#who was like 'you're right. but no colleague or patient has ever mentioned that to me since medical school' which is just so.

[consolecadet]

My dad has cancer. He's almost certainly going to be fine -- it's prostate cancer, slow-moving and very curable. I've known for a while, but he posted about it on his much-more-highly-read-than-mine blog today, so I think he's okay with the public knowing now. The way he's dealing with it is so classically his side of the family: learning as much as he can about the science behind the illness and the treatment and finding as much humor as possible in the situation.

I don't know if he realizes how acutely I understand that a joke about how humiliating or awkward something is is still, at its core, an admission of how much that thing hurts. I know he's got an 85% chance of being physically A-OK from prostate cancer after the treatment he's about to undergo, but even if he's zesty as an orange bodily afterward, I worry about his emotional health.

[dollyhao]

older woman! abby x young woman! reader

summary: abby is not sure getting close to her young secretary is a good idea or not but you know for sure it is.

cw: pining, fluff, smut, love <3, all types of cute shit

word count: 2.5k

working for abby has been one of the best experiences you've ever had. you started working as a receptionist/secretary at abby's auto body shop five months ago and she is the greatest boss you've ever had.

she is so kind and patient especially when you make mistakes. she respects her employees and treats them more like colleagues than subordinates. not to mention she is beautiful, like really beautiful. for a woman in her late thirties she was very fit, it was very clear she worked out and you mostly see her bring salmon and rice into work for lunch.

she had skin that looked soft to the touch and a couple of scars running up her forearms, most from her job as a mechanic. she had luscious, thick dirty blonde hair that she keeps in a braid or sometimes a bun.

you may have developed a crush on the older woman, blushing at every word she says to you in that soft tone. or when she stands close to you; looking over your shoulder to look at the computer that's in front of you. and you've tried to make it obvious that you were interested by lingering looks, compliments about her work, and questions trying to get to know her better, but she has never made a move.

but lord did abby wish the feelings weren't mutual.

abby hired you because of your business degree and your experience but you ended up being the best part of her day. you were beautiful and funny and you made her job as the owner so much easier. she's able to focus on her passion as a mechanic and she couldn't thank you enough. but she tries to keep away because it wouldn't be right to start a relationship with you, your in your early twenties and abby's in her late thirties, you were probably looking for different things right now.

abby wants to settle down, get married and maybe start a family but you were young and probably had so much stuff you wanted to do. she didn't wanna start anything just for it to be temporary especially not with a girl as sweet as you. but now abby is sweating at the thought of having to ask you to stay afterwards to help her with some documents that she was slacking on.

your amazing because you agree immediately even though you question why she didn't bring these documents to your attention sooner. abby is embarrassed and insists on staying behind and helping you.

being in a room with abby at night is like a wet dream. you sit with her in her office at 8 at night as you look over important documents and inventory. you sit side by side when you glance over at her, you didn't even notice that she took her hair out her bun, rubbing her fingers through her scalp. you stare at the side of her face while she reads something on her computer and you can't help yourself when you reach your hand out and tuck a piece of hair that was obstructing your view of her face.

she looks over at you and sees the soft expression you have as your eyes move around her face. "you're beautiful," you mumble, trailing your thumb over her face gently. "thank you," she mumbles back. you continue to stare at each other before one of your phones ding, snatching abby's attention from your face.

"um, i can finish up here," she looks at the time and look back over at you, "there's not much left to do here." she stands up grabbing your coat for you. you stand after her, terrified that you have ruined something that you weren't even sure was there. that was until abby gave you a genuine smile and helped you put your jacket on. you try not to sigh in relief when she askes to walk you to the car.

she walks you to your car and opens the door for you and closing it when your in. you roll your window down and start the car looking over at the abby who had her hand on the roof of your car. she bends down and rests her arms on your window, "thank you for helping me tonight. drive safe, ok?"

goodness, she's using that soft tone with you again so you just nod and smile. she smiles back and walks back into the building. you drive away smiling at the memory of abby's face illuminated by the lamp in the office and her soft hair flowing down her back.

.ೃ࿐

"are you coming?" manny is leaning over the counter that your working at staring down at you expectedly. "what?" you were working which you assumed manny was supposed to be doing as well. "are you coming to the out with us tonight?" he repeats his question and you glance over at abby who is wiping oil off her hands.

"who's going?" you continue to work, feigning disinterest. "all of us, boss, owen, nora and me of course."

"um yea, ill go." you give him a quick smile before getting back to what you were doing. manny hits the counter backing away, "great!"

your not sure what you expected from tonight, you like your coworkers but this is your first time hanging out outside of work. everyone is sitting in the booth telling silly stories in the loud bar. your quietly listening nursing your drink glancing up at abby occasionally who is sitting across from you.

she has a beer in her hand giggling at her friends drunk antics adding to the conversation every once in the while. she glances at you and catches you eye, "are you ok?" she mouths to you. you nod and give a tense smile, its way too loud and hot and you want to get away. you guess abby can sense that because she motions over the bar and you nod.

"we'll be back. getting more drinks." she gestures to both of your empty cups. she stands and waits for you to do the same and when you do she places her hand on your lower back steering you towards the bar. abby orders your drinks and nods over to a small empty table in the corner of the building. you nod and grabing her wrist, feeling bold and pull her over to the table.

"this isnt really your scene, huh?" abby starts as you settle into your seats. "no not really. way too loud." she nods sipping on her drink. you both sit quietly for a second before your gaze trail to her scarred forearms. your fingers trace her scars gently, "these are strangely beautiful." you glance up at her face seeing her eyes already on your face.

abby's fingers twitch as your soft hand wrap around her arm pulling it closer to yourself. your fingers trail softly up her arm until you get to her fingers you play with them for a second before intertwining your fingers together. you both tighten your grips on each others hand then you bring her hand to your face. you rub your cheek against her knuckles looking her in the eye.

abby's mind won't stop racing, she should pull away; she shouldn't be letting you do this but the look on your face and the way your looking at her she can't bring herself to do it. but then you pull her back to reality when you place soft, lingering kiss on her knuckles.

"shit," she mutters before pulling her hand out of your grip. normally you would've dropped it, but you've been drinking and you know that abby wants you and you want her. you get out of your seat taking the seat next to her. you turn your body towards her, "why won't you kiss me?" you ask staring at her lips.

abby's lips part as she watches the pout that forms on your lips. "i..i want to," she whispers leaning closer so you can hear her, "but i can't... i shouldn't."

"why not?" you whisper back. "i want you to."

"i want to. but im afraid ill want more than just a kiss if i do."

"then you can have more than just a kiss," you scoot closer to her leaning closer to her face. "i want more with you and im not talking about just sex, i want you." you look into her eyes hoping that she can see how sincere you are. she shakes her head, "your young, you don't need to be tied down by someone my age."

"that's not your choice to make alone. im telling you i want to be with you, tie me down. i want to see you look at me like this everyday and not just a work, i wanna hear that beautiful voice in the morning and run my fingers through your hair." you grab abby's face with both hands making her look at you.

she stares at you with a look of desperation and adoration. she grabs your hand that pressed against her face kissing the inside of your palm and you pull her into a kiss.

abby kisses you with so much passion like shes been dreaming of this moment. she places her hands on your waist, just wanting to touch you, "can i take you to my place?" she whispers against your lips. you nod enthusiastically already standing with your jacket, taking abby's hand and leading her to the door.

arriving at abby's house was a surreal experience. walking through her kitchen and living room felt like you were getting a peak into her world. her home is kind of bare of any decoration but its just so her. book shelves in the living room and books on the coffee table, a cd collection someone would probably kill for, dishes in the sink; the kind of neglect someone who lives alone commits.

but it smells like her, like a fall candle and a long day of work. "im sorry for the mess." she says moving things around with an embarrassed chuckle. "its alright." you smile at her placing your hand on her shoulder. "can i kiss you now?" you ask abby when she sits down on her couch. she nods and you kiss her for the second time that night.

you straddle her thigh, placing your hand on the side of her neck with your other on her arm squeezing the muscle that's there. abby's hand creeps over your back and under your shirt. you arch your back into her when her big cold hands slide up your spine. you whimper in her mouth, when her other hand grabs your waist.

you pull away first, panting hard, looking at abby with swollen lips when you hurriedly take your shirt off before diving back into your passionate kiss. she pulls back from the kiss wanting to be able to take you in for a second. her eyes look over your figure with so much desire and longing. "shit." she mumbles, her hands settle on your naked waist before they run over your stomach and up to your bra covered breast.

your hands under her shirt. "off, please." you whisper lifting the shirt over her head and she lets you pull it off and starts unbuttoning your pants. "take these off baby. i wanna taste you." she says looking you in your eyes, pulling your pants down as you stand over her. your hands clutch her shoulders as she stands up with you in her arms walking to her bedroom.

you place feverish kisses on her neck as she makes her way. you are dropped on your back on the the soft surface of her bed. she flips you on your stomach pulls you to the end of the bed before propping your hips up so your ass is in the air. she kisses down your lower back to your thighs. "this ok?" she askes you. you look back at her with your face pressed into the bed and nod with a hum, as she pulls your under wear off and uses her thumbs to spread you open.

you moan as abby licks your clit before sticking her tongue in you. you try to fuck yourself on her tongue before she pulls away, placing a kiss on your clit before rolling it around with her tongue, she pushes two fingers into you. you tremble and reach behind you to grab her hand that's gripping your ass. "baby, omg dont stop!" abby's not even sure if you meant to call her that but it sounds so good coming from you.

"say it again, princess," she stands up pressing her front against her back. she doesn't stop fucking you with her fingers and she rubs her thumb over your clit, "you like it?" you hump at her hand, "yes yes, i love it, baby." you lift your head peering at her face with your mouth hanging open, lewd sounds coming out.

abby presses kisses to the back of your neck as you cum on her fingers. she watches as your body shutters when you peer into each others eyes. she feels a burst of pride in being able to get you to come undone like that. hearing the way you talked to her was enough for her as she settles on her back trying to pull you to snuggle with her.

"what are you doing?" you ask her sitting on your knees. "oh im sorry. i shouldn't have assumed you would want to stay-" you cut abby off, "no no, its your turn." you say resting your hands on her pants buckle. "you don't have to."

"why wouldn't i?" you look at her confused. abby wasn't expecting to get anything back from you, most of the time women just took from abby, never wanting to give back but she should've known that wasn't you. your everything she has ever wanted. so she nods as she leans against her pillow and you pull her pants down.

you place your hands on her thighs obviously enjoying the thick, hard muscles under your hands. you kiss the inside of her thighs, biting them slightly; abby groans at the sight. you wrap your arms around her thighs before looking up at her and resting your head against her thigh. "you're beautiful."

abby cant help but blush at the compliment when you begin to slide her underwear off. you kiss around where she wants you before you suck on her clit, rolling it around with your tongue. abby whines and places her hand against the back of your head. "your such a good girl," she gasp out as her hips buck up into your face, "your always such a good girl."

your tongue slips into her hole and your nose bumps her clit just right so she rides and humps your face trying desperately to get off. she repeats your name over and over peering down at those beautiful round eyes. her hips start to jerk and you run your hands over her thighs as she rides out her high on your tongue.

"your so perfect." she whispers in astonishment. "im gonna tie you down, mama."

[artdnldsn]

gestalt therapy

college professor!art donaldson x fem reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, swearing, student!reader, age gap, porn w/ a little plot, head (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, slight degradation (question mark?), one mention of "daddy"

synopsis: you're done with your senior year at college, and all you want is a parting gift.

a/n: my first full fic here wow my first ever smut WOW the only thing that's not a first here is english because it's my second language so be patient pookies. college prof au has been haunting me for days so i needed to get it out. even though i have no fucking idea how colleges work in the us ;) hope you like it! happy reading

The first thing he notices about you is how ridiculously smart you are.

It's not even a stretch or him trying to justify the instant attraction he feels towards you. No, you're genuinely, undeniably brilliant, especially for your age. You've got this way with words, and concepts come to you so easily. You pick up on all his lead-ups to lecture topics, knowing exactly what the main conversation will be about a good five minutes before the rest of the class. You smile smugly, crossing your arms and leaning back, your eyes seeking his because you want him to know that you know.

And honestly, he'd be mad at you for being so smug if you weren't so damn smart.

The way you walk up to him after class to discuss your latest essay, your stance confident and voice sure, as you argue over why you deserved a 100 and not a 98. He's looking at your essay, then at you, then back at his computer screen, squinting just to appear like he's thinking it over, but he knows you're right; of course you are. Your essay is perfect. He was just being a dick about it, nitpicking because he couldn't admit you're basically flawless.

He's getting self-conscious about his teaching. There's nothing he can teach you—you come so prepared for every class that he wonders if you even have a life outside his classroom. Maybe your brain just works like that, but a small, selfish part of him hopes you spend hours prepping for his classes. The thought that you do it for him and not the subject is a nice one, but he shoves it away.

At least that way, it wouldn't be as pathetic for him to spend nights rewriting his lectures, perfecting his presentations to the point where he's sitting in his bed at 3 AM, pondering whether Times New Roman or Arial would make his point come across better.

He's always been a perfectionist, living by the book, striving not for greatness but for the reserved maximum of his natural capabilities. He never really pushed himself. But you—oh, fuck, you. Fuck you. You make him want to lose sleep just to prove to you or himself that he's certainly smarter than some college senior.

He calls you a lot of things in his head. A know-it-all, an "excuse me" because you're always "excuse me"-ing him like he doesn't have a name, a smartass, a bitch—he hates when he's in a mood like this last one because it signals it's time to sleep. You're a lot of things, but you're not stupid.

In fact, he starts wondering if you're a once-in-a-lifetime talent. Because he's rather young for a professor, he hasn't seen as many students as his colleagues, who always crack up anecdotes about past students, someone who graduated 15, 30 years ago, but the older professors still remember them. He wonders if he's going to remember you like that. He's pretty sure he will.

He's never even thought about you as a woman and not just his student. He's just respectful like that. Sure, you were hot, which only added to your confident allure. He's not blind—hell, he'd admit it if he had to—but he's never thought about you like that.

But apparently, you have about him.

You appear at his office doorstep minutes before he's about to clock out for the night. You're looking pristine as always, and with your silhouette illuminated by the office's dim lights, he wonders for a second if you're even human with your endless drive, brilliant mind, and hair that always looks like it's animated because it's impossible for real human hair to flow that perfectly.

"Good evening," he greets you, eyebrows creasing slightly in confusion. You've never visited, your final grades are in, and you're graduating in a week. He's already said his goodbyes to your class, and when he did, you shot him a little smile that he read as everything being good between you. What are you doing here then? "Can I help—"

“Are you impotent?” you cut him off, arms crossed, a challenging look in your eyes.

He actually chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he mutters under his breath, his expression shocked, his voice strained. God, he’s ridiculed you for years in his head for addressing him like that, and here he is now.

You turn your back to him, lock the door, and make your way to his desk in confident steps. You sit on the edge of his desk, looking at him over your shoulder. "I asked if you're impotent," you shrug, arching your eyebrow.

“No,” he blurts out, his expression still one of pure horror as he doesn’t know where to keep his gaze, his eyes darting between the papers on his desk, and his computer screen, and his hands, anywhere but you. “God, no.”

“Why you never fucked me, then?” you ask, your tone still almost accusatory, but your voice soft. It’s almost like there is a hint of genuine regret in your words, and he doubts his sanity right now, wonders if he’s imagining things. He pinches his thigh under the desk, just to make sure.

“What do you mean, why?” he stutters, his cheeks flushed. “B-because.” Oh, God, it’s really bad. He’s really speechless, his mind unable to conjure up a full sentence. “Because you’re my student, and I respect you, and there are boundaries that shouldn’t be—“

“I’m not your student anymore. Not technically.” Your tone is matter-of-fact, one he’s too familiar with. One you’ve used to tell him about all the typos in his handouts, all the mistakes in his tests, all the times he’s fucked up grading someone’s papers. Only now you’re telling him… Fuck, he really can’t grasp what it is you’re telling him.

“I can’t argue with that, but I really don’t understand the point of this conversation. You’re completely out of—“

“Consider it gestalt therapy,” you shrug nonchalantly. He’s getting mad, really, with you cutting him off like that, like you’re getting back at him for years of having to listen to his lectures without having an opportunity to talk over him. It takes him a second to grasp what you’re implying. He clears his throat.

You sigh, letting your arms drop to your sides, sliding off the desk, walking up to him in these fucking deliberate strides, spinning him in his chair so he faces you, his hands lifted up in the air as if he is surrendering. He doesn’t know to what, exactly.

“Just really have to get this out of my system, Mr. Donaldson,” you sigh almost guilty, your gaze landing on his lap. He's hard, his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. Of course he is, what the fuck?

You cup him, eliciting a soft sigh from his lips, his eyes falling shut. You start stroking him through the fabric, confidently like everything you do. It makes his blood boil. You’re such a bitch. A know-it-all. A smart-ass. And so, so hot that he can’t bring himself not to kinda wish you’re intending to fuck his brains out.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a weak protest to give you a final out, but you lean down, pressing your lips to his in a languid, deep kiss, a thorough exploratory one like every single one of your fucking essays has ever been.

You move to his lap, straddling him, the chair creaking under your combined weight. Only when his hands move to your hips does he understand you’re wearing a skirt. God, he hasn’t even noticed that. He lets his hands stay there, caressing your bare thighs as your skirt rides up, and you lean in for another kiss.

There's no raw hunger. If anything, he’s sure he’s incapable of it in this situation, his mind still trying to catch up, trying to relabel you as not forbidden. You’re grinding against his growing erection, tugging at his hair as you deepen the kiss, your curves so unexpectedly perfect against him.

He only realizes you’re working on his belt and zipper when he hears them. Instinctively, he moves his hands to your wrists to stop you, but you just shake them away like you’ve shrugged him off all these years. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your hand around his freed cock, stroking the length expertly, thoroughly, meticulously, as your lips never leave his. He actually relaxes into the chair, his hands gripping your waist, tugging your top up to reveal more bare skin.

No bra. Of course you didn’t wear any. You’ve come prepared as always.

You chuckle quietly, your lips continuing to move in unison with his, finding a lazy rhythm that drives you both insane. He reads this chuckle as you being amused at him taking any initiative. It makes his blood boil.

He breaks the kiss, one hand squeezing your breast firmly as he leans down, capturing your left nipple between his lips, sucking gently before biting. His other hand lands on your ass with a loud smack, making you gasp. Finally, some reaction.

He starts bucking into your hand, seeking more friction, moving his mouth to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, leaving a bite mark on the side, making you wince but moan. That moan—fuck, that beautiful sound. Now he’s angrier at himself than you are at him for not having fucked you sooner.

He understands you were expecting to ride him, like he’s some sexless creature, a toy to use, a dick attached to a fantasy that has nothing to do with the man he is, and it makes him even madder. He’s always admired your insightfulness, your capability to get right to the gist of things through walls of useless shit, but he’s feeling his respect for you slipping as he understands just how wrong you must’ve been about him in your head.

He peels himself off your chest, lips glistening with saliva, smacking your ass again, harder this time, groping both cheeks as he lifts you off his lap to sit you on his desk over the papers he’s grading. He’ll just tell everyone he spilled a drink. No one will miss them.

His lips find yours again in a searing hot kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s trying to hurt you, but he’s not. Of course not. It’s just that something dormant is being woken up in him. You whimper as he cups your mound through your panties, making him chuckle. Well, look who’s laughing now.

"You've seriously dreamt about this?" he whispers against your jaw, his long fingers sliding into your underwear, finding your slickness. Fuck, you're so wet for him, it almost makes him black out. "Wanted me to fuck you on this desk? Or the one in the classroom? Or in the library? Or right in the fucking hall, huh? Why not? Let everyone watch." His tone is almost taunting, his every word accompanied by a painfully slow and teasing circle of his thumb over your swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes," you mutter, eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressing against his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand, seeking friction. It’s not clear if you’re answering his questions or begging him to go faster. It doesn’t matter; his smirk is already in place, his eyes glistening with amusement as he looks down at you, breathing hard through his nose.

"Yes, what?" he chuckles, shrugging, his eyes scanning every reaction on your face. The way your head falls back, your lower lip caught between your teeth, your cheeks flushed. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, what?" he murmurs softly, his hand in your panties slowing down to the point of stopping.

A groan of disappointment escapes your lips as you snap your head back up, eyes darting open. He can see your pupils blown wide even in the dim light, the lamp on his desk illuminating you from behind like a renaissance painting. "Yes, fuck me," you say dryly, like it’s obvious, still seeing him as some pathetic, stupid nobody, but you’re slightly out of breath when you say it, so that’s a win in his book for now.

Just means he’s gotta try harder.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you in place. He’s standing between your legs, keeping them spread wide for him. He pulls his hand out of your panties to bring it to your face, shoving two fingers into your pretty smartass mouth. Your eyebrows crease, eyes falling shut at the action, a hum leaving your lips, vibrating through his skin, but you still suck on them obediently, tasting yourself on his fingers and coating them in your saliva.

He slips one finger right inside you when it makes its way back down. He starts thrusting it into you at a steady rhythm, his lips finding your neck, nibbling on it, his teeth grazing your delicate skin, tongue sliding over the little marks his teeth leave there, as he curls his finger inside you, thrusting deeper, deeper, almost aggressively.

"God, I really thought you were smart," he mutters under his breath, hot against your skin as he adds another finger and starts stretching you, eliciting a soft moan from you. He leans down, sucking on your tits again, noticing how hard your nipples are now, almost painfully so, matching the way his dick is rock hard, still standing at full attention against his clothed abdomen. "Thought you were different. Hard-working. Proper." He sinks onto his knees in front of you, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes you can’t quite read. "Turns out you’re just a slut."

He tugs your panties down, his tongue finding your cunt, one of his hands moving to throw your leg over his shoulder, keeping it there tightly as the fingers of his other hand re-enter your cunt, starting to finger it at the same urgent pace, his tongue moving feverishly over your clit, making you moan quietly because, yes, there are still people in the building, you have to keep quiet, but a part of him, the one you’ve awoken, wishes the circumstances were different, that he could hear you scream for him.

He’s getting high off the taste of your juices, off the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, his nose pressed into your pelvis as he fucks you with his fingers in a relentless rhythm, curling his fingers inside you, feeling your walls clench down onto him, searching for that sweet spot that’s going to make your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he rasps out, pulling away from your cunt just for enough time to say what he needs to say, peppering your inner thigh with kisses in the meantime. “Tell me exactly how long you’ve wanted this. And how you wanted me to fuck you. Leave no details out.”

You whimper when he delves back onto your clit, sucking on it, not caring to keep his teeth from grazing your sensitive skin here and there, but it’s a good feeling.

“S-since that lecture. Sophomore year,” you breathe out, you throat tight from holding back so many moans that are begging to be let out. Your mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as he sucks your whole clit in, lapping at it with his tongue inside his wet hot mouth, your hand snapping instinctively onto his head, gripping his hair to pin yourself down to the reality. “You wore that slutty turtleneck, and of course I’ve thought you’re hot, but then you had one wrong date in your presentation, and I got so fucking mad at you. Thought you’re too careless to teach.”

He hums against your cunt, encouraging you to go on, or agreeing with your point, he can’t tell himself anymore. He’s completely gone at this point, drinking your juices like he’s drinking in your words. Amidst all this, he actually appreciates you not calling him stupid. You might’ve, but you didn’t.

“And you were always s-so passive, like I tried arguing with you, reading all that shit instead of going out just to get a rile out of you, and you never fucking bucked. I-I-I—“ you stutter, your mind going into overdrive for a second as he continues abusing your g-spot, his fingers moving at a frantic speed in and out, in and out. He smacks your thigh to get your attention back on the topic. “I just couldn’t fucking believe you. I was being a bitch, I was nagging you, just because. And you didn’t even care.”

He smiles into your cunt, a huff of air leaving his nose. At last, you admit it. He suddenly doesn’t feel bad at all for calling you a bitch in his head. He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers, your breathing irregular, you’re practically panting, your grip in his hair tightening as you guide him closer, rolling your hips against his tongue and fingers, seeking release. You’re close.

He pulls away, earning another cuss and another groan of disappointment off your lips. He smacks your thigh again, hard, the action leaving a red print of his big palm on your skin. “You didn’t answer,” he rasps out, delving back into you. Fucking students, he thinks to himself. Always so smart, thinking they know it all, and always forgetting to answer the second part of the question after they’re done answering the first.

Your mind is so hazy at this point, it takes you an effort to rewind the interaction in your head to understand what he means. “L-like this,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as he grips the one that’s not on his shoulder to stop it from shaking too much, keeping you in place. “I-I didn’t want you to be nice. You’re always so fucking nice, it’s not human, I knew it wasn’t true.”

He’s too set on making you cum to chuckle now, although it is pretty funny. He’s been doubting you’re human, too, but the way you gasp for air, trying desperately to hold back your moans as he feels you coming closer and closer to release, it tells him all that he needs to know. You’re just flesh and bones, not the perfect genius he’s painted you to be in his mind.

“Fuck!” you whimper, giving his hair one last tug before your hand springs up to cover your mouth, biting into your index finger to keep yourself quiet. It takes one slide of his fingers, one roll of his tongue, five seconds, and your muscles go taught as your hips buck off the desk, his pens in the glass standing on the edge of it clattering against each other, the keyboard of his computer flying up for a split second from impact of your ass slamming back down onto the desk. It’s like a mini-earthquake, that’s left your world erupt into white behind your closed eyelids.

He fingers you through it, lapping his tongue over your clit until you wince quietly from it hurting, and he pulls away reluctantly, standing up from the floor to stand in between your legs again. His neck and back hurt like hell from crouching down on the floor for so long, his muscles are not what they used to be, after all, and for a split second he considers actually giving up and letting you ride him, but it would be your win in his book, and he can’t allow that.

He spits on his hand before he leans down to kiss you, his tongue sliding back into your mouth, letting you taste yourself once again, as he brings his hand down to stroke himself, breathing softly out of his nose at the relief of some friction, finally. “You’re such a hypocrite,” he murmurs into your lips, softly, almost lovingly, the same fucking slightly condescending tone he’s always used in his classroom.

You open your mouth to ask what the fuck he means, but he pushes his tongue back into your mouth, all thoughts of a protest evaporating from your mind. You slide closer to the edge of the desk instinctively to accommodate him when he eventually pushes into you. You almost can’t wait.

He gropes your ass to position you like he wants you, his fingers digging into your plump skin maybe a little too hard. You don’t protest. He breathes heavily, like it’s physically paining him to hold back any second longer — it does,—and his brows are furrowed in concentration while he slides his tip over your clit, coating it with your slickness, the same way he frowns when he’s grading papers or goes over tomorrow’s lecture in his head.

He pushes inside in one determined thrust, piercing through you, a quiet grunt escaping his lips, a soft moan escaping yours. Before you have any time to adjust, he starts pounding his hips into yours, one of his arms hooked around your torso to keep you in place as his free hand flies to your chest, squeezing your right tit roughly, pinching your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, making it harden again.

“Careless?” he scoffs, an expression of pure disbelief on his face at the fact you’ve even dared to say that. He grunts again, his hand falling from your breast to your hip, gripping it firmly as he continues pounding into you, your breathing quickening again. He’s rather big, and it hurts a little from you still being sore from your orgasm, but you still moan softly under your nose, your wrists hurting from you leaning on the desk behind your back for so long.

“You call me careless for a typo in a presentation I made six years ago, and it’s not careless for you to come here, asking me if I’m impotent? Fuck you,” he grunts again, a grin pulling on his lips as he throws his head back, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. You’re squeezing his cock so tightly, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to be asking him or yourself that question again.

He lets go of you, reaching behind your back to pull on your wrists, tugging them further to himself, which makes you fall back on the desk. “Fuck you,” he repeats, his words almost sounding like a moan now as he holds your wrists near your stomach, basically transfixing you. He moves one of his hands up to throw your leg over his shoulder again, another continuing holding your wrists down, as you both groan quietly at the change of the angle, the new one allowing for him to go so deep he’s touching parts of you you didn’t know existed.

“So, you wanted me to be a good teacher and a good dick all at the same time?” he muses, a smirk pulling on his lips again as he looks down onto your dishevelled form, your tits bouncing out of your tugged-down top, you skirt ridden up to your waist, your fucking face, so unbearably beautiful, flushed and your lips swollen from his kisses and from you biting on them so much. He can’t fucking get enough of how silent you are now after running your mouth at him for all these years. “Did you want me to be your boyfriend, too?” he chuckles, shaking his head, his expression faltering as he picks up the rhythm for a good minute, pounding into you so hard all the items on the desk are clattering, and you have to bite on your lips again not to scream from him practically tearing you apart, because you can’t cover your mouth anymore with your wrists held by him.

“Daddy never loved you, right?” He understands he’s probably taunting you too much, his words almost feeling cruel, but he’s too far gone at this point, he’s making a forceful effort to continue looking down at you to imprint the way you look right now into his memory to revisit later, even though his eyes are almost rolling back from just how good your cunt takes him. “That’s why you’ve been pining for my dick for fucking three years? Are you getting what you wanted?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper weakly. Yes to all that, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. He feels too good, filling you up to the brim, you can almost feel him in your guts, he’s making your toes curl. And he’s finally not acting nice. Just like you wanted him to.

“Good,” he growls, letting go of you for a second before his hands find the undersides of your knees, bringing them close to your chest, changing the angle again as he starts hammering down into you, the room filled with the sound of your shared ragged breaths, the desk creaking under you and the sound of his pelvis slapping against yours. “Fu-uck, you’re taking me so good, none of your schoolwork was ever that good,” he’s lying through his teeth. Not about the sex — you’re taking it like a champ—but about your schoolwork. It was, indeed, that good.

He basically has no power left over what words leave his mouth, he’s completely drunk on you, the taste of your cunt and your mouth still lingering on his tongue. “Are you gonna come again?” he pants out, slowing down, feeling your walls clenching down on him, squeezing him tight.

“Y-yeah,” you mutter, fluttering your eyes open to look at him from under your eyelashes, but you can pretty much only make out his silhouette with how hazy your vision has become with just how good he’s fucking you. “I knew,” you repeat, your throat feeling tight again, your head falling back on the desk as you bring your now free hands to your mouth, covering it to muffle out the scream you know is there, brewing, destined to roll of your lips when he drives you to release again.

“You—“ he starts in disbelief, but he’s getting closer, too, there’s no point in arguing now. He just can’t fucking believe the nerve on you. What do you mean, you knew? Knew he could fuck you like you wanted to? Knew you would be walking out of here with a limp? Such a know-it-all, always thinking she’s two steps ahead everybody else.

He sighs shakily, a broken, needy sound as he brings his hand in between your legs, finding your clit again, his other hand still holding your knees pressed to your chest. He rubs at you in sync with the thrusts of his hips, his pace picking up, up, and up, until he finally lets out a low grunt, stilling, slipping out of you as he watches you bite on your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks as he feels your pussy convulsing under his fingers, another orgasm hitting you, and in a matter of seconds, after a few fast strokes, he comes, too, thick ropes of his seed landing all over your stomach and knees, and some of it lands on your chin.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, catching his breath, watching over you. He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a tissue pack, and wipes himself before doing the same for you. You're still lying there, face hidden in your hands, your outfit a mess. He's already caught you crying and knows you might feel awkward doing it in front of him, so he just makes sure you're clean for when you leave.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, fastens his belt, and walks to the other side of his office. You hear him rustling around while you try to get your breath back and keep your emotions in check. His soft footsteps approach the desk again, and you feel him gently patting your knee. You open your eyes to see him holding out a cup of water—a peace offering or an apology. But you know he doesn't owe you either. He just gave you everything you've wanted for the last three years. And he even brought you fucking water. Because he's disgustingly nice like that.

You nod in gratitude, sit up, and take the plastic cup from his hand, downing it in one gulp. It actually brings some life back to you. You breathe out shakily, fix your top, and tuck your tits back in before sliding off the desk. Your shoes land softly on the floor, your legs still trembling, your knees feeling like they'll give out any moment. You tug your skirt down and sheepishly meet his gaze, unsure where to go from here.

He steps closer and brings his hands up to your face to fix your hair. His eyebrows furrow in concentration again as he smooths it down, making sure you don't look disheveled when you walk out of here.

He sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides, and keeps looking at your face as if making sure you're not just looking okay but are okay too. “I didn’t mean that. The ‘fuck you’. And the ‘slut’ comment. Well, I kinda did,” he shrugs, averting his gaze with a humorless chuckle, “but I didn’t.”

You punch the air out of his lungs as you pounce on him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. It takes him a second to gather himself, but he hesitantly hugs you back, just letting his hands rest on your lower back as you nuzzle your nose into his chest.

You had to get it out of your system, but now that it's in, you feel like you’ll never get enough. He feels like a beacon, one he's always been for you. The guy you picked a rivalry with your first week of sophomore year just to push yourself harder, to strive for greatness. He wasn’t even aware there was a rivalry to begin with. He's an academic, though, they’re all fucked up in the head, he must understand a part of it, at least.

And he understands. Truly. He just hopes you won’t start crying again, because he doesn’t know how he'd handle that. He pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes, cupping your face in his hands, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re a smart girl,” he says, his voice low, the small, friendly smile on his lips sincere, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he looks down at you. “You’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt it.”

He had this whole speech prepared for the class about how adult life is going to treat them, the challenges they'll face, how scary it’ll be, but also insanely rewarding. It was long, sentimental, with a few jokes thrown in. Some girls cried, but it was all bullshit. What’s real is this. Him understanding your fears without you having to voice them. Him telling you you’ve got this.

“And until you do, you always know where to find me,” he nods to the side, obviously meaning his office, a lopsided smirk making him look a good decade younger. His gaze finds yours again, and he pulls you into another tight hug, one he initiates this time.

In his mind, he’s already thinking how long it would be appropriate to wait before he can invite you for a coffee.

[one-and-a-half-yikes]

Thought that hit me outta nowhere when I was half asleep this afternoon-

What the hell was Fanny doing at the gala???

We never come back to this, and although Cuphead calls it out:

We never find out if this is true or not. Will we later on? I fucking hope so cause I seriously want to know what the point was.

If we go with Cuphead's assumption here, that she was planning to "crash the party to prove a point" I am endlessly curious to know what point was proven and to who? Her parents (or more specifically her father)??? Oswald??? Did she think he was going to be there and wanted to show out (see what you're missing if you hadn't settled?) But that seems silly, she'd probably want to avoid him.

So maybe herself? Prove to herself that she made it to where she wants to be in life.

I think this one makes a little more sense to me. As I've mentioned in my Fanny meta, Fanny's life is stressful, and she's constantly dealing with so much shit on her plate. Between her controlling husband whose presence doesn't allow for the home to be a safe environment for her to escape the troubles of work life. Work life, where she's dealing with entitled and ungrateful patients on one hand, and on another rude colleagues who make her job harder for no reason; not to mention supervisors and managers above her who she has to answer to. Then, dealing with the smell and sight of bodily fluids of all kinds on top of that. Nursing is a thankless job, that part Fanny was right about. So at the end of the day you want to relax, right?

Well it's hard to do that when all your friends are busy, and your husband's idea for a night of fun is completely different from yours.

Fanny doesn't like to be in her own head. Ever. I think going to the gala was a way for her to let go of her worries and reassure herself that she'd made the right choices. Her life was great. Or actually I guess a better way to frame it would be that Fanny was PRETENDING she had made it. The fact that she was insistent on reminding Cup that she could "go alone" was interesting because I'm almost positive she didn't bring her wedding ring with her that night.

I think for her, this was a different form of escapism than what we are used to seeing. One where she envisions a life of luxury amongst the high echleons of society. Where she could pretend for one night that she wasn't going to go home to a loveless, abusive marriage. Where she won't have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn for grueling work as a nurse dealing with ink illness patients. One where she could be Cinderella for just one moment before the clock struck twelve. To pretend for a night that she was a single, young woman without a care in the world.

But we see how that turned out for her, and THIS is the part that left me puzzled by the end.

This girl is DRUNK.

And not even in the fun way where you go out with friends and come back fucking washed. She's pouty, miserable, and moody as hell when Cuphead stumbles upon her while leaving.

To get that bedazzled and feeling yourself. Pulling out all the stops to look good for a fun night out to THE biggest party of the year, only to be midway through the gala and sloshed put of your damn mind bemoaning how much you ended up hating the whole thing. I have a good guess as to why she hated the party, probably along the same reasons that Cuphead despises events like these. In Fanny's case, I think it reminds her a little too much of what she came from.

I suppose I'm more confused as to why she assumed this party would NOT be like that? What exactly did she expect from an event like this? Why go at all? She knew she would be the third wheel of what was very clearly an expensive all-out date between Puphead and Dovil. Why even waste your time on something like this? You wouldn't have any company, and as far as I know, I don't think Red went to that event either and stayed at the house with the patients? Even if she had gone, she's as much of a public figure as Oddswell, being his assistant and all, and wouldn't have had time to properly chat with Fanny through the night.

Betty isn't anyone important enough to go to an event like that. So, with few options and all her friends fairly busy, I ask, what the hell was the point? Of course, any single person could go to the gala alone, but most of those women who would go alone were probably of some importance enough that they could mingle with those in their class, right? Plus, the dance floor. Plenty of seats available to simply observe while eating and drinking. Diné, the black cat woman Bendy danced with at the gala, is a good example of this. Far as I know she didn't come with anyone and yet she was clearly having a grand time.

Anyways, I just find the whole thing strange, but this is my general speculation on why I believe she went. Even then I still think it odd, cause I feel like she could have just as easily gone to a regular club and had that experience.

NOTE: Was going to originally include Cuphead as a possibility, taking into account that the Cupanny Evil Author chapter seemed to hint that Fanny asked Cuphead to be her plus one to the gala. But that part just doesn't make sense to me, there's no way it didn't slip that Cup had a plus one, it would be silly to think she would pull a goofy stunt like that when she knew he was a public figure and all eyes would be on him through the night.

[shortstrawberry]

This line stays in my head rent free. So here's sexy doctor Bela Dimiterescu headcannons.

You have been suffering with knee pain as of late. And headaches. And a constantly clogged nose. Okay fine, your body is doing shit right now. So you find yourself at your most hated place: the hospital.

Last time you visited a hospital, you had to deal with a middle aged dude drolling away his prescription at you. Thankfully this time, you got a young and daresay beautiful doctor, Dr. Bela Dimiterescu.

Unfortunately, Dr Dimiterescu was as mean as she was beautiful. She proceeded to scold you for ten minutes for your lack of vegetables in diet. Hey, it's not your fault vegetables suck. She also proceeded to scold you for drinking only 2 glasses of water per day.

"But I drink 2 big glasses!!"

"Not enough! You need 2 LITRES to live a functional life! God, I don't even want to imagine the smell of your toilet!"

That was a low blow. You'll let it go though. Only because she is such a beautiful blondie.

Dr Bela handed you a two page long prescription, mostly filled with supplements and diet regime instructions. She also insisted that you give her biweekly visits for the next 6 months so she can "monitor" your progress.

"Monitor me, huh? You don't need to invite me to hospital for that, Doc."

You were expectedly kicked out of her cabin for that.

Nevertheless, like a devoted patient, you visited her without fail for the next three months. In the first month, you noticed that Dr Bela barely has any food herself. Being a doctor is hard, considering hospitals often run understaffed. Not to mention, Dr Bela has a habit of taking on work upon herself so that her juniors and colleagues can take a break. Who knew such a hardass can be such a softie?

So for your next visit, you make sure you bring a packed lunch for your favourite blonde doctor. This time, you were the hardass one and refused to be kicked out until she finishes the food that you cooked for her. You know you make a mean adobo, and seeing her moaning reaction at the first bite (hot), you know she agrees.

After this first time success, your audacity to keep Dr Bela Dimiterescu well-fed quadrapled. You visited the hospital again next day but this time dropped the lunch to Dr Bela's nurse. Next day you visited again with lunch and asked the nurse if your favourite doctor ate the lunch or threw it away. Your heart glowed when the nurse said Dr Bela ate the lunch with the grumpiest smile on her face.

In your next visit to Dr Bela, the blonde snappingly asked you to deliver the lunch to her personally if you're so insistent on this "useless endeavour". You wanted to digress about the useless part, seeing how Dr Bela seemed to be less pale then before. But you let it go. You tease the blonde too much and she'll make your next blood test painful.

(She never does. Dr Bela always holds your hand gently when she draws out blood)

In the third month, you find Dr Bela absent in the hospital for your appointment. You get to know that she is visiting her family back in Romania and won't be back until your next biweekly check-in. Disheartened, you turn to walk away, but the nurse has already called in a substitute for you. The replacement doctor was was polite and appreciated your efforts to stay healthy. But it hurts when the new doctor drew out blood.

Next appointment you dutifully show up again, excited to see your grumpy doctor. However, today Dr Bela was decidedly more grumpy then ever. Her jaw was tight and her fists clenched, as if someone has taken away her morning coffee.

"Did you see another doctor last week?!"

You could only blink owlishly at her, nodding in yes. What else are you supposed to say to your regular doctor who is decidedly jealous? Even when you try to explain that hey, "you were not present that time", the blonde doctor snapped even more at you.

"Doesn't matter! Damnit, you could have called me! We could have done a virtual check! You have my number, don't you? You didn't call me, not even once!"

"Wait, I'm allowed to call you?"

"Of course you are! Why else did I give you my personal number for!"

Oh. You did wonder why Dr Bela didn't give you her professional card. Now it makes sense. And now you suddenly feel like a idiot. Thankfully, Dr Bela just rolled her eyes at you, called you a idiot, and demanded to know if you're free this weekend.

Suffice to say, from now on you both have regular checkups outside the hospital.

Got any ideas you want me to write on? Just drop me a request and I'll write it!

(Also a Donna fanfic is in works. Yes, it's the Professor one!)

[darkbluekies]

OC’s with a reader who gets insecure/jealous a lot? Like they’re scared that Yandere will leave them for someone else, open their relationship, cheat on them, ect.

Alright, I think I’m done, for now

-🦇

Warnings: mentions of killing, Jerry being nsfw as usual lol

[I'm really testing my limits with Jerry's part, I've never written something like that before, but I'd like to be able to write all kinds of stuff and to make Jerry's character realistic i need to go out of my comfort zone! Please bare with me lol]

Silas:

To be honest, this man would he completely dumbfounded. Why would he ever want someone else when he knows he has you waiting at home for him? He barely has time to meet you, so when would he have time to hook up with others? He would think that your worries are a bit silly, but he wouldn't be too mocking about it.

"My God, baby, aren't your sweet, little head getting a little full with all of those stupid thoughts? I only want you. I'd never dream of looking at someone else. Just knowing that you're here waiting for me every night is all I ever need. Come into my arms now, I’ll show you that you're the only one i want."

Dr Kry:

You wouldn't have told him at first. Your relationship is purely professional, he's your doctor and you're his patient. You're not allowed to feel jealous. But you can't help it! Dr Kry is not a stupid man, he picks up on this quite quickly and asks you about it. When he hears how you don't like him being so close to his colleagues, he'd fight the urge to smirk so widely. He'd tilt his head and cross his arms.

"My little Y/N … haven't you understood yet? Who do you think I want? Who do you think I spend the majority of my time with, hm? Who I look forward to meeting everyday? Who I dream about when I'm asleep? Who's my favorite patient, Y/N?"

King Edmund:

You don't understand why you're afraid of him having lovers. You don't like him! You've told yourself that! But still, it stings in your heart when you see him greeting people by kissing their cheeks. One night, you can't take it anymore and tell him your fears. Edmund doesn't care about much, but you're something he really values and hearing about this breaks his greedy, little heart.

"My dear, dear Y/N. Don't tell me you've been feeling like this for a long time! Don't tell me you don't understand how much I want you. I killed for you, Y/N! I got rid of everyone that I've ever fancied to make sure you understood. You have no reason to be scared that I'd keep any people behind your back."

Jerry:

She can read you like an open book. She knows how insecure you are and how much you want her approval, attention and love. Jerry might not be the best one to show her loyalty to you, but she trusts you to understand that she'd always choose you. She tries finding other ways than affirming words and affection to reassure you that you're her one and only. Sadly, that's one part about you she can't read, she doesnt understand just how worried you are. You tell her how you don't like it when she goes out to her clubs because you’re so scared that she'll go home with someone.

"Aw, are you jealous? How cute. Haven't I fucked you enough times to know how much you mean to me? Don't I put you first in the bedroom? I don't show that kind of attention to just anyone. I fucking love you, baby! More than anything! Don't you believe me? Really? Guess I have to prove it to you again, my love. I'll stay home. This time, I'll make sure you understand ..."

Hedwig:

She secretly loves you being jealous and insecure. It reassures her that you still want her. She will go out of her way to hug her friends a bit longer than usual and smile to other classmates a bit wider just to feel you hug her arm tighter. You lean your chin on her shoulder with a small whine. She smiles, pretending not to know a single thing.

"What's wrong? Aren't you feeling well? Why the pout, darling? Come here, give me a hug, that's right ~"

[thinkaboutmeff7au]

flash time 116

(1997. continuation from 115)

Welp. I got caught, didn't I? So Tseng of the Turks brought me to his office.

I don't really think it's "his office", though. There's no personal anything here, and it's really empty and clean. I've heard rumors that Tseng likes his privacy, and often doesn't really want to be found. So, I guess it checks out that he would use a loaner office.

Rude, another Turk, is here too. He's watching the door.

"2nd-class Strife," Tseng begins, terse as ever. "I would like you to explain why you were around the Turks break room at oh-nine-hundred hours."

I fidget in my lap. "It was a mistake, sir," I reply. "I was following a group to training, and I, ah...I think I got behind the wrong group somewhere...t-took a wrong turn behind someone with more clearance than me..."

"I see," he says. "Why did you stay to eavesdrop, then? You could have simply asked for directions."

Fuck, why didn't I do that? Well, too late for that now. I figure my best bet is to just be honest. That's what Mom would tell me, anyway. My hands are starting to sweat beneath my gloves. "Sir, I...I..."

Tseng waits patiently. My mouth is stuck. "I-I'm from Nieblheim, sir," I blurt out. My accent twangs and I hate it, but it'll sell this whole pathetic thing. "I-it's a hick town, you learn to listen to everything, 'cuz everyone's in each other's pockets..."

My anxiety is making me want to cry, and I swallow it back. If a Turk knows you have sensitive information, they'll just kill you. Who knows if what I heard is sensitive enough...

Luckily for my sake, Tseng finds this amusing. "Well, I don't think I need to tell you not to get yourself mixed up in this again," he says. "But I should inform you that a piece of information regarding 1st-class Rhapsodos is somewhat classified. Can you tell me what it was?"

And a quiz? Give me a break! I wrack my brain. "Uh...was it...n-not the marijuana thing, uh...was it...he's adopted?"

He seems disappointed, as if he was maybe hoping that I had not heard that bit. "Yes, that. Please do not discuss it with anyone else outside of this office. As I mentioned to my colleagues, Rhapsodos himself is not privy to this information. He was adopted at birth, so he truly has no idea. As far as we know, this has been a very well kept secret. It's impressive that Shotgun was able to dig it up at all."

He folds his hands on the desk. "To ensure your compliance in this matter, you will be under mild surveillance. You share a close relationship with 1st-class Fair, and..." He tilts his head. "He doesn't seem the type to keep his lips sealed."

I swallow hard. "R-right."

"If all goes well, you will hardly notice," Tseng says, as if he's trying to reassure me. I'm not reassured in the slightest. But, I'm also not getting fired. "You're dismissed. Rude, please escort him out."

"Th-thank you, sir."

I nearly trip as I get up from the chair, and I follow Rude outside. To my surprise, Zack is there waiting for me. "Yo!" he exclaims, and I jump out of my skin. "Everything cool? What did Tseng want?"

"N-nothing," I say on instinct. "Just...got lost today..."

He rubs my back as he pushes past Rude and guides me out to the elevator, completely oblivious of him. "You okay? You're a mess right now, I can tell."

"I'll tell you when we get home," I say, and glance back at Rude. He gives me a warning look from beneath his sunglasses, but he doesn't protest. Just the basics. Got it.

"If anyone gives you a hard time, they've got me to answer to, all right?" he says, puffing out his chest a bit. "I'll tussle with Tseng, he looks like he could use a little tusslin'."

"Fair," Rude warns.

"I'm joking! Really!"

My boyfriend, who has terminal foot in mouth disease, laughs to himself, while I shrink into his side on the elevator ride down. Times like these I could really use a cigarette...

(C.)

[colossalcriminal]

ooo I like surgeon reader with Robert Chase!! could you done one where the reader is falling for Chase and vice versa but then she gets hesitate once she finds out he fell in love and got married to someone else who previously worked in the hospital. with happy ending

Begging for Heartbreak - r.c

Pairing: Robert Chase x Reader

Summary: In which Y/N is cautious about her not-boyfriend-boyfriend's past love life.

Content Warnings: Mentions of divorce, mutual pining.

"God, I'm done for the night."

Haley, a fellow surgeon, groaned as she swung her bag over her shoulder, slamming her locker shut. Meanwhile, Y/N shrugged on her white coat, readjusting it on her shoulders. "Tough shift?" She received a nod. "Go home, get some sleep."

The former nodded, a sly smirk creeping onto her face. "How's it going with Chase?"

She nearly snorted at the question. "There is nothing going with Chase."

"Why not?"

"Because," She had nothing to say. No excuse, no reason.

Haley whined at her friend's daftness. "Okay, there's no real reason for you to not go for it. He likes you, you like him. So what if he was married?"

The doctor froze. "Married?"

"Yeah. He and Dr. Cameron were married. Not for long, though."

"Allison Cameron?"

"This is weird, I thought you knew." Haley looked to her watch. "I better get going, you have to start your shift."

-

Y/N had taken extreme measures to ensure that Robert Chase stayed a mile away at all times, by declining his coffee offer, to rescheduling her surgeries for earlier times. She'd successfully gone 3 days with little to no contact with him.

She wasn't sure which was more disheartening, the fact that he has an ex-wife, or that his ex-wife is a doctor.

"Is Y/N avoiding me?" Chase called after Haley who was finally working a day shift.

The woman shrugged, near a pout. "I don't know. She may just be a little on edge about things."

With a frustrated sigh, he ran a hand through his blond hair. "What do I do?"

"Take her out to dinner, show her a nice time."

That's what he'd do, he decided.

It took another day for him to hunt her down again, finding her giggling at the nurse's station with a coffee in her hand. "Y/N."

She practically jumped at his presence, nearly spilling the hot liquid contents of her cup. "Sorry, ladies, I gotta go. I have a consult with a patient. Julie, tell me how that dinner goes." Y/N began walking away, her colleague not far behind as his long legs took very long strides, soon walking right next to her. "Sorry, Robert, I'm busy."

"Where have you been?"

"What? Did you chase me down?"

Robert couldn't help but crack a smile at the pun, before remembering the matter at hand. "Why don't you go to dinner with me tomorrow? A date."

They'd only been on a couple of dates, coffee dates, breakfast, but somehow dinner seemed like a step so large it loomed over her like a shadow. They reached her office, her hand wrapping around the handle bar of her door as she turned to face him. "I want to, I really do, but I can't."

He frowned, defeated. "Why? Did I say something? Am I not good enough?"

"No, no! You're great, you're amazing, you really are." She'd let go of the door now, wringing her hands. "It's just, we could never work. I'm a doctor, you're a doctor. That's a concoction for distaster."

"Loads of couples here who are doctors work! Julie and her husband, John from the ER and his spouse are doing great."

"What about you and your ex-wife?" The question had caught him off guard as his mouth was left agape. She took his silence as confirmation, entering her office. "Exactly."

Chase followed her in, finally regaining his voice. "We didn't divorce because we were doctors. We divorced because," His head hung low. "she didn't like the impact House had on me. It was either I leave the hospital with her, or she leaves me."

Y/N's silence had left him anxious. "I'm sorry you went through that."

He nodded. "I really like you, Y/N, and nothing so trivial will ever stop me from wanting to be with you."

"I like you too, Robert." She readjusted his lab coat. "Dinner, tomorrow night?"

"Sounds good, I'll pick you up."

"Where are we going?"

He pondered for a moment. "Italian?"

She shook her head. "Indian?"

"Chinese?"

"We'll decide tomorrow."

[txemrn]

Is there a trait Baby Ramsey share with their parents, that makes people say “yeap, that’s you right there”?

Hey, Anon! This was such a cute Ask. Thank you so much for sending it my direction! I'm sure my answer is very similar to what others have shared, but ever since I pictured this baby, he/she has this trait (and you might be able to guess it just from knowing his/her parents. Here's a small little fic. I hope you enjoy! 💜

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!OC (Tatum Erikson)

Synopsis: While celebrating his/her first birthday, a few colleagues make note that Baby Ramsey looks and acts just like Tatum. Well, for the most part.

Word Count: ~1180

Warning/Rating: mature; language; brief mention of possible sexual misconduct

A/N: Some of these characters belong to our friends at Pixelberry; Julian Santiago is an ENT that went to med school with Ethan and Tobias; Bryce is married to Erin Winters (a beautiful OC of @kat-tia801); also, if you are new, I have not released the name or gender of baby Ramsey on purpose--I want it to be revealed in his or her own story. Also, this is not preread! Please forgive my errors!

~🖤~

"Dr. Santiago!"

The tall, broad-shouldered man turns towards the lax voice, chirping his name. And he smiles.

"Ah, Bryce Lahela," he chuckles, giving the young surgeon a firm handshake. "Good to see you, and please, just Julian." The men raise their cups of punch in salutations before they survey the brightly decorated room. “Where’s your wife?”

“Probably with your wife,” Bryce suggests as he continues to nod hello to other people in the room. As if on a cue, a group of women squeal exuberantly from across the room. Bryce winces before offering a crooked smile at the sudden, ear-piercing screams. “Oh yeah–”

“Yep," Julian jovially gives an approving nod, "there they are.” He takes a sip of his drink, but is accidentally bumped into by another party-goer. "God,” he scoots out of their way, “can you believe this place?"

Bryce raises his eyebrows, observing the overly crowded room of joyful smiles. "Who's watching the patients?" He snickers. "I swear at least half of Edenbrook is here."

"No doubt," Julian grins. "The guest list was clearly Tate's doing. If it were up to Ethan, there probably wouldn't even be a party. Hell, he doesn't even tolerate this many people." They fall into knowing titters, taking another pull of their drinks. Suddenly, another man sneaks up between them, slapping their backs, causing each man to nearly spill their beverages.

"Fuck,” Julian mutters, instantly recognizing the obnoxious intruder. "They really did invite everyone– more like anyone..."

Bryce hides his curling lips. "Hi, Dr. Carrick–"

Tobias throws his arms around his colleagues' necks, pulling them conspiratorially close. "Please tell me there are booze at this thing."

"Dude, it’s 11:30 AM… on a Sunday… at a one-year-old's birthday party," Bryce enunciates as he raises an eyebrow.

"Clearly you've never been in the same room as two women you've slept with–"

“Pssh, because you’re the only man in the world that has game? Please,” Julian rolls his eyes.

Tobias clears his throat. “To clarify: two women… Same night." He shifts his guilty gray eyes to both men. "Last night.”

“Ha!" Julian snorts, "Oh yeah, there he is. There’s our angel Tobias,” Julian snickers, shaking his head. "You're fucked, bruh–"

"--in more ways than one," Bryce interjects, causing him and Julian to fall into belly laughs.

“Ha ha, laugh it up, fuckers–”

"It sounds like some of our favorite uncles are having a good time," Tatum giggles, twirling around with three chilled bottles of beer in her hand with a chunky blond twelve-month-old on her hip.  She hands the three men a beverage as she switches the baby to her other side. “Tobe–” she lowers her voice, “--we don’t say words like that here,” she snickers, the other men laughing along with her.

"Hey, sweetheart," Julian places a friendly peck on Tatum's forehead. "Shit, I can't believe Ramsey 2.0 is already a year old," Julian gently cups his hand around the baby's soft head.

Tatum playfully stares deadpan at her good friend. "You're telling me," she turns to look at her first born who is holding out their hand to an expressive Bryce.

“Time for another one,” Bryce sing-songs.

“And turn out like you and Erin? Three for the price of two pregnancies?” She covers her child’s ears again as she whispers, “Hell. No.”

"My God, Tate," Bryce starts, all three men clearly thinking the same thing as they admire the toddler. "This little one is like your mini-me. Same eyes, hair, nose," Bryce kindly smiles as tiny fingers grip tightly around his finger.  Tatum beams with joy as she takes in the moment.

“This is Ethan’s baby, right?” Tobias jokes as Tatum slaps his shoulder.

“Asshole,” Tatum sardonically grimaces. Tobias’s face grows serious as he quietly holds up a finger to his lips and points to the baby, causing the group of doctors to fall into quiet laughter.  “Anyway, we really appreciate you guys coming,” she kindly grins. “And seriously, help yourselves to anything.”  As the men give chaste kisses to Tatum’s cheek, they each wave goodbye to the little one who eagerly returns the sentiments by blowing slobbery kisses.

“Such a social butterfly,” Bryce mentions.

“Just like Tate,” Julian appreciatively nods his head before taking a sip of his beer.  “Thank fuck, can you imagine a baby like Ramsey?” He shudders.  Tobias titters, clinking the neck of his beer with his old colleague before taking a swig.

“Ethan’s not that bad,” Bryce defends.

Tobias nearly chokes on his beer as Julian wipes away his smile. “Look, Lahela. You know… Tatum’ed Ethan. We?” He motions his hand in between his body and Tobias. “We know the prick that is Ethan Ramsey–”

“Hey, I dealt with his wrath when I was an intern–”

“No, no. He was worse before he ever met Tatum.”

“Ah hell, really?” Bryce takes a sip of his beer. “He was that much worse?”

“Shit, this one time–”

“If I can have everyone’s attention please!” Tatum calls out in a booming, cheerful voice.  The three men along with the other guests turn towards her to listen.  She takes a moment to graciously and tearfully thank everyone for celebrating the special day with them, baby Ramsey cheesing in her arms the entire time.

“I think someone is ready for some cake,” she chuckles. “Rams?”

As if on cue, Ethan walks out with a small, single tier cake with a candle that matches the larger cake next to the snacks on the refreshment table. Tatum gently tucks her little one into the decorated high chair while Ethan lights the wick.  The little one’s blue eyes grow wide at the flame, eliciting a few awes and giggles from the gathered crowd. 

“Are we ready?” Tatum smiles as Ethan snakes an arm around her waist. “On the count of the three, we’ll all start singing ‘Happy Birthday’.” Her watery eyes find her husband’s icy blues as he gives her a reassuring squeeze.  She takes a deep breath as she looks back to her one-year-old baby. “One, two… three!”

All at once, everyone starts proudly singing ‘Happy Birthday’.

Except for Julian and Tobias.

Both men have their hands over their mouths, stifling their obnoxious laughs.  Bryce continues to sing, but glares at his colleagues.

“I can’t,” Tobias finishes his beer, walking away into the kitchen as Julian dabs the tears from his watering eyes.

“What is so funny?” Bryce whispers, grateful that the singing is much louder than their snickers.

“Look," Julian chuckles, "look at that kid right now.”

Bryce cranes his neck between party guests, finally catching a good view of Baby Ramsey. And his face falls while the corners of his mouth turn up. 

Damn, if looks could kill…

There, slumped in a high chair, was the angriest-looking baby anyone had ever seen, complete with deep furrowed brows, a frown, and a deep glare. 

“Holy geeze, that kid is mean-muggin’ everyone–and during ‘Happy Birthday’!” Bryce chokes out before falling into quiet titters.

Julian finally is able to control himself as he finishes his beer. “Oh yeah, there he is. There’s our Ethan.”

~🖤~

Tags (updated 9/26; please contact me if you wish to be added/removed)

PERMA

@21-wishes @alj4890 @ao719 @charlotteg234 @issabees @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @neotericthemis @nikirennie87 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

ALL OPH

@alyshak92 @annfg8 @bisexualdisasteracd @cariantha @coffeeheartaddict2 @lsvdw-blog @mvalentine @ofmischiefandmedicine @rookiemartin @starrystarrytrouble @youlookappropriate

[parisa-kh]

Here For You (AU series)

Chapter 1. A Revelation

Book: Open heart

Paring: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Haley Rochester) x M!OC (Alexander Solace)

Word count: 1845

Rating: T

Category: angst

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence

Series premise: Near the end of her intern year, Haley's marriage is about to fall apart. How is it gonna affect her relationship with Dr. Ramsey?

Chapter premise: After an awful night at home, Haley has to face her colleagues, or more specifically, Ethan.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction, and I am so excited to share it with you guys. English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance if there are mistakes or typos. A special thanks to @utterlyinevitable for editing and commenting and for her great suggestions. You're the best! <3

She stood in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection, eyes filled with sadness and color drained from her face. Her eyes fell on the bruises on her jaw and neck. Touching them with her fingertips, she remembered the events of the previous night. It was new, she was getting used to his irrational and sometimes aggressive behavior, but last night he crossed a line that wasn't easy to come back from.

He wasn't always like that. Once he was this sweet, loving man who supported her through everything and did everything he could to see her smile. She didn't know when exactly things started to change. Maybe it was when they moved to Boston for her to learn from her medical hero. Things were great at first, they were happily married, enjoying the second year of their relationship, living in their bubble happy and carefree.

Starting her job at Edenbrook, Haley used to talk about the Dr. Ramsey a lot. She called him a "handsome jerk" when she told Alex about her first day. As time went by, Haley started to like and admire his mentor, enthusiastically telling stories in which Dr. Ramsey had the leading role. Then she got busier as the top intern, and her workload and the amount of time she spent with Ethan started to take their toll. So when Alex met Ethan at a hospital party, the insane jealousy found its way into their relationship. Haley never expected such a misunderstanding and such reactions from Alex. It wasn't like him at all, but you never know someone fully until you go through thick and thin together, she thought.

Maybe it was the first test in their relationship, only months after getting married, and despite the horror she went through last night, she was still hopeful about working things out. Nonetheless, there was a little voice inside her head Haley couldn't ignore despite her greatest efforts, telling her they rushed into the marriage, maybe it was too soon, maybe she didn't know him like she thought she did.

The sound of the front door pulled Haley out of her thoughts, making her look back into the mirror, trying to find a way to cover the bruises. Using foundation and concealer didn't seem enough.

"I can wear a turtleneck in the spring, right? It's still not that warm."

Opening the drawer to take out her blouse, she was startled by his voice coming from their bedroom door:

"Haley?"

She looked at his reflection in the mirror, his face contorted with pain and regret. He came closer to hug her from behind, but she didn't let him:

"Stay away from me!" ‏She yelled, tears welling up in her eyes. She lowered her voice. "Alex, just ... give me some time, I can't... I can't look at you or be near you right now. Just leave me alone, please."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she averted her eyes from him. His hands froze in the middle of the way, realizing it was not at all the time to apologize for how he screwed up. He nodded in understanding and left the room without a word.

Haley let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, hastily got ready to go to the hospital. Edenbrook was her happy place. Her friends were there, her job, her patients, and Ethan.

Although Ethan Ramsey was easily the grumpiest man she'd ever met, after almost a year they had established kind of a close friendship, especially now that they were secretly working together to find a cure to save Naveen. However, today she wasn't willing to be seen by anyone, especially Ethan with those sharp piercing eyes. One wrong movement was enough for him to see the bruises, and then a very awkward conversation would ensue.

Everything went well until the evening.

She had successfully avoided her friends and Ethan altogether, but her last patient of the day was in such an awful condition that she couldn't keep it together anymore. All the sorrow and anger accumulated from the night before, together with seeing her patient on their death bed made it really hard to keep it together. Haley fled to the stairwell, trying to subside the panic that was rising in her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. She stood near the window, trying to calm herself down, tears running down her face. Just when she was loosening her collar to breathe a little easier, she heard Ethan's concerned voice from behind her,

"Dr. Rochester? Are you alright?"

Before she was able to answer, his eyes fell on the bruises on her neck that she had tried to cover all day. His eyes widened and the worry on his face doubled, and a shadow of anger darkened his expression. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand reached out to her neck, stopping an inch away,

"What the hell happened to you?!"

Haley swallowed, staring back at him, not knowing what to say. At this moment, all she wanted to do was to pour everything out and cry for hours in her attending's arms that felt like the safest place. Haley knew Ethan had a kind heart. He would have protected her and helped her in every possible way. Torn between the need to confide in him and the urge to respect the privacy of her family life, she heard Ethan's voice again, getting more and more restless by the second. "Haley! Talk to me…For god's sake, did someone try to choke you?!"

Lying to Ethan wasn't easy. Especially when he was standing only a few inches away, demanding answers. She was already tired, and the heady scent of his cologne was making her dizzy.

"We, uh...my husband and I had a little fight... we'll be fine. There is nothing to worry about."

Her attempt to sound indifferent didn't fool Ethan. He was outraged, unknowingly raising his voice, "Your husband did this to you?!"

Trying to calm himself, he took a deep breath which wasn't helpful. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And you're telling me it's fine?? Haley, this is not fine! He... he..." Ethan was at a loss for words. "He cannot do this to you!"

Haley looked down at her feet, her voice barely audible.

"I know how it looks, but we are going to work on it...I know what you're thinking, but I just...I don't want my marriage to fall apart." She looked up at him. "And please, Dr. Ramsey, stop shouting. People are gonna hear you!"

"I know I'm overstepping my boundaries, but this..." mentioning her bruises, "this doesn't look like fine or something that's ever going to be fine. It's concerning, to say the least." He pleaded, or better say, argued.

Ethan didn't know if he was more sad or angry. The sight of her battered and bruised was breaking his heart. The thought of someone laying their hands on her was driving him crazy.

"I appreciate your concern, really." She said." But right now, what I need from you is not to judge… if you want to help, just... stay here with me for a second."

His expression softened at her request. "Alright... if that's what you want."

When they sat down together, Haley suddenly put her head on his shoulder and started to cry, releasing the sorrow she had been trying to suppress all day. Ethan ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to calm her down. "It's Ok Rookie... let it out."

The rest of the day was uneventful. Ethan, however, watched Haley like a Hawk, waiting for any signs of sadness or discomfort to give her reassurance with a subtle smile, give her a cup of coffee, or send her to rest in an on-call room, whatever he could do to make her feel better. But she didn't show anything.

After their encounter in the stairwell, Haley was feeling much better. Her heart was lighter and warmer at the thought of the man who was there for her, sitting right across the table in the diagnostic office. She wasn't alone. She knew that. At least inside the walls of the hospital she was safe and sound. She wasn't ready to think about what was going to happen when she got home, for which she was grateful that she was on-call for the night. She could focus on doing what she loved and help the man she admired the most to save his mentor's life.

Around midnight, Ethan and Haley were sitting together on the sofa, hovering over the medical journals on the coffee table. They were working in silence when Haley's phone vibrated with an incoming text. Her face fell when she looked at it. Ethan could feel anxiety radiating from her. Feeling Ethan's attentive gaze, Haley looked up at him and explained in a sarcastic tone.

"It's Alex, begging for forgiveness." She rolled her eyes.

Ethan tore his gaze from Haley and put down a magazine he was holding. Something was bothering him.

"Can I ask you something? You're free not to answer if you're not comfortable."

"You want to ask about the fight, don't you?" Haley asked nervously.

God, she knew him so well, he thought. No matter how much he tried to keep his guard up, Haley always found her way in, getting to know him better than anyone. He chose his words carefully.

"I just want to know… what went so horribly wrong… to make you fight like this, to make him…." He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

"You really wanna know?" Haley looked at him with surprise. Was he asking out of curiosity, or did he care that much about her? To shatter his stoic facade and ask something so personal. Her dark brown eyes stared into his blue ones as if trying to find her answer in them.

"Yes. I wanna know, I… I need to know."

His heart was aching for the young woman in front of him -so innocent and kind, so brilliant and once full of life. What was happening to her was so unfair. He had noticed the changes in her behavior, how she was losing the spark in her eyes day after day, how she was no longer the stubborn intern who annoyed him the most but at the same time made his days brighter. He needed to know.

"He wants kids; I said no." Haley shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She could feel the warmth of Ethan's body. They were sitting too close for the revelation that was about to come. Would he even want to hear the answer if he knew what it was? Would their friendship survive it? What if Ethan goes back to being the stone-cold Dr. Rmsey again? Was she going to lose him now that she needed him the most?

Haley hung her head for a moment, then looked at him mournfully. "He thinks you're the reason."

‏

[a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit]

Book Review: The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas

If you've ever wondered what a fusion of The Hating Game and The Wedding Date would be like in novel form, then ¡diós mío! is this contemporary romance for you! It has everything. Talk about the epitome of an all-in-one special, my friends! Whether it's enemies-to-lovers, office romance, slow slooow burn tension; no matter if it's fake dating, forced proximity in a foreign country, or, one of my all-time favorites, "oh no! there's only one bed," this book is a fun and spicy amalgamation of tropes. It can be difficult to balance so many different ones. However, Armas blends them all together deliciously here, with one trope playing off another or diverging from expectation to create something new, something fresh. The little twists, the quirks that leapt away from convention, are the portions I enjoyed best. I also lapped up all of the hispanic aspects--the language, the food/culture, the adorable endearments. (What do I have to do for a handsome man to call me "bollito" endearingly, huh? Seriously. Just tell me already! Pretty, pretty please? *cries in Spanish*) Though the book starts off a little slow, taking time to establish its rising action, its pacing, it isn't long before readers are sucked into the simmering tension between Aaron Blackford and Catalina Martín. These two know what it means spar, let me tell you! Sparks fly - in fleeting looks, touches; in banter that wrestles with verbal fists almost as much as it tempts with quiet lips - from the moment readers meet them at work. Where they're colleagues. Where they're nemeses. Where they're barking and bantering and glaring at one another over every little thing. In short: it's bloody darling. Truly entertaining, with emotion and revelation and "aww's" to spare. When the story begins, Lina is desperate to find a date/boyfriend to accompany her to her sister's wedding in Spain. She needs to save face with her family and friends back home for a Reason™️ to be disclosed later in the plot. Aaron offers himself up for the role of fake boyfriend, calling himself her "best option." Which has her boiling, naturally, because, the audacity! Little does she know, though, since the story is written from her perspective alone, but he may have motives of his own. Hidden reasons. What are they, becomes the question of all questions. Lina's reluctant to agree to the idea at first, of course, not to mention skeptical as all hell about the proposition in general, but she soon accepts and that's when everything takes off--the plot, their attraction and chemistry, the cute not-date dates, the family wedding drama, the burgeoning tension that builds and builds with excruciating slowness until you're Captain Barbossa level of JUST KISS ALREADY keyed up. Like a stomach-fluttering, fluffy romcom, it all brews together nicely. Granted, I do think some portions could have been trimmed and the tone shift toward the end after things were consummated could have been refined better (it felt jarring, out of tune with their earlier dynamic), but overall this was delightful. A lovely little la-di-da break from everything 'blah' right now that left me wishing this romance were real not merely fictional. Also, prepare yourselves to fall in love with Aaron Blackford now, because you will. It cannot be helped. The man is a dreamboat. A book boyfriend to rival Joshua Templeman himself. (Yeah, that's right. I said what I said.) So okay, he may be a touch too perfect since I am unable to call up any of his flaws besides that of clipped broodiness, but I'll let it slide because it's refreshing to have a male lead who pays such close attention to detail when it comes to his heart's desire. He knows who his love interest is--what Lina likes, doesn't like; how she thinks. He gives her what she deserves not only what she needs. He actually listens when she talks, too, always taking the necessary steps to make her feel comfortable and content, even if that means going slow or waiting until she's ready to accept that what exists between them is real. Aaron is a patient man who isn't going

anywhere, you know what I mean? And there's nothing more swoon-inducing than a man who is willing to stick it out. Be a rock of support, a shoulder to lean on. The type of guy who wants to hold your hand in public and be honest, unapologetic to everyone he meets, about how much he adores you. Fake/fictional boyfriend or not, I'll be damned if that isn't what all women want. All in all, there is a lot to enjoy in this book. Sexy tension, lovable characters, a collection of entertaining tropes. Perfect if you're looking for a sweet and humorous beach read. A solid debut! 3.5/5 stars

**Follow me on Goodreads

[itsmyara]

About That Night... (Hisomachi Fanfic)

Note: Another translation, though my English is not that great ^^’. It’s 3532 words NO SMUT! I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Pairing: Hisoka/Machi

Summary: Hisoka realized that he was still analyzing her for a reason other than trying to investigate the possible sources of her drunkenness. He was mesmerized by the way emotions were running free in her face, something he had never seen before.

Warning: Drunk!Machi, Jealous!Hisoka, Alcohol, Mentions of Drugs, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Getting Sick, Passing Out, Hangover, Mild Language.

[Link to AO3 in English] 

[Link to AO3 in Brazilian Portuguese]

Her body moved insanely under the colorful lights of the room to the sound of a repetitive and irritating electronic beat. Although she was dressed much more discreetly than the other girls in the club, wearing simple jeans and a black tank top, she drew attention and caused a small audience to gather around her. Dancing with a big, strong man covered in tattoos and looking like a local crime boss, she moved boldly and sensually, with a loose laugh that occasionally lit up her face.

"Is this just alcohol effect or did she use something else?" Hisoka questioned the man standing next to him, without taking his eyes off Machi on the dance floor.

The tattooed man's hand slid down her small body and slipped under the black tank top, pressing her waist against him while his mouth whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Hisoka's fists clenched hard.

Illumi shrugged before answering the question in a monotone voice:

"I don't know, she was already like this when I arrived, so I called you. She's dancing with my target and it doesn't look like she's going to leave him anytime soon. So I called you. I figured you wouldn't want it to be me taking her out of there."

Hisoka moved his eyes to face the ever-so-cold colleague. He was right. If he used his methods against Machi, even if it was just to get her out of the way, he would have to make a little reckoning with him. But the assassin was smart. Illumi decided to turn the situation around and, by calling Hisoka, he won himself a favor to collect later.

When the magician looked back at the pink-haired woman, he saw the tattoed man leading her towards a door in a reserved corner of the nightclub.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Illumi observed the scenario calmly and then turned away, unconcerned.

"Just remember that no matter what he does to your girl. He is my target and I need him alive. I will wait outside."

Hisoka responded with an annoyed snort before walking in the opposite direction of his friend. The bloodlust that exuded from the magician made people open the way naturally, looking suspiciously at the strange man who carried a macabre look on his face.

He unceremoniously kicked down the door to the private room, much to the surprise of some people who ran away, but not Machi. She has been waiting for him, even though she was pressed against the wall by the other man's body. She could be intoxicated, but her perception would never fail to notice Hisoka's bloodlust.

Hisoka leaned against the damaged door frame, crossing his arms casually as he faced the scene in the room by the half-light.

"Oh, am I interrupting something?" He asked wryly.

The tattooed man immediately released Machi and faced him without fear.

"What's up, clown? This one is mine now, if you want the leftover you'll have to wait outside."

Hisoka laughed shortly. The man had given the worst answer he could when he was so obviously in a risky position. He was nothing between the two nen users — even though one of them was intoxicated — and the only difficulty the magician faced was being forced to use only his fists to bring down the thug. He didn't like having to control himself that way, not when he wanted to end the existence of someone so weak and unwary, but he would have to leave that to Illumi.

Machi only seemed to understand the situation completely when the man was already lying on the floor unconscious, and Hisoka was heading to her with an enigmatic smile.

"You could have chosen someone stronger, you know? This is almost an insult..."

"What are you doing here? After everything you’ve done, you decided to follow me?"

Even though the place was dark, Hisoka could see her cheeks flushed. Her eyes shone with tears and her lips swollen, red, and moist; probably as a result of the kisses she shared with that useless guy. He took a long time to analyze it, for a moment believing that it was because he had to determine if she was under the influence of a drug other than alcohol.

His hands grabbed her face, and the only reaction she had was to hold his arms as if she was going to try to stop him, but she didn’t actually apply enough force to it.

"I'm too busy to follow you, ok? But when a little bird tells me that you're out there screwing up, I have to act, don't I?"

Machi laughed sadly, her chest shaking almost quietly between them, and Hisoka realized that he was still analyzing her for a reason other than trying to investigate the possible sources of her drunkenness. He was mesmerized by the way emotions were running free in her face, something he had never seen before.

"You think I'm weak, Hisoka..." she murmured under her breath, and then in a burst, she pulled his hands away from her face and pushed him away. "Do you think I need you to defend me from this ?" She pointed to the dead weight on the floor and then laughed sadly again.

Actually, he was defending her from Illumi, who wouldn't be so patient with her drama, but Hisoka resigned himself to smile in response, making her snort.

"I hate you!"

There was a very sincere feeling in those words, which came out of her mouth as if they were ripping her up. This made Hisoka lean his head in curiosity. However, Machi simply looked at him from head to toes in disbelief before turning away and stumbling out of that room, pushing one or the other person off her way and randomly stealing a drinking glass from one of them as she headed to the exit.

Hisoka sighed, grabbing the unconscious man by the hair and dragging him along while he went behind the woman. He caught up with Machi near the door, where even the security guards had already moved away. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her off the floor, carrying her out despite her protests.

"This is yours," Hisoka declared as he threw the unconscious body at Illumi’s feet.

The body that writhed and struggled, trying weakly to attack Hisoka without ceasing, was his.

"Do you want some help with her?" Illumi offered, watching the woman's wildness with some curiosity.

"No, she has the right to protest. When she gets tired, she'll see that this is in her best interest."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here, you wretch! Fight me like a man! I'm going to kill you with my bare hands!"

Between punches and kicks, Hisoka just waved a greeting to Illumi and went on his way.

[...]

When he crossed the threshold of his hotel room, Machi was less savage in his arms. In fact, at some point along the way, she had given up attacking him and started just pouring out words about him being a traitor, about Chrollo, and even something about Pakunoda's death. Some of her words actually made sense, but the state she was still in, which seemed to get worse by the second, made any response from him useless.

Therefore, in the face of silence, Machi finally burst into tears before reaching their destination, and Hisoka thought it was best to cradle her properly in his arms so that when they crossed the door she was being carried like a bride, but a tearful one against his chest.

When he tried to accommodate her on the couch, she clung more tightly to his shoulders, as a clear sign that she didn't want to part at that moment.

"Oh? I thought you hated me," he declared with a playful laugh.

"Why do you have to be like this?"

Her voice was so heartfelt that he couldn't help but sigh before settling on the couch with her in his arms. Machi wouldn't remember any of that the next day, which is why he stopped to think for a few seconds about what she just said. He knew that she was not referring to his jokes, but to the fact that he had lied for years and, in the end, revealed a goal that clashed with her own completely. If it weren't for that, maybe she wouldn't have to hate him that much.

She finally looked up and, not without effort, focused her reddened eyes on his. Hisoka looked at her expression legitimately surprised. He could expect hatred and tears on her part, but the way she looked at him now was... sweet. For some reason, he was sure that if he kissed her now, despite anything that preceded this moment, what he would taste on her lips would be something so deep and meaningful that, yes, it scared him.

That's why he didn't kiss her, allowing her to break the silence:

"You're spinning..." Machi murmured, and then laughed in a silly way, breaking the magic as well. "You're spinning and you're not going to tell me anything, are you? You're not even here, I'm imagining you," she put her face back on his shoulder. "At least you smell good…"

"Machi, what did you use?" Hisoka knew he probably wouldn't get a coherent answer, but that doubt had haunted him since the moment he saw her that night. It was hard to believe that only alcohol would do that to a woman as strong as her. There had to be some other chemistry influencing her altered state.

"What did I use?" She asked, confused, and then looked up to him again. "Ah… you wanna know if I did something," she approached his ear and whispered: "Maybe…"

Suddenly she let go of his shoulders and stood up, staggering a little and cleaning the tracks of the tears on her face with the back of her hands. She walked a few steps erratically and looked around in amazement before looking at him again.

"Do you pay to sleep here?" Machi asked in surprise and laughed right away as if it were really hilarious. "You pay ! You're such a fancy-pants."

Hisoka just settled down more comfortably on the couch, watching the scene. On several occasions, he wished to see her acting more spontaneously, freer, but this situation was just sad. He didn’t even want to take advantage of it or tease her about it — at least not until the next day.

He watched Machi shrink into herself again, leaning against the wall and letting the weight of her body drag her to the floor. She crossed her arms very specifically over her stomach, and he knew it was a sign that something rather unpleasant was about to happen.

"You’re feeling sick," he declared, standing up to meet her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine…" Machi flinched a little more, however. "I just miss them..."

Ignoring the way she was closing herself off, Hisoka lifted her from the floor by the shoulders, as if she were a small child. He looked at Machi’s eyes seriously, while pinning her against the wall.

"I know you miss them, but acting like this is stupid. I can't believe you're the same Machi I know."

"Pakunoda was the first person who cared about me in this world," she declared and then swallowed hard before continuing: "she was my family and now she’s dead. Chrollo is my family and now he's far away, unable to use his nen, and I know you had a part in it. The chain guy..." Machi closed her eyes briefly as if to take his name from memory, "Kurapika, you sold our secrets to Kurapika because you wanted to, didn't you? He didn't do to you what he did to Paku, you don't have a fucking chain in your heart. You don't even have a fucking heart! You are a..." eyelids closed again, this time, however, she couldn't remember the word. A single tear streamed down her left eye. "Damn it…"

"You talk as if you have a heart," Hisoka interrupted her coldly, which made her look at him with a sharp look, a faint bloodlust pulsing from her intoxicated body. "You don't feel anything for anyone but for a few of your friends. You're not much better than me."

Machi struggled in his hands for a fraction of a second, resigning herself to kill him only with her intentions when she was unable to leave. She looked a little more like who she really was now.

"You have no idea, you idiot."

Those words were followed by a few seconds of silence in which the blue of her eyes became indecipherable. That was when he remembered who she was and why he cared so much. Machi was the lady of the labyrinth, and he had never managed to get out of her tortuous paths because, very wisely, she had never given him her threads, leaving him lost forever in her maze.

"When I fight Chrollo, who do you want to survive?" He didn’t know where this question came from when it left his mouth, but the reaction it had caused in the woman justified it.

Machi blinked a few times, as if trying to calculate the seriousness of what he had asked, and then closed her eyes with a certain solemnity.

"I don't want you to fight Danchou. I don't want either of you dead."

Perhaps the answer was more than enough, but she had also progressively got closer to him, so much so that her lips touched his lightly at first, completing the touch quickly in a kiss. Without so much lightness, he finally advanced against her mouth, pressing her against the wall now with the weight of his own body.

Machi moaned at his advance, embracing him with arms and legs irresistibly, making him also express the delight that took his body and his aura when, suddenly, she stepped away from him, with such assertiveness and urgency that he couldn't stop it.

And he was thankful for that when he saw her turn and lean her body, finally fulfilling the omen he had moments ago, throwing up on the floor of the hotel room.

Hisoka gave a disappointed snort, but the way her back curved with each spasm of her stomach made him quickly accept that this night would really be unique in his life.

The night he would spend taking care of someone's booze.

[...]

Machi opened her eyes, but the ambient light hurt like a razor and she hid her face in the pillow by reflex. Both her head and stomach were aching with an intensity that made any thought difficult, but when she smelled Hisoka's scent on the pillowcase, she knew something was very wrong. She fought the pain and opened her eyes at once, sitting on the bed and trying to identify where she was. A messy double bed, a hotel room lit with curtains open. Then she found herself wearing only a stretched, cropped T-shirt with playing card suits printed and panties that she at least recognized as her own.

Her nightmare was completed when she heard the magician's happy voice humming at the bedroom door.

"Good morning sunshine!"

There he was, holding a breakfast tray and wearing nothing but one of his ridiculous pants.

Machi wanted to disappear, but the best she could do was cover herself with the bedsheets.

"Don't worry, I saw all this and much more last night," Hisoka stated at her gesture as he left the tray on the nightstand and sat beside her on the bed.

She wanted to emanate bloodlust to let him know it wasn't funny, but the pain in her body prevented her, so she just squinted, watching him pour coffee in a cup and hold it out to her.

"Take this, it will make you feel better."

Machi held the cup suspiciously, without bringing it to her mouth, however. The smell of the drink, which at another time would be inviting, made her stomach turn.

"What's going on? What did you do to me?"

"Now, now, don't you remember anything?" He lay on his stomach beside her, looking at her in that paradoxically, uncomfortable and inviting way.

Machi vaguely remembered some things, but none of them made sense. So she let Hisoka continue:

"I saw you at a party yesterday by chance, you were already… happy… so don't ask me anything before that. You were dancing with a man who is dead now. I got him out of the way because he wasn't treating you like you deserve. So we danced, I made you laugh a few times, I brought you here, we made many, delicious things on the couch, and then against the wall, but unfortunately, you got sick and, by the way, that's why I pay to stay here, they clean up this kind of a mess," the smile broke with malice on his lips, while she tried to assimilate everything he said. "Now you, I was the one who cleaned you up. We took a hot shower together and you fell asleep in my arms soon after."

The sharp pain in her head seemed to create a wall in her own memories and in her ability to distinguish, in his words, what were lies and what were truths. Machi knew he was lying; it was too perfect a situation for him. Too easy. But the way she found herself left her without arguments.

"Well, I don't feel like we did anything much last night," she tried to fish, her voice cold, but he just laughed briefly.

"I was gentle with you this time. Believe it or not, I care about you."

"Liar," Machi accused him coldly, and then abandoned the cup on the nightstand beside her, making an effort to get out of bed, despite the pain.

It was incredible how she, always so resistant, was now suffering just because of a headache.

Machi looked for her clothes in the room, finding them folded on a chair, and began to dress while her other headache who was lying on the bed brought to him the cup she had abandoned — using nen, most likely — sipping and mumbling something about how she really should have drunk the coffee to feel better. Her eyes looked at Hisoka briefly. From her position, she had a wide view of his back, and the absence of the spider tattoo there, which was no longer needed because he was no longer keeping cover, seemed to make her a little dizzy.

How had she not realized before that his tattoo was nothing more than his Texture Surprise? How had her intuition not warned her that he was lying all the time? And why was the real Hisoka — well, at least, the Hisoka who no longer had to pretend he belonged with the Troupe — bothering to bring her coffee in bed?

She shook her head, with the excuse of trying to fix her hair, when in fact Machi was trying to put away those pathetic thoughts, even if the gesture caused her more pain. As soon as she buttoned up her jeans she headed to the bedroom door, stopping in her tracks, however, by his words, or by the unconscious desire to hear them.

"You should stay, you're not completely recovered and it's cold outside."

Hisoka sat on the bed but just looked at her with that serenity of someone who knows what they want, and knows that the object of their desire wants them in return. But it wouldn't happen today, and possibly, on any other day after he revealed his betrayal, Machi tried to conclude.

"I know how to take care of myself," she replied, determined to continue on her way.

"At least get a coat before you leave..."

"Stop pretending that you worry, you know you don't have to fake it anymore!" Machi declared, like an outburst, and finally left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Alone, Hisoka deposited the cup on the tray and lay down on the bed, taking a deep breath when feeling its comfort. He had missed it after spending the night on the couch.

He had obviously intertwined lies and truths in the story he told her. After Machi felt sick, he had actually called the room service to clean up the mess while he undressed and bathed her in the bathroom; she was so lethargic that she didn't even protest. Nor had she protested when he dressed her in his t-shirt and left her sleeping alone in his bed. Just that, and nothing more than that.

Still, he knew that last night had been very interesting and revealing in many ways, and he was satisfied with that.

He looked to the side and found a pink strand of hair on the white pillow. He took it between his fingers, bringing it to him as if it were a beautiful and precious memento.

"You have no idea, do you?" He murmured to that tiny part of her she had left behind. "You have absolutely no idea..."

[heresathreebee]

Dirty Water

Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x Robyn Banks (Black!OC)

Summary: Robb met a couple of shady characters calling themselves cops. Well it just so happens they are, and they're worse than she first thought.

Masterlist

Word count: 2.5k words

Rating/Warning(s): +16 Mature | kidnapping, mild torture, tied up, wanna be clear: IRL I do not condone hooking up with a person who kidnapped you or was complicit in kidnapping you, it just don't work out like that in reality

AN: so basically I'm gonna write and post this in whatever order I please, then go back and figure it out later. Since my brain has jumped back on the Pascal bandwagon, it's hard to focus outside of his body of work but I'm still coming back to this story with relative ease.

Just when she'd started to warm up again, a another shower of ice cold mop water was pitched over her head. Robyn sputtered and coughed, trying not to swallow the suds in her mouth or let them see her cry to keep the dirt out of her eyes. From the shadows that danced beyond her eyelids, she could tell the alleged cop who called himself Nick was crouching in front of her. 

"Last chance, sweetheart," the dirty cop said. "Tell me how you know Tony D'Onofrio." 

Fuck. 

Seven years ago, two federal agents walked in on officer Robyn Banks being sentenced to traffic duty. She didn't mind– she was fed up with the secrets her colleagues were forcing her to keep anyways. Maybe stepping down could help her clear her head, maybe give her time to compartmentalize those events and feelings. Only now could she say that the rest of her career was already out of her hands. 

"Those agents on that file? They approached me about D'Onofrio. Said he was my moby dick. Made a big deal about 'justice' and 'law and order' and 'the sanctity of the badge." Robyn spit more mop water onto the floor and continued, "I told them I didn't know what the fuck it had to do with me and they just sorta looked at each other." 

The blond man– Nick called him Z, she thinks– crossed his arms. "Quit jerkin us around, Banks, get to the fucking point." 

Nick held up a hand. "Easy, tiger. I asked for a story and that's what I'm hearing. Keep going, Robbie." 

Robyn scowled on the inside. "They told me he was my father. More like a sperm donor than anything, he probably didn't even know I was alive." 

"Now that is interesting," Nick purred. 

He cut the zip tie binding her arm to the rolly chair and handed her a towelette to wipe her eyes. She dared not reach for the tie on her other arm, lest her captors think she's pulling a move to escape. Instead she dabbed the sweat and mop water that soaked into the skin of her neck and face to pause and think about her next words. 

"That was the basis of the deal. I join their investigation undercover, see if I can get somewhere with my connection, and help them put one of the biggest crime bosses on this side of the coast away for good. In exchange, I get to call the shots, they'd put in a good word with my CO and elevate me to detective status instead of beat cop." 

"Thought you liked being a beat cop," the one in the silk flamingo shirt said. 

"Apparently nobody believes that." 

"So," Nick steepled his fingers beneath his aquiline nose in thought, "your end of the deal wasn't even your idea? How does that work?" 

"Sounds like she got something else out of it," the bald man in the white polo accused. 

Robyn glared at him, but she didn't contradict him. If she wanted to be listened to, she needed to stay calm. Stay calm, stay alive. Go home with the minimal amount of PTSD. 

"Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?" When nobody raised any more objections, she continued. "I agreed to their terms. Next I know, I'm climbing the criminal ladder, dropping bread crumbs about my parentage, two years goes by, yada yada yada, and then bam. I have a meeting with the heir apparent to the Italian mafia. 

"At that meeting I told Tony D'Onofrio he knew my mother and that I knew they had been dating around the time I was born–" 

"Conceived–" 

"Yeah that– he stared at me for so long I forgot how to breathe and then… he… believed me." 

A pin dropped somewhere in the empty parking garage. A dog barked wildly a mile away but could still be heard in the silence that followed. Robyn still couldn't believe he'd bought it either. 

"He just… believed you," Nick said skeptically. 

Robyn could do nothing but shrug. "I never got the details, I couldn't ask my mom about it and Tony never gave me any indication that he knew about me before that meeting. He just asked me what I wanted and did it." 

Nick dragged his eyes over her form, shivering and glistening, and then-- "what did you ask him?" 

Robyn felt her eyes gloss over as she tried to remember what mysterious force compelled her to say the exact right words. "I told him all I wanted was for him to know, to see him with my own eyes and know he was real. I said I didn't need any favors or special treatment. I just needed some closure." 

That was all. And the agents had been fucking furious with her. They had accused her of using them, of being a traitor and a spy for D'Onofrio or a mastermind cat-woman type villain and all manner of other terrible things. They were ready to pull the plug on the whole operation when Tony had offered her a better job. A job where she would come face- to- face with every schmoe on Tony's payroll. 

"Tony offered me a job 'running errands.' Not quite in his inner circle but higher in his ranks than I had any business being," Robyn said. "Most of the people doing these jobs were kids, easy to get around the city undetected and reliable. Now he knew I wasn't a kid but I guess he wanted to see more from me, put his best eyes on me to see if I was legit." 

Nick nodded and stood up (his knees popping like broken branches). He walked over to Murphy in the flamingo shirt and passed a few inaudible words between them. Robyn wasn't skilled in the art of lip reading, and failed to catch anything from Murphy except the word 'pointless.' It rubbed her the wrong way, sending a spark of fear through her that quickly dulled back into the numbness of being helplessly bound to a chair. She needed to finish this soon before she completely cracked. 

Nick returned to her side, chasing some pepto bismol with a flask of what smelled like tequila in it. "That's a very sweet story, Robbie, really it is. But… what I wanna know is why you're not in this file." 

"That's not what you asked me," she griped, then backpedaled into, "I'm trying to tell you why I'm not in the file. But in order to tell you that, I have to tell you what was left out of the file first. I'm getting to the point, I just… there's a lot of shit to sift through." 

Nick nodded like a patient father (yeah, right). "Just the good parts then." 

"Yeah," she nodded quickly, "just the good parts..." 

"The good parts, uhm. Well he did learn to trust me. I barely had to do anything just… let him try to kindle a relationship between us. I started calling him dad at his request, nobody bothered me or questioned me after that and I didn't abuse it, expect on the downlow giving info to the feds. He liked that about me– he liked me. We'd talk about my mom and he'd let his guard slip, started taking me to his meetings and asking me to deliver his important paperwork." 

"I let him think I was with him and documented everything I could for six more years." In truth, she had had some doubts. About putting him away and the vacuum of power it would create, about the dichotomy of good versus evil, about her career. In that last year, she had actually warmed to the idea of becoming a detective and getting to do work with her own moral backbone and not someone else's. "We made the arrest January 19th and put him away for a dime." 

Nick leaned so far forward in his chair Rob had to lean back. "This is the part where you wrap it up, sweetcheeks." 

Robyn gulped. "Gomer and Valentine pushed me out. They'd been acting really strange at the end, wearing these shit eating grins and looking at each other, and then they iced me out. Had me fired on the grounds that I was too close to the perp, used a fucking Christmas photo for evidence. There went the Italian mob's heir and seven years of hardwork, and I wouldn't even be mentioned by name in the case file. No testimony, no credit, just a dishonorable discharge and dumped on my ass in the streets." 

"Wow." Nick rubbed a hand down his face like he was the exhausted one. "That's quite the story, princess." 

He looked at each of his mates, every face stonier than the last. Especially the silent one's, the latino guy. Then he looked back at Robyn and smiled with a lot of teeth. 

"I do have some questions though, if you'll let me." Sure like I have a choice. "Now it wasn't public knowledge you were in on the investigation, but I find it hard to believe your dad's lackeys didn't know it was you who turned him in. And what I find even harder to believe is that they'd let you live for it." 

Robyn said nothing. There was a part of her that didn't quite grasp it either. When she had arrested him, when she'd slapped the cuffs on him herself and read him his Miranda rights, after the shock of her betrayal wore off, Tony had congratulated her. 

"I'm proud of you, kid. You may be a narc but at least you got your head straight. You got guts, kid." 

As far as she understood it, his last order as the leader of the mafia was not to harm her in any way. Nobody bothered her. They still knew her face on the streets, sent glares her way but never touched her. One of his underlings had come to her place and suggested she skip town permanently just to be safe. It was not a courtesy she ever expected from anyone let alone a man with a reputation for high profile robbery and murder. 

She didn't know what to expect. "I guess he really did love me." And Nick left it at that. 

~

Robyn was unbound, blindfolded, and dumped right back onto the street those so called cops had snatched her from. Her legs shook as she walked the last block to her place, utterly miserable and in desperate need of some sleep. Maybe tomorrow she could figure out what the fuck her life had come to. She showered (and cried) and picked up the half drunk beer from her fridge and brought it out on her front steps, taking a sip of the flat beverage and wishing it was something stronger. 

People passed below her on the streets, never once looking up. The traffic never disappeared but it did lull this time of night. She didn't mean to– barely noticed she was doing it– but she found a pack of cigarettes in her overcoat and lit one up. 

"Next time," she promised herself. I'll try to quit next time. 

Just as she was beginning to ease the tension that had been weighing on her all night, a man climbed the steps to her building and pointedly slowed down to a stop a few feet away from her. She chanced a glare at him and found him no stranger which was somehow infinitely worse. 

"Fuck off," her nerves got the better of her, "I told you everything, can't I at least get some sleep first?!" 

The man lifted his hands in defense, carrying a bottle in a brown bag in one of them. He was, well, he was the handsome one. The Cuban with the neck tattoo and broad shoulders. His eyes seemed a lot softer now Despite the dark setting. 

"Swear on my life, I'm not here for Nick." He took a single step up, waiting to see how she'd react, and when she didn't run, he took another and set the covered bottle down next to her before backing off. Still skeptical, Robyn carefully unwrapped the thing, revealing an expensive looking wine label. Dark red. "It's an apology," he explained with his hands in his pockets, "Nick thinks he's this big, clever actor but he can be a real bully when he drinks." 

Robyn gave him the 'do I look like an idiot' eyebrow and he had the decency to look at his feet. "We could really use your help with this, Banks. Nick forgot to mention the part where Tony was put on parole for good behavior. He'll be out tomorrow." 

"He what." That's just the thing isn't it? The case that ended her career permanently and he just got to walk off after only serving two years of his sentence. That was the real crime here. Robyn gritted her teeth, gripped the neck of the bottle and squeezed. She started shaking it like it was her criminal father, or the weasel federal agents who took her credit, or the dirty cops who kidnapped her tonight. 

Borracho looked concerned. "Do you need a corkscrew or– " 

Robyn shrugged off her jacket and looked him dead in the eye as she wrapped it around the base of the bottle and gently banged it on the porch step until the cork exploded into the air (along with a third of the bottle's contents but whatever). Borracho raised a hand to protect his face from the spray, and turned away to hide a silly grin. 

"Nevermind," he said, shaking the excess drink off his hand. "Listen, if he calls you about anything, please let us know." 

He pointed to the bag, which had a phone number on it. "Don't let your work be in vain." 

"You try that line on everybody?" Rob was feeling a little facetious in the face of mercy, over tired from the revelations, and pissed off by these fucking pigs. "Your good cop, bad cop routine needs some balance. Did you know I was kidnapped today? Now this wine is a start but you'd better step it up, good cop." 

He started to walk away but she called out, "I got Nick, Z, and Murphy. Clocked 'Gus' by the name written on his underwear. Which one are you?" 

"Benny," he threw back, and disappeared into the nighttime traffic. 

"Benny," Rob scoffed. "Cute ass." 

Robb drank the equivalent of two glasses, then passed out from exhaustion. She slept dreamlessly and tried to forget last night had ever happened. Benny, in the meantime, returned to the office where his crew was huddled around a phone receiver. 

"Don't appreciate you throwing me under the bus, B," Nick growled from his seat. 

"Shup up and drink this," Benny pushed the glass of raw eggs closer to his boss' hand, a so called 'hangover cure'. Nick shrunk back a little.

"Told you she'd be sweet on him," Z elbowed Murphy in the ribs and ignored his protesting 'um actually I said that.' 

"Wouldn't call her sweet," Benny said, grunting as he took up residence at his own desk. "She looked like a feral cat." 

Nick laughed. "Yeah well don't go getting mixed up with that pussy, B, we've got work to do." 

It was gonna be another long night for everybody. 

[prophetwithaz]

Starlight (Obi-wan x reader)

a/n: the reader in the story is LEGAL. DO NOT clown in my inbox. i also haven't written fic since i was 13 so this is e h. i finally posted it after @milleniumvalcon hyped me up.

summary: Despite being worn out after work, Obi-wan senses your anxiety about your training, and comes to your quarters to make sure you're doing alright.

word count: 1.5k

————————————————————————

Obi-wan had had a long day. It seemed that at each turn, the day tore itself in two. The discussions among politicians made him sick. Despite the fact that he desired peace more than anything, he couldn't fathom any leader being able to willfully harm their own people. Tensions at the temple ran high. Too much to do, and too little time, as per usual.

All he wanted to do was to curl up in a ball and start a new day with some semblance of clarity. You felt the same, having spent the whole day training. You were drained, quite frankly, and you were tired of preparing for the trials every day. You wondered if in a few years you would even be good enough to face the council. Maybe being a jedi wasn't for you. Tossing and turning, you lie awake. Anxiety felt like television static: no particular feeling or thought, but all encompassing and overstimulating nonetheless.

Obi-wan could feel the disturbance in the force from the uneasiness. It made it difficult for him to relax, sensing the pain coming from just a few doors down, despite his heavy, aching eyes. So he did what he wished his colleagues would do more often and left his quarters to check on the padawan down the hall.

He had noticed how hard you pushed yourself. You held astounding skill with your saber, rivaling Anakin in many regards. Despite the strength of the force within you, you were never good enough for yourself, critiquing each mistake you make to the point of embarrassment. Obi-wan had noticed this, but never said anything out of fear of overstepping his boundaries as a master.

He opened the door to your quarters softly, trying not to startle you. He called out your name, pulling you out of your daze. "What are you still doing awake, young one?" he spoke.

"Why are you here?" you questioned. "You were working all day. I figured you'd be asleep as soon as you got to your quarters."

Obi-wan chuckled. "I sensed a disturbance in the force. It felt like you," he said, gently. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

You were shocked to say the least. You looked up to Obi-wan more than your own master. He was arguably the most talented of all of the jedi, Yoda be damned. That opinion was independently formed without any outside influence. Outside influence being the massive crush you had on him.

They were enigmatic, your feelings for him. Truly, it was the kind of thing philosophers tried to explain with frilly words and a certain softness, and in a way, they were right. You could never explain it in any way other than stardust glittering in your bones, burning your soul in the most pleasant way possible. You were so modest around him, knowing he was everything you weren't, and it led to the intense self-deprication you engaged in on the regular. You weren't patient or levelheaded. The lack of these qualities led to strong passion, leaving you on edge and in fear of turning to the dark side.

In the time you spent in your own thoughts, Obi-wan had seated himself beside you. "You always push yourself so hard," he started, "but I sensed great doubt in you, padawan." It felt as if he could peer into your soul when he looked you in the eye.

"I'm fine. You have more important things to do than be my therapist." It came out harsher than expected, but the message was all the same. He didn't need to treat you like a child.

"You aren't a bother," he said, moving closer. "I care about you more than you know-"

"I'm not even your padawan, so I don't see why you're so worried."

But the truth was, he thought about you all the time. How you put Anakin in his place in training. How you fight with a saber as if you were born with one in your hand. How you spin in the air when you fight, almost envying whoever the poor soul was that had to oppose you in combat. But over everything else, how you managed to be the most beautiful woman he had seen in his life, even with no makeup, hair pulled back tight, and sweating under the almost obnoxious weight of the jedi robes.

"You're the best of the padawans. You could kick Anakin's ass at any given chance. You give me hope for the next generation of jedi, and manage to smile while doing it all."

He spoke with a honey-like grace. The sweet words stuck to you like you had just dipped your hands in his soul. Obi-wan wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a warm embrace. He smelled like linen and home, wherever that was.

You pulled out of the hug. "That's the problem. Everyone thinks that except me. I still feel like that same scared little kid from Naboo I was way back when whenever I make a mistake. And the trials... Maker, I don't even know what I'll do about those."

"Darling," he started, "all in all, we're our own worst critics." He reached his hand out, "may I?" You nodded and he took your hand. "We look at our lives as if it has to live the greatest story ever told, when really, the only person who thinks that is ourself."

You gripped Obi-wan's hand tighter, tears welling in your eyes. Vulnerability wasn't anything you were used to, especially not in front of the masters. As far as you were concerned, you had to be perfect for them. His voice felt like the auditory equivalent of sunshine, and maybe, for a brief moment, it could balance out your storm.

"If you were supposed to just fight perfectly and follow orders, you might as well be a clone, sweetheart." He chuckled and put his arm around you. "Not to mention, you are much prettier than the clones."

You laughed and shook your head, "I wish you wouldn't lie to me like that, Master Kenobi."

"You are truly astounding, young one. I know you don't think that, and I know it'll be even harder for me to convince you of that, but I promise you are." You pressed yourself against his chest and let yourself cry. There was no reason not to by this point. He wasn't the type to gossip, and you couldn't remember the last time you had cried in front of anyone.

Obi-wan pulled you from his chest and looked you in the eye. You'd swear he was made of love, of starlight. "Don't cry, love," he spoke, gently brushing away the tears from beneath your eyes. Obi-wan kissed your forehead softly, brushing over the spot with his calloused finger tips. "You were made for this."

In a turn of events even you found shocking, you had locked your lips on his, your hands wrapping around his neck. Those calloused hands tangled themselves in your hair as his mouth swiftly took your breath away. You pulled apart, the air between you heavy and comforting. He gave you a giddy smile, stroking your hair while he gazed at you. In that moment, Obi-wan looked at you as if you had hung the moon, and for a brief moment, you yourself felt like you could have. The trials should be afraid of you, not the other way around. "You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that, really," he said.

You smiled and nodded, giving him a quick peck on the lips before leaning against him and falling back on to your bed. Obi-wan got comfortable, and you soon followed suit. It was late, and you were buzzing with happiness.

"I promise you, I meant what I said to you. Each and every word, starlight." His words pulled the biggest smile from your face as you snuggled closer to him, taking in all of Obi-wan Kenobi. His scent, his warmth, and the way his chest buzzed when he called you starlight.

You weren't sure how long it was or how many kisses it was until you had fallen asleep, but it was by far, the best night's sleep you had gotten in ages. The fact that you woke up with Obi-wan still next to you was the brilliant, loving icing on the cake. Technicalities could wait. You were beyond in love, and nothing could take that away from you. Not war, not fear, not the trials. You finally had someone worth holding on to.

So you did, you looked up to his peaceful expression, eyes still closed, and opted to go back to sleep, holding him like you were the only two people alive.

At that moment, you were.

[rockshortage]

I'm kind of curious as to how and when Hector realized the degree to which he's just... for lack of a better term, completely fucked up. Like the light sensitivity is obvious, but the limb thing? The fact that he's just not dying past a certain age? Did he spend the first 60+ years thinking he was an otherwise regular ass person? At what point do you realize that you're capital I Immortal, if not shockingly resilient? Did he hit 100 and think "damn I'm doing pretty good, I wonder why"?

Ok, so this might have come out a little jumbled because I just wrote things down as the ideas flowed and I’m too lazy right now to proof-read everything. But let me know if things don’t make sense and I can try and lay down the timeline a bit better.

He could make it to 100-something believing (or making himself believe) that maybe he’s misremembering his birth date, maybe he counted wrong a few times – it’s not like he ever put that much value into celebrating his birthday anyway – , so maybe he’s not as old as he thinks. Plus, some people just get to 100+ years of age and they still feel great! And perhaps the sun allergy has something to do with why he doesn’t look quite as old and saggy as you’d expect.

Basically, lots of excuses to push down the nagging thoughts that there’s something weird about him, up until he’s beyond even record-breaking life spans. That’s when he has to admit to himself that yeah, something isn’t right on a fundamental level. But he doesn’t know what, why, or how, so what’s he supposed to do about it? It’s like, the One Big Puzzle he can’t crack, the one big paradox. Everything in the world is based on science and logic to Hector, everything can be explained, so why the hell can’t he explain himself?? It’s frustrating, to say the least. So from Hector’s viewpoint: he doesn’t remember the details, it’s a mystery.

I’ve been playing around with a few ideas… one being that there is some kind of supernatural element to this after all, and Hector maybe has a hunch that there might be, but he’s too damn stubborn to accept it. Refuses to believe it, nope, this stuff doesn’t exist, no way. I’m not so attached to this idea though, it’s more fun as just an amusing ‘what if’ scenario. Plus, he can have this annoying hunch anyway, even if the actual truth is entirely based in science like he wants it to be.

What I’m more into is that his life’s work, more or less, was/is trying to find a cure for his sun allergy. And since his condition is so rare, and he’s not necessarily doing this as an ‘official’ scientist with colleagues, assistants, funding, etc., he just has to be his own test subject. Once science overall gets more advanced and Hector’s knowledge grows, he can maybe use certain jobs as a cover to further his own research. Off the top of my head, I can think of research in the field of lab-grown muscle tissue (i.e. artificially grown meat as a food source, 3D printed organs for patients in need of transplants), as well as cloning. It’s something that could give him pointers in terms of cell (re)generation, which is, in simplified terms, the underlying problem with the sun allergy – he can’t heal properly from DNA damage caused by UV light. Might be that he figured out something pretty good when it comes to cell regeneration in general, giving him his regenerative abilities, but it still couldn’t solve the issue with the DNA damage.

And, of course, all that also gives him ideas for the replacement of body parts. And since, like I said, he is his own test subject, all his experiments, trials and solutions are specifically tailored to him and his DNA. If, in the limb growing process, he used the stem cells of someone else and not his own, it might work for them or it might not. He’s never tried it, not like there were many opportunities or volunteers.

I don’t know if it’s obvious from the way I phrased it or not, but all that would have happened pre-war, during times of great scientific advancements. And when Hector had access to a proper, not post-apocalyptic lab environment. Post-war still has progress, but I’d say it’s more stagnant since the struggle to survive comes into the foreground. And those who do still make progress on a more significant scale (aka the Institute), keep everything to themselves. This time frame goes for the limb replacement at least – that one he likely would have figured out, let’s say, sometime in the one to two decades before the great war started. Because we can’t forget about danger MAAK, danger MAAK is a threat to all limbs and it makes sense that danger MAAK was constructed during times where advanced robots were commercially available to everyone who could afford one.

Of course, that’s way too late of a time to explain the weird aging and regenerating. This is again something I have a couple ideas for – one being more or less the same as above. I’ve mentioned it briefly, he figured something out for cell regeneration, which depending how you look at it is also anti-aging. But that would have had to happen in like… the 20th century, which is perhaps a bit early for that to be a possible thing to do with science.

Which brings me to the newest idea I’ve been playing with, thanks to your question about Hector’s actual age: the Cabots. They have this fancy serum derived from Lorenzo Cabot’s blood that basically makes them immortal, and were presumably developing/researching/improving it at roughly the same time Hector was trying to figure out his skin problem. I don’t think it’s too far fetched that there could have been some amount of cooperation with labs from overseas, and somehow Hector got his hands on a prototype or derivative of said serum. Alternatively, they could have been cooperating in a more direct manner, which Hector being just interested/desperate enough to at least try and keep an open mind about the whole pseudo-science aspect of this.

[curegbm]

Susan Foster info for health -

July 7, 2020

When I was a junior in college I went to school in Vienna. One of my friends was Martina Nicholson. She became an OB/GYN, and just retired last year. She has a colleague, Dr. Richard Loftus, who is a biohazard virology-trained hospitalist. In other words he is treating COVID-19 patients in the hospital. I've read a lot of these accounts and this is the most powerful one I've ever read. It makes you want to hand out masks to everyone who's not wearing one. I am going to print this and carry copies with me when I'm walking. I will hand this out to people who don't have masks. If anybody gives me a hard time for my post on masks, you will get a copy of Dr. Loftus' brilliant, raw, painful account of what it's like treating these patients. What really struck me is how sick young previously healthy patients are 3 – 4 months post release from the hospital. Please be careful. Do not, for one more second, doubt this is real.

From Martina Nicholson, MD:

From my friend Dr Rick Loftus, MD. yesterday (7/2/20), update about Covid-19:

I'm in a hotspot hospital in a hotspot region (Coachella Valley, Inland Empire, CA). We just converted the entire second floor of our hospital to COVID-19 care yesterday, July 1. We have 65 inpatients with COVID-19 in a hospital with 368 beds. It is the same at our other 2 hospitals in the Valley. We spent yesterday deciding the ethical way to divide up limited remdesivir (30 patients' worth) for the hospital patients. My 20 incoming interns for our IM resident were exposed to COVID 2 weeks ago during their computer chart training; apparently 100% of our computer trainers had COVID19. One intern tested positive 7 days later and I insisted we re-test them all again, as there are almost certainly other cases with minimal symptoms. I raided my household and took my entire supply of face shields to the hospital for the residents to wear on their first day, and I paid $1000 of my own money to equip all of my residents with medical-grade face shields. I require all residents to wear a surgical mask or N95 with face shield if they are within 6 feet of another human, patient or coworker.

Roughly 20% of our inpatients die. Only 30% of our ventilated patients survive. (We try to avoid ventilation at all costs. Some people insist on being full code and decompensate despite high flow with face mask, proning, dexamethasone, antibiotics, and a cocktail of famotidine, zinc, Vitamin D, Vitamin C, NAC, and melatonin--we throw everything we can at each case, so long as it won't hurt them.)

My administrative assistant, who sits adjacent to the interns, just went home with COVID symptoms. Her test is pending.

In the Southwest, we are experiencing catastrophic exponential growth. I have had multiple families--siblings, parent-child, spouses--admitted with COVID-19. I had a 31 year old come in satting 78% on room air; he had been sequestering himself in his bedroom for a week to avoid infecting his elderly parents, with whom he lived. His sister, the only person he saw outside his immediate household in the 10 days prior to onset of fever, cough, and dyspnea, had also had fevers but had tested "negative" at our other large hospital so he thought it was safe to visit her. (Sigh. The Quest PCR test is about 80% sensitive, we think--it had emergency approval to sensitivity data was not required. The Cepheid rapid COVID PCR test is 98.5% sensitive but is in short supply due to limited reagent availability.)

I'm glad some of you are sheltered from what unbridled COVID-19 looks like. It's a hell show. This is *July*. What do you think my hospital will look like in winter?...

This is real. Doctors in places with proper public health responses will see few cases in their hospitals--like UCSF--but let me tell you something: The laws of physics and biology don't change. If you're in an unaffected region, an introduction and poor governance and low use of physical distancing and masks will give you an exponential increase in no time flat (i.e. 2-4 weeks). That's pandemic math. And 20% of the population infected needs a hospital. You *will* run out of beds with an unbridled pandemic. There is almost ZERO pre-existing immunity to SARS-CoV-2. There may be some "priming" of T-cell responses due to exposure to other "benign" beta-coronaviruses, but we have no idea if that explains the 20-40% of people who seem to get minimal symptoms. Asymptomatic infected persons, however, can, and do, spread COVID to those who die from it.

By the way: I've seen scary looking CT scans of the lungs that look like terrible interstitial pneumonia in a patient who had ZERO symptoms and SaO2 94% on room air. She came in for palpitations and the intern overnight got a chest CT for cardiac reasons. We didn't know it was COVID until her test came back 36 hours later. So "asymptomatic" does NOT mean "no biological activity." The virus replicates furiously in people who feel fine. Kids can spread this as easily as grown ups, even if they feel okay.

Related: I've talked to two previously healthy patients ages 32 and 44 who are 3 and 4 months, respectively, post their acute COVID. They continue to have cough, nightsweats, fever, fatigue. How many survivors have "post-COVID syndrome"? We don't know. Less than 20% but we're not sure. I've asked my hospital to allow me to establish a post-COVID clinic to care for and study survivors. Both NIH and UW are planning similar efforts based on my dialogues with them.

Autopsies show anoxic brain injury in many patients who died of COVID, not to mention microthrombi throughout the lungs and megakaryocytes in massive infiltrations in their hearts and other organs. People get heart failure, lung fibrosis, and permanent kidney injury from COVID-19. This is a disease of the vascular systems, and it can affect any organ, with lungs and kidneys being especially at risk.

In early May, thanks to lockdown, our census of 55 came down to 10 COVID cases, and for a brief moment, I actually had hope that the worst nightmares I had about COVID, as a biohazard virology-trained hospitalist, would not come to pass. Then we re-opened, without test/trace/isolate systems anywhere close to adequate. Eight weeks ago my county decided to make masks "optional," despite 125 doctors begging them not to do that. Now we're worse than we were in April. And it's getting worse every day.

You wanna see if COVID is real? Come walk on my COVID ward with me. It's real. Hearing people talk about it as if it's an exaggeration is, well, rage-inducing, honestly. Denial is the most common reaction to a pandemic. Denial is how the US will wind up with 1.1 million deaths instead of 30,000. I saw AIDS denialists get killed by their belief that HIV "isn't real, it's a pharma conspiracy of the medical industrial complex." Yeah, right, if you say so. I watched patients with those beliefs die.

The hardest part about this is, every new case I treat exposes me. I have assiduous hot zone technique. But no technique is bulletproof. If you keep exposing me to case after case, eventually, the virus will get through my defenses. I'm a 50 year old hypertensive. I don't expect to do well if I get infected. For now, I keep going to work. I'm one of the few pushing forward on COVID clinical trials, basic science, public health messaging, and diagnostic studies at my hospital. I feel a responsibility to keep going. I wake up with nightmares every morning at 4am. But I'm going to keep going for now. I feel very alone a lot of the time. People are not taking this seriously, and it's costing lives. -R

"Everything we do before a pandemic will seem alarmist. Everything we do after a pandemic will seem inadequate. This is the dilemma we face, but it should not stop us from doing what we can to prepare. We need to reach out to everyone with words that inform, but not inflame. We need to encourage everyone to prepare, but not panic." — Michael O. Leavitt, 2007

--

Richard A. Loftus, MD

"Never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and lying and greed. If people all over the world...would do this, it would change the earth." --William Faulkner