake line was long—a row of cots stretched down the darkened hall. Someone wheeled a gurney out for Rachel. Shaking, she got herself between the sheets, lay down, and officially became a patient.

We didn’t know her ovary was dying, calling out in the starkest language the body has.

Emergency-room patients are supposed to be immediately assessed and treated according to the urgency of their condition. Most hospitals use the Emergency Severity Index, a five-level system that categorizes patients on a scale from “resuscitate” (treat immediately) to “non-urgent” (treat within two to 24 hours).

I knew which end of the spectrum we were on. Rachel was nearly crucified with pain, her arms gripping the metal rails blanched-knuckle tight. I flagged down the first nurse I could.

“My wife,” I said. “I’ve never seen her like this. Something’s wrong, you have to see her.”

“She’ll have to wait her turn,” she said. Other nurses’ reactions ranged from dismissive to condescending. “You’re just feeling a little pain, honey,” one of them told Rachel, all but patting her head.

We didn’t know her ovary was dying, calling out in the starkest language the body has. I saw only the way Rachel’s whole face twisted with the pain.

Soon, I started to realize—in a kind of panic—that there was no system of triage in effect. The other patients in the line slept peacefully, or stared up at the ceiling, bored, or chatted with their loved ones. It seemed that arrival order, not symptom severity, would determine when we’d be seen.

As we neared the ward’s open door, a nurse came to take Rachel’s blood pressure. By then, Rachel was writhing so uncontrollably that the nurse couldn’t get her reading.

She sighed and put down her squeezebox.

“You’ll have to sit still, or we’ll just have to start over,” she said.

Finally, we pulled her bed inside. They strapped a plastic bracelet, like half a handcuff, around Rachel’s wrist.

* * *

From an early age we’re taught to observe basic social codes: Be polite. Ask nicely.Wait your turn. But during an emergency, established codes evaporate—this is why ambulances can run red lights and drive on the wrong side of the road. I found myself pleading, uselessly, for that kind of special treatment. I kept having the strange impulse to take out my phone and call 911, as if that might transport us back to an urgent, responsive world where emergencies exist.

The average emergency-room patient in the U.S. waits 28 minutes before seeing a doctor. I later learned that at Brooklyn Hospital Center, where we were, the average wait was nearly three times as long, an hour and 49 minutes. Our wait would be much, much longer.

Everyone we encountered worked to assure me this was not an emergency. “Stones,” one of the nurses had pronounced. That made sense. I could believe that. I knew that kidney stones caused agony but never death. She’d be fine, I convinced myself, if I could only get her something for the pain.

By 10 a.m., Rachel’s cot had moved into the “red zone” of the E.R., a square room with maybe 30 beds pushed up against three walls. She hardly noticed when the attending physician came and visited her bed; I almost missed him, too. He never touched her body. He asked a few quick questions, and then left. His visit was so brief it didn’t register that he was the person overseeing Rachel’s care.

Around 10:45, someone came with an inverted vial and began to strap a tourniquet around Rachel’s trembling arm. We didn’t know it, but the doctor had prescribed the standard pain-management treatment for patients with kidney stones: hydromorphone for the pain, followed by a CT scan.

The pain medicine started seeping in. Rachel fell into a kind of shadow consciousness, awake but silent, her mouth frozen in an awful, anguished scowl. But for the first time that morning, she rested.

* * *

Leslie Jamison’s essay “Grand Unified Theory of Female Pain” examines ways that different forms of female suffering are minimized, mocked, coaxed into silence. In an interview included in her book The Empathy Exams, she discussed the piece, saying: “Months after I wrote that essay, one of my best friends had an experience where she was in a serious amount of pain that wasn’t taken seriously at the ER.”

She was talking about Rachel.

“Women are likely to be treated less aggressively until they prove that they are as sick as male patients.”

“That to me felt like this deeply personal and deeply upsetting embodiment of what was at stake,” she said. “Not just on the side of the medical establishment—where female pain might be perceived as constructed or exaggerated—but on the side of the woman herself: My friend has been reckoning in a sustained way about her own fears about coming across as melodramatic.”

“Female pain might be perceived as constructed or exaggerated”: We saw this from the moment we entered the hospital, as the staff downplayed Rachel’s pain, even plain ignored it. In her essay, Jamison refers back to “The Girl Who Cried Pain,” a study identifying ways gender bias tends to play out in clinical pain management. Women are “more likely to be treated less aggressively in their initial encounters with the health-care system until they ‘prove that they are as sick as male patients,’” the study concludes—a phenomenon referred to in the medical community as “Yentl Syndrome.”

In the hospital, a lab tech made small talk, asked me how I like living in Brooklyn, while my wife struggled to hold still enough for the CT scan to take a clear shot of her abdomen.

“Lot of patients to get to, honey,” we heard, again and again, when we begged for stronger painkillers. “Don’t cry.”

I felt certain of this: The diagnosis of kidney stones—repeated by the nurses and confirmed by the attending physician’s prescribed course of treatment—was a denial of the specifically female nature of Rachel’s pain. A more careful examiner would have seen the need for gynecological evaluation; later, doctors told us that Rachel’s swollen ovary was likely palpable through the surface of her skin. But this particular ER, like many in the United States, had no attending OB-GYN. And every nurse’s shrug seemed to say, “Women cry—what can you do?”

Nationwide, men wait an average of 49 minutes before receiving an analgesic for acute abdominal pain. Women wait an average of 65 minutes for the same thing. Rachel waited somewhere between 90 minutes and two hours.

“My friend has been reckoning in a sustained way about her own fears about coming across as melodramatic.” Rachel does struggle with this, even now. How long is it appropriate to continue to process a traumatic event through language, through repeated retellings? Friends have heard the story, and still she finds herself searching for language to tell it again, again, as if the experience is a vast terrain that can never be fully circumscribed by words. Still, in the throes of debilitating pain, she tried to bite her lip, wait her turn, be good for the doctors.

For hours, nothing happened. Around 3 o’clock, we got the CT scan and came back to the ER. Otherwise, Rachel lay there, half-asleep, suffering and silent. Later, she’d tell me that the hydromorphone didn’t really stop the pain—just numbed it slightly. Mostly, it made her feel sedated, too tired to fight.

If she had been alone, with no one to agitate for her care, there’s no telling how long she might have waited.

Eventually, the doctor—the man who’d come to Rachel’s bedside briefly, and just once—packed his briefcase and left. He’d been around the ER all day, mostly staring into a computer. We only found out later he’d been the one with the power to rescue or forget us.

When a younger woman came on duty to take his place, I flagged her down. I told her we were waiting on the results of a CT scan, and I hassled her until she agreed to see if the results had come in.

When she pulled up Rachel’s file, her eyes widened.

“What is this mess?” she said. Her pupils flicked as she scanned the page, the screen reflected in her eyes.

“Oh my god,” she murmured, as though I wasn’t standing there to hear. “He never did an exam.”

The male doctor had prescribed the standard treatment for kidney stones—Dilauded for the pain, a CT scan to confirm the presence of the stones. In all the hours Rachel spent under his care, he’d never checked back after his initial visit. He was that sure. As far as he was concerned, his job was done.

If Rachel had been alone, with no one to agitate for her care, there’s no telling how long she might have waited.

It was almost another hour before we got the CT results. But when they came, they changed everything.

“She has a large mass in her abdomen,” the female doctor said. “We don’t know what it is.”

That’s when we lost it. Not just because our minds filled then with words liketumor and cancer and malignant. Not just because Rachel had gone half crazy with the waiting and the pain. It was because we’d asked to wait our turn all through the day—longer than a standard office shift—only to find out we’d been an emergency all along.

Suddenly, the world responded with the urgency we wanted. I helped a nurse push Rachel’s cot down a long hallway, and I ran beside her in a mad dash to make the ultrasound lab before it closed. It seemed impossible, but we were told that if we didn’t catch the tech before he left, Rachel’s care would have to be delayed until morning.

“Whatever happens,” Rachel told me while the tech prepared the machine, “don’t let me stay here through the night. I won’t make it. I don’t care what they tell you—I know I won’t.”

Soon, the tech was peering inside Rachel through a gray screen. I couldn’t see what he saw, so I watched his face. His features rearranged into a disbelieving grimace.

By then, Rachel and I were grasping at straws. We thought: cancer. We thought: hysterectomy. Lying there in the dim light, Rachel almost seemed relieved.

“I can live without my uterus,” she said, with a soft, weak smile. “They can take it out, and I’ll get by.”

She’d make the tradeoff gladly, if it meant the pain would stop.

After the ultrasound, we led the gurney—slowly, this time—down the long hall to the ER, which by then was completely crammed with beds. Trying to find a spot for Rachel’s cot was like navigating rush-hour traffic.

Then came more bad news. At 8 p.m., they had to clear the floor for rounds. Anyone who was not a nurse, or lying in a bed, had to leave the premises until visiting hours began again at 9.

When they let me back in an hour later, I found Rachel alone in a side room of the ER. So much had happened. Another doctor had told her the mass was her ovary, she said. She had something called ovarian torsion—the fallopian-tube twists, cutting off blood. There was no saving it. They’d have to take it out.

Rachel seemed confident and ready.

“He’s a good doctor,” she said. “He couldn’t believe that they left me here all day. He knows how much it hurts.”

When I met the surgery team, I saw Rachel was right. Talking with them, the words we’d used all day—excruciating, emergency, eleven—registered with real and urgent meaning. They wanted to help.

By 10:30, everything was ready. Rachel and I said goodbye outside the surgery room, 14 and a half hours from when her pain had started.

* * *

Rachel’s physical scars are healing, and she can go on the long runs she loves, but she’s still grappling with the psychic toll—what she calls “the trauma of not being seen.” She has nightmares, some nights. I wake her up when her limbs start twitching.

Sometimes we inspect the scars on her body together, looking at the way the pink, raised skin starts blending into ordinary flesh. Maybe one day, they’ll become invisible. Maybe they never will.

#not to even mention that with the results page two of my meds are not reported #like uh okay #you’re going to paste one monitor to me and strap the other around my arm #but not before first having me speak to a social worker because i forgot to lie on the depression screening #and you’re then gonna put on the actual diagnosis that im just nervous. okay #for the record i knew i was depressed. i was on meds for it. but i was so tired of having to speak to a social worker every time i went in

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definitelynotciara · 4 months ago

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eleven: downhill part two

masterlist • previous • next

“V.”

You look at him smiling, the bags under your eyes that are usually hidden by makeup revealed after you washed it all off.

“Hey Samu, look I can—”

“Can’t make it to dinner again?”

You laugh ,“Yeah. I have to work on my lines. I’ve been too distracted lately.”

“We can work on them together?”

“If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind at all. I’m offerin’. Come over to our place after filming?”

“I really need to work on my lines so—”

“We will. Promise.”

“I know but I need to stay focused. Seriously.”

“I’ll tell the others not to bother you. I can convince them to run lines with us”

You take a moment to think about if you really should go. “Okay fine. I’ll go.”

Samu smiles at you. “I’ll cook dinner tonight. Any requests?”

“Anything you want Samu.”

“Great.”

“I’ll head home first and wash up then I’ll meet you for dinner. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“Thank you Samu.”

“Of course.”

—

“No Venus again?” Rintarō asks looking at Osamu. “He’s been so sulky lately.”

“I have not been sulky.” Osamu groaned.

“Yer right Sunarin he has been sulky. Aw ya miss yer girlfriend.”

“We ain’t datin’. She’s a friend.”

“Oh! Okay. Sure.”

“She’s comin’ over today anyways.”

“Oh so that’s why yer cookin’ dinner tonight.”

“Shut yer trap Tsumu…She’s been off lately. So we’re gonna run lines over dinner. That’s all.”

“AW YER WORRIED BOUT ‘ER”

“SHUT UP TSUMU.”

*the doorbell rings*

“Go get yer girlfriend at the door Samu.” Atsumu teased. Sunarin snickering, pretending to look at his phone.

He opens the door.

“Hi Samu.”

“Hey Venus.”

“Is it just us?” You ask, walking in, sitting down to take off your shoes.

“Unfortunately not. Tsumu and Rin are here.” Samu says holding a hand out to help you up.

You smile and take it, “Do they wanna run lines with us?”

“You can ask ‘em. But let’s eat dinner first.”

“Oh right you cooked! What did you make?” You say, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that you two are still holding hands. For fucks sake you guys have done worse than holding hands on camera. (they kissed you dirty minded people)

“ [favorite food], hope you like it.”

“I love that so much, you must’ve read my mind. I haven’t had it in so long.”

No Venus he just spent hours searching up what your favorite food was on the internet so that he could surprise you. Platonically of course.

“Hi Zumi!” Atsumu says, his eyes focused on his brother’s hand interlocked with yours. The golden haired boy looked at his brother with a knowing smirk.

“Hi Tsumie! Hey Rin! Are you two running lines with us?”

“Oh no. We wouldn’t want to intrude.” Rin said, leaning his head on his hand.

“You wouldn’t be trust me.” Samu smiled tightly.

Rintarō hummed, “Oh I’m not so sure. V. ” Rin started, you turned to look at him, “What scenes are you running?”

“The ones needed for tomorrow.”

“Oh so the kissing scene.” He smiled at Samu, who was now red.

“Yeah amongst others.” You nod ,“Why?”

“Ah nothing. You two have fun.” Rintarō winked at Samu who looked ready to kill the green eyed boy, his grip on your hand tightened slightly.

“We’re gonna eat first actually.” You say smiling. “Then we’ll run lines.”

“Okay. Enjoy the food, Samu’s a great chef. I’ll join you two for a bit, I have some scenes with you I need to go through a few more times. It’d be nice to have something to react to.”

“Got it! See you later.”

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mywritingonlyfans · 2 years ago

Text

Longshot // Alex Turner X Reader!

this fic about: you always have the urge (fate, honestly) to meet Alex from time to time in the midst of moments in your life, but you never stay close to each other for a long time, after all, he is not your boyfriend. There's smut in this one!

words: 4,6K.

Your head hurt, you knew your face was probably red due to your desire to go home and cry, but yet, you convinced yourself to go out for a drink.

Somehow, you found yourself happy for doing so.

You couldn't tell Alex was back in town, you briefly wondered why you didn’t know. He always contacted you when he was near (or at least that was what it seemed to be). Still, you were glad to see him there. He was always able to make things better, even if only for a short period of time; which in your case was a very short one as he wasn’t yours to have.

Alex waved to your friends, they were all familiar to him. He hugged you, giving a small kiss to your head while sitting next to you. Suddenly, you felt like a stronger drink would do you good.

It wasn’t hard to tell what was going to happen in the next few hours. After a couple of years going through that, you knew the time you spent together always ran the same streets. You guessed that you were able to put his head in place, just as he did with yours; and that was why he always came back to you. You’d never be able to tell if it was luck or mischance.

“Was it too hard to find me?” You asked him, frowning in a happy face.

Around now, your friends had moved to another corner. “I mean, I’m not complaining, I’m glad you did.” You offered him a weak smile. He did the same.

He looked tired, yet deadly cute. He had longer curls and no beard anymore.

He shuffled his chair closer to yours, letting his leg touch your bare knee. “Not really, Miles said he called you in the mornin’, then told me that you intended to visit ‘ere for the night,” he mumbled, blinking eyes to the bartender that he needed a beer, and so did you.

“Oh, he’s a gossip,” you wrinkled your nose, causing him to offer you a nasal laugh that you had learned to find lovely over the years. “But what has been happening in your world? You’re good?” You tried to sound casual, but deep down you knew he wasn’t there entirely for you.

Something was bothering him, he was looking for someone to rely on.

“Pretty much the same,” he sighed heavily, sitting better on the chair while rolling the t-shirt cuffs to his elbows.

In the face of this, your throat dried up in anticipation.

He wasn’t just physically tired. “We finished the last album, I feel exhausted.”

He looked at you like a lost puppy, watching your face, taking in if you were in the mood to listen to him and even if you were fine with having him around. After all, he came to you out of nowhere.

He’d never make you uncomfortable, maybe he couldn't tell that yet. “C’mon, let it all out. I haven’t seen you in such a while for you to deprive me of the details.”

“If I tell you,” he pondered, “ you’ll tell me why you have that runny nose that matches your watery eyes?” He poked your cheek, dragging his fingers so he could put some strands of hair back in place.

You cuddled up in his palm, like it was their right place.

His chair was so close to you that you’d be able to rest your head on his shoulder if you wanted to (without creating any bodily discomfort, not that you were capable of that).

“I guess life just hasn’t been all that gentle with me lately,” you giggled. “I lost my job last week, the same life shit’s going on as usual, and when I finally manage to move to a decent place, I’ll now be actually going back to sharing an apartment with strangers, because, huh, y’know, I can’t afford being in there anymore.” Your breathing has sped up and you have indeed had to hold some tears to the vague memory.

Alex was quiet for a while, you needed him more than he needed you, it wasn’t hard for him to tell that. Listening to you made him realize how his worries were nothing at all, not in a mean way, but made him wonder why he wasn’t always around for you when he felt like could/should. He knew that you didn’t mind sharing an apartment with someone, but the loss of perspective was always tough.

Without further thinking, he pulled you to himself, so subtle yet so significant, fluffing your hair and holding you tight in his grip. You let yourself get involved in his essence, wrapping yourself in his t-shirt. You didn’t cry, but you knew it was possible to read your emotions – at least for him to do so. It could be little, but Alex knew you.

You took your head off his chest while he still had his arm around your waist. Taking a deep breath, you stared at your laced fingers. You couldn't properly look at him. “I guess it’s all happening at the same time, I’m just not sure how to handle it at the moment.” He held your face in his hand, his mouth close to yours as he ran his thumb over your chin and as soon as your breath met, you felt his lips on yours.

He was soft and wet, he had the same taste you still had etched in your mind, at that moment it seemed to be all you needed.

When he walked away, he was left a few pecks in the corner of his mouth as his forehead rested upon his, making you sigh to feel his hair on your face.

You two stayed like that for a few minutes and you could bet that anyone who passed by could see how much of a fool you were for him. You tried not to think about it too much, it was better to have little of him than nothing at all. “Al?”

“Huh?” He murmured with his eyes closed, giving your lips a tickling sensation.

“Kiss me more,” and then he did.

Alex was holding you in place while your hands intertwined around his neck. You played with the chain around it, savoring the touch of his tongue on yours, focusing only on him while pulling at his hair to hear his soft moans.

It didn’t take long for the bartender to come and get your attention. You laughed nervously at him, you were embarrassed because you didn’t even remember where you were, still Alex seemed untouchable about it, even though he was dead red on the cheeks. He wasn’t one to be embarrassed over small things like that, at least not around you. The bartender was quite irritated with you and just now you noticed that your drinks had arrived and hadn’t even been touched; the guy was rightly pissed.

Alex stood up, lifting you up with him. You looked in your pockets for your money, but then Al got you. You’d argue, but you thought better and any money left over would be useful. You held both beers in hands as he paid, thanking the old lady for the service, still feeling your skin burning due pure embarrassment, and then headed outside to wait for him.

“Are you drivin’?” He asked, laughing at your state of awkwardness.

You bumped into his shoulder slightly, laughing along with him. “I am not, I’m living nearby,” you whispered as he put his hand inside your skirt pocket, bringing you to his side for a walk. “In the apartment that soon won’t be mine, but, huh, how ‘bout you?”

“Not driving’, I thought ‘bout staying somewhere for the night.”

He was close to home, but not that close, it’d take about 3 hours to get to where he lives; it seemed plausible that he wanted to stay. “Are you only here because of me?” You risked asking.

“Yeah,” he took his hand out of your pocket and ran it through his hair, face properly red. “I didn’t think it’d be a bad idea, I think.”

There was silence, but it was so far from being uncomfortable. “You know you can stay with me.”

***

Considering that you were in the process of moving to another place, your house was a bit of a mess. Alex wouldn’t be bothered by that, somehow your instinct of needing things always in place - aka Monica from Friends - made you wander around the space in an attempt to make Al at home.

“What ‘bout the new album?” You asked, dragging one of the boxes away from him.

It wouldn’t even bother anyone, but the thought that it’d be in the middle of the room while someone was at your house bothered you.

“I don’t really know, I feel anxious about releasing it. It’s not that I don’t want to release it or am afraid of doing so, far from that, it’s just, I don’t know…” His voice fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. So typical and amiable of Alex.

You turned to him, wanting to ask him what he had said, after all, that didn’t sound like him, to be insecure. You felt as his hands touched your hips, pulling you on his lap. “Y'know, I don’t care about your mess at all, right? Just, please, stop walkin’ ‘round the house dragging your stuffs, darlin’.” He said with his face close to your neck, hugging you from behind. His warm breath was in contact with your soft skin, providing heat to your body.

And well, there was a minimal percentage chance that you were trying to make the place look good for him but just because he made you a little nervous.

“Okay, fine. I’m fine,” you exhaled, turning to face him. He was smiling with his eyes almost closed; he still looked tired, but at least you were improving his mood. “You know you’re good at what you do, Al. You shouldn’t worry 'bout those things.” You held on to his shoulders, breaking something that could turn out to be a pitiful silence.

He squeezed your thigh at the same time as he laughed humorlessly at your words. “I know that. I guess that this is the short time they gave us to finish the album – it was drivin’ me crazy. The album isn’t bad, not at all, it’s honestly very good. We did an incredible job, still if it weren’t for the time, oh babe, it could have been even better. That’s crazy how I’m still letting myself get stressed over this, don’t you think?” He vented, moving his hands up your skirt.

“I know it’ll be good, I can’t think of anything you did that ended up bad, love!” You ran your fingers over his covered shoulders, down to his chest, going to the first open button of his silk shirt. “But if it’s just stress, well, I can help ya.”

He lubed his lips, nodding assiduously, putting you properly on top of him. That way, you were stuck to his body, feeling the roughness of his flare jeans along with the zipper against you. You gulped as he held your face, sealing your lips with his. You were relieved he always guided you through that. The leading up part was way better when it came from him, not least because he was pretty much able to leave you without the senses with so little.

You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt in the middle of sloppy kisses and grips. Then, you ran your hand over his belly, tracing your fingers to the back of his neck while moving your hips lightly. You lugged on his hair, pulling him away a bit to catch your breath. You opened your eyes to find Al with deep pink lips and brown eyes more intense than normal, at that moment you could have sworn that he was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You spread his shirt to the sides, sensing your body getting hotter, when he smirked at your rush, managing to hold both of your hands behind you, forcing you in place.

“No need to rush, we have plenty of time, lil’ one,” he clenched you in his hands. You arched your back, breathing heavily at each pressure of his fingers on your wrists.

He ran his nose over your neck, placing kisses and bites on the way to your collarbone, leaving wet tracks that would later turn into dark marks.

Your legs ached from that position, the couch wasn’t the best, but feeling Alex getting hard under you as you writhed yourself against him, made you want to stay there for as long as he wanted you to. It was crazy to think that at the beginning of the day you were sure that the rest of it would be a pure disaster, and now being spoiled by his lips your worries were gone.

Temporary as that would be, you were determined to give him your all, making his and yours next hours one of the best escapes from both of you.

Unnecessary to say that you were lost in your own mind, craving for having his soft curls in-between your fingers, wanting him tugged into you furiously, causing you to ache.

Your mouth was ajar, your vision was just white dots as he played with your sensitive skin, driving you insane. And then, Alex paralyzed when his grip became too strong around your fists and you got louder than usual.

“D’you like that, huh?” He did it again, but this time pushing your body backward, giving him a better look of your state. He kept his devilish grin on his face, watching you from top to bottom. You bit your lips, containing your noises to yourself, you were such an angel in his eyes. “Up, babe. I need to see something.” He didn’t let you answer, not as if he needed to. You stood up in front of him, legs shaking with your head definitely not in the right place. “Undress, please.” He rested his elbows on his knees, like you were his little show.

He had an immovable jaw in a serious face, and just like that, you didn’t see any problem in obeying his voice, but perhaps, due to the lack of his body being glued to yours, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it when I tell you what to do,” he caught you by the hem of your underwear, helping to take it off while you got rid of your blouse. “Especially, when I just got you off my lap, almost unconscious 'cause of some kisses on the neck, pet.” He added, drawing circles on the inside of your thigh, smoothly going up to your center.

You felt your breath come to a halt. “You’re just too bossy.” You teased, confirming that your breathing was faulty.

He patted his nose over the damp stain of the fabric, placing a wet kiss there. “And you love it.” He pecked you a few more, teasing you by running his fingers on the edges as putting the cloth to the side; never touching you where you needed him.

Taking a deep breath, you've had to hold back a groan; letting the urge to have his tongue and the tip of the nose rubbing you stick to your mind only.

Involuntarily you took hold of his hair, bringing him closer to you. And then, you understood his previous question, it wasn’t just about not being able to touch him, but also about the power he was having (always had) over you.

He cut his actions short and got up, hovering over you. “Is that ‘kay, darlin’?” You agreed, mouth dried up, without even being able to words. “So no touching me then, huh?” He whispered, tossing your hair behind your ear, aware of the challenge he was casting upon you.

That’d be comical in any other situation, but with his body and eyes fixed on your frame you felt in his pure domain.

You nodded, diving into the way he pulled at the hair on the nape of your neck firmly so that you were looking at him. “Go on, babe,” He insisted on having the words he wanted.

“Yep, fine, Al,” it was far from fine, you couldn’t do that.

How could you go without touching, making a mess of his hair or marking your nails on his back?

“That’s my girl,” he praised you in between sighs.

He was excited while your face was overflowing with nervousness; not out of fear, but out of curiosity. He finished taking off his shirt and indicated with his fingers for you to lie down on the couch.

You shut your eyes tight, with his voice echoing 'my girl’ inside your head. Alex was lugging your wrists above your head as you did what he told you to do. He tied them with his shirt. “Is this hurtin’ you? Feelin’ comfortable?” He tightened it in a knot.

Your head and elbows were on the arm of the couch, only your hands were unsupported. Although you weren’t uncomfortable, it was to be expected that pain would appear the next day; yet it’d be worth it. “No, it’s fine. I’m good.” You assured him as he knelt beside the couch, running his hands down your torso, making you squirm.

He went down to the hem of your underwear, taking it off with the help of your legs kicking the lace away. “Good then,” he warbled, pattering lines on your under belly. “Needy and in your proper place.”

“Bastard,” you swore through clenched teeth.

He grinned, admiring how your breast rose and fell in a quick but punctual rhythm as your hips fidgeted at his touch. You looked like a piece of art he had just created, swollen lips, filled in lovely marks on the collarbone. He found himself in need to concentrate on his breathing while watching you, to control his pulse as he reached between your legs for further care.

“Al,” you breathed out, forcing your fists in vain. “Go on, please,”

With that, he held your hands, forcing them down and slid a finger inside you. Your lips opened in a sigh and he took the opportunity to kiss you, running his tongue over your bottom lip and nipping it to his mouth, keeping things on a slow pace.

You wanted to hold his hand, make him go faster or be able to pull the locks of his hair until he understood how much you wanted him, but you had no way of doing that, and you knew he was doing that to provoke you.

His lips traveled over your neck again, this time giving light kisses, blowing air on the soft fresh he had left in there.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said without even opening his eyes, delighting in your skin as he sped up, rubbing his thumb gently over you.

You whispered something almost inaudible that he recognized as his name. He raised his head, coming face to face with you. “Right there, huh?” He asked, focusing on the spot that was blurring your vision, without speeding up, just kissing you more.

You moaned with the satisfying running fast through your veins, making you go numb in the knees. You closed your legs, wishing you could hold on to his body, but all he did was laugh, shoving his fingers even leisurely into you.

“No, no, Alex,” you looked at him properly, thinking that if you hadn’t been with your wrists tied you’d have slapped his chest hard.

He wiped his hand on your thigh, and stood up slipping his jeans down his legs along with his underwear. You sighed at him, stretching your arms, staring at the ceiling to disguise yourself. Not that it was necessary, but Alex was already too much of a show-off when it came to you for your liking.

“You good? How’s your arms?” He asked with his attentive eyes over your face, Soon, he was on top of your weak body.

His hair was damp, falling over his forehead. Sweat was glued to his chest and his silver necklace dangled in front of your eyes. For a split second, you thought about saying that you missed him, but you were wise enough to know better than this.

“If I say that I’m not good. Are you going to untie me?”

He pressed his chest to yours, your body sticking to his due to the sweat.

“There's not even a single chance,” He stroked your neck with his thumb, up and down, with a silly look on his face.

You grunted as soon as you felt him against your thigh, he placed himself in-between your knees, holding on to your shoulders, and without hesitation, he filled you up. Your body tingled and your voice failed, causing a silent moan to slip from your lips. His head fell over the crook of your neck and you could feel how dysrhythmic his breathing was. His warm body along with his breath hitting on your neck added a pleasant feeling in your stomach, leaving you dizzy under him.

“Move Al,” you tried to sound understandable, embracing his waist with your legs.

He thrusted deeply into you, leaving a groaning sigh of relief in your ears. You stretched out your arms, tightening your thighs around him. He held the shirt in your hands, preventing it from coming loose.

“No, I wanna touch you,” you whined.

“You will, just be patient, babe,” he squeezed your wrists in his hand.

Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the way his body was over yours, every movement and delicate touch.

He went slowly at first, making sure you were taking all of him, every inch, before going faster. Once he felt your walls clenching around him, he murmured a breathless 'fuck’, letting go of your hands so that you could finally feel him. You dug your nails into his back, kneading your body against his at the same time as he hugged you.

As you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, with an intense gaze, building you up so you were feeling nothing but sexy and wanted.

Both of you were a mess; sweaty and sticky. You felt a tingling ecstasy take all over your body, your toes twitching as you emptied yourself into him. He kept working on you until his body collapsed into yours, filling you up to perfection.

The last thing you remembered was having your fingers entwined in his hair, patting at it slightly as he whispered sweet nothing against your skin; just like a lullaby.

———–——-

You woke up to the television, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the daylight.

Failing to stretch, you felt how sore your body was.

Your eyes searched for Alex, finding him sitting opposite to you with a lazy grin and a cup of tea in hands, his attention was all on you.

Friends was playing on the television, but you doubted he was watching it.

“Good mornin’, babe,'' his husky voice echoed through the room. It was the best thing to hear in the morning, honestly. “How’s it? Hurtin’?” He asked when you started examining your marked wrists.

He was fully dressed and although you weren’t, he had managed to get a sheet to cover you.

“Good mornin’. It’s fine, well, huh, it doesn’t hurt,” you mumbled, scratching your eyes, curling up on the sheet. And as much as you wish it could last more, you asked. “How long will you be stayin’ in town?”

“Not long,” he paused thoughtfully. You already expected that he wouldn’t be with you for longer, still sometimes you liked to think that it’d last longer than just a few nights before he disappeared to another continent. “I need to go home in a few minutes, I’m going to take a flight at night to adjust the final details of the album in LA.”

“Sounds nice,” you wanted to have the courage to tell him how he made things in your life look just right, as if he were some kind of missing piece from your damage puzzle. “I can’t wait to hear it, hear what your great fingers and mind are capable of.” You ignored your thoughts. He laughed.

However, you truly believed that not saying anything was a wise move.

He lifted a cup from one of the boxes next to him, holding it out to you. “I made one for you too, I 'ope you don’t mind.”

You didn’t mind it, in fact, you loved the way he made himself at home so quickly. The home that soon wouldn’t be yours anymore. You wished Al could remedy your worries for more than just one night.

“Thank you,” you took the still warm drink in your hands, looking at him as if he were part of your decor. “You can smoke in here, I don’t mind that either,” you spoke up. You couldn’t even imagine that he’d have gone without lighting a cigarette all morning.

“The place is all clean, and smells nice. I bet you never lit one yourself, I wouldn’t do that.” He was right.

“Well, y'know, I don’t care about the smell, I just don’t see the need to leave the house impregnated with it.” You explained, remembering that his place was a perfect description of that smell, yet you loved his warm flat.

“I know this's going to sound stupid,” he started. “But if you can’t find a place in time to live in, y'know, you can stay at mine. Well, I mean, you know I am never home much and as I’ll be travelin’ you could make yourself at home.”

He said it casually, and you knew he wasn’t lying. If you wanted to, he wouldn’t even think twice about letting you stay at his.

“No need, I’ll be fine. I do appreciate it though.” you took a sip of your now cold drink.

He bobbed, checking what you thought could be the time on his phone.

“You have to go, I'm afraid?” You asked, your soft voice revealing you didn’t want that.

“I need to,” he gave you a small smile, getting up. “It’s gettin’ a bit late for me.”

“I see,” you went to him, adjusting the sheet on your body, feeling ridiculous for still being undressed. “I guess I’ll see you, right?” You added it while he picked up his stuff on the couch; keys, wallet and the pack of cigarettes. There was no answer for your question.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, heading to the door. “You could come and visit, spend a few days with us. It’d be nice.”

“To LA? For the album thing? Like I'm one of your groupies?” You wrinkled your nose, jokingly. His arms wrapping around you. You’d miss it.

He squeezed you into his chest, his growing beard tickling your cheek. “You know you are much more than just a mere groupie for me, babe.”

You didn’t answer that. He pulled away and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but he didn’t.

“See ya, darlin',” instead, he kissed the top of your head. “Think 'bout it, both about comin’ to visit, but also, 'bout needing a place to stay for a while.”

“I for sure will, thank you, Al,” you watched him, from his rumpled shirt to the red and cute circles under his eyes. He’d always have a special space in your heart. “Well, I think I’ll see ya then.”

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #arctic monkeys #alex turner smut #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you

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