#It only takes two weeks of no doctor for all the pain to fucking floor me

[hellfire--cult]

Omega!Steve Harrington x Alpha!Fem!Reader

wc: 6.8k

+18, omegaverse, knotting, virgin!omega, established relationship, late presentation, secondary gender as mentioned, smut, p in v, breeding kink, heat, rut, blood mention, pain mention

plot: You and Steve have been dating since high school, but even in your twenties the two of you haven't presented yet. You were afraid that your presentations wouldn't be what you expected, you an Omega, he an Alpha... but there was one possibility the two of you never thought of.

a/n: Do not read this if you are not into omegaverse. seriously. don't.

if you liked this thing, reblog ok? ok

UNEXPECTED

“We’re twenty-two and we still haven’t presented. It’s fucking stupid baby. Dustin is already showing Alpha traits.”

You looked at Steve with a smile on your face, shaking your head at him.

“Look, maybe we’re supposed to be Betas, which is amazing actually Stevie. You know presentation develops between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five.” You said as you sat at the end of his bed, legs crossed underneath you. He was leaning against the headboard, with his glasses over his face and suddenly he winced, making you jerk up in alarm, crawling towards him.

“Fuck… I really don’t want to go to the doctor. They will probably take my stupid appendix out.” You rolled your eyes at his words, but the worry was slowly consuming you as you groaned at him.

“Steve, you have to go to the doctor babe. You have been what– having these pains for the past week?” He waved you off with no importance and he moved to swing his legs off the bed, his feet touching the floor. You noticed a bead of sweat on his forehead and you knew that he was sick because you felt under the weather too.

“You can’t keep staying with me in quarantine. I bet you’re not even sick.” 

“Really? Last time I checked we both had a fucking fever, so yeah, you got me sick. No pain though.” That was a lie. You were for sure not feeling like Steve was, but you were feeling weird. There were certain pains in your belly, but it might just be your period, that was supposed to come like two weeks ago.

You took a pregnancy test, but it came out negative. You were gonna go to a gyno last week, only to fall ill at the same time as Steve had. You cursed at him for it, but the moment you saw how pained he was you didn’t want to tell him you felt weird too. His pain was greater, and you didn’t want him to hurt anymore. 

“I should have a cold shower. I just feel fucking hot.” You knew the illness wasn’t the only thing on his mind. You reached out to rub his face so he would look at you. “I– I mean, if we are Betas, shouldn’t we feel that?” 

“I don’t know…” You gulped at the uncertainty and he leaned towards you to place a soft kiss on your lips, a sigh following right after from his throat.

“I just wanted to be an Alpha. I wanted to have pups, your pups… I mean, what if something’s wrong with us?” He looked at you with a worried look on his face, and in the relationship you were always the one that reassured him of stuff, knowing how much confidence he was lacking. You pushed a strand of his hair behind his ear and pressed another soft kiss on his lips.

“Nothing is wrong with us. We will be Betas, and it will be harder to conceive, but it’s not impossible, baby. It’s not.” 

“I mean…” You could hear the worry in his tone, the fear. “What if… Never mind, I’m gonna go shower. Do you want to go with me?” He gave you a small smile and you sighed, shaking your head.

“No Stevie, go clear your thoughts a bit, okay?” You pressed a small kiss to his shoulder and he nodded, getting up from the bed. You looked at him as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. You sighed with worry as you looked out the window.

You knew what he was scared of. What if the both of you turn out the same? Jonathan had turned into an Omega, which is extremely rare. The weirdest thing of all, was Billy Hargrove presented as an Alpha, and he couldn’t contain himself around Jonathan, courting him with gifts. Nancy broke up with Jonathan so he could be happy, knowing the Omega boy needed his Alpha. Nancy presented as a Beta and now remains single.

If you two presented the same, your relationship would be hard to keep. Or if you presented as an Omega and he a Beta, or the other way around, he an Alpha and you a Beta… You shivered at the thought, anger surging through you. Steve was yours and only yours. You would lock him up with you if you needed to. No one can take him away from you.

No one.

Your nose twitched barely, taking a scent in. What is that? Didn’t Steve say he was taking a shower? Why is he baking cookies? Or a cake? Why is it so strong? Did he overdo it with vanilla essence? But there is also some chocolate smell? A hint of it? 

You got up from the bed only for a strong pain to fall in between your legs. You wanted to yell in pain but you didn’t want to alarm Steve at all so you bit onto your lips as you clenched your legs as tight as you could… But fuck, that made it worse, so you reopened them. Your breaths turned heavy as you felt sweat all over your forehead, and another hit of strong pain fell again in your lower part.

You were growing hot as well, but you needed to know what was going on under there. You should have gone to the gyno no matter what, and now it might be too late. Too late for what?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You were groaning profanities and you felt a rumble in your chest, but you only focused on the pain between your legs. You rushed to take off your pants and you were instantly alarmed by what you were seeing. Your white cotton panties were straining you. There was a bulge. There was a fucking bulge, and it hurt, it was hurting you.

You winced as you tried taking the panties off and you rushed to look into a mirror, only for your eyes to widen like plates. Now you know why it hurt. Your vaginal cavity closed… It closed because your clit reinserted itself… 

So it would enlarge, and now you had– now you had–

One last pain hit you as it all finally came out of you, and there it was, standing in its full glory. You raised your hand to touch the tip of it only for electricity to surge all over your body, a moan escaping your lips without your permission. It was red, leaking already, and your breathing was heavy as you looked at it.

You were an Alpha. You presented as an Alpha.

Your clit turned into a penis, your ovaries turned into testicles inside your body. Your uterus was not functional any longer. You were a full-fledged Alpha. Those were the pains inside your belly, your organs completely changing, rearranging… 

Pains.

Pains. Steve had also been experiencing pain. Oh no… No, no, no… A growl escaped your throat and you were surprised at the new sound, but you were proud, as if it were right. But Steve– He might turn into an Alpha–

Your nose picked up the sweet scent once more, this time stronger than before, way stronger and you were hit by a wave of fire all over your body. Your body was a literal furnace right now, and your mind was becoming foggy, hazy, and you were getting dizzy, but your new cock twitched in attention, in pain, already leaking precum out of it. 

You were going into rut.

You had to get out of Steve’s house, there was an Omega in heat somewhere, maybe a neighbor of Steve’s, but you can’t be here. You might jump Steve, and you don’t want him to see you like this. He won’t like it. It’s over. It’s over, you know that much, but first you need to get out.

You groaned, and growled, as you rushed to get your pants, not caring about using the panties again, they would only cause you more pain. The sweet vanilla hit you again, dizzying you completely, making you hold onto the wall next to you. 

Fuck, you needed relief, you needed it, but you had to run. You can’t do it here. Maybe you can run into another room and lock yourself in, yell to Steve to leave so you could take care of yourself, somehow, but you were losing rationality at every second that passed. 

You pushed yourself off the wall and turned around to run out, only for you to stop in your tracks. Your eyes widened as the scent filled the room, intoxicating you, suffocating you, making you feel high. It hit you instantly, like a punch on the chest, and the throbbing below you increased by a thousand, a growl rumbling in your throat.

Steve was standing in the doorway, naked, completely. Your mouth salivated at seeing him in his new glory. His cock shrinking into a cocklette, his balls not visible any longer because where they were before now probably is a slit. A slit that was leaking slick all over the inner thighs of his legs.

His face was flushed, red even, and you noticed how less buffed he was. You assumed it had been the lack of food or nutrients or exercise from doing quarantine these past days. Suddenly your ears perked up when they caught the subtle noise of a whine. You could smell him. Fuck, you could smell him.

“S-Steve–” Your voice was hoarse, with need, and you noticed how he looked down at your new anatomy. You noticed how his body trembled slightly at the sight, another whine escaping him as more slick fell down his inner thighs. Another jolt of electricity rushed all over your body, your veins. 

“A–A–” He was trying to speak to you, but his mind was gone, his need apparent, his consciousness having slipped already, and all he needed was relief. All he wanted was you. You who were emanating a wildfire scent in his room. You who now had something he needed. You who is looking at him like a small bunny, and he is rejoicing at it.

Oh fuck…

As soon as he had entered the shower he felt the pain even greater than before. He didn’t want to show it to you, but he knew his cock had shrunk in the past few days. He didn’t want to think so much about it because the fever prevented him from getting out of bed or his house. Now in the shower, he can feel the pain of something moving below him.

He looked down under the water to see his testicles disappearing into his body, and he noticed just how small his dick was. He couldn’t think much about it because another jolt of excruciating pain hit him, making him lean against the wall, the cold shower not doing anything for him.

He felt his insides ripping inside out, and he just wanted to bite onto something so he wouldn’t scream in order to not alarm you. The wood-like scent was not helping him either, and he knew an Alpha might be close. Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck. Suddenly his eyes widened when he felt something hot, sticking coming down his thighs. He reached a hand down to see it was slick that he could gather up, even under the water.

He was in shock as he looked at it, and he moved his hand between his thighs again, this time deeper, just where his balls were a minute ago. His breath cut off when he felt a slit that wasn’t there before. Something that sent a wave of pleasure all over his body and he felt more of his juices slipping out of him. His breathing was heavy as he realized what happened.

He was in heat. He was in an Omega heat.

He is an Omega. He presented as an Omega. What is gonna happen with you? What is going to happen between the two of you? What is gonna happen to your relationship? How can he face you? This was not supposed to go this way at all. 

“FUCK!” His thoughts were interrupted when a hit of pain slammed against his belly after the wooden smell invaded his whole body. He needed to follow it. He needed to find the source of it. He was losing consciousness and he knew that his lust and his heat were becoming worse each second, clouding his mind from reason. 

He at least needs to get to the room, but you were there. You were in the room. He cannot let you see him like this, but he needs to lock himself up somewhere. He turned the shower off, stumbling out of it and almost falling to his knees. There was no time for a towel. He needed to run. 

He opened the door with a slam and turned to go to his parent’s bedroom only to stop on his tracks. He sniffed the air, and he realized the wooden smell was coming from his room. Did an Alpha enter his home? No, you were here, you would have yelled, but what if– Worry and desperation yelled into his throat, whines vibrating in his chest as he rushed to the room, only to stop to see you looking at yourself in the mirror. The bottom half bare.

And Steve took a deep breath in.

The smell was coming from you. You were an Alpha.

And now you two were staring at one another, taking in the new anatomy of each other, and Steve’s eyes were dilated, almost black and you could smell the slick falling onto the floor. It felt as if an animal wanted to rip open from your body, but you knew it was you. You wanted to devour Steve, your–

“Omega.” Your voice came out, deeper than before, an appreciative snarl mixing with your words. Steve felt relief wash over him as a happy chirp escaped him.

“Alpha… My Alpha.” And that was enough for something to snap inside of you. You shrugged your shirt off, and you heard the ripping sound but didn’t care that you just broke something, you needed to feel his entire body against yours. You need to taste him. You need to have him. 

You need to knot him. You need to knot Steve. 

In just seconds you were in front of him, grabbing onto the back of his neck to pull him downwards towards you so you could dig your nose into his scent gland, taking in the intense sweet smell coming off of him. It was a drug, intoxicating even, clouding every sense and making Steve your only life source. 

Steve wasn’t far behind. As soon as you dipped in, he nuzzled you as well, the omega inside him relishing with a chirp as he felt his Alpha scenting him. No rationality was inside of you two any longer, just the need to feel one another, of mating, bonding, an animal trying to rip out of your chests.

“I need to taste you, baby, I need to.” You say in a hoarse voice, the scent of his slick making your mind reel in and out of consciousness, of rationality, trying to keep an ounce of yourself to take care of him. It’s his first time after all, yours too, but you know how much more shocking it would be for him. You were trying to keep that in your head so that you wouldn’t lose yourself into the rut.

“Please, please, do something Alpha, it hurts– Please–” You heard Steve’s whines and pleads, and his eyes filled with tears of desperation as he writhed under your hold. You weren’t going to say no to your lovely Omega, much less if he is in pain. 

You wrapped your hands around the back of his neck in order to pull him down towards your lips, ending in a wanton kiss from the both of you, moans being exchanged as the electric current traveled all over your veins and sat on your bones. Your fingers dug into his scalp, grabbing onto his hair to push him deeper into you.

He was in between moaning and whimpering as his arms wrapped around your waist, trying to feel you against him, and a groan escaped your throat when your new appendage pressed against the belly of your mate. The groan turned into a growl as you bit Steve’s lower lip in need and your Omega gasped, letting you take advantage and slide your tongue into his mouth so you could intertwine it with his.

You felt your body growing needier and needier, and Steve was in the same or worse state as you. He was willing to surrender completely and you knew that. You had to remind yourself to not lower your voice into your submission chords. You don’t want Steve to do anything he doesn’t want to, so you have to be the one rational between the two of you.

Your hand traveled in between the two of you, and you brushed your fingertips at Steve’s new cocklette, still standing proud. He hissed with a moan as you rubbed on it, stimulating him and Steve had to pull away from the kiss to take a breath. It was something new, completely. It didn’t quite feel like when he was touched before, it felt more like a pressure now. 

“You like that Stevie?” You asked him as you ran your fingers against him, making him twitch as he nodded desperately. You smiled at how needy your sweet Omega was being, how much he was moving underneath your grip as stroked him. You bit your lips as you pulled away from him to guide him towards the bed. 

You could see how pink his skin was, despite the tan on his body you could still see it. He moved quickly onto the bed, laying on his back and opening his legs to let the air hit him where it burnt the most, causing him to sigh in relief, but not noticing how you gasped as you looked in between his legs.

“Baby? Alpha?” He opened his eyes in confusion as he looked down, his eyes widening when he saw the predatory look in your eyes as you looked at the new slit he now has instead of his testicles. That only made him gush more slick out, moaning at the feeling. The Omega inside of him was happy that his Alpha wanted him like this.

You took a deep breath in, and the sweet scent of vanilla sent another shockwave in your brain cells that only made you tremble as the heat in your body became even more unbearable and the hardness of your dick was now painful, but if you didn’t taste Steve right this second you were going to die.

You lunged yourself on the bed, belly down and in between Steve’s legs. Your nose was close to his center and you closed your eyes and a low purr was heard from you as you took a deep breath in. Steve felt how his slick was coming down and probably dirtying the sheets already, but he didn’t have it in him to care, not right now. 

“You smell delicious… Your Alpha will take care of you baby, don’t worry.” You cooed at him in a low tone and Steve whined in need as you inched closer to him. He needed something, anything at all because he felt his belly turning in pain, the need to be knotted too present.

“Please– Hurry–” And his breath was cut off, his head falling back as you licked a long stripe of his new and virginal cunt, tasting his slick and you moaned at the sweetness of it. He was exquisite, and he was yours, only yours. 

He moaned as he felt your tongue sliding in between his folds, up and down, and then his eyes widened when your tongue went inside, and he felt his gut turning, his belly tensing, not knowing what the feeling was. 

Your left hand was holding his right inner thigh to hold him still and open for you, but the right one left his leg in order for your fingers to rub against his entrance, lubricating them with his new juices. You felt him shiver under your touch and you soothed him with a kiss to his inner thigh and a purr.

“You need to relax for me Stevie, I don’t want you in pain Omega.” Steve whined at the authority yet more slick gushed out knowing his Alpha wanted to take care of him like this and so much. His Omega was at peace, happy, chirping all around and he felt himself relax as you slowly pushed a single digit inside. 

He gasped but yet a moan escaped him despite the stretch and surprise. It was a new feeling that’s for sure, but it felt good, it felt really good, and it wasn’t enough.

“M-More–”

“Patience.” 

Your tone gave away that you were not going to let him take the lead in this. You need to prepare him or else you will tear your Omega apart. Steve whined a little bit only to be replaced by a moan as you started moving the digit in and out of him at a slow pace. You noticed the more time you kept thrusting, the more slick started coming out, which was a good sign.

You were on a thin rope right now though. You don’t even know how you’re managing it, but it must be because your love for Steve goes beyond the designation of the secondary gender. You’ve been together since high school, and you don’t see a future where he is not present. On every road, Steve is there.

You could hear the wet sounds of Steve’s juices as your finger pumped him, and it was time for a bigger stretch, so you slowly started moving another one in. You felt Steve clench as a small gasp escaped him, so you wanted him to relax even more, to get lost in the sensation. You licked your lips in order to wet them and you guided your mouth to take his cocklette into your mouth with ease. 

“OH– FUCK–!” He couldn’t believe how much he was feeling at the moment. The pleasure and the relief of finally getting something, anything at all. His belly felt on fire as it relaxed and contracted again as your fingers pumped in and out of him. Your tongue swirled around his cocklette and your fingers slowly curled up inside of him, making Steve feel something new.

You chuckled as his moans became needier, knowing you hit that new spongy part inside of him, the one you know quite well. You could feel his hand raising to get hold of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as his hips started grinding against your face and fingers. He had drool falling from the side of his mouth and his face looked completely flushed and sweaty from how hot everything just felt. 

“Feels good?” You asked him as you popped his cocklette out of your mouth just to make sure the sounds you’re hearing are all good. His safety comes first, even before your own pleasure. Your dick can remain as hard as a rock if Steve decided to stop now. You can relieve yourself somehow, away from him, but Steve will always come first and foremost.

“Yes! Yes! Please–!” You’ve never heard Steve this way, and it was becoming your own situation even harder to keep. You growled in satisfaction as your fingers picked up the pace and your mouth returned to his cocklette, swirling your tongue all around it as Steve thrashed under you, his hips bucking up to meet your mouth and fingers.

His belly felt weird, it was tight, and it pained him, and then it didn’t. You felt his walls clenching on your fingers and you knew he was close. His moans were louder and his cries with your name vibrated all around the room, the walls shaking with his noises. You decided to then introduce another finger in, sliding it easily thanks to the wetness and Steve saw stars. You popped your mouth away from him in order to talk with a smirk on your face–

“Cum for me Omega. Cum.”

And that’s Steve’s doom as he felt his entire belly tense up, he felt his insides and his new walls clench around your fingers as he cried loudly in pleasure, his hips raising from the bed as your fingers squelched even more thanks to how much he was giving you. Your mouth wrapped around his cocklette once more in order to take in the squirt coming out of there.

“ALPHA!” You growled at the taste and the sound of his needy voice calling for you. You started to slow down your pace with your fingers as you felt him unclench you, relaxing his body back down onto the bed. You licked up his cocklette, making him twitch at every lick from the overstimulation.

Steve didn’t know where he was. He felt everything on fire and not at the same time, but what he knew was that even if he came, the pain in his belly was still there. He needs to give his Alpha some pleasure, he can’t be selfish, and he needs to move.

But before he could, you were already lapping at his slit, making him moan with a wince as you licked up all of the juices he gushed out with his orgasm. You moaned into his cunt at the sweetest thing you’ve ever tried. If you were to die there, you would die a happy woman. 

“So delicious Stevie, you’re so beautiful…” You moaned out with a purr and you heard a small chirp coming from Steve, but then you felt him pulling your head up from in between his legs so you could look at his glossy eyes and red cheeks.

“Alp– Alpha– I need you, I– I want to do something to you too–” You shook your head at him as you crawled away from him. He whined at the loss of contact but you could only chuckle at how needy your Omega was.

“I love you Stevie, but– I don’t have the patience right now to do anything else but knot you and mate you.” Your voice was low but not demanding. He knew it was a question and your Omega happily submitted as he rolled over to lay on his tummy and you tilted your head in confusion at it but your eyes widened when he raised his ass up, presenting himself to you. He turned his head that was still on the mattress, his eyes completely dilated for you.

“Please– Knot me Alpha– I need it, I need you baby–” A growl rumbled in your chest, and you grabbed onto your new girth, stroking it in slow motions, making you moan out at the new sensation. You looked at Steve’s slit, clenching and unclenching as he waited for you. You positioned yourself behind him and you didn’t know if what you were doing was correct, this was all new to you as well, but it was all out of pure instinct.

You took a deep breath in as you tentatively ran the head of your cock through Steve’s wet folds and you groaned at the feeling of it. You took a deep breath in as you cupped Steve’s sex in order to wet your hand in his wetness and then you stroke yourself some more to lubricate your cock. 

“Ready for me Omega?” You asked in a soft tone, but Steve could hear the strain behind it as if you were holding yourself back and he smiled fondly because you were taking care of him so he wouldn’t feel weird or in pain. He nodded against the mattress as he wiggled his ass towards you again.

“Yes, please, I need your knot sweetheart…” You took a deep breath in and you guided your cock into Steve’s entrance and you slowly started to push in. Your eyes clenched at the feeling of Steve clenching around you, his walls burning but it felt good. It was definitely a good burn.

Steve’s eyes were wide as he felt himself being stretched open, the pressure making it burn but the feeling of finally having you inside of him overlapped the pain completely. He whimpered as he felt you going deeper, and he was so happy, so happy that his chirps and purrs were coming out of nowhere, not being able to control himself.

“Fuck!” You bottomed out inside of him, and you were breathing heavily because holy shit… This felt right, different but right. You leaned forward and you managed to kiss his shoulder because your frame was still smaller than his. “You okay baby?”

“Uh– Uh huh… It feels so good, so fucking good…” He was becoming something he always called you whenever he fucked into you. Cock drunk. Now he knows the feeling of it, and fuck does he love it. Only because it’s you.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up, darling?” Steve clenched at that, making you groan and then chuckle at how spot-on you were. You tentatively moved your hips backward, Steve taking a deep breath in before you moved back in. You kept that slow tortuous pace for a while, but you wanted Steve to adjust to you.

Steve was already in another state of mind, moaning louder at every thrust that you gave him and then he started moving his hips towards yours, looking for more friction, for more roughness. You growled at his impatience and you pressed his upper back to pin him down so he wouldn’t move anymore. 

He whined, complaining for not getting his way, only for his eyes to widen as your hips started moving faster, snapping into his, and Steve was surprised by how everything just kept feeling better and better. He could feel you going in and out of him in a place that was giving him so much pleasure, more than he ever had before.

Your hands gripped onto his hips as your rationality started to slip away, feeling a primal urge to make him submit, to make him yours, and you needed to ruin him. Your fingers dug into his skin as you raised your body up, kneeling straight behind Steve, and you started pulling his hips towards you in a harsh manner as you thrust into him.

“Alpha– Alpha– I’m gonna, I’m–” Steve was surprised by how fast he was getting close to the edge again, but he was in a presentation heat. He was sensitive to everything that was being done to him, so his walls started clenching once again, and his belly contracted and tightened. You never stopped snapping your hips against his, growls rumbling in your chest as you felt his pleasured whimpers. 

“Cum for your Alpha, let go Stevie…” You cooed at him, wanting to feel him clench around your cock and your eyes widened when he did, a loud cry of your name escaping his lips against the mattress beneath him. Oh, this was new, this was… exquisite. It felt as if he were milking you as if he were trying to suck you in. 

You felt something inside your belly tighten, and you knew it must be your testicles that were inside of you, warning you that you were coming close. You didn’t get to have him much, but it was expected since it is both of your first times with your new presentations, but you will get one more orgasm out of him. You will.

Once you finally felt Steve unclench you, you pulled out of him, making the Omega whine in distress but not having the energy to get up to look at you. You made Steve turn and land on his back so you could face him. You smiled in satisfaction as you saw tears rolling down his cheeks, and you leaned down to kiss them away.

“Baby…” Steve was breathing heavily, his eyelids closing but the pain was still there. He needed the knot. His Omega needed your knot.

“I know… I know…” And you positioned yourself in between his legs, a position that was always the other way around, but this time it felt more appropriate than ever. You guided yourself into his entrance once again and you kissed him softly on the lips as you thrusted back in again. 

Steve whined in your mouth, a noise of satisfaction escaping him as he felt full once more. He wrapped his legs around your waist, and his arms around your shoulders to pull you closer to him. You smiled onto his lips as you started moving in and out of him once again. 

You took your time, chasing that high that you felt before and something was way different down there. You were feeling something inside of your cock, something that was burning you and you felt extreme heat below. You looked down to see what was wrong, and your eyes widened when a knot started forming at the base of your shaft.

It started hitting against Steve’s opening, trying to intrude, and Steve gasped as he felt it, but he was now desperate for it, trying to chase it so you would start pushing it inside of him so you two would be locked. 

“Give me your pups– Mate me, mate me, please–” He was begging, he needed you so he didn’t have any shame, that could wait for later on, but right now he needed to be locked with you. He needed to be full of you. You moaned as you nodded as you started rutting into him at a fast pace, quick, hard, and the base of your cock started swelling even more, making it almost impossible to thrust back out and you didn’t want to hurt Steve.

So you slammed yourself in and you ground into him, making Steve’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he kept whimpering and crying out your name in moans. He was feeling that spongy part inside of him being hit with no mercy and he was in bliss with it. His cocklette twitched and twitched and he heard you growling so he connected his eyes with yours.

Your teeth were bared almost, breathing heavily as you towered over him, looking down at his bonding gland with intent. Steve nodded desperately at you, and that was all the confirmation you needed in your mind. You leaned down as you felt your knot forming inside of Steve and he whined as the burning returned because of the new stretch.

And then you felt yourself finally release into him, in thick white ropes, and your knot locked in as Steve clenched his walls in his own orgasm, his body shaking as you kept cumming because of how tightly he was holding you in. You growled loudly as you moved your mouth towards the juncture in between his neck and shoulder, over his mating gland.

And you pierced through it with your teeth, biting down.

Steve cried out because of the pain but then warmth invaded his whole body, something clicking inside him, and he smiled widely as he looked at the ceiling. He was bonded to you. He was your mate. Forever. You two were going to be together for the rest of your lives. He can’t wait to have pups, he knew that his presentation heat was not fertile, but maybe the next one…

“Stevie, don’t clench.” You hissed out, making Steve snap out of his thoughts as you raised up from the crook of his neck, and you wiped your mouth away that had some of Steve’s blood mixed with your drool. He was drowsy almost as he looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes.

“My Alpha…” Your eyes connected with his and you smiled fondly, nodding to him as you leaned to give him a soft kiss on the lips. You remained on top of him as he hugged you close, both still locked in, and you might be for a long while. 

You two regained your breaths slowly, not talking so your minds could also try to come down from the high of your rut and his heat. Five minutes later, you were still locked into him, and he tried to not clench many times so you wouldn’t get overstimulated. He was rubbing circles on your back as you laid your head on his chest, a smile on your lips.

“How are you feeling baby?” You asked as you raised your head up to look at him. He blinked towards the ceiling a few times, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“Ask me tomorrow?” You giggled at that and nodded, understanding that this was still something that you two needed to digest first because this possibility was never in your mind, nor his. But… “You know… it makes sense now that I think about it.”

You frowned and looked at him again.

“What do you mean?”

“I was always maternal. I always took care of the pups, and my biggest dream is to have my own, as many as I can…” He chuckled as he realized that if he had paid a little more attention he would have figured out his secondary gender long ago.

“Okay, yeah, I want pups too–” 

“You were always protective… You were territorial, of me, of the pups, of your parents… Always protecting everyone, and putting your pain aside to take care of everyone else…” He looked at you and you realized he had caught onto you, but you still lied, shaking your head at him.

“No, that’s not true–”

“So you’re telling me you didn’t feel weird this past week? You’re telling me that you didn’t feel any kind of pain?” He asked and you looked at him with a small growl in order for him to not ask anything anymore, but it didn’t work because he rolled his eyes at you, making you sigh.

“I did. But you were in greater pain, so I needed to take care of you first.” You said matter-of-factly, and the puzzle made sense in your head now. He raised an eyebrow at you with a small smile as he saw you realize what he meant. You sighed and gave him a nod to let him know you understood his point and then you felt his finger on your chin so you could look up at him.

“I want your pups… Please?” His eyes were glossy, desperate, and you knew he was reassuring you that he didn’t care about how things turned out, and you didn’t either. You would have never. You smiled at him and nodded, giving him a soft peck on his lips.

“Next time… we’ll make sure it takes.”

And Steve chirped in delight.

end

a/n: i woke up one morning thinking about omegaverse and wondering why i never read a single alpha reader fic involving male characters. sometimes we are the ones to rail.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington omegaverse #omegaverse #omega!steve harrington #alpha!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #female reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfiction #steve x you #steve x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #steve harrington fanfic #st fic

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to. 

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free. 

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least. 

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both. 

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics. 

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms. 

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open. 

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.” 

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ‘stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole. 

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open. 

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such. 

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before. 

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side. 

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you. 

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor. 

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect. 

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer. 

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully. 

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers. 

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor. 

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane. 

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area. 

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get  to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

#ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #pedro pascal #prospect fanfiction

[floralpascal]

Could You?

Summary: Having survived your bullet wound, you and Ghost both face the consequences of your deepening relationship as Ghost grapples with the impact of almost losing you. (Set right after the events of Nightmare)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: reader was hit by a bullet, medical talk, canon-level violence, talk of death, secret relationship, mentions of smut, some hurt/comfort

A/N: Thanks to everyone who requested this chapter! Hope you all enjoy!

Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

Ghost knew pain. He could handle the bite of the feeling, no matter how intense or prolonged. He had never hit a breaking point from it. 

But guilt? It cut deeper than normal pain. Guilt was a nebulous feeling - an affliction of the psyche that was impossible to stop and damn near inescapable. It gnawed at him from the inside out, like a poison running in his veins. It haunted his every thought and even found him in sleep. The pain of guilt was damn near unbearable. 

Two weeks. You had been in the hospital for two goddamn weeks. For a while, it had been touch-and-go, your situation fluctuating from dire to stable to dire again as the doctors worked to repair the damage from your gunshot wound. A few days after the incident, they had put you in a medically-induced coma. 

Ghost picked at the peeled plastic leather on the armrest of his chair. He scratched his nail under the dried edge of the plastic and pulled, snapping another bit of it off before flicking the flake to the floor absentmindedly. Then, he began the process again with a new section of the material. As the days had worn on, he had slowly torn a gaping hole into the covering. Each day, the hole in the armrest grew wider, just as the hole in his chest did. 

You laid in the bed in front of his chair, tubes and wires crisscrossing over your body. Your face held none of the defining characteristics of sleep that he had come to know. Instead of peaceful, you looked distressed, your eyebrows now pinched even in sleep. A shade of gray now clung to you, almost as if you were sick. 

“Simon.” 

Ghost looked to the door of your room, following the deep, gravelly voice to a disgruntled Price. He stood in the doorway, his eyes trained on Ghost. He wore simple camouflage fatigues, a change from the last time Ghost had seen him in your hospital room. Ghost also noticed that Price had trimmed his beard since then, as well. 

How long ago had that been? 

“I told you to get out of here,” Price grumbled.

“‘n I told you I’m fine.”

Price let out a huff of air before he moved closer. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Price looked tired and solemn. He eyed the flakes strewn around the hard linoleum at Ghost’s feet. “Why’re you here? Why’re you doin’ this to yourself?”

Ghost leaned back in his chair, eyes falling back to where you laid. He couldn’t hold Price’s gaze anymore. Price was a quick, calculating man and Ghost was sure that it wouldn’t take more than a few missteps on his part to guess exactly why this really hit Ghost so hard. With the mask and his usual stoic demeanor, he already had a guard against the Captain’s incredible gift for reading people. But Price had adapted, learning instead to read Ghost only by his eyes. 

Lying wouldn’t do. Price would see straight through him if he did. He’d have to give him the truth, just not the entire truth. “This happened on my watch. This is on me, Cap.”

It felt like only yesterday that Ghost had been sitting in a hospital bed just like yours warning you not to get hurt on his watch. Not when you were putting yourself on the line for him. It was a bit of sick irony now that you laid in this bed after taking a bullet for him - irony he wasn’t fond of at all. 

He couldn’t tell Price that you had been in Ghost’s bed only a few nights before that mission. That Ghost had fucked you slowly then, his forehead pressed to yours as he unraveled you. It was the most intimate he had ever been with you. Usually when you fucked, it was hard and fast. Feelings were there, only covered by rough desperation, but this was different. It had been something soft and vulnerable, something that was more than just sex. A wall had broken between the two of you, one that had held you both back from admitting that this was an actual relationship. 

Ghost had long stopped ignoring the fact that he had strong feelings for you, but now he was finding that those feelings had no discernible bottom. The deeper he fell for you, the deeper those feelings ran.

Maybe if Price knew all that, he would understand. But Price couldn’t know. If he did, he would be obligated to report that his Lieutenant had started a relationship with his Sergeant, a subordinate. The fallout would be disastrous. 

“You were watchin’ each other’s six,” Price asserted, his voice even and insistent. Ghost could tell that he was trying to be the voice of reason for him, a role the Captain played well. Even if Price didn’t know exactly why, he could see that what happened to you was eating Ghost alive. “You both did your jobs. Sometimes shit happens and good people get hurt.”

Ghost shook his head. “I’m her superior, my job is to keep her safe. It’s the same thing with the others - Soap and Gaz. I should’a been better than that.”

Ghost had replayed that moment in his mind a million times over. If only he would’ve been better, then maybe he would’ve noticed the gunman’s hiding spot or reacted quicker to take him down. If Ghost had just been better, you might have never gotten hurt.

Price sighed, scratching at the side of his beard as he turned his eyes to you. “Shit like this is never easy when you’re in charge, Simon. You know as well as I do that blamin’ yourself is a dangerous game to play. The only thing you can do is learn from it ‘n move on. I know you two are close but tha’s no reason to sit here torturin’ yourself.”

Ghost bit back a scornful chuckle. If only Price knew how close you truly were. If only he knew that seeing you like this made him feel like the armrest of the chair he sat in - slowly being picked apart piece by piece. 

“Styx is gonna pull through. Go get some rest,” Price said resolutely. 

“Sir-”

“Tha’s an order, Lieutenant,” Price barked. “Out.” Reluctantly, Ghost stood and walked towards the door. As he passed him by the doorway, Price called over his shoulder, “You saved her life. She’s gonna live because of you. Focus on that.”

That was easier said than done. As Ghost pushed out of the room and down the bustling hallway, dodging doctors and nurses as he went, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he had only saved your life because you had put yourself in danger for him again. 

It was his job to protect you - both his actual job and his job as the person you were in a relationship with. But he’d failed, and it was you who paid the price. 

It should’ve been him. At least then he would have some peace knowing that you were okay. He could take the pain if only it meant that he would take the pain away from you. 

As he made his way to his temporary room on this unfamiliar base, he could hear your voice in his head chastising him, could see the way your head ticked to the side as you challenged him like you had so many times before. It was a conversation he had with you on more than one occasion. 

“Oh, really?” you questioned, sarcasm lacing your voice. Your head had laid on Ghost’s pillow, only a few months prior, facing him in his bed. “So you can stick your neck out for me, but I can’t do it for you?”

“Precisely.” Ghost’s hand had slid up and down your bare side - the side that would later take the bullet that was meant for him. Irony was a cruel thing in retrospect.

You had narrowed your eyebrows at him, dropping your teasing tone as you leveled your serious gaze. “That’s bullshit, Simon, and you know it.”

At that, he had leaned forward and pushed his mask up above his mouth before he brought his lips to your neck. He pressed the plush of his lips to the sensitive spot at the curve of your neck - the spot he knew would drive you wild. A gasp escaped you as you tilted your head to bare more of your skin to him, your body slowly arching into his touch. 

“You can always stick your neck out for me like this, love,” he whispered against your skin before lightly nipping his teeth at the flesh there. 

An obstinate huff escaped you. 

“Oh, fuck you,” you countered, but your words had held no venom, your voice light with growing lust. It was more a concession to his caress than a genuine jab. 

“You already did that, Styx,” he had teased before rolling you over top of him so that your bare thighs straddled his large hips. Excitement flashed in your eyes as you smirked down at him, your face only inches away from his own. He brought his lips to the shell of your ear as he added, “But you can do it again if you really want to…”

Ghost opened the door to his room, trying desperately to shake the memory from his mind. To shake you from his mind. 

The room was plain and minimalistic. Gray walls, a cement floor, a small closet, a small wooden table, and a rickety single bed that could barely hold his mass were all that the small room contained. For years, accommodations like this seemed like staying in a five-star hotel. Hell, in the field, he considered a clean sleeping bag on the hard ground to be impressive. Although this guest room looked like every other quarters on every base he’d ever been on, it still felt colder somehow. More empty. 

Ghost ripped off his boots before collapsing onto the green bed, the springs groaning under his weight.

What if this relationship with you was a bad idea? Ghost and you had already broken a list of rules a kilometer long, enough to have both of your jobs if anyone ever found out. He would do everything in his power to keep you away from the fallout if it ever did come out. But that wasn’t the issue for him right now. What if this relationship with you was putting you in danger? What if it was compromising the both of you?

You had both swore to each other that you wouldn’t let this affect your work. Even though you had risked your life for him once even before your relationship started, he worried that you had taken that bullet for him because of your relationship with him. Had you done what you swore you wouldn’t?

Ghost had felt the moment he broke his promise: the second you went down, the mission meant nothing anymore. All that mattered was getting you to safety. He had been compromised, let his feelings for you rule him. It was the first crack in his armor, the once-perfect soldier finally slipping. The worst part was that, given the chance, he wouldn’t change a damn thing about how he reacted. He would do it all again. 

There were reasons for the rules that prohibited his relationship with you, just as there were consequences. A dark voice in the back of his mind said that it was his fault. He let this relationship start - let the both of you fall into this knowing damn well how you both felt. He had let the two of you compromise yourselves. As a result, you now laid in a hospital bed desperately holding onto life and he was going out of his mind. 

Just fucking sleep. He just needed to fucking sleep. 

~~~

Ghost found no solace when his eyes closed. He found you there, too. He was lost in the space between sleep and consciousness, a restless and aching plane of existence. He couldn’t tell whether the images he saw were dreams or memories or some odd mixture of both. 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

His eyes snapped open, his consciousness yanked back to the dark, cold room. It was quiet for a moment as he tried to figure out what had woken him.

Someone banged on Ghost’s door again, the knocks hard and fast. 

“Ghost.” It was Soap’s voice that came from the other side of the door, though it held none of his usual energy. It was too somber. “The doctors woke Styx an hour ago.”

Ghost sat up and quickly pulled on his boots again. When Ghost opened the metal door, he found Soap poised to knock again, his fist raised before he froze. Soap relaxed then, dropping his hand to his side. 

“They’re lettin’ visitors in now. I thought you’d wanna know,” Soap told him, his voice low. He appraised Ghost with solemn eyes, his mouth drawn tight in apprehension. It was a rare look for the young soldier. 

Ghost offered him a, “Thanks, Johnny.”

He pushed past Soap, heading swiftly towards the hospital wing of the base. Soap ran to catch up, his boots smacking into the concrete hallway floor, falling in stride with Ghost. 

Soap was quiet until the pair entered the hospital section of the base, the distinctly sterile aroma making Ghost feel sick. 

“LT…” Soap drew cautiously as they traversed the packed hallway. “What happened to her?”

“What d’ya think, Johnny? She got fuckin’ shot.”

Soap rolled his eyes, dodging a nurse that dashed between them as she headed towards some unknown emergency. “Yeah, I know that. I mean, how’d it happen? You haven’t said a word about it to anyone but Price.”

Ghost simply shook his head. 

“C’mon,” Soap pushed, “what happened out there?”

Ghost stopped right outside of the closed gray door to your room. He had known Soap long enough to know that he would keep asking until he got an answer. He might as well pull the band-aid off now. “I had my back turned, a guy jumped out, she shot him, and took the bullet that was meant for me.”

Soap’s face dropped, some of the pieces of why Ghost had kept this quiet finally clicking into place. He tapped the fist of his right hand against the palm of his left hand nervously. The only thing he said was, “Oh…”

“Yeah.” Ghost gazed at your door.

“Well, at least you both made it out of there, yeah?”

Ghost grumbled, “Barely.”

“Ghost,” Soap chided, clearly catching Ghost’s irritation that you’d risked your life for him again, “you’d do the same thing for her. I know you would.”

“Tha’s got nothin’ to do with this.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure if it had been you who’d been shot instead of Styx, I’d be standing here having this same conversation with her. The two of you are more similar than either of you will admit.”

Ghost let out a long huff. 

“Just go easy on her,” Soap urged. “I’ll be waitin’ out here. Might call Gaz and tell him she’s awake. Then I’ll go in to see her after you.” He clapped a reassuring hand on Ghost’s shoulder as he passed by him to go sit in the waiting room. 

Ghost turned back toward your door, a knot forming in his stomach. All he had wanted for weeks was to see you awake, but now, the thought of facing you was paralyzing. 

Ignoring his apprehension, he grabbed the cold door handle and turned, slowly peering into your room. Price stood beside your bed, still clad in the same fatigues he had been in earlier, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently to you. 

You. You were reclined back on the bed, your hair wild from the weeks spent asleep. Your face showed the weight of what you had endured, eyes tired from the physical strain your body had been under. But you looked alive again. Some of the gray had begun to dissipate from your skin, your normal glow beginning to return. 

Hearing the door open, you and Price both turned your heads to Ghost, your conversation cut short. Whatever you were going to say died on your lips the moment you saw him. When your eyes met his, he felt like he could finally breathe again. 

You were alive.

Price cleared his throat before resting a hand on your shoulder. “We can finish this conversation later. I’m happy to have you back, kid.”

You nodded at Price, your eyes not straying away from Ghost for long. Ghost could barely tear his eyes away from you either. 

Price strode across the room, giving Ghost a pointed look before walking out of your room and closing the door behind him. 

It was quiet for a long moment as the two of you simply took each other in from opposite sides of the room. While you were asleep, there had been so much he wanted to say to you, but now every word was lost. 

You looked relieved to see him, eyes wide like a doe. 

“Ghost…” Your voice was hoarse, almost painfully so. Ghost moved forward to the side of your bed, as if somehow he could fix it, could take away some of the pain. “Price said you were here,” you croaked. “And that he had to kick you out.”

He nodded. He had been by your side for weeks, had seen you almost every day, and yet hearing you talk to him made it sink in that you were really here. You were really alive. 

“He said you were gonna rip that chair to pieces if he let you stay.” You ticked your head toward the chair Ghost had occupied for days. You chuckled a little, but the movement made your whole body tense up, your face screwing in pain. You let out a hiss, your breaths going ragged. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “take it easy.”

“I’m fine,” you claimed, but your voice was only a mock impression of being okay. Pain still drew your lips into a hard line as you pressed them together. It was the same thing you had done when you got shot, almost like a reflex: I’m fine. The memory burned his insides like acid. 

“No, you’re bloody not,” he retorted. 

You huffed out a long breath as you laid your head back on the inclined bed, your eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. You knew exactly where he was going, exactly what was going through his head. You warned, “Ghost…”

“Why?” He asked, voice calm but strained. “Why did you step in front of me?”

You shook your head, your gaze dropping to meet his once again. “Why? You know damn well why.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You think it was even a choice? If it was me, would you even have to think twice about stepping in front of me?”

Ghost huffed indignantly, looking at the ceiling. 

“That’s what I thought,” you said lightly. 

“Maybe tha’s the problem,” Ghost growled. You quirked a confused eyebrow at him before he continued. “We said we wouldn’t let this - us - affect our work. This was never supposed to be-”

He cut himself off, frustration marring every fiber of his being as he turned away from you. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Relief and pain battled inside of him, the combination enough to tear him apart. It was too much.

The silence hung over the two of you for a long time, the only noise in the small room being the steady, fast beep of your heart monitor. Each beep was a reminder of why this was a terrible idea. It was a reminder of what he had to lose, a reminder of what could be ripped away from him at any moment. He squeezed his eyes closed, his hand coming to grasp the back of the abandoned, torn chair to ground himself. 

He never meant to let you this close to him. He never meant to care like this. 

“Do you think you could go back?” you asked, your voice steady and hoarse. He knew you well enough to know what you sounded like when you were covering up how you truly felt, though. It was too calm, too measured. “Simon, I mean it. Could you go back to the way things were between us before? Because if so, just do it now while I’m hopped up on painkillers. Make it easy for me.”

He could end it now - tell you that it was over like he should have a long time ago. But the damage was already done. Even if things ended with you now, he would never be able to stop the way he felt for you nor stop it from influencing him. He would always care more than he was supposed to. He had already gone so long without you - been on the verge of losing you for weeks - and it was about to rip him to shreds. How could he ever choose to let you go?

With his back still turned, Ghost countered your question with his own. No matter how you answered, he wasn’t sure he could take the sting of it. “Could you?”

Your response was immediate and unwavering. “No.”

Your admission hung in the air, the revelation an indictment of his own choice. 

Then, Ghost said your name. Your real name - the name he almost never used. It dripped from his lips, the weight of it a confession of equal measure. 

He wasn’t strong enough to let go of you.

When he turned around to face you, your eyes were wide. He saw a small flash of relief cross your face, the medicine you were on surely hindering your ability to hide it. A small, weak smile slowly drew at the edge of your lips. “I like the way you say it.”

Ghost walked to the edge of your bed then, the plastic creaking under his added weight as he came to sit on the edge of it with his body twisted to face you. He dropped his bare hand to lightly run his fingers along the back of yours, being mindful of the wires and tubes attached to you. You caught his intention immediately, turning your hand to slowly slip into his grasp. It was quiet for a long time while he ran his thumb back and forth over your skin. Somehow the gesture was more intimate than any night spent tangled with you in bed.

“What do we do now?” you whispered, your head tilting at him. 

Simon met your gaze. Your eyes were heavy, the physical strain you were under taking its toll. 

“You’re gonna get some rest,” he commanded. “Get your strength back. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

You nodded before squeezing your eyes shut. “Think I’m gonna need some more meds soon. This headache is terrible.”

He leaned over you and plucked the remote with the “Call Nurse” button on it from the other side of the bed. Untangling your hand from his, he placed the remote in your grasp.

“You might wanna get out of here before that nurse with the bun comes back,” you warned, your tone light. “I think she hates you for what you did to that chair.”

He rolled his eyes. That nurse had shot him a nasty glare each time she had come to check in on you in the last few weeks. “Trust me, I noticed.”

Simon stood then, his eyes flitting to the still-closed door of your room. In one swift motion, he turned, bent over your bed, pushed his balaclava over his nose, and lightly brought his lips to yours. You froze in surprise for a moment before you melted into the kiss, your lips chapped but insistent.

He had wondered if he would ever get to feel this again. To feel you, the way you ran through his veins like a wildfire. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. It was a reminder of everything he almost lost and everything he still stood to lose.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispered, his lips still brushing yours with each word.

You didn’t answer. He knew you couldn’t; he wouldn’t like the answer. Instead, you simply brought your cold hand to the exposed flesh of his chin. The feeling sent a shiver down his spine, but it wasn’t because of the cold. 

It was you. Just you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fanfic #my writing

[tasteracha]

touch

word count: 1.1k

warnings: pregnant reader, pregnant sex (safely), reader x jisung

synopsis: you want your baby out, and apparently sex was the way to do it (inspired by the scene in friends where rachel is pregnant and overdue)

its been a week. an entire week since this baby was supposed to be out, and it just. refuses. to come out. 

you’ve tried it all. exercises, walks, castor oil, massages, none of it works and you’re reaching your last straw. you want it out, you want to hold to hold you fresh baby in your arms, you want to see your husband with light shining in his eyes, but most of all you want the back pain and bulging stomach to be gone. 

the only thing you haven’t tried yet is sex. your doctor recommended it, something about the release of an orgasm helping with the contractions and the chemical makeup of sperm helping the process along, but the idea of it freaked you out, at first. 

honestly, the thought of having sex itself wasn’t a bad one - you haven’t done much past heavy petting since you reached twelve weeks, a sharp contrast to the healthy sex life the two of you shared prior to that. you kind of ached for it, the thought of him inside of you and his hands on you makes you hornier beyond belief. 

but, that mental block was still there. the thought of somehow hurting the baby, turning the wrong way or twisting or somehow contorting your body in a way that was harmful makes you want to cry despite the way you were throbbing for it. 

you can’t do anything about it now, he’s still at work for the next hour and you refuse to sit and wait for him with nothing to do but ruminate on the thought of fucking him. so, you take a long shower, the water steaming around you in clouds, soothing your aching muscles. when you’re done, you dress in a robe, hoping that he’ll take it off of you soon. 

by the time you pad out to the living room, he’s home already and sitting on the couch, still in his work clothes. he smiles at you when he notices you there, turning the volume down on his phone where he’s been scrolling through tiktok. 

“have a nice shower?” he asks, looking back down but spreading his arm over the back of the couch like he’s expecting you to settle in next to him. which, you usually would, but not today. 

“let’s have sex,” you say instead, holding back a laugh when his head shoots up immediately. 

“i’m sorry?” his voice is high pitched, eyes wide like you just asked him to commit murder with you.

“i need this baby out, it will help, and im horny. have sex with me,” you demand, moving closer to him until you’re crowding him into the couch.

“you’re sure?” he says, placing a gentle hand on your stomach and rubbing a bit. he’s so gentle, and you usually love when he is, but right now his touch is like a flame to your skin.

“yes, it’s all i’ve been thinking about today. please.”

“well,” he clears his throat, flushing a bit as he bites his lip. “i looked up what positions would be best. for the baby, you know? just in case. you can’t be on your stomach, obviously, or your back because of the blood flo-“

you cut him off with a kiss, hands fisted into his shirt, pulling him up off the couch and flushed against you. 

“if you’re not inside me in the next five minutes, i’ll die.” you say against his lips, pressing your lips to his one more time before pulling back. he nods fervently, taking your hand and walking you towards your bedroom. he stops in the hallway by it to bring your hand to his mouth, pressing a long kiss there while he looks at you with shining eyes, before opening the door. 

he kisses you again once you stop by the bed, slowly untying your robe and letting it slide off your shoulders onto the floor. you’ll reprimand him about it later, but right now the feeling of his warm hands on you is enough of a distraction. it’s different than kissing him has been recently, knowing that it’s going to lead to something more has butterflies erupting inside of you like it’s your first time again. 

“lay on your side, baby,” he instructs, pulling away from you and guiding you to the bed; he helps you lie down, hands light on your body as he guides you. the urge to tell him that you can do it yourself is on the tip of your tongue, but you hold it back. he loves taking care of you, even before he knocked you up he loved taking care of you. it’s one of the ways he likes to show that he loves you, so you let him do it. and, selfishly, it’s usually so nice to be pampered by him. 

he places a pillow under your head, holding your head up with his hand while he slides it under, his touches as gentle as possible. you lay against the mattress, a snippy demand for him to increase his pace at the tip of your tongue. before you can let it out he spoons up behind you and you realize that he’s naked, his bare skin pressed up against yours. 

he doesn’t fuck you right away. he takes his time running his hands over your body, from your breasts down your curved stomach and further to your thighs, squeezing your soft flesh between his fingers. he stops around your core, hiking one of your legs up so he can have better access. 

“mm, you’re so wet already,” his voice is deep as he spreads you apart, rubbing at your clit in slow circles. 

“been thinking about you,” you breathe out. you’re already tongue-tied, gone for him even with just a few touches. “for weeks. months. need you.”

when he finally sinks inside of you, your body relaxes in a way it hasn’t since before you got pregnant - your muscles melt into the mattress and your lead lilts further to the side as you let out a deep sigh. one of his legs wedges between yours, locking you into him. his hand snakes around your body to rest on your stomach, rubbing a bit as he slowly rocks into you, his breaths tickling your ear. 

he takes his time with you, letting you fall apart on him over and over as he maintains his pace. despite this, you know he’s just as needy, just as desperate from the way his muscles are tense from holding back. when he finally comes, he releases deep inside of you, holding you close as he pants into your skin. you’re all but melted into the sheets, brow sweaty and hair a mess, but he holds you against him still even after he pulls out.

“anything?” he asks.

“no,” you sigh, letting out a long groan. “but it was so worth doing that.”

“...i heard doggy style is good for the baby, too.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #han jisung #han jisung smut #han jisung imagines #han jisung x reader

[wildlife4life]

Seven (+) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the always lovely @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @daffi-990 @tizniz @hippolotamus @diazsdimples and @theotherbuckley Thank you all so much! Looking forward to your future works!

Alright ya'll, today is Championship Sunday and I am a bundle of nerves. As a slight work off from all that, here is more NFL Buck, feature Christopher's POV. (All previous NFL Buck posts can be found here)

Carrying around a big secret is hard. Lying to his new friends, to his teachers, to his dad's co-workers is annoying. Christopher misses his friends and family back in Texas. He wants Buck to officially be his dad and stop lying to the whole world about being a kid free bachelor. He is scared for his dad, every time he leaves for a shift. His body is always betraying him, his new doctor brought up the possibility of another surgery, his muscles ache, and puberty is creeping in, changing him in not so fun ways. And on days like today, it is all just too much. So Christopher got angry and like his father, he lashes out. "I don't want a stupid tutor!" He snapped at his dad, who is holding Christopher's latest math test. A freaking C-. He didn't fail. Heck, it isn't even a D. But his dad and Buck, had high expectations that Christopher always failed to meet. Dad shakes his head, "Christopher this is the second low test score this month. You're barely passing math with a C." "You're acting like I'm failing! And I'm not!" Chris shouts back. "Do not raise your voice." His dad says firmly, his features crinkling with anger. Christopher huffs and plops back down in his seat, without a single retort. Dad's shoulder's drop and the burgeoning anger dissipates, replaced with soft concern, "Look, kid. We all need help every now and then. Asking for it, does not make you a failure. And its just one class. One tutor, an hour or so a couple times a week after school. Just until you feel you have a better grasp on math. Okay?" No it was not okay. An afterschool tutor meant one more person to lie too, more time taken away from friends and fun activities, and another reminder that he isn't normal. "I don't need help! I don't need a fucking tutor! And I don't need your high ass expectations that I can never meet!" Christopher flings his arm out, and shoves a decorative bowl filled with random bobbles to the floor, shattering it. Ah shit. Christopher knows he's gone too far, but he doesn't want to back down. He can't. The fury that's been building under his skin since waking up late this morning, can no longer be contained and is bursting out of him directly towards his dad. "Using Buck's money won't fix this! Fix me! And I'm only at this stupid private school because of him!" Chris won't give his dad a chance to intervene, not yet. Not when he's been holding back so much since Buck informed them of the Houston Texans wanting to trade him, "I was doing great in math at my school in Houston! Then once again Buck chose football over us! You chose Buck over me! You two never think about me! I'm failing because of you!" None of it was true. Christopher knew that, not so very deep down, but he is hurting and he needed someone to hurt too. He needed someone to understand and help take the pain away. Too bad he went at it in the most unhealthiest of ways and attacked one of two people who would do absolutely anything and everything to do exactly that. The man doesn't even flinch. Instead, his face goes flat and cold. No emotion to be found. Christopher immediately shrinks in on himself. Yea he went way too far. "Go to your room." His dad demands in level voice tight with too many emotions. Fuck. He is so grounded.

Chris is a teen having a bad day and had to break a bowl at some point. Its canon to do so. Hope you all enjoyed!

Tagging (no pressure): @jesuisici33 @devirnis @exhuastedpigeon @lover-of-mine @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @rainbow-nerdss @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @try-set-me-on-fire @bekkachaos @eddiescowboy @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @athenagranted @evanbegins @elvensorceress @malewifediaz @911onabc @911-on-abc @hoodie-buck @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @glorious-spoon @buddierights @prosperdemeter2 @lemonzestywrites @gayedmundodiaz @transboybuckley

#seven sentence sunday #tag game #my wip #911 show #911 abc #911 on abc #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christoper diaz #nfl #quarterback buck #firefighter eddie #secret relationship #teen angst #broken bowls #angry christopher #he's having a bad day #don't worry it'll be resolved

[writing-whump]

Sick and hurt

Part 2 of this fic

Hector hated two things most in the world. One, to ask anybody for help. Ever. Two, to ask anything of Isaiah, because he fucking never knew how to talk to him and usually tried to pretend they had nothing to talk about.

He felt rejected by Isaiah in so many ways, that it didn't matter how his eldest brother sounded or what peace offerings he made these days.

Right now, his other brother was asking him to do both, to call bloody Isaiah for help. And couldn't say no, cause as it was, Hector was completely useless.

And he hated that even more.

Every breath hurt. Every movement hurt. While Hector wasn't a stranger to pain, though maybe a bit less used to it than a human would be, he could handle this just fine.

When he was comfy and unmoving on the couch. Not when he was running around Arnie, who was all but delusional from the fever.

Crouching down hurt. Bending at all hurt. Getting up hurt. It was only the adrenaline to keep him doing both, and he didn't know how long he could do it. The bandages that felt firm and steadying a few hours ago felt suffocating, cutting into his bruised ribs. His chest and sides were on fire, flaring up depending on how he turned or held his neck.

Hector googled symptoms, then called their pack's private doctor for advice. Tepid bath, he said. Yeah, that would be great, if Hector could freaking carry Arnie out the bed and help him into it. As he normally could. As he was supposed to.

Arnie's suggestion didn't let him wallow in his failure for long though. It was 3.40 in the morning. Why would Isaiah even pick up?

Hector took Arnie's phone, unlocked it with the password and found Isaiah's number in the last three calls. He tapped at the phone icon with a sigh.

"Arnie? What is it?" Isaiah didn't pick up on the first ring, but on the second and somehow didn't sound tired at all.

"No, it's me," Hector grunted, not sure if that was very informative.

"Something is wrong," Isaiah said it as a statement and Hector could hear the ruffling of blankets as he got up from the bed.

"Arnie is sick. His fever if off the roof and I don't know what else to do." Hector clenched his jaw. "He has been asking for you."

"I'll be there in 15. Take his temperature before I come." The line ended.

Hector blinked at the speed. No explanations, no questions, no awkwardness.

As if it was that simple.

Hector called, so Isaiah was coming.

……….

"I can come with you," Seline offered, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"It's okay. Hector is even more difficult, when he is worried. Especially about Arnie. Besides, you didn't catch my flu by a miracle, but let's not push our luck."

Seline leaned against the dining table, watching Isaiah pack his backpack with a yawn. "Take Vitamin D too. 20.000 units. Maybe it will keep Hector off the hook," she instructed.

Isaiah nodded, adding the package to his supplies, before throwing the bag over his shoulder and putting on his shoes.

"Go back to sleep, babe."

Seline ducked her head with a tiny blush, waving her hand. "Keep me updated."

………

The rain didn't help with the visibility as Isaiah drove through the darkness, roads glistening, the aggressive patting of raindrops against the windows.

Isaiah tapped his fingers on the wheel, impatient at the red lights.

He was a light sleeper since childhood and Arnie's name in the middle of the night had him wide awake, heart plummeting painfully. Hector's rough reluctant voice in the phone didn't help with the unease.

He still had the address saved from when he saw their apartment the first time, a few weeks ago, when Hector was sick. The only time he was allowed to visit.

He parked the car and sprinted as dignified as he could down the street and into the apartment.

Hector didn't exactly live around his other packmates, not on the same floor, but on the same street, some in the same building. It would be suspicious for him to run into any of them. He was the Wolfson traitor, not someone his brothers should associate with. The only good thing about this happening at night was the low probability of it happening.

The world rushed out of focus until Isaiah got to the right floor, knocking at the door, only to find Hector's head in the doorway.

One would think Hector was the one sick, with the pained expression and his naturally wild hair sticking out in every direction. He opened the door all the way wordlessly, watching Isaiah like he expected a slap to the face.

"Temperature?"

Hector turned away, leaning against the closed door, hand balled into a fist. "40.1. I can't lower it. Water or pills won't stay down-"

"Hector-"

"I filled the bath with water, you know the medium temperature, not too cold? I called the pack doc, and that's what he said-" Hector punched the door next to him, eyes burning with frustration with a desperate edge.

"Wait, calm dow-"

"-I would take him to a hospital, it's not like I would let him die-"

Christ, he was more freaked out than Isaiah thought.

Isaiah cringed internally, throwing logic out the window and following instinct instead.

He stepped closer, taking Hector's face in both of his hands. "Hey. Look at me. Nobody's dying. You did everything right. He is going to be fine. It's okay."

It was from that close that Isaiah realized Hector was holding himself up all weird, posture all skewed like a badly hung picture on the wall. His breathing was off, which could be just from distress, but his upper lip was covered in sweat and his eyes had a feverish gleam, though he didn't feel warm. "What's wrong with you?"

Hector murmmed something, gaze dropping to the floor.

Isaiah narrowed his eyes. Yeah, this wasn't normal. "You look ready to fall over..."

Hector said nothing, a muscle in his jaw visibly spasming.

"Go get some rest. I got this," Isaiah suggested softly.

Hector frowned, head shooting up immediately with a snarl. "I'm not going-"

"You will sit down." Isaiah let go of his face, giving him a stern look, voice cold. If his shadow was out in the open, it would loom over him and the walls threateningly. "Cause I said so. I'll go see Arnie. End of discussion."

Isaiah hated doing that, he hated using his Executioner voice. But Hector stopped protesting, bowing his head the way wolves did when allowing precedence to someone else. It was the tone Isaiah used to get around teenage Hector that would say 'no' in every sentence.

Hector retreated a step, leaning back against the wall, eyes shimmering, face flushed. His right hand pressed against his ribs and he took a shallow breath through his teeth.

Isaiah was starting to put the puzzle together, but turned around to get to Arnie's room.

His youngest brother was in bed, a dark blotch of sweat on the front of his shirt, hair plastered to his face.

Isaiah dropped to one knee beside the bed, pushing the hair out of his forehead to feel the heat for himself. Yep, alarming heat indeed. "You up, champ?"

Arnie didn't open his eyes, but gulped, chapped lips moving in a ghost of a smile. "Hi, Zaya."

"There is a bath there going for you. We'll get that annoying fever down, dose you up with some good anti-nausea meds and you will be up and kicking in a few days, okay?" Isaiah stood up, hands sliding under Arnie's back and his knees as he talked, hoisting him up.

Arnie's head lolled limply towards him, the side of his face pressed against Isaiah's chest.

Isaiah carried him to the bathroom, where the bathtub was filled with water as promised.

He helped Arnie strip down from the clothes and then gently put him inside, slowing as Arnie's hands shot up at the first contact with the water.

"Easy, easy. This will help a lot, I swear." Isaiah let Arnie brace against him as he eased him down to lean against the back of the tub.

Arnie's lips quivered from the cold, though Isaiah found the water mild and pleasant temperature. "Don't fall asleep. I'm gonna stay right here and watch you."

Arnie turned towards him, eyes glassy, the emerald green in contrast with how pasty his face went. "I-I c-could r-really u-use a s-s-sauna after this."

Isaiah smiled, sitting more comfortably on the carpet, though in a good position to quickly stand up if Arnie tipped to the side too much. "A nice spa sounds like a good idea. Just hot tub."

"A-and b–b-bubbles."

"Yeah. And the different kinds of sauna. Did you know it's recommended to get into cold water or snow after sauna and then go back again? The way it will make your veins contract is supposedly very healthy."

"S-so I'm skipping the sauna n-now? N-not fair." Arnie tried to smile in Isaiah's direction, eyes focusing slightly too much to the right to land on his face.

Isaiah wanted to keep the conversation going, to keep Arnie lucid, but that's when Arnie suddenly lurched forward with a heave.

Isaiah straightened on his knees that instant, planting his hand on Arnie's shoulder and arm as the blond heaved and heaved over the water, but only a couple of burps and a string of bile came up.

"Okay. Shhhhh, easy. You are okay." Isaiah rubbed his back, hand dipping all the way into the water, following the outline of Arnie's spine.

Arnie's heaves slowly died down, though his body sometimes jerked forward. "Bleeeh. That felt awful."

Isaiah helped him lean back again, noticing the tears, spit and the snot on Arnie's face sticking to his chin. "I bet." He took a roll of toilet paper and tore a bunch to dry Arnie's face. "You are holding up really well, kiddo."

Arnie closed his eyes, his breathing still fast from the heaving. "I'm sorry. You will catch it, if you stay with me like this."

Isaiah chuckled. "I already had the flu, don't worry. It's a nasty one, with high fever and nausea."

Arnie opened his eyes at that, squinting at Isaiah. "You were sick?"

"Yes," Isaiah leaned his elbow on the edge of the bathtub with a chuckle. "Three days of fever and I couldn't even smell food. Got around without vomiting though."

Arnie seemed fascinated by the idea, eyebrows meeting together. "You with the flu...."

"Yep- hey, don't fall asleep!" Isaiah jumped up to pat Arnie's cheek, when his head fell to the left all of a sudden as his voice trailed off. He kept patting it until he got him to open his eyes again. "Stay with me, kiddo, come on. Just a bit longer."

"Ughhhmmm. I understand why sleep deprivation is used as torture," Arnie mumbled.

Isaiah looked at his watch, counting down the minutes for Arnie to have something to focus on. When the time was up, he lifted him all the way from the water, getting half-soaked himself and bundled him up in a giant towel.

Dried off and with a much milder heat coming off Arnie, Isaiah pushed him into a fluffy bathrobe and carried him back into the bed.

Arnie curled up protectively around his stomach, but he wasn't shivering as much, which Isaiah counted as a win.

"I got these pills from Sel. They should calm things down there a little and they have an anti-emetic effect too, so the nausea should stop. If you keep them down, I will give you something for the fever too."

Arnie hummed in response, hand around his middle, eyes open to slits. Isaiah helped him swallow the two small white pills with the tiniest sip possible, then sat down on the floor again.

After 15 minutes of relative calm, Isaiah dared to try the paralen too, nervously shifting his weight as they waited.

It took another half an hour before Isaiah let himself relax, for Arnie's squirming calmed, though he still didn't close his eyes.

Isaiah combed his fingers through Arnie's hair, curling them around his fingers and smoothing them back and forth gently.

Arnie nuzzled his head against the pillow, muffling a slight burp, but sighed contentedly at Isaiah's ministrations.

"Zaya? Can I ask you something?" Arnie stumbled over his words a little, so Isaiah leaned closer.

"Anything."

"Check on Hex for me? His ribs are hurting..."

"Yeah, I'll check on him," Isaiah said, voice hoarse in the face of Arnie's concern. "Don't worry about it right now. Just sleep. I'll be here, when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Arnie finally let his eyelids close. Isaiah kissed the top of his head, smoothing the covers over him.

…….

"Who did this to you?"

Hector lifted his head at Isaiah's question in alarm. He sat on the edge of his bed, bowed, face in his hands and Isaiah could see the bandages peeking out from under his shirt. "What?"

"Who did you get those from? If you are anything like you were as a teen, you wouldn't lose a fight easily. If you are getting hurt, it's serious."

"And you are going to do what, exactly?" Hector's eyes were wide, voice stunned. "They are my fights and I can handle them, thanks."

"Just tell me the damn name and I'll solve this," Isaiah said menacingly.

Hector huffed. "Stop ordering me around. In my own house, no less.”

“You don’t listen to me otherwise!”

“I don’t listen to anyone. You are not special,” Hector said, throwing back Isaiah’s words from the conversation, when Isaiah helped him with the broken leg. "Besides,” Hector dropped his gaze again, just like he did in the hall earlier, "this was my own fault."

Isaiah watched him quietly for a long minute, stunned by the admission. "Show me."

Hector snarled. "Can't you just-"

"Arnie asked me to."

That shut Hector up. Even more effective than orders.

Isaiah sat down next to him. Hector reluctantly rolled up his loose black shirt. Isaiah inspected the wrappings with a critical eye. "This is too tight. It will only hurt more."

Hector wheezed a little from pain at having to hold his shirt up with his hands pulling at his chest. Isaiah reached for it, helping it pull it over his head so he could have full access to the bandages, unwrapping them with experienced cold hands.

Hector flinched at the touch of Isaiah's fingers, but as the wrappings loosened, his breathing came easier, more relieved.

Isaiah worked quietly. He had many questions, but he didn't trust himself not to bark orders. Hector saying no to him one more time that evening would break him. Arnie's authority to intervene felt borrowed, like something he shouldn't be doing.

Hector held himself stiffly, breathing through his clenched teeth. "Arnie?"

"Asleep. His temp is lower and he kept the meds in. The worst part is over." Isaiah finished unwrapping the bandages, wrapping them around his hand into a roll to dispose of. He almost whistled at the amount of bruises covering Hector's torse.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh, why don't you." Hector held his hands to his sides defensively.

"This is no laughing matter."

Hector winced at Isaiah's stern tone. "I know. My mistake, okay? I went overboard. I never thought that-" he broke off with a pained breath. "I'm going to be more careful. I'm never going to be too weak to help him next time."

Isaiah regarded him thoughtfully, then sighed, the sternness falling off at the declaration. "Hey, I'm not saying anything. You are doing a good job with him. You were basically in charge of him since he was 12? And he survived just fine."

Hector's head went back a little at the praise.

"Part of being an adult is also realizing, when you can't do something," Isaiah said tentatively. "You know I don't mind helping. You don't have to be alone with this anymore."

Hector grunted something, glaring at his shirt.

Isaiah sighed, taking it and pulling it over Hector's head and helping him slide his arms in. Hector made an annoyed noise, but didn't stop him, pulling his feet up so he could lean against the bed's headboard, softened by pillows.

"I won all the fights, you know."

Isaiah chuckled. "Yes."

"More than that friend of yours. Your useless second."

Isaiah raised a quizzical eyebrow. What did that have to do with anything?

Hector leaned his head back, hands folded underneath him. "What exactly does he have that I don't?"

Isaiah frowned. "Oh." They sat in silence as Isaiah thought about the implications of that sentence. "Hex, come on. You don't have to win to deserve-."

"I never won enough of them," Hector growled. "Not enough for you to let me train with you. Or with Father. You kept me out of everything. What did I do wrong?" He looked up at Isaiah, seemingly younger in an unguarded way, his amber brown eyes wide and open.

Isaiah stiffened. "You did nothing wrong. It was never about winning or deserving things." He stood up, all the calm replaced by nervousness as the guilt settled over him like a second coat.

"Then what was it about?"

Isaiah stood with his back to Hector, breathing very very carefully so his voice wouldn't catch, so he wouldn't show how deeply upsetting that question was. He could see how Hector came up with that wrong assumption now, but he didn't have the words to dispose of it.

Because I didn't want you to go through Father's training. Because he promised me he wouldn't touch you, if I did what he wanted. Because keeping you out was the only way I came up with.

"Right. You are so eager to come, but you shut me out. Again." Hector's voice went rough and bitter at the end, picking up his anger just as quickly as he dropped it.

Isaiah smoothed out his expression, but it was he who couldn't meet Hector's eyes this time. His tongue was frozen, his heart clenching anxiously.

He didn't know if it would be right to tell Hector about the pack's biggest secret. He didn't know if Hector could take losing the image of his perfect father, no matter how skewed it was.

And even if Isaiah knew if he should tell, he wasn't sure he could.

“I’ll get you some painkillers,” Isaiah said into the heavy silence.

As if that could fix anything.

@bellysoupset

#sickfic #emeto #fever #hurt/comfort #whump writing #whump #my writing #brothers #werewolf wip #fuuuh these two #can't do anything simply can't they #Arnie #Hector

[lcahwriter]

Here Comes the Sun (Part One)

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem! Reader (non descriptive/ no use of Y/N)

Word Count: 2.5k

TW: Cancer, talk of dying, anxiety

Angst + Comfort 

Summary:  

When the doctors tell you the cancer is back, your first instinct is to shut everyone out.

You reject Jake to protect him from the pain to come.

What happens when Jake finds out you have cancer? Will he stick by your side or will he let you go?

**

Part 1 of  4

Authors note: This story WILL NOT be romanticizing cancer- but it will showcase a resilient love between two people. Despite the odds. My mom was recently diagnosed with cancer. This story has been in a way therapeutic to write. Thanks for reading.

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

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

“I’m sorry. The cancer is back”

The words repeated in your head over and over again.

“We’ll start treatment as soon as possible.”

“Is there anyone that can support you during this time?”

The phone call from the doctor had been familiar. You’d had the same exact conversation four years ago.

Having cancer was supposed to be a one-time thing. It was supposed to be a happy ending- a fight where good wins over evil.

You thought you had beat cancer forever.

But you were wrong.

Because the MRI showed cancer, and a lot of it.

Having cancer scarred you, and not just physically. It had found ways to rip you open and make you feel completely alone. The sickness had forced you to look death in the face.

You were supposed to be a normal 28-year-old moving on with your life.

You thought of your sister.

She had flown across the country to stay with you during the first 6 months of chemo. It was a huge sacrifice on her part- she had kids and a husband at home. You couldn’t take her away from them again.

You were going to go through this alone by choice. There was no reason to bring anyone else down with you. Having cancer again made you feel like a fucking failure.

You felt perfectly healthy at the moment– and maybe that’s what made the news so hard. You were happier than you’d ever been. Yet somehow there was an invisible illness consuming your body.

The doctors wanted to start chemo in two weeks. The treatments would be every other week for 6 months. The memory of being so sick you couldn’t eat flooded your thoughts. Dread consumed you.

Why did it have to be you of all people? Why were you given such a bad hand?

“How are you tonight?”

You blinked harshly. The sounds of the busy bar filled your ears.

You were at work. You needed to focus.

“Hey Penny, I’m good.” You lied through your teeth. You didn’t raise your eyes to meet hers, because she would certainly figure out something was up.

You would tell her eventually. Maybe.

You were somewhat glad to be working tonight, because the alternative would be curling up in a ball on your bathroom floor. On the other hand, you didn’t know if you could keep yourself together much longer.

Penny smiled at you and waltzed off to hand out drinks around the bar. It was a Thursday night, and you closed in three hours. The idea of going home and facing reality didn’t sound great to you.

“You should smile more; you look prettier that way.”

You jerked your head up from the bar. You normally were bubbly and flirty to all customers. Even the creeps, because the tips were too good to pass up.

But tonight? That was off the table.

The guy who spoke didn’t look familiar. He was brunette, and his cheap-smelling cologne was the only thing you could focus on. Before you could tell him to shove a stick up his ass a familiar blonde leaned up against the counter next to him.

Jake Seresin.

Well, fuck.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you women hate being told that?” Jake’s eyes were mischievous as he looked between you and the stranger.

You mustered up a soft laugh from the pool of sadness you’d been swimming in. Jake had always been able to do that.

The stranger scoffed at Jake.

“Worked for me plenty of times.” He retorted. You knew he had to be lying. Because no girl on the fucking planet wanted to be told to smile more.

“Doubt it.” You grumbled under your breath, going to grab Jake’s empty beer glass that you assumed he brought for a refill.

A hand caught your wrist. It wasn’t hard, but you flinched and ripped your hand out of his grasp.

“What the fuck?” You questioned angrily, holding both your hands to your chest in surprise.

“Alright, time to go.” Jake stood immediately, his posture changing from relaxed to pissed. His voice was laced with his usual humor- but his eyes weren’t playful anymore.

“I’m not done with my beer.” The guy said defensively. Jake smiled at him and picked up the glass of beer on the counter. 

He continued smiling as he slowly poured the beer down the drain. The light gold liquid spun down the grate out of sight.

“All done.”  Jake crossed his arms over his chest.

Your eyes widened.

“Seriously dude?” The man still didn’t make a move from his chair.

“Yup. Now go on.”

Jake took his large hand and patted the back of the stranger’s chair. The man glared at Jake, and you watched as he sized Jake up.

Before you could tell them both to cut it out, the stranger hopped off his chair, making sure to shoot another glare at Jake before walking off.

As soon as he was out of your sight the tension fell. You watched Jake slowly relax. His broad shoulders fell, and his forehead softened.

“A little overkill don’t you think?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at Jake. You reached out to grab his glass again, and this time no one rudely interrupted you.

Jake shrugged and rested his elbows on the bar.

“Someone had to tell him his best line wasn’t working.” He smirked at you and brought his freshly poured beer to his face.

His green eyes were shining, and his tanned skin was glowing. He looked good. Really good.

“And you are the ultimate expert in women?” You questioned, a small smile on your lips.

“You could say that.” He winked at you, and your heart skipped.

You wanted to say, “How about women that are dying of cancer? Got any expertise on loving that?”

You swallowed as reality set in.

The cancer was back.

You had to do chemo again.

You were going to get horribly sick - again.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“Was good to see you.” You said, your voice sounding much more distant than before. You turned before Jake could say anything to you. Seeing him of all people was not helping.

You walked to the back room, letting Penny know you were taking a break. The empty crates in the room squeaked as you sat down on them. You took three deep breaths in and out. When you shut your eyes all you could see was Jake’s green ones.

Memories of the month before flooded in your mind. He’d kissed you under the moonlight and promised when he was back from his mission, he’d take you out on a real date.

You never admitted your feelings for each other – and fuck- you didn’t even know if he wanted you in that way. Your best guess was that he wanted a hook-up and nothing else.

He didn’t try to ask you out tonight, so maybe your suspicions were right. Afterall, if he wanted to date you, he could have asked you out at some point over the last 8 months you’d been working at the bar.

None of that mattered now though. Because cancer was going to be your life now. And Jake would take no part of that.

You shook your head and rubbed your hands over your cheeks.

Your emotions were raw, eating at you.

You had to go back to work. You had to fake smile, fake flirt. You couldn’t think about the cancer. Not if you wanted to get through the night.

Before you could drown your feelings longer, you stood and walked right back behind the bar. Going home wasn’t an option. You needed the money. You were already drowning in bills from having cancer the first time.

You swallowed down the pain and smiled.

*******

You breathed in deeply and sighed as your keys jingled to lock the Hard Deck door. It was 1am, and the only thing you wanted to do was sleep.

“Hey.”

You screeched at the sudden voice, but calmed as soon as you realized who it was.

“Jesus Christ Seresin you scared me. What are you still doing here?” You huffed out, crossing your arms over your chest.

He was leaning against the building just a few feet away from you. His black shirt and blue jeans looked dangerously good on him. You adverted your eyes from his gaze and tried your best to ignore the nervousness in your stomach.

“I wanted to see if you’d take a walk on the beach with me.” He smiled softly and looked down at the ground. He was fucking beautiful- and when he was out of that damn pilots uniform away from his friends. He was soft, so soft.

“It’s 1am.” You retorted, raising your brow. The night sky was pitch black, and the moonlight was barely there.

“Live a little.” He teased.

It was a totally normal thing to say, but it made your heart drop.

Who knew how much longer you’d have to live? Cancer wasn’t a death sentence, but it sure felt like one. What if you never saw him again?

“You’re not getting lucky if that’s what you want.” Your voice wavered. That wasn’t entirely true. Because truthfully, you were such a heap of emotions that pleasure sounded pretty fucking good.

“That was not the plan.” He laughed softly and pushed himself off the wall. “I just want to talk.” He stood tall in front of you, peering down at you with those damn eyes.

You wanted to say no- because surely, he was looking for a hookup. But he was right, you should “live a little”. You didn’t know how much longer you could do that.

“Okay, for a bit.”

Jake grinned.

“Okay, lets go.” He beckoned you with his arm, so you walked beside him, staring up at the stars.

The beach was only steps away, you could hear the crashing waves and smell the salt water. You smiled when you both stepped over the edge of the parking lot and into the sand. The ocean was calming - and at night it was even more so.

You and Jake both took your shoes off, leaving them at the curb. A sigh of relief filled you as your feet hit the cool sand.

“I forgot how beautiful it is at night.” You marveled at the stars above you and the open water in front of you. You looked to Jake who was also gazing at the sky.

“It’s one of my favorite places.” His eyes met yours and you watched as they flickered to your lips. As if he was trying to control himself, he looked away and started walking towards the water.

“Come on, let’s put our toes in.”

You giggled when Jake groaned at the coldness of the water on his feet. You tried to not let it show, but the water was really fucking cold.

“I missed you.” He whispered.

You jerked your eyes up to his in confusion.

He had missed you? What was that supposed to mean?

“You did?” is all you could think to say back.

Your heart was beating fast and your cheeks were starting to grow warm. You weren’t sure if you believed him.

“Yeah- I did.” He smiled and ran his hand through his short blonde hair. You must have looked like a deer in headlights, because that’s exactly how you felt.

“The last time we were here together I promised I’d ask you out.” He licked his lips quickly. “I have a wedding to go to two weeks from now. I wanted to see if you’d go with me.”

You widened your eyes and went to open your mouth to say yes, of course, I’d fucking love to.

But then you remembered.

You had cancer again.

You were probably starting chemo that same week.

You’d feel sick and exhausted.

And even if you didn’t feel sick – what the fuck would you talk about on the date? It was hard to focus on anything but cancer.

You gulped and took a small step back. You watched the smile fade from his face.

“Jake… I would love that but I….I can’t.” Your voice wavered as you watched Jakes jaw tighten.

“What do you mean you can’t?” His eyes looked so sad and your heart ached in response. You wanted him so badly, but you couldn’t.

“I mean, I don’t think that’s a good idea for me. Right now.”

You knew it was a bullshit response, but you hoped he would just accept the rejection. You wouldn’t tell him about the cancer.

You weren’t going to bring him down with you.

“Is.. is there someone else then?” His voice was strained. You shook your head.

“No… I just have a lot of personal stuff going on right now.”

“Personal stuff?“ he questioned. He let out a bitter laugh. “If you don’t feel the same way about me then just fucking say it.” His words were angry but his tone was soft. 

He took a step back from you, his jaw shut tightly. You instantly wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling colder.

You wanted to tell him that you liked him and that you had always wanted more with him.

But god damn was the timing bad. Because the cancer was back.

And Jake didn’t deserve to fall for someone he was bound to lose.

“I think I should go.” Your eyes were glazed over with tears but the night sky hid them.

Jake nodded curtly.

“Yeah. Okay.” He avoided eye contact with you. His posture made him look devoid, small even.

“Jake.” You tried, reaching out your hand to his shoulder.

“Don’t.” He gritted out, flinching back from your touch.

You stiffened

You almost doubted your choice to reject him - to hide from him.

But then you remembered the treatments. The worry in your sister’s face. The will and funeral arrangements.

“I’m sorry.”

You turned and walked towards the parking lot. You wondered if he would follow you - but when you reached the lot you turned around to look back at him.

He was sitting in the sand, looking up at the sky.

You wanted to be sitting there with him. Stealing kisses. Marveling over how beautiful he was.

But you’d been given a bad hand.

And Jake Seresin would find someone with a much better one

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

As always I would love to know what you think :’) Thanks everyone for the love and support.

Taglist : @cherrycola27​ @stormy0070

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman x reader #hangman fic #jake seresin fic #cancer #hangman angst #top gun maverick #fanfiction

[jiminrings]

478 drabble of the hours leading up to the baby’s arrival pls miss jay em rings <3 knowing 478jk he’d probably pass out just seeing oc in pain 😭😭😭 homie would have to be sedated i bet

478: drabble

alternatively, your baby girl decides to be ahead of schedule :)

[ 478 masterlist ]

H-7

Jungkook wakes up without you on his side.

It’s a rare occurrence as it is, especially now on the last month of your pregnancy where you don’t feel the energy to wake up as early as him. He’s used to the sight of you sprawled out one way or another, barely grumbling at him in the morning with Miso passed out on your bump yet neither of you were nowhere to be found.

“What are you doing up so early?” Jungkook hums, peeking at the bathroom. You’re still bundled up in his clothes because you’ve been cold since last night even when he didn’t touch the thermostat this time around so you would cuddle with him, your tossing and turning ironically lulling your husband to sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep at all,” you groan, washing your face with cold water because you’ve figured that if you can’t commit to sleeping at all, you might as well do a good job in staying awake.

Jungkook still swoons at the sight of you yet not so much at the thought of danger befalling on you, instantly tutting when he sees the wet floor.

“Careful. Don’t want you to slip, baby,” he holds out a hand for you to step over, sighing as he goes over his plans for the today which now apparently includes fixing a leak from the bidet.

“Huh?” you wonder out loud, furrowing your eyebrows as you take Jungkook’s hand nonetheless before looking down where his eyes are fixed on.

Your eyes widen immediately, your throat going dry at the sight. 

“Jungkook,” you gasp in urgency, making him jolt immediately even if you aren’t halfway through your realization. “The floor wasn’t wet when I came in.”

“What does-…”

Jungkook slaps a hand on his mouth, rendered frozen as he clutches your hand even tighter. There’s a hybrid of a shriek and a squeal that builds up in his throat, one he didn’t even know would be let out two weeks earlier than your due date.

Your water broke.

H-6

“Fuck, fuck, I knew I should’ve started packing the hospital bag last week,” Jungkook mutters under his breath in panic, a stark opposite to you who’s pleasantly leaning against the wall while you wait for him to finish. 

“It’s okay. We didn’t know Hwayoung would come earlier than expected,” you hum, your breathing shallow but not to the point that you’re actually grunting in pain. You’ve already got off the phone with your doctor and everything’s set up back in the hospital, the only variable you’re waiting for now being your husband.

“God, I’m so stupid,” he continues and it’s as if he’s completely tuned you out just to curse at himself, the whiplash he gets from fetching your slippers and your clothes momentarily clearing when he sees you with your eyes shut. “Are you going into active labor? Are the contractions bad? Can you breathe? Is Hwayoung’s head-…”

Jungkook stops himself, out of breath from fetching everything you’d need and more. He jumps from assumption to assumption, paling the further his mind races.

He exchanges a look with you that only he can discern himself because you’re confused at the way he zeroes in on you, his lips parting open in an unsure tremble.

“D-do… do you want me to uhm, check?”

“Check what?”

“If Hwayoung…. if you’re dilated a-and Hwayoung’s head is uhm, is there?”

You almost laugh directly at your husband’s floundering state, knowing that he means well but it’s painted directly on his face that he’s ghastly queasy yet knowing he’ll stomach it if it means he can help (?) you.

“I think I’d know if she’s crowning, baby,” you hum, pushing yourself off the wall to go and pry him off from overthinking the hospital bag checklist and to go grab the car keys already. You hold onto his arm firmly while you walk to the garage and Jungkook makes it his life’s mission to walk you there as seamlessly as he could, his wide eyes darting all over you every five seconds.

“I’m going to be okay. Hwayoung’s going to be okay,” you coax him, pressing a kiss to his temple when he secures the seatbelt around you. “Now, stop worrying and don’t pass out on me just yet, okay?”

H-4

“Gave a heads-up to the parents, Miso’s feeder is working, Jimin’s making all of the hospital staff hush up so nothing gets leaked, I turned off the stove, I got-…” 

Jungkook goes through his checklist out loud, pacing your hospital suite with nothing but nerves. You’ve long decided to keep your eyes off him because it just makes you even more jittery, his repeated circles outbesting your cat’s when she’s on a mood.

You’ve already changed into your hospital gown and you’re tempted to ask for one for Jungkook too because he’s just that involved with the whole thing that he brought his own clipboard, doing the same 4-7-8 breathing exercise every time he’s close to passing out.

“Is Jungkook okay? I went out half an hour ago and he’s still going through his checklist,” Jimin furrows his eyebrows, setting his bag down that’s also full of your items as instructed by Jungkook.

“This is regular programming,” you yawn, looking at the clock. It’s either a matter of minutes or hours before you go into active labor, the waiting game becoming all the more exciting (and overwhelming) with Jungkook thanking you for carrying and about to bring your daughter into the world every two minutes. “The nurse asked me if I wanted to give him a pill to calm down.”

H-2

You’re gonna have to start pushing within the next hour.

“Well you seem calmer now than awhile ago,” you tease Jungkook who innocently looks up at you, lips pursed and eyes wide. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet in the corner after your doctor checked in on you, his usual chatter dwindling.

“Oh, I’m really not. I still feel like passing out,” he corrects you in a calm demeanor with a smile that holds more than it can actually bear, blinking away the tears that are already forming in his eyes because this new part of your lives is already so close.

You barely get another word in until a mug (from home; not just a paper cup the hospital offers) is thrust into your hands, your husband meekly smiling behind it with the tips of his fingers trembling.

“I’m sorry, I know you could only have ice,” he frowns, pointing inside the mug with a hopeful look on his face. “Made a sculpture out of it though if it makes you feel better.”

H-0

It’s with great difficulty that you try to push Hwayoung out.

You’re breathless and the sweat that clings to your forehead is the proof that you haven’t even been breathing completely for the most part, preoccupied in pushing that you shoved yourself for second place.

The medical staff that keeps pushing you on and yet you barely hear each one of their encouragements, the only things grounding you being your doctor’s counting and Jungkook’s hand who keeps squeezing you by the side.

You’re focusing on the burn and you try not to be distracted by anything else; not by the pain that makes your eyes turn white and neither the pressure that rises up your chest for each nudge and push that you give. It’s what reminds you anyway that you’re here and you’ve already come so far — with Hwayoung and Jungkook.

You push until you hear a shrill, distinct cry that pierces your heart before it pierces your ears, the relief of your daughter finally being out weighing down your shoulders before they rise up again in anticipation to hold her.

Jungkook feels like he can finally breathe again the moment you tilt your head back, his lips pressing a warm kiss to your cheek that’s already damp with tears of your own before his.

Hwayoung’s placed so tenderly on your chest that you could just cry feeling her weight on top of you, her tiny fists looking for solace because she won’t stop crying and neither you nor Jungkook.

Your daughter’s tiny and warm but she already holds the weight of the entire universe; the proof of you and your husband.

#478 drabbles #jungkook oneshot #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario

[rosalinrabbit]

Forget Me Not

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader 

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, JJ, Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan (mentioned), David Rossi (mentioned).

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hanahaki Disease

Summary:  After pining for your boss since you joined the FBI, you were pretty sure that nothing would come of it until something happens one night at Rossi’s.

When it finally seems like he loves you back, he tells you that it was a mistake, leaving you heartbroken. The pain only gets worse for you once you begin coughing up petals.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Something you may discover about me and my writing is I live for the drama. Dramatic tropes? My favorite. So here's a hanahaki fic.

Suggestive Themes / Minors DNI

You really thought it was just a cold. Just something you’d picked up from an airport while the BAU jet was unavailable for a few days and you all got on a commercial flight to Ohio.

The coughs were small at first. As though there was nothing but a small obstruction to your day to day life. You thought it would wear off quickly, but after a week of cough drops, special tea with honey from Penelope, and following Spencer’s instructions for how best to get rid of a cough, it wasn’t letting up. It was only getting worse as days went on. Everyone told you to get rest over the weekend, so you did.

The following Monday, when you had come in early feeling okay, Hotch came in to find you nearly choking on water in the break room, desperate to get over a coughing fit that left you struggling to breathe. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and rushed over to you, putting your arms over your head to increase your lung capacity and trying to get you to breathe with him. When he finally got you to breathe normally and calm down, he told you to take the day off, and see a doctor when you got the chance. He looked worried, but you knew better than to believe that…

While you usually listened to Hotch, you didn’t like the doctor. And you still felt too upset with him over what had happened a month ago to listen to any advice for your personal life.

You got various texts throughout the day asking how you were, asking where you were, etc. You responded to them but were too tired to hold up a conversation. Penelope brought you dinner, and stayed to eat it with you so you wouldn’t be alone. You appreciated it immensely. After she left, you coughed up blood onto the mahogany floor of your living room. You called in sick the next day, too.

After bouts of coughing and barely leaving your couch, you asked Emily if she’d make plans after work to take you to the doctor tomorrow. She said yes, knowing how much you’d hate to go alone.

Around two in the afternoon that same day, you coughed up a soft blue petal into your palm. Picking up your phone with your non-stained hand, you called Emily.

“Em?” your voice shook as you spoke. “I think I need to go to a doctor today instead of tomorrow. Is-is that okay?”

You could hear her shuffling paper around, and Spencer’s voice was distant in the background. “Y/n, you’re crying,” she said lowly to avoid being heard by everyone nearby. “What happened?”

You’d barely registered the tears running down your face as you stared at the dainty little petal in your hand.

“I coughed up a flower petal,” you whispered, barely able to believe it yourself.

She didn’t speak for a moment.

“Fuck,” she murmured. “I’ll be right there.”

“Please, don’t tell him,” you begged her.

“I need to tell Penelope. She can get me a fake doctors note. And she’s going to want to help, she’ll want to do as much research as she can on it,” Emily rambled.

“Okay, just make sure she doesn’t tell him either. Please.”

“I know, I know. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

She hung up fast, leaving you all alone with your thoughts. With the knowledge that you would die unless you got the surgery, removing both the infection and your memories of him.

God, you felt so stupid. How could you have let yourself fall in love with him?

You got up to wash your hands in the sink, to get rid of the blood, but as you watched that petal circle the drain, the feeling of dread overwhelmed you as you tried to face the facts.

You had Hanahaki disease.

And he didn’t love you back.

*

Emily and Penelope were sitting across the table from you in your apartment the following night, watching closely as you took a sip of your warm tea.

The whole day and the day prior had been spent at several doctors offices and pharmacies as Emily and Penelope both insisted on multiple opinions. You ended up with three different medications for the hanahaki, and one anxiety medication to dull the constant state of panic that you were in.

The doctors said that if you kept taking your medication and kept yourself in good condition without exacerbating your emotional distress, you could do fairly well for a while. It’ll be mostly normal, apart from some coughing fits and some blue flower petals.

Turns out your flower is “scorpion grass,” also known as “Forget Me Nots.” Dainty blue flowers that were said to symbolize true love and respect for someone.

You could practically hear Spencer’s voice in your head as you thought about it. Hiding it from him would be tough. Hiding it from profilers in general would be tough. That’s why Emily and Penelope were trying to get as much information out of you as possible.

“It is Hotch, right?” Penelope asked after a long stretch of silence.

“Penelope!” Emily scolded slightly from next to her.

“What? I just wanted to double check…”

“It’s fine, Pen. It’s fine. But yes,” you sighed deeply, looking down at the table. “It’s Hotch.”

“C-could we tell him? Maybe there’s a chance that he-“

“There isn’t a chance,” you spoke quickly, cutting Penelope off. “He told me himself,” you murmured.

“He what?!” Emily raised her voice and nearly stood up from her chair.

“Remember that dinner party at Rossi’s? A month ago?” They both nodded their heads. “Well, later into the night, Rossi decided he was going to go to bed and told anyone still there that they could stay as long as they wanted. The only people left were Derek, Spencer, Hotch, and me. Derek drove Spencer home not long after that, and Hotch and I were trying to clean up to help out Rossi… I don’t know exactly how it happened, but we ended up on the couch…”

Penelope and Emily were both staring at you in shock as you relived that night. His large hands on your hips, his lips on your neck… How happy you had felt in that moment.

It was no secret that you’d been into him for a long time. There was something so undeniably attractive about him. He was stern yet caring, and he knew when to be authoritative and when to be a friend. When you first joined the BAU, you stuck by him for a lot of your first cases, and he was there for you every step of the way. It was all of the little things he did for you that made you notice. The way he remembered how you liked your coffee, or how he remembered to send you home in time to make it to that restaurant you liked so much before it closed. The way he led you in the field, trying to increase your confidence so you could stand on your own two feet. The way he looked at you as if he’d jump in front of a bullet for you.

You didn’t expect him to feel the same towards you, and when he kissed you that night at Rossi’s, it felt as though everything fell into place all at once. As though you belonged in his arms, and under him, and against his lips…

That was until he made it clear that you didn’t belong there…

“I don’t know what happened… but he just started staring down at me, and he got up like he was in a huge hurry to leave… and he told me that the entire thing was a mistake and that he was sorry,” you finally finished retelling it, your voice getting progressively quieter throughout.

A mistake. To him, you were a mistake.

You could feel a burning in your lungs as tears dropped onto the wooden dining table, and you started coughing. Penelope got up and came over to you, trying to get you to drink more tea. You didn’t manage to catch the coughing fit in time, and a few petals made their way out of your mouth before you could get a drink and calm down again. Penelope rubbed your back with one hand while Emily stayed staring at you from the other side of the table.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” Emily said quietly. “I didn’t… I really thought he…” she sighed, not sure how to finish her thought.

“You could still get the surgery,” Penelope offered.

You took a deep breath, not looking at her. “I could, yeah, but… what would that mean for everyone else? Who would I become?”

“There are some cases where people with the disease can come to terms with their feelings,” Emily spoke. “I know you might be hesitant to get the surgery, but the doctor said many choose not to get it until the disease progresses further. You still have time to decide.”

You nodded at her suggestion.

“I have a condition,” Penelope said. “You have to let us help take care of you. Like when you have to take your meds at work, you can come take a break in my office to do that. You have to let us be here for you and tell us what’s going on. That’s my condition.”

“Okay. I will. I have to take one of them four times a day, so… twice at the office, I guess. The others are either twice a day or once.”

“Take the twice a day then, too, it’ll give me peace of mind,” Emily requested. You agreed.

*

You returned to work the next day. You got in early, and when Hotch arrived, you took a deep breath and went to his office, asking to talk to him for a minute.

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, sitting down at his desk.

“I have a few doctors notes,” you handed him the papers from various doctors stating that you had appointments with them. “The cough isn’t going to go away anytime soon, but it’s not contagious or anything. I’m sorry for missing work.”

Hotch looked at the papers you gave him. “Please, don’t worry about it… but are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said half heartedly. You didn’t mean it at all but it was dismissive enough to hopefully get him to drop it.

“You went to three different doctors,” he said in a concerned tone. “I thought you hated seeing even one.”

“I was sick. Needed a few opinions,” You shrugged, trying to play it off.

He was looking at you like he didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t. But you were giving him a look that told him to drop the subject.

“I’m gonna go get caught up,” you told him, trying to leave.

“Ok. Thank you. I’m glad you’re back.”

You nodded and left, going down to the bullpen while trying to suppress the itchiness of your throat.

Deep breaths, you reminded yourself.

*

Days passed. You kept your promise to Penelope and would go to her office to take your meds. Emily would usually join you.

The symptoms weren’t getting too much worse. It was relatively easy to hide.

You noticed the weird looks Hotch had been giving you lately, which wasn’t helping with the whole idea of getting over your feelings. He kept looking at you like he cared, like he was concerned, and it was hard to remember that you knew he didn’t.

You knew it was a mistake.

About a week after returning to work, Hotch followed you into Penelope’s office when you went in to take your medications. You didn’t know he had followed you, because he didn’t come in right away. Instead, he came in while you had a number of colorful pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. You quickly downed the pills.

“Hi, sir,” Penelope said hesitantly. Emily was sitting next to her.

“What are you two doing in here?”

Emily and Penelope gave each other the shadiest looks ever, nearly making you groan from how abnormal they were being.

“I have to take medication twice a day, they’re just helping me adjust and remember to take it,” you said calmly.

“Oh, I see,” he said with a short nod. “Is it helping your cough?”

You shifted uncomfortably, unable to look him in the eye. “It’s been mellowing out lately.”

“It’s true, you’ve been coughing less,” Emily said with a fake smile. Penelope nodded next to her.

The tension in the room was so heavy. Everyone could feel it. Hotch knew the three of you were hiding something, and you knew he knew. But he was unlikely to actually ask about it.

*

Two weeks go by. You go on another overnight case. JJ ends up finding out after you cough up a few petals in the precinct bathroom. There were barely any women working there aside from you, JJ, and Emily, so you figured you’d be fine.

It led to a very emotional talk about how worried she is, and how she hopes you’ll open up to the rest of the team. You tell her that Spencer will probably figure it out soon enough, he’s already been giving you odd looks, but you were adamant on not telling anyone else. You didn’t want everyone so worried. Penelope and Emily were helping. JJ had her own family to worry about.

Aside from not wanting people to worry, you also weren’t keen on everyone knowing that you were in love with your boss, or hearing everyone tell you their opinions.

*

Another two weeks go by.

You feel like you have made zero progress emotionally. You have to see Hotch basically every day, considering he’s your boss. Working with him was no way to get over him easily, but you didn’t want to quit. What if you lived, and you couldn’t return to the BAU? It was your dream job. You loved it. What would life be without it?

But if you got the surgery, would you even want to work there anymore, or was it all for him? It felt like your mind was trapped in a never ending spiral.

He’d been a bit more attentive to you lately. It’s as if he senses something is deeply wrong with you. On the last case you went on, he did something he hadn’t done in a while, and paired you with him. Everything was professional, as it had been since that night, but being around him was just so difficult. You felt yourself struggling to breathe.

Spencer started watching you more and more closely. You could feel his eyes on you every time you even slightly coughed.

It felt like the meds weren’t doing as much as they were a month or so ago, when you first started them. You coughed quite often, trying desperately not to annoy everyone else in the office. For the most part, it was just the feeling like your lungs were burning. You’d managed not to cough up any petals in the bullpen, opting to head for Penelope’s office if you felt like the coughing was too intense.

During a particularly rough morning, Spencer practically escorted you to Penelope’s office, leaving briefly to get you more water before returning.

He didn’t even look startled when he came back to see blood dripping out of the corner of your mouth and petals strewn across the floor as you profusely apologized to Penelope from the floor.

Spencer grabbed a tissue from a nearby table and knelt down, joining you on the floor. He handed you the tissue and gave you a tight lipped smile. You took it, and cleaned the blood from your mouth.

“How long have you had this?” He asked gently.

“A little over two months… I found out a month after it started.”

“She’s taking medications for it,” Penelope added.

“Who else knows?” Spencer looked between the two of you.

“Emily, because she took me to the doctors appointments, and JJ found out a few weeks ago after I coughed up petals in the bathroom.” You paused, looking at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Spencer.”

“No, it-it’s okay. Hanahaki is one of those things that is difficult to share. But I’m glad I know now.”

You nodded, looking at the petals on the floor and starting to pick them up in case someone else walked in.

“Scorpion grasses,” Spencer noted, just as you knew he would. “Commonly known as Forget Me Nots.”

“They’re meant to symbolize true love and respect,” you said quietly. Spencer nodded.

“Are- um, are you getting the surgery?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I haven’t been able to overcome it naturally, I don’t know if I’ll be able to… but I don’t know who I’ll become if it’s all taken away.”

Spencer didn’t meet your eyes after you said that. “I know it seems scary, but… I hope you consider it further. Please don’t give up on yourself, y/n,” he said softly.

You just kept picking up the petals off the floor.

*

It’s only a week later that you wake up to a strange sight.

On your upper thigh, a blue flower has bloomed. Dainty green leaves peak out from under it, and the stem goes straight into your skin.

You frantically checked over the rest of your body to see a green leaf sticking out just over your chest.

Fumbling for your phone on the nightstand, you called your doctor.

They told you that you had developed a rare form of Hanahaki. Flowers would grow out of the places that the person you love has touched with their hands.

Your heart dropped. The doctor kept calling your name, trying to see if you were still at the phone or if the connection had dropped, when in reality you just felt frozen in time.

“If you’re still there, I know this might be hard news to hear. Just try to remember to keep calm, if you get too stressed the symptoms can worsen. I really think you should consider coming in and—“

You hung up, cried into your pillow for a solid thirty minutes, put on a pair of pants and found a turtleneck in the closet to hide the flowers and leaves, and got to work a bit late.

As for the development, you didn’t say anything.

They were worried enough. You knew the pressure they were putting on you was just out of worry, but it was so difficult to handle. Everyone wanted you to live. Of course, you wanted to live, too. You always thought it was so irrational whenever you heard of someone with Hanahaki choosing to die. But then you knew the changes that those who decided to live experienced. There was a chance that your memories of Hotch might be removed along with the emotions. You didn’t like that idea at all.

Memories are too important to who you are.

So it was as if the choices were: the current you could choose to die and be reborn as someone else, or you could die as yourself, with your memories and your feelings. It’s not as clear cut as living or dying.

So when someone asked why you started wearing turtlenecks to work, you told them that it was because you kept feeling a bit chilly. If they knew about your condition, you told them that the lack of temperature control in your body was a side effect of the medication.

Though it was getting progressively more difficult to hide throughout an entire day.

The flowers kept trying to grow out of your palms, and were progressing to grow from your chest.

Eventually, you coughed up your first full flower.

It was stupidly beautiful. How could something that was killing you be so beautiful?

Maybe you’d ask to be planted in a garden if the plants overtake you. That way, the death wouldn’t be so grim.

*

Working as a living terrarium was getting progressively more difficult and more complicated. The hiding, the coughing, the medication, the petals that sometimes made their ways out of your clothing…

You were sitting at your desk late one night, barely even registering that everyone else had gone home. Your whole body felt tired from fighting off the plants overtaking your system.

A deep voice startled you from behind.

“Y/n?” You turned around to look up at Hotch, who’s brows were furrowed in concern. “There’s something in your hair…”

“Oh, really?” You asked, brushing the top of your head to get it off.

“Yeah, it looks like a blue piece of paper or something…” Blue? “Here, I can-“

“No!” You quickly covered your head with your hands and moved away as though you’d been electrocuted. “It-it’s fine, I got it. Um… I should really go home. I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.” You quickly gathered your bags and all but ran for the elevator doors, pushing the “close doors” button over and over until they finally shut, leaving you alone in the elevator so you couldn’t see the he hurt expression on his face from you pushing him away.

In the reflective doors, you could see a little blue flower peeking out from under your hair. A tear fell down your cheek.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

*

It was the middle of the night on Sunday when you got a call from Penelope that there was a case.

Half asleep with your throat feeling like it’s on fire, you call Hotch.

“Hotchner,” he answered in his usual stern voice.

“Hey, it’s me. I know we just got a case, but I’m feeling a bit under the weather and was wondering if I could stay back and work with Garcia.”

“If it’s that bad, maybe you should just stay home.” Even though you knew he didn’t know, the coldness and annoyance that you thought you detected in his tone made your heart ache. Was it time to finally give this up?

You sighed. “Maybe you’re right,” you chuckled sadly. “Good luck on this one. Bye, Hotch.”

“Wait, y/n-“

You hung up before he could finish, covering your eyes with one hand.

A new decision was before you now. Resignation, or unpaid sick leave?

You called Penelope and asked her to get you an FMLA form to send to your doctor to fill out.

Your body was growing far too weak to take such great lengths to hide the flowers.

*

Days slowly tick by. Penelope would come to visit fairly often, but it was brief enough to hide the flowers blooming all over your body.

Emily and JJ called you nearly every night to check on you.

Everyone was still out on the case. You guessed it must have been a difficult one.

Your form to take unpaid sick leave for an undetermined amount of time, sighed by you and your doctors, was sitting on Hotch’s desk for when he returned.

Penelope and Emily seemed to be increasingly hostile toward Hotch. They kept complaining about his behavior, about how clueless he is, about how upset they are.

One night you got a particularly odd phone call from Hotch.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he spoke, voice sounding a little shaky.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. It was just a rough case. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Your head instinctively turned to the mirror in your bedroom. You studied yourself, sitting on the floor, surrounded by little blue petals and flowers, a few blood stains accompanying them. There were flowers in your hair and petals on your face, small blooms blossomed out of your wrists and on your thighs above your socks.

“I-I’m okay.”

“Y/n,” he sighed. “I know it’s not my place, but you’re really worrying me. You haven’t- I haven’t seen you smile in months. It’s been forever since I’ve heard your laugh. You’re usually so cheerful, you brighten up the entire office with your optimism. There’s obviously something going on, and no one will tell me what’s happening.”

You could feel your airways being blocked as you felt a pang in your chest. He hadn’t heard you laugh or seen you smile. What does he care?

Why would he say something like that? It was as if it was a statement designed to kill you.

“I-“ you were cut off by a flower making it’s way up through your throat. You harshly coughed it out. “Sorry,” you mumbled when you could finally speak again. “I um… I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Your voice was rough as you spoke.

“I just want you to tell me the truth.”

“I’m.. I’m just sick.”

“Is it serious?”

“I-“

“Answer me honestly.”

“…yes.”

“Are you getting treated?”

Flowers were poking their way through the skin of your palms, growing on your wrists as you stared into your own reflection.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to get better?”

You took a long pause, watching as another flower bloomed next to your phone as you held it in your hand, and another appeared in your hair.

“No,” you sobbed lightly. “It’s not.”

He was silent. After a minute or so of complete silence as you held your breath, you just hung up, unable to take it anymore. He couldn’t pretend to care about it, could he? So he said nothing.

You were dying and he said nothing.

Tears streamed down your face as you covered it with your hands, practically watering the flowers growing from within you, letting them take over. You could feel vines and blooms growing on your thigh, up your arm, out of your chest, inside your throat, against your sides…

Slipping down, laying on your side on the hard wooden floor, you wondered who would find you like this.

You wondered if it would be Penelope, scarring her for the rest of her life and dimming the brightness of her soul, or if it would be Emily, adding to her already long list of traumatic events and making her feel more cynical toward the world she desperately tried not to hate. Or maybe JJ, or Spencer, or someone else.

Your breathing became even more hindered as a flower grew out of your mouth. You could still breathe, but barely, struggling against the leaves and stems twisting and growing through you.

The thought dawned on you that maybe you should’ve gotten the surgery, but you push that out of your mind. Too little too late.

Hours pass as you lay there, struggling to breathe and keep yourself alive. The phone rings a few times, just a little bit too far out of reach. Your fingers twitch, trying to find it next to you, but you give up when you realize that you can’t give a response.

The hardness of the floor made you ache, but after a while, you didn’t notice it anymore. The pain was incomparable to how much the flowers hurt.

The room got significantly darker at some point, the sun must have gone down.

Eventually, you close your eyes, far too tired to be concerned about whether you’ll ever open them again.

*

You are slightly woken by a very loud sound coming from the hall. It sounded like someone was trying to break down your door. Sighing slightly, rattling the stems twisting out of your throat, you let your eyes close again, faintly hearing your name being called.

A few minutes pass until you hear footsteps rapidly getting louder. The door opens, and they come to a stop, pausing there. You wondered who it was, but your body was on the floor next to the bed. Even if you turned around, you wouldn’t be able to see, so your eyes stayed shut.

But then you felt familiar hands on you. Tentative at first, stroking your arm. Then, big and warm, lifting up the top half of your body off of the floor. A hand was placed on your cheek, and you slowly opened your eyes to see Aaron Hotchner looking down at you with tears in his eyes and a desperate look on his face.

“Oh god, oh thank god,” he sighed when he saw your eyes open. “I-I thought you were dead,” his voice broke.

You slightly turned your head to the side, a last ditch attempt to keep him from seeing tears roll down your face.

“Y/n,” his voice was soft. “Please, please look at me.” You slowly did as he asked, your eyes meeting once more as he continued holding you. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I told you that it was a mistake to kiss you that night. I didn’t mean it, I’ve never, ever, thought of you as a mistake. I only said it because I thought it was something you didn’t want, that I was pushing this on you. You’re- you’re so much younger than I am, and you’re kind, and beautiful, and extremely talented… You brighten the entire world while I think I just dim it. I thought I would be holding you back from having the life you deserve if I let myself give in, but I never should have said that. It was stupid of me not to tell you how I feel.” You closed your eyes, feeling a mix of relief and of doubt washing over you, and you didn’t know which of the two would win. He leaned down, and put his forehead against your own. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the very first day I met you. Since I gave you a compliment during your interview and your face lit up, and you told me that it meant a lot coming from someone like me, someone who never said anything they didn’t mean.” When you opened your eyes, you saw that he was still crying, just like you were, as he stared deeply into your eyes. “I only ever lied to you once, and it was the biggest mistake of my life, so please believe me when I say this now,” he breathed. “I’m in love with you, and I can’t lose you. I can’t. I’m so sorry it took me this long to tell you.”

With a trembling hand, you reached up to your mouth, and carefully took out the already-wilting flower that had occupied the space there. His eyes didn’t move from yours as you took a shaky breath.

“I love you too,” you whispered, voice rough. The flowers on your palms were losing their luster, drooping as you moved your hand to his face.

He gently leaned in, and kissed you softly. A lot like he did all those weeks ago.

He helps you pull the dying flowers off of your body, and sits with you as you call Emily and Penelope to tell them that you’re going to be okay.

He gets you off the floor and helps you into bed.

He gets you water and orders dinner for the two of you.

He doesn’t leave your side that night. He helps you as your body slowly regains it’s strength, taking care of you until you can stand on your own.

Even then, he’d never let you go again.

*

One Year Later

You wake up with Aaron’s arm draped over you and your legs intertwined with his.

“Morning,” he mumbles sleepily, seeing that you’re awake. You blink a few times before turning and burying your face in his neck. He chuckled, your nose tickling him slightly.

“I love you,” you sighed happily.

“I love you, too. Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

You pull back slightly to look at him. “One whole year since I scared the hell out of you,” you said in a slightly teasing tone, trying to take away some of the pain that the memory brought with it.

“And the rest of the team,” he adds with his eyebrows raised.

“Well, as long as you’re with me, I don’t think it’ll be happening again..” You giggled and shifted up slightly to kiss him. “Thanks for saving me, sir.”

“Anytime, Princess.”

You blushed and smiled at him before turning your head, hearing a door open. “I think I hear someone getting out of bed down the hall.”

Sure enough, Jack comes bounding into the room you share with Aaron, jumping on the bed and tackling you with a hug.

You and Jack got along so well that after only a few months of dating Aaron, you ended up moving in with him and Jack full-time. While some would say it was fast, you only had eyes for Aaron.

You had never been happier in your entire life than now, spending your days at the BAU and the evenings with Aaron and Jack.

You and Aaron dropped off Jack at school with an extra hug from both of you since he was planning on having a sleepover with one of his friends that night and you wouldn’t see him until the next morning.

Thankfully, the team wasn’t given any new cases, although Strauss and Aaron did have a meeting in his office which made you worry a little. His mood didn’t seem to falter, so you figured the meeting went okay.

The two of you have dinner in a park that evening. The weather was perfect, and the sunset was beautiful. The last flowers of summer were in full force, showing their beauty and color before they wilt.

At some point, when you look over to Aaron, he’s already on one knee, small box in hand. You start crying almost immediately, which doesn’t surprise him in the least, but it makes him tear up a little bit, too.

You can’t even verbalize a response when he asks you if you’ll marry him. You just nod and smile through tears as his face breaks into a huge smile.

Just a year ago, you thought you were going to die alone, becoming fertilizer for the plants that were overtaking your body.

And now, you fall asleep next to the man you were so in love with that it almost killed you, a ring on your finger, and your heart full of love.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #fem!reader x aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hanahaki #angst and fluff #rorabbit

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Thirteen.

One Friday update for you all, besties! Hope you have a lovely weekend :D

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve

Words - 3,986

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.

The grasp upon the top of her arm was so tight, she could feel pain down to the bone, his thick fingers vice-like, manhandling her, dragging her along as she stumbled and slipped upon the perfectly polished floor.  

That glossy marble was hard on her knees as she was thrown into a heap, turning to face him, grunting in pain when he kicked her in the thigh.  

“What’s what right there?” 

“Wh-what?”  

His hand went to her hair, pushing her head down. “That there, you blind puttana!” 

A tiny smudge upon the floor, Emma pulling the cloth from her pocket and immediately buffing it away. “I-I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry, R-Rocco.”  

“You damned oughta be.” Each stern word was bitten off from his boxy, white teeth. “Now get out there and mow the lawn, you lazy cunt. Move it!”  

His foot hitting her in the ass was the breaker of her dream, Emma sitting up with a gasp in bed. Gathering herself and her bearings, she caught her breath, at least glad she hadn’t woken in a zoned-out state and ended up in the closet or the corner. Unfortunately, she had disturbed the man who always found here there.  

“Y’okay, Em?” he muffled sleepily from within the pillows, his hand moving to stroke her back. Unfortunately, the prazosin she’d been prescribed to treat her nightmares hadn’t kicked in yet, the doctor explaining it would take a week or two, perhaps longer. At least she was on the right track with it, though.  

Thankfully the drugs he’d given her to decrease anxiety were starting to work in her waking life, which was a definite ease of emotional burden. Sudden loud noises no longer spooked her, and she was much less nervous around new people. Shouting still made her jumpy, though. Baby steps. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay now.” Sighing, she reached for the lamp, turning it on and locating her water bottle. Chugging back a few mouthfuls, she saw Guero’s hand making a grabby motion coming into her line of vision. “There you go, my little brontosaurus.” 

He snorted softly, taking a few gulps. “For someone who hisses like a demon in her sleep, you need to knock that shit off. I never know whether I should pinch your nose or call a fucking priest.” 

“Oh, so he’s comedy brontosaurus!” He tickled her for that, handing the water bottle back as she giggled. Humour. It was about the only way she knew how to deal with the nightmares from her ordeal, two months after finally escaping it. At least he indulged her in it, being a comic person by nature. Okay, so there was a fair amount of smart mouthed sass that also went hand in hand with it, but still, nobody made her laugh like Guero. 

There were also other ways she dealt with the lingering effect of her nightmares; ones that also involved something else he was very good at.  

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, after she’d turned over and huffed for the fourth time.  

“Nope.” 

Moving the covers off them, he shifted himself between her legs. “I gotta real good remedy for that.”  

He truly did, pushing her thighs apart to bury his mouth between them. She gasped, his tongue pushing through her folds, taking that first explorative lick at her. Using his fingers, he parted the petals of her cunt, licking her again, a slow, flat drag of his tongue causing her back to arch off the bed, bending elegantly like a bow. He smirked to himself, the thrill of having caused such a response with a mere two licks.  

His eyes took in her glinting hole, sparkling pink and dewy with need already, pushing his tongue within her, a cry leaving her mouth, slowly dragging a hard lick up to her clit and proceeding to circle, softly at first, making her tingle. He coaxed further exclamations from her, those responses causing his cock to harden, fast little flicks over her bud making it swell. 

“Mmm, you like that, huh?” 

“Oh, I’ll give you about a month to stop!” Her words made him chuckle deeply, gently kissing her, wrapping her clit in the soft, pillowy heat of his full lips and sucking, her nails digging into the thickness of his shoulders as she trembled. Her head spun, running her nails over his scalp as she quivered, hips softly undulating against his face, each lick at her clit like wet heat driving cool fire as he built her up steadily. 

The sensations of bliss pooling against his mouth turned his groans to gravel, eating her with more fervour, devouring every last bit of her pink, sending pleasure sparking up her spine. Her release brimmed forth, her little cries of ecstasy driving him on, his tongue lashing hard against her. It sent her reeling as she teetered and then exploded, the release washing over her, her waves crashing against his shore and leaving her breathless.   

She was still warmed to her veins with the haze of bliss when he moved behind her, hooking her leg under his arm and gliding into the satin of her pussy, Emma mewling softly at the delicious stretch of him parting her walls. Another thing she’d managed to procure from the discreet doctor were contraceptive pills, of which he’d furnished her with enough of to last until their next appointment.  

The hot, naked drag of him within her, no longer barriered by latex felt incredible, his mouth buried at her neck, kissing a constellation onto her flushed skin as he groaned faintly. Glimmers shot through her from the insanely deep punch of his cock, the pace slow and rolling, his hips quivering against her as she fluttered around him.  

For her, it was the kind of intensity that made her heart swell, bolts burning brightly in her chest. His hand reached beneath her neck, turning her head to lean his face near, nuzzling her softly before he kissed her with smouldering desire. Sex with Rocco had never been like that, but then again, since it was against her will she understood well that what she had with Guero was a million miles from it.  

What they shared was beyond anything she could have ever imagined back then.  

“Fucking love you so much, baby,” he groaned, kissing her again with stormy affection. It was the moment she’d longed for, for years and years, to have a man fall in love with her, hear him tell her that with sincerity unmatched. God, her heart. 

“I - oh fuck, fuck, fuck - I love you too, ahhh!” she cried, her voice breaking as the deep spear of his cock sent pleasure bursting through her. 

“And if that isn’t the most beautiful way for me to hear you say it, right between those pretty little moans.” It gathered momentum, swirling like a tempest, sharp little shocks skittering over them, their bodies heated and sweat slicked. A frisson of warmth pooled low in her, the sudden overflow having her crying out, her mouth breaking from his as she wailed. He followed her into the abyss of undoing, his teeth sharp at her neck, hot breaths blasting against her skin as the tight clutch of his hands upon her finally slackened.  

He lay inside her for a time, fingers trailing her breasts, kissing her shoulder as they enjoyed the feeling of their nerves still tingling in afterglow. Finally, he slid from her with a slippery pop, pulling the covers back over them, his arm tightening around her waist. She slept very, very soundly that night, waking from a long sleep at 9am, she and Guero with nowhere to go and nothing to do for the morning.  

“Why did you choose the moment you did to tell me you loved me?” she asked out of nowhere, stroking his chest idly.  

It was a question he hadn’t been expecting, Guero smirking a little with the randomness. “Um, might’ve been prompted by the fact I was balls deep in you at the time.” He puffed his cheeks out, eyes rounding as he looked down at her, the expression cracking her up.  

“Well, at least you’re honest.”  

“And so damned romantic, huh?” The playful sarcasm dripped from him, lacing his fingers through hers and kissing her hand, turning to her. “I did mean it, though. I did. I do. You’re incredible. You’re beautiful and gentle, and so much stronger than you know, too. Haven’t told a woman that in a long time either, that I love her.”  

“Who was the last before me?” she asked, skimming his collarbone with her thumb. 

He winced slightly, but offered an answer all the same. “A girl called Astrid Henry. We were together for five years before I found out she’d been fucking my cousin for the last fourteen months of it.”  

Her mouth dropped open immediately. “Who in their right mind would cheat on a guy as great as you?” It baffled her completely. To her eyes, he was the complete package.  

“Someone who was being neglected, but still liked the lifestyle offered to her from dating an outlaw. I was coming up in the club more back in Tuscon, reconnecting with my dad, too. I didn’t put her first a lot of the time. Then when I found out, me and my sparky fucking temper acted before the rational side kicked in. I should have just called it quits with her, but nah. I went and fucked her best friend, because I’m vengeful.” He scrunched his nose up, shaking his head. “Wasn’t my proudest moment.” 

She shrugged, squeezing his hand. “At least you acknowledge it. I think the person I’m slowly starting to become now I’m out from under the weight of Rocco recognises that, the need to hurt if I've been hurt. I can feel there’s something growing within me that wants to get back at him, and it’s gnawing at me that I can’t. Anyway, I’m not making this all about me. What did Astrid do when she found out about you and her friend?”  

“Threw a lamp at me,” he began, biting the corner of his lip, “because when she found out, I was piledriving the friend in question at the time. Set it up so she’d catch me doing it, wanted to hurt her as badly as she had me. It all fucking went crazy after that, cops showed up because of all the yelling, I spent a night in the cells because of it, until my dad came down and smoothed things over with the local PD. I then got one of the famed Ibarra rants for the entire journey home about not thinking with my dick. I guess he was right.” 

“From what you’ve told me, he seems like the type who’d never miss an opportunity to call you out,” she laughed, watching him nod vigorously. 

“Uh huh, the old man was all about that. Teachable moments, delivered at a billion decibels.” He smiled, thinking of his dad, the sadness that they were only just getting back on track again before he’d died stinging at his insides. Those few years they’d had at the end of his life weren’t enough. He brightened then, remembering something. “There was another thing he told me that’s always stuck, something useful.” 

“Yeah? What was it?” 

Turning her onto her back, he pinned her there, hands curling around her arms as he leaned to place kisses against her throat. “That if a woman can still get up and walk after you’re done with her, you didn’t do your job properly.”  

She raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s your aim here, hmm?” 

His mouth continued to glide, the crush of his teeth around her nipple sending a jolt through her. “Total paralysis.” 

Once he was finished railing her into the bed, she could still walk, but it was extremely bow legged and wobbly. After showering and having something to eat, they headed down to the clubhouse on foot, Axl trotting along between them happily. He usually didn’t head down of a Sunday, but Emma had reason to that day, booked in with Hank to begin a project they’d discussed a couple of weeks back. She tired of her scars, and he was the very man who could help her with that.  

A couple of other guys were hanging around, Gilly, Nestor and Bottles, EZ absconded to his trailer with some girl or another, from the sounds coming from it as they’d walked past. Hank was all set up in the corner, greeting her with a big smile.  

“You ready, then?”  

She nodded, cringing a little bit. “As I’ll ever be.” Removing her top, Hank cleaned down the area first before taking one of the two transfers he’d drawn out, making sure it hit her skin just right before placing it down. “Like we discussed, this is just to give me a guide. Anything else I can free hand, make sure every last scar is covered up.”  

He’d suggested the flowers he was placing upon her, a full colour piece of tree peonies and oriental poppies, flowers with large blooms to cover the most, the vivid reds, purples and oranges she wanted them in acting further to camouflage what lay beneath. 

Arranging herself on the table, she prepared for pain, Hank beginning with the outlines first, of which he’d told her to anticipate would be the worst. The needles hit her skin, yet her face didn’t change. He exchanged a glance with Guero, the men raising their eyebrows a fraction in surprise. She’d probably start to make some kind of noise to voice discomfort as soon as he hit bone, he wagered, but once there, her reaction was zero. She sat solid.  

“I hope you know you’re making your guy here look like a pussy right now by comparison,” he chuckled, Guero raising his middle finger. “When I put that elephant on his side, he bitched and complained the entire time.”  

“That shit hurts!” he exclaimed, Emma curling her lip a little. 

“Eh. It isn’t too bad. Kinda soothing.”  

“Soothing?” A head shot up across the clubhouse, Gilly ambling his bulk over. “Nah, you’re cheating and using numbing cream, girl. Ain’t no way anybody would claim ribcage tattoos are fucking soothing otherwise, nah. Uh-uh. It’s hell.”  

She shrugged lightly. “Hell is being held down by your throat and having red hot knives held against your flesh. Gives you a new appreciation for how cattle must feel, I can tell you.” 

At hearing that snippet, Hank stopped tattooing immediately. He’d been much too considerate of her privacy to ask exactly how she’d gotten her scars when she’d shyly revealed them to him, but hearing that sent a chill through his blood. Gilly’s too. 

“Wait, Lombardi did this to you?” the bald man asked, his forehead crinkling from the depth of his frown. 

“He did,” she hummed quietly, reaching to stroke Guero’s arm, noticing the little giveaways of his temper flaring. Tight jaw, flared nostrils. It still made him seethe.  

Gilly shook his head. “Motherfucker, doing that to a girl. What the fuck? Damn, no wonder you’re sitting it rocksteady. I’ve burned myself on hot metal before lemme tell you, I’ll take tattoo pain every time!” 

“Yeah, me too,” Hank grumbled, nodding as he looked at her. “You’re damned tough, Emma.”  

Having a couple of big, scary outlaws tell her that was perhaps the highest praise, she thought. “Did what I had to do to survive. This is why I said it was soothing. Cathartic, even, covering up what he did with something beautiful.” 

Although they had no comprehension over everything she must have gone through, they could understand that desire, at least. She sat relatively unflinching for the first two hours, all the outlines and a little of the colour done, having a few sips of water before she lay back for the remaining two, soldiering on, wanting the first half finished. 

“Can we do the outlines for my lower back too while we’re at it, or are you getting hand cramp?” Emma asked, Hank flexing his hand after putting the tattoo machine down.  

“I could, but you’ve sat for long enough today. Go get something to eat and rest.” Pausing, he then picked up the large mirror at his side lifting it onto his lap. “Ready to see it?”  

She nodded, Hank turning it around as she shuffled side on and lifted her arm. Immediately, she let out a little sob. They were gone. Every single one of them, and in their place something truly, truly beautiful. “Hank! Oh my god, I love it! Thank you.”  

He returned the hug she slid down to give him, feeling his cheeks flush a little when she kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome. Let’s get it covered for you.” One large dressing applied and she was done, Guero moving to hug him. 

“It’s dope as fuck, man. Thanks for doing that for her.” he told him earnestly with a nod, Hank smiling. Looking over at Emma, it was worth the hand cramp he’d lied about having, knowing how important it was to her that she cover up at least one third of the scars that obviously brought her emotional stress. She seemed to stand a little taller, her smile a little wider as she stood talking to Bottles.  

“I have to walk around like this now, like I’m doing the half chicken dance!” she exclaimed, holding her arm up, Bottles shaking with laughter. What a difference to the terrified young woman who’d first entered the clubhouse in Guero’s arms two months prior.  

They decided to remain at the clubhouse for the rest of the evening, Bishop and Lee arriving, ordering in pizza, beer and tequila flowing. They flowed so much, in fact, that Emma got to witness a first; a smashed Guero.  

“You gonna be okay getting him and the dog home?” Nestor asked, who had Axl lying across his lap, enjoying the belly rubs he was receiving.  

Emma turned to view Guero, him and Gilly near cry laughing at something Bottles was telling them, her guy collapsed on the bar. “Not too sure,” she replied, before calling out to him. “Honey! Can you walk?”  

“Pfft, course I can, hic, walk!” he yelled through a loud hiccup, sliding off the stool onto his feet, wobbling. “M’drunk, not, not... th’thing where y’can’t walk.”  

She shook her head, resting a hand to her brow. “No, but he’s definitely the thing where he can’t talk.” 

Nestor snort laughed as he reached to squeeze her arm. “I’ll help you get him back.” Guero protested this, yelling that he was ‘habsoltey, hic, fine!’, Nestor shaking his head and steering him away from walking into the doorframe. It continued along the twenty-five-minute walk back to the house, Guero entertaining them if nothing else. 

“Baby, be ready. Cuz’ imma, hic, smash the hell outta you when wh’home,” he proclaimed, turning to Emma with a huge, dopey grin, Nestor moving quickly to prevent him from walking into a streetlamp. 

“Bro, the only thing you’re gonna smash is yourself. Eyes forward man,” he advised. 

“You can’t tell me whadda do!” His roared words filled the mostly desolate street, Emma in soft fits as she walked, Axl trotting along obediently at her side. “Gonna go bone the living fhuk outta my woman!” 

He continued to behave like a complete liability for the rest of the journey home, stumbling up the drive, their return heard by the local all-seeing eye next door.  

“Fuckboy hammered outta his mind, yo!” Tyrone yelled, his high-pitched laugh sounding as he emerged from behind the curtains. Immediately, Guero’s face lit up. 

“Tyrone! Whassup, bro?” he beamed, steaming across the lawn at full, drunken stampede.  

“Oh Jesus. Apply brakes man, slow down... woah!” he cried, scream laughing as Guero heaved himself up and then promptly vanished through the window rapidly, landing in Tyrone’s living room with a loud thud. Emma and Nestor couldn’t breathe for their hysterics, walking over, peering in to see him lying on his back laughing, Tyrone hissing with tears running down his face. “Fuckboy be all up in here with his bad gymnastics. You scored a solid two point zero for the window vault, my man! You okay, bro? Fuck!”  

"M'great! Window vault was at least a, hic, seven, holding out on me, Tyrone!"

The big man continued to laugh, wheezing hard as he turned to Nestor and Emma. "I know I give the mofo' shit, but I love this guy so fuckin' much! He the damned best when he hammered!"

Guero finally peeled himself off the floor, grabbing a handful of chips from the bag and shrugging. “Love you, too, big poppa! Gonna go score higher in the sexy ghymnhast-hics!”  

Tyrone continued to hiss laugh. “You ain’t doin’ shit other than passin’ out!”  

“WATCH ME!” he roared, spraying a mouthful of chips everywhere before vanishing from the room. Emerging through the front door and slamming it behind him, he stumbled over to Nestor, holding his face in his hands and kissing his forehead. “Love you, Sacagawea. Later!”  

His words were followed by another hiccup, Emma thanking Nestor for his assistance and saying goodnight to him and Tyrone, surprised to see Guero actually manage to get his key in the front door and slide inside, almost toppling over. Oh, god. After unclipping Axl from his leash, the dog moving to curl up on the armchair, she ventured through to the kitchen, finding Guero raiding the cupboards.  

“Love, what are you doing?” she groaned softly, a packet of soup mix hitting the floor with a thud.  

“Need instant choffee.”  

Confusion creased her face. “But you don’t like instant coffee.” 

“Need it! No time to, hic, do choffee macheeeen! Makin’ my dad’s sober drink. Called in the, hic, resurrector.” He paused, burping, giggling to himself and muttering something undecipherable. “Well, m’not gonna be properly sober, but it wakes a dude up.” He continued his searching, finally finding it, hiccupping again. He poured a frightening amount into a mug, putting water into another and taking it to the microwave, putting it on and then staggering to the fridge.  

“An egg, hot sauce and Red Bull?” Emma inquired, raising her eyebrow.  

Guero turned, grinning. “Trust the process. Ten minutes and m’gonna be alive aghain.”  

She expected the process was going to make him throw up, if she was honest. Watching him concoct the disgusting sounding remedy, she felt ill just imagining the flavour and texture of it. Guero paused, taking a deep breath before knocking it back. Immediately, he heaved.  

“Bathroom, now!” she ordered, pointing in the direction. “Really, honey. I can’t deal with cleaning up puke.”  

He held his finger up, heaving again, swallowing hard. “Ten minutes.”  

“Are you going to be alright if I go shower? I’m too hot.” 

He beamed. “Damn right, y’are. Leave it on cold f’me.”  

She left the bathroom door open, anticipating a thud she’d have to go and collect him up off the floor from, showering carefully around her fresh tattoo. He entered the room about five minutes after she’d left him in the kitchen, singing to himself as he brushed his teeth. Remaining unconvinced of the process she was meant to trust, she exited the shower, switching it to cold, Guero climbing in.  

“MOTHER FUCK, that’s freezing!” Well, he sounded less slurred. Still, though, the expectation was for him to hit the bed and pass out. What she didn’t expect was a steadier looking Guero to enter the room, whisk the covers off her and hum with approval. 

“Spread your legs, baby. Lemme see that pretty little pussy.” Doing as instructed, she pulled her legs splayed, her knees touching her chest, Guero’s grin widening. “Mmm, fuck yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”  

Her day might have begun with a nightmare, but how it ended was anything but.  

#guero mayans mc #guero mayans mc fanfiction #guero fanfiction #mayans mc fanfiction #guero smut #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic #mayans mc season 5

[lovejosephquinn]

joe helping reader out throughout the birth of their first kid (and if you can make them twins, please do!!)

Your fiancé had been by your side from the moment your water broke and the contractions began and of course, he wasn't chilled about it.

"Oh, fuck it's happening. Oh shit, I wasn't prepared for this." Joe shouted, his hands on his head as he paced along the bathroom floor.

You lent over the sink, clutching at your pregnant belly, as the words fell out of his mouth you couldn't help the dead eye you shot him. Leaning up, holding your other hand onto your back you let a sigh of relief out once the pain subsided. "You think I was?"

"No, I- I mean we." Joe corrected himself quickly, good save.

“It's the first time we've been through this Joe, I didn't expect us to be prepared for what to do."

"But it's early, do you think they're ok?" He slapped his hand across his mouth and pointed down to your stomach.

"It's only a couple of weeks, I had my last check up a week ago, they're fine, calm down." The contractions started again, and you keeled over grimacing at the pain, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced in your life.

"Yes, good calm, that's right." Joe turned back round to you finally realising that maybe you just needed that bit extra support, he rushed over, holding you upwards to take you the car. Once he'd managed to hobble you over and strapped you in the best he possibly could given your weight gain, he ran back in to get your bag you'd packed a couple of weeks ago for when the time came.

You'd been in labour for over 12 hours when the nurse finally announced that you were fully dilated and ready to begin pushing. The whole circus act Joe had put on was award worthy, every twinge of pain, every sudden whimper you made, every sudden unusual breathing pattern, he'd be on you in an instant.

The particular things that grated on you most were:

"Breathe Y/N, my hearts going 100 miles an hour watching you do this."

You bit your tongue.

"The nurse said to do it this way, move baby, move this way."

It's incredibly difficult to move a certain way with two fully grown new-borns about to come out of you and the pain increasing every time.

You were ready to knock his light outs if you were honest with yourself, his coping mechanism in the time of your labour was both irritable and hysterical to say the least. It really is a damn good job you love this man.

You pulled the gas and air mask over your mouth breathing in it like your life depended on it, you were squeezing the blood flow out Joe's hand and you were giving the pushes everything you had in you.

"I see the head." The doctor announced. "Keep doing Y/N, you're doing great."

"Baby, listen to the doctor." That was when you squeezed your eyes shut for what felt the millionth time, not to push but to simply hold your annoyance in from the love of your life's melodramatic behaviour.

"Another push on three."

The doctor counted agonizingly slow, and you felt your hand tighten around Joe's once more, you let out a deafening scream as you heard the sound of crying, your first baby had made it safely into the world.

Joe sobbed the moment he saw it, tears ejected from his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, and he looked down on you like he couldn't have loved you more in that second.

"Right, are we ready to go again Y/N?"

You shook your head slightly but regained yourself, nodding even slower, no you were not bloody ready for round two.

You readjusted yourself, your hand not letting go of his.

You pushed and pushed and pushed. Screamed a few profanities after forgetting your gas and air the second time round, but quite frankly who wouldn't if their privates were being torn apart by not only one but two babies.

Then came baby number two, no cries, just a few noisy sounds came out. Sweat dripped from your head, your hair mangled all around the pillow and over your face, Joe swept it back for you, planting a kiss onto your forehead, his hand still gripping tight to yours, it didn't matter if his bones felt bruised the feeling of happiness took over that.

Your babies were being weighed and cleaned up and getting ready for you to hold.

The pain of childbirth and your moment of hatred for your man had disappeared in an instant as soon as you caught sight of Joe, the way his eyes sparkled with love and adoration, both for you and the new loves of his life, he shook his head, his smile beamed down at you, a mental image you would store in your head forever.

The nurse wandered over with the twins, "Congratulations on two beautiful, healthy boys you two." That was the moment it hit you, you were finally a mother, as you took them into each of your arms, the tears joined Joe's.

"I'm so proud of you baby, I love you so much." Joe snaked his hand onto the back of your head, peppering kisses on your cheek and you turned to him, gazing into his eyes.

"I love you more, say hi to our boys, daddy."

Throughout the whole pregnancy, you'd referred to each other as mummy and daddy when you spoke to them inside your tummy. Joe hesitated for a moment before stroking the top of their heads, "Hi." the look he'd gave them was unfathomable, he loved them more than they'd ever know. His awkward hello was so him.

Joe leaned down for a quick peck on your lips before his eyes escaped back to watch them. "I have to go call everyone; will you be ok for a minute?"

You nodded, terrified of being alone with them for a moment, the nurse came over pretty soon after to take them from you to put them in their joint travel cot so you could be cleaned and stitched. Joe gave you a wave knowing that you'd be kept busy a little while and ran out into the hallway, you heard the crash from his phone hitting the floor and sniggered a little bit.

Your chaotic Joseph and their chaotic daddy, there wouldn't be a better man to raise your boys with.

#my asks #requests are open #joseph quinn request #joe quinn request #joseph quinn imagine #joe quinn imagine #joseph quinn blurb #joe quinn blurb #joe quinn fanfic #josephquinn #joequinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joe quinn x reader #joesph quinn #joseph quinn character #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn x female reader #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn angst #joe quinn x you #joe quinn x y/n #joe quinn smut #joe quinn fluff

[fragilecapric0rnn]

the brainrot got me and now a fic inspired by this post is in the works. it'll take me a few weeks to finish it up, so for now, let me introduce you to Steve's older sister, JJ Harrington.

Shortly after the ground split open but before the word “earthquake” could fall onto the lips of anyone to explain the unexplainable. Hardly any time had passed, smoke still rising from the "fault lines", some residents still asleep, blissfully unaware of the destruction beneath their feet, the horrors on the brink of spilling out of them.

And yet, here comes JJ Harrington. The clearest image flashed in Steve's brain, gas pedal hitting the floor of her ugly yellow VW Golf, speeding directly into the fire. Passing the trail of cars already on their way out of town.

The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins when he carried a barely-breathing Eddie through the gate as the Upside Down imploded under their feet, had worn off. As soon as he handed his limp body over to the medical staff, his brain and body finally caught up to one another. The roadrash on his back, every bite on his torso, every muscle in his body, every wound that went ignored, suddenly lit up in and on him like a forest fire, stealing his ability to speak, to ask for help, to walk. Paralyzed by the pain, the tightness in his chest, the ringing in his ears. Just unbearable, immovable, pain.

The squad of Suits approaching their group was an afterthought as his vision started to blur. Every blink made the weight of his eyelids heavier and heavier, only registering Robin’s yelp as his legs gave out under him. Then everything goes black.  

He forgot to ask how much time passed in between his fainting spell and waking up in a hospital bed. It looked like the sun was barely rising, so he would probably guess only a few hours, max. 

Max.  He sat up too quickly, Robin rushed to his side to calm him down as she shouted for the doctor, explaining what Steve had missed while he was out. 

It had only been a few hours since it all happened. He's almost positive Robin told the hospital staff not even to bother calling his parents. Hell, Steve didn't even know where they were these days. His parents were a blip in his racing mind, he didn't care about them. He needed to know everyone was alive, hearts were still beating and breaths still breathing.

Eddie is alive, in the ICU, but alive. Both of Max’s legs are broken, but she’s also alive. The doctor explains that he is being treated for his wounds and extreme dehydration and that he’d be released after a day or two. 

He felt his own breathing go back to normal, only relaxing for a moment until he saw them. The signs of the aftermath in the form of big men in black suits standing at the door of the room. He didn't realize how long his stare lingered, not until the doctor cleared his throat and snapped Steve's attention back toward him.

“Procedure,” the doctor says, like that’s supposed to mean something to him. “This floor is secure, which means no one is coming in without proper clearance.” Probably because there's an angry mob of Jesus Freaks outside, pitchforks and torches in tow.

He believed him. Until about an hour passed.

Not even an hour after that conversation, Robin started to nod off in a chair at the foot of the bed, the TV was on but muted near her. She was in a set of fresh clothes and for the first time in almost a week, they were bordering on comfortable.

Until they heard a small commotion happening just outside the door. Steve could only describe it as a scuffle, sneakers skidding on the linoleum floors, deep brooding voices on the brink of becoming yells, "I said, stand back."

He thinks the doctor might have missed another concussion when he hears a very distinct, very familiar voice call out a, “fuck you!” And then sneakered feet squeaking down the hallway. 

He shared a look with Robin, winced as he sat up to get a better look at the propped-open door. The sneakers skid to a stop at the same time as he fully craned his neck and all the air was pulled out of his lungs. 

He wasn’t imagining it. 

Because there she was, gripping onto the doorway, flinging herself into the room, big brown hair and long limbs flailing as she tripped over her own two feet, stumbling further inside. She had two different shoes on her feet, a white Ked on her left foot and a black Converse on the right. Her glasses sweatshirt was on inside out and backwards, but she still had the same look of determination on her face that had been permanently etched there for as long as Steve could remember.

A familiar sense of relief filled Steve’s chest, seeing her for the first time in years. If he hadn’t already fainted, he was sure this would have done it to him. 

JJ froze, stuck standing in the middle of the room and breathing hard, eyes glossing over Steve as she checked out the room. He watched her eyes immediately dart to the corner of the room where Robin was now standing. Robin stared at Steve's sister, bug-eyed, almost identical to the look she was giving her.

Except JJ's look was riddled in something else, something that made it clear to Steve that she didn't expect to find anyone in there with him. Like she expected him to be alone.

He doesn’t know how long they’re all stuck in place before he finds his voice.  

“Jesus, did you run here from Chicago?” Steve’s scratchy voice startled everyone in the room, himself included. She snapped her head in his direction, eyes already filled to the brim with tears and panic written all over her face. 

“Even in a hospital bed, you’re still acting like a little fucking punk.” Her voice watery as she wrapped up her little brother into a bone crushing hug. Steve didn’t care if she was reinjuring him. Didn’t care to explain to her how he got here. Didn't care if she just got put on a watchlist because she terrorized some federal agents in the hallway. He didn't care if Robin watched them cry and hold onto each other.

He didn’t care. Because JJ was here. JJ's there and he felt like he could finally breathe. He felt like the unbearable weight that had been sitting dead on his chest for the past three years, through the countless horrors, being lifted. All because his sister's hug felt the same as it did when he was 5 and she was 13, when he was 10 and she was 18, when he was 17 and she was 25. He didn’t know how much he’s been needing her. 

“Go!” He hears Robin whisper among scurrying feet and he picks his head up from JJ’s shoulder. He watched the tops of Dustin and Erica's heads get pushed to the other side of the door.

He meets Robin’s eyes, also watery. She mouths, “we’ll be back,” before darting out. He winced when her eyes reached his neck, knowing what it looked like. To someone who could only imagine what he went through. What they all had been through. How he could never tell her the full story, even if he wanted to.

JJ moved her hands to Steve’s shoulders, breaking the hug to get a better look at him. Her face crumpled as her eyes scanned over the bandages wrapped around his torso.

her eyes meeting his, something so unrecognizable in them. Steve had never seen such a look coming from his sister. No, she was the bravest person he’d ever known.

His sister, who threatened to punch his childhood bully in the mouth when she was 14. Who called him an idiot and threatened to punch him in the mouth when she found out the bully became his best friend when they got to high school.

His sister, who called their dad a dick to his face before swinging her arm back. Who put out the rest of her cigarette on their mom's ugly floral couch as she walked out of their lives, telling their dad to kiss my ass, as the door slammed shut behind her. Steve's heart racing for her as he watched her ugly lemon colored car peel out of the driveway from the guest room window.

Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears as they sat there, both adults now. Adults technically, and even if Steve felt like he'd grown a hundred times over in the last few years, he still felt like a little boy watching his sister watch him. The fear in her eyes more chilling than any of the monsters he's had to face.

If only she knew what he had been up to these last three years.

#sen writes #my fic #will see this fic in a week (hopefully) #also you have been warned that this will be a longboi oneshot! #esp since the snippet is 1.4k oooops #steve&jj

[hopelessrromantix]

where i've been

TLDR: Life sucks and so does the government. Half my family got hit with some pricey medical bills plus our normal rent, so donating or sharing this would be beyond appreciated.

I know you’re all thinking “Roman! You haven’t written anything in a month, what’s going on?” First, valid question. Second, dear GOD where do I start.

Let’s keep things simple. This past month has been the literal definition of hell for me. Everything started off fairly normal, until my two remaining grandparents started having frequent hospital trips. My father spent most of his time caring for them, living mostly at their house. Given that he works most in our house, he wasn’t having an easy time. He ended up developing what his doctor said was “stress tremors”, to the point that he went on disability.

Well, even after my grandparents were a bit more stable (though still on close watch)... they continued anyway. Eventually it got so bad my mother drove him to the hospital one night and what do you know, brain tumor.

Queue several days of our family wondering what the everloving fuck we’d do without my Dad. It was several days of my dear mother (note the sarcasm) trying to control everything, my brother trying to continue school, and me taking care of the house and our pets.

We got the scans back not long after and, cue sigh of relief, the tumor was benign. It still seemed to be draining the life out of my father, though. The nurses and doctors were absolutely floored because his tumor was absolutely huge but he had no headaches. Imagine a baseball in your head. Yeah, exactly. He did however stare at the wall for hours and had a hard time getting out more than a few words. It’s probably one of my most heartbreaking memories to watch the strongest person I’ve ever known reduced to a husk on a hospital bed.

Brain surgery came soon after. He made it through and is currently in recovery. He’s speaking actual sentences, though he’s still got tremors and needs a lot of help. Still, I’m just happy to have my father.

That same week, we noticed my cat acting off. We have two of them and my cat, Gallifrey, is a talkative sweetheart who’s attached to me at the hip. But he was meowing differently and acting weird and all around not normal. One vet visit later and we find out he has kidney disease and pancreatitis. He’s being treated for it (new food, possible meds, regular fluid injections, etc.), but he’s still not himself yet. Talk about my life falling apart. This on its own my family couldn’t even begin to afford. The government seems to hate disabled people and paying for numerous doctor’s visits wasn’t remotely in our paper thin budget, much less the meds and treatment.

It was a lot all at once, and not even close to what we expected. Gallifrey is only 7 and my father didn’t show the typical signs of a brain tumor. So, I guess the universe thought “Y’know, this is a perfect time to kick Roman in the fucking balls”.

Routine testosterone blood test, just monitoring… until I got a call from the doctor. Turns out I have some untreated issues that none of my previous doctors caught. In fact, the only reason she caught it was because it was so severe. According to her she was shocked I’m still up and kicking and not in the hospital for a blood transfusion. Apparently my red blood cell count and oxygen level is insanely low, and she asked me to take a Covid test (negative), so it turns out it’s a completely different issue. I’m still in the process of diagnosing it, so that was a fun little addition. With my chronic pain and my mother in denial, I sleep most of the day and am in constant pain the entire time.

I’ll be real, I’m not a fan of asking for money. It’s not something I like, but it’s something I have to do. The amount of treatment we need, my dad, Gallifrey, and me, is more than we can hope to afford on our salaries (thank you, American healthcare!). The medical process in this country is a joke.

I’m asking y’all to help me out. Sharing, donating, whatever. Everyone around me has been kind and supportive, and I'm beyond thankful for that. If you can’t donate, please send it, share it, do whatever, I'll take absolutely anything. If I’m honest? The number I’m asking still won’t cover it, but anything is helpful.

Thank you for reading this far, thank you for sharing, for donating, for being kind, for absolutely everything.

I also understand that the internet is a horrible, despicable place, so I can give any breakdowns of what the money would be used for and give any medical info (not releasing family names or locations) to provide proof. The page includes a lovely little x-ray of my father’s head so you get to see the absolute insanity. If this isn’t enough please let me know and I can link anything else needed to confirm that yes, I am actually having the worst time of my life.

All in all? Thank you.

Donate here if you can <3

#since im not capable of offering much ill be finishing requests #ill prioritize those who donate so if you have a request enter it in the “words of support” #anything you request there will be done within 48 hours #otherwise ill be powering through as many as humanly possible to spread this around #thank you again

[bellysoupset]

I know you said you want Jonah to be a caretaker more, but I can’t help asking for him to be the sickee because he’s my favorite ;) and also because out of all sick fics I’ve read he’s the only character who’s a sympathy puker and I find that so interesting.

So to get to the point, could you write a fic about what happens when a patient throws up in front of him?

This is very short because I don't love writing about other randoms, but here's just a taste of Jon's personal hell hehe

---------

Jonah groaned loudly as he glanced at the file of his next patient. Fuck the flu, he thought sourly. It had been a pretty strenuous month at the hospital thanks to this bug. While he had managed to avoid the initial two weeks of it, soon enough even the doctors were dropping like flies and he could no longer hide in orthopedics. Wendy had gone down and then he had followed suit, so now he couldn't even pretend he was trying avoid contagion.

Jonah: i'll trade ur next patient for mine. I'll even pay

Wendy's contact turned green and then she sent him a bunch of puking emojis.

Wendy: mine is the flu too, no such luck.

Fuck.

He sighed and collected himself, ready to face his patient. It was a teenager, their mom hanging anxiously right next to them and the kid had already been given an emesis basin. Just the sight of it made Jonah's stomach roll.

"Hi Oliver, I'm Dr. Banks," Jonah lead the conversation, his full customer voice on. He listened painfully as Oliver's mom - Cathy - rattled off her son's symptoms. It sounded just like the flu, like the front desk nurses had put as prognostic, but still Jonah didn't like taking any chances.

"I'm gonna palpate your stomach, alright Oliver? I'm fairly certain is the flu, but we don't want to risk it."

Cathy looked visibly relieved as she aided her son climb on the examining bed, but Oliver not so much. He pressed a hand to his mouth, burping wetly, "it hurts..."

"I'll be gentle, I promise," Jonah promised, aiding the kid to lie down correctly and rolling up his shirt to the middle of his chest. He held the stethoscope to the teen's bloated belly, while pressing gently in the fashion had been taught to. Left lower quadrant first, right lower second- He pressed, then released suddenly and didn't get a cry out of pain, nor met any tenderness there. Rule out appendicitis.

In the stetoscope he heard as a gurgle moved through the boy's belly, followed by a nauseated burp, "doctor..."

"almost done," Jonah cringed, wanting to hurry the fuck up, but he knew he couldn't in good conscience. He pressed on the upper right, it was sloshy and gross-

"Doc-URrp-" Oliver grabbed on his mom to roll to the side, shoving Jonah off just as he brought up a splash of bright yellow bile all over the pristine floors of the office.

Jonah immediately gagged, but he pressed his lips tightly, planting a hand on the boy's heaving back, while his mom cooed and fretted about.

"Mrs. Grant," his voice didn't sound like his own, thick with nausea, "can you keep Oliver company for a second, I'll call in one of the janitors."

"Of course," she took the emesis bowl he passed her and then Jonah did his best not to run out of the door.

He hardly made it to the staff's bathroom, leaning over the sink as the coffee he had previously chugged came back up. It tasted bitter and that alone had him gagging for another solid minute, spitting up ropes of acid.

His stomach hurt, tender from all the abuse it had been going through lately. There was a knock on the door.

"It's fucking occupied!" He snapped angrily, washing his mouth, only for another wave of queasiness to have him gagging up the water. He panted, holding his belly, "fuck."

"Dr. Banks," Wendy's voice was like a balm, "do you need help."

Ah fuck, yes, Jonah sighed in relief and unlocked the door. Immediately Wendy entered, slamming the door behind her so no one would see him.

"Shit, Jon..."

"I need-" he burped again, squeezing his eyes shut, "janitor in my office. Patient-"

"Patient is still there?"

"Yes..." he swallowed the urge to throw up once more, "I can't do this."

"You can," she rubbed his arm in a reassuring manner, "I'll go deal with your patient, take my office. My next one is a broken leg."

He nodded, squeezing the sink, "thanks."

"No problem" she squeezed his arm, "get it together."

"Trying," he took another sip of the water, only for it to come back up as the smell of the puke flashed through his mind, "fuck-"

#mywriting #sickfic #emeto #emetophilia #sympathy sickness #jonah banks

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

See-through

@greywake

🥵🩻🥰

This is partly inspired by my experience having a sprained ankle. It didn't go as well for me as it did for WWX here, though...

If you find any medical inaccuracies, no you didn't.

Enjoy!

Wei Wuxian has always known he'll end up in the hospital eventually - trouble follows him like he owes it money, and he has a sense of adventure that sometimes pushes him to extremes that don't even make funny stories after.

He figured he'll end up rushed into the ER after some epic fight or a car crash or something news-worthy, though - but no, he's in the ER cause he's sprained his ankle slipping on ice on the way to work this morning. Damn capitalism!

He's more upset about the stupidity of the thing than about the fact that he's had to hobble his way to the hospital because he can't drive (if he tries applying any pressure on his leg he goes lightheaded with pain) and nobody bothered to pick up the phone or answer his texts asking for help - it's the middle of the work day, of course people are busy.

He should be busy too, he has a big project coming up, he really can't afford wasting time with something like this - yet here he is, doing exactly that. His boss is going to be royally pissed, but at least he's in the stage of the project that allows him to work from home and not fall behind.

It's going to be a pain getting A-Yuan to and from school, though. Wen Qing can only get him once or twice a week at most, since she's started working as a surgeon at the general hospital two towns over, and Wen Ning has just begun his internship at a law firm...

A nurse wheels Wei Wuxian down the hallway, away from the emergency room, passing through two large glass doors after a few turns that were only a bit too sharp. He reads "Radiology" on a wall and sighs as the nurse leaves him in the waiting area to go to, presumably, talk to the doctor on call about his case. Wei Wuxian doesn't even bother to hope his bones are fine, actually - he can tell they're not, with the way his ankle looks like it grew a tennis ball overnight or something.

The door to the doctor's office opens and Wei Wuxian almost doesn't hear - if his nurse is going to handle his wheelchair as roughly again, he's pretty sure he'll fall off and last thing he needs is to sprawl all over the hospital floors.

But instead of his ER nurse, the door opens to reveal someone else - and for a moment, Wei Wuxian forgets about the pain in his ankle and how having it immobile will complicate his life. A man walks out in white scrubs that Wei Wuxian finds sexier than any lingerie, stretched taught over the planes of his chest and shoulders, short sleeves revealing beefy arms. He's tall and he's so handsome it should be illegal - his long, shiny, dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and two strands artfully frame his face, his golden eyes glinting in the sterile lighting... Wei Wuxian distantly remembers Wen Qing watching this one medical show where they called a hot doctor "McDreamy" and Wei Wuxian is pretty sure he met the real life inspiration for that nickname.

"My name is Lan Wangji and I will be attending to you for now." he says and Wei Wuxian can only try not to think of what attending to he'd like this man to do to him. "Let me take you to the X-Ray room and we will discuss your condition further."

Wei Wuxian nods because it takes all his strength not to say something along the lines of "you can take me whenever, wherever or however you like". He does wonder why it's not his nurse doing this instead of the doctor, but if Wei Wuxian can avoid getting wheeled around like a sack of potatoes, he'll take it.

The walk is short and he tries not to be disappointed about not getting this hot piece of man pushing him around like he's presumably, weightless. With the way he looks, he must be really strong, he could probably lift Wei Wuxian with one hand and throw him around like a ragdoll... fuck, they better not be measuring his heart rate again because he's past the 100s for sure.

They enter a large, chilly room, sterile white, a metal table in the center with the X-Ray machine hovering ominously over it. Though Wei Wuxian has always been fascinated with the engineering of such things, he has to admit they need to make these machines look less creepy.

The doctor brings him near the table, and Wei Wuxian wonders if he can just joist himself up on it using his arms only and his one healthy foot. Whatever they've given him for pain in the ER has worn off by now and his ankle throbs with pain insistently.

"No need." Lan Wangji says as he notices Wei Wuxian trying to place himself on the table. "Allow me."

Wei Wuxian's heart leaps into his throat as he feels himself hoisted up and then gently laid down onto the cold table, Lan Wangji not having even so much as winced during the process. Now, he's not on the same level, but Wei Wuxian knows himself to be quite heavy, though he doesn't look it. He's done a good bit of archery before he got pulled out of it by his guardians and he's always enjoyed going to the gym - so knowing all that and yet being lifted like he weighs less than a paper bag has him all sorts of hot and bothered.

No wonder they put him into radiology.

"What happened?" Lan Wangji asks as he presses a few buttons on the machine and carefully inspects Wei Wuxian's ankle as it whirrs to life. His touch is gentle, soft, and Wei Wuxian inadevertedly breaks into goosebumps as he watches the man's fingers all over his bruised skin.

Right, talk.

"I slipped on ice on my way to work, I didn't even notice it was there... I thought I could just power through it but like two hours later I could barely move at all so I had to come here..."

"Were you able to drive?"

"No..."

"Somebody must have brought you in, then?"

"No, I...walked."

Lan Wangji looks at him with narrowed eyes and Wei Wuxian can sense the disapproval in them. "No wonder it looks like this. I doubt it is fractured, and it looks more like a bad sprain, though you've decidedly made it worse by applying constant pressure on it."

Wei Wuxian blushes, embarrassed. "It was the quickest solution... I work pretty far away from here and an Uber would have emptied out my wallet completely, you know..."

Lan Wangji clicks his teeth in disapproval. "I'll have to put you in a cast because of this, so I hope it was worth it."

"How mean..." Wei Wuxian whines, "I'm already in pain, I don't need a scolding too..."

"Your health comes above saving money, above everything. You can make more money later, but if you damage your body irreversibly, no amount of money can fix it."

Lan Wangji carefully reaches to adjust Wei Wuxian's foot over the blinking light of the machine. He yelps at the pain that shoots through him out of nowhere, and Lan Wangji apologizes quietly.

"I apologize, but you are going to have to take it for a bit, I know it hurts."

Wei Wuxian is absolutely not going to look for a double entendre in there and he's not going to think horny thoughts about where else he'd like to be told those words.

"Try to stay still, I won't be longer than a few minutes."

Wei Wuxian hopes that's only true for the X-Ray and nothing else, it would be such a shame if...

He's left alone in the room seconds later, and the X-Ray machine buzzes a few times as Wei Wuxian does his best to stay still and not have to hold that position for much longer. As much as he likes being around the hot radiologist, his ankle seems to have decided it hates him more than before and it hurts terribly now.

Luckily for him, the procedure is over just as he feels like he'll die if he doesn't move.

Lan Wangji returns from the control room and helps him back into the wheelchair, Wei Wuxian too distracted with his fantasies to try not to stare.

"As I suspected, it's not a fracture. The orthopedic tech is currently unavailable, so I will put you in a cast and prescribe you painkillers. You will need them."

"I need them even now..." Wei Wuxian mumbles, "I think my ankle did not like that X-Ray at all."

"I will have something administered for you." And, on the walk out, he shouts out after the nurse, "Su Minshan, bring 500 mg of Naproxene to my office and my prescription notebook, please."

There is some sort of affirmative response from an office - more like a grunt of approval followed by incomprehensive words -, and Wei Wuxian realizes that's his nurse.

"Someone's definitely not having a good day today, huh..."

"Mn. He's going to be transferred to another hospital soon and he is being especially... unpleasant because of it."

"Disciplinary action?"

"Partly. I apologize on his behalf for his behavior."

A laugh. "That's alright, he wasn't that bad, I just felt a bit like in a medical 'Fast and furious' on my way here."

Lan Wangji laughs in turn, and Wei Wuxian is pretty sure his heart skipped a beat or two at the sound. Wow.

They arrive at the end of the hallway and enter an office where several tools and buckets lay next to a bed, a desk and two file cabinets in the opposite corner. Su Minshan shows up shortly after, a sour expression on his face as he brings what was asked of him before storming out.

Wei Wuxian gratefully takes the painkiller after Lan Wangji helped him onto the bed and lifted the leg of his jeans all the way to his knee. He bites his tongue not to make a dirty comment about just taking off his pants entirely.

"Have you ever had a cast before?"

"Surprisingly enough, no! This is my first time."

"You will have to have it on for two weeks. You are likely going to be in pain for only two or three days at most, but I will prescribe you enough pills for a week in case you need them for more."

Lan Wangji brings in a bucket of water and lays down a few towels onto the floor as he proceeds to wash off Wei Wuxian's foot. This shouldn't feel as intimate as it is - and yet, Wei Wuxian is trying so hard not to blush or react in any way at the gentle touches and the careful handling.

"You might get some itching or numbness due to immobility, but no matter what, do not attempt to remove your cast or move your foot inside of it. You will only prolong healing if you do."

Wei Wuxian watches, fascinated, as the man covers his leg in bandages, and then into the white substance that's slowly hardening into his cast. Lan Wangji works with precision, betraying habit, and the focused expression on his features suits him all too well. Is it a breach of any laws if Wei Wuxian were to ask for his number right now?

"Do not attempt to walk with your cast on for the same reason, either. Until you'll have it removed, you should primarily be on bed rest."

The cast is almost finished now, so Lan Wangji goes to wash his hands and sits at the desk to write the prescription and whatever else. Wei Wuxian loves to watch him, and he hopes he doesn't come off as creepy.

"After the cast is off, depending on the look of the sprain and whether you are still in pain, you may be referred to a physical rehabilitation center. Any questions?"

"No, it's all clear, thank you."

"Let me help you out, then."

Wei Wuxian feels like a whole wuss. A coward. He didn't even try to shoot his shot, just sat there staring and said nothing at all! Now he's probably never getting the chance to do it - the odds of returning on the same shift are infinitesimally low... so to hell with Wei Wuxian's luck in love.

Not that he ever expected someone like Lan Wangji to say yes, but still.

Lan Wangji brings him to the parking lot, and Wei Wuxian expects him to say goodbye, leave and mind his business, their fates never crossing again.

However, Lan Wangji pulls out his phone and hands it to Wei Wuxian. "Please order a ride for yourself."

"W-What? No, I- you really don't have to! I can handle it!"

"I am offering, so please do not refuse."

"I appreciate it, but I don't-"

"It's not out of pity. As your doctor, it is my duty to ensure you can start your healing journey properly, and this is part of it."

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to argue but decides against it. What can he even say? He's not in the position to refuse help, after all, but... he's never heard of a doctor to do something like this for a patient...

"Thank you... I can pay you back in a week or so, when I get-"

"No need."

Of course not, Wei Wuxian thinks to himself, what's an Uber ride to a doctor's salary...

An ambulance whirrs past them and Lan Wangji sees someone in the back wave him to follow.

"I must go, there's an emergency."

"Right, thank you for everything again, and good luck!"

Lan Wangji nods briskly and runs after the ambulance, disappearing into the hospital building.

Wei Wuxian really wishes he's said something, but it's too late now. He decides to look at his medical documents as he waits for the car, distracting himself from his thoughts.

But a smile breaks out on his face as he finds a little post-it note attached to his prescription. It's a phone number, with "See you once you're better?" written in beautiful calligraphy at the end.

If he wasn't immobile right now, he'd jump for joy.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

[soft-thrills]

Intrusive Thoughts

For the @xfpornbattle prompt: “Scully holding/squeezing Mulder’s hand during orgasm”

Summary: Mulder has an intrusive thought about Scully as she’s hypnotized during The Red and the Black -- and imagines her making those noises in another context. He returns to the thought more than once. 

Fic behind the cut! Unbeta’d.

The thought first comes to him as just a flash, for just a second, as they sit on the doctor’s couch in Silver Springs. 

Next to him, his partner is breathing heavily. He’s never heard her voice like this, raspy and breathy. He’s never seen her neck arched back, never studied the contracting of her throat as she gasps.

“Oh!” she breathes. “Oh!”

She reaches out for him, fingernails scraping against the hunter green leather of the couch, her pretty, capable fingers curling as if she --

Stop it.

But for just a moment, he can’t help to think of her making these sounds — of her throwing her head back — in response to pleasure, instead of pain.

He takes her hand and holds it, hoping to reassure her. By the time she’s describing the fire, the thought is gone, buried as it should be. She’s describing trauma. It’s wrong. 

When it’s over, she looks at him and asks: “You were here the whole time?”

He nods, ashamed.

*

He keeps it buried for weeks. He tries so hard not to think about it ever again. It’s just an intrusive thought, after all, to use the term he learned back in school. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything about him. It just happens.

And so on a Friday night, on his own leather couch, his cock in his hand, he tries to focus on the woman on his television screen. The woman doesn’t look anything like his partner -- that’s become a self-imposed requirement of his when it comes to choosing a tape from his collection. It’s wrong to think about her. And it’s really wrong to think about the sounds she made on that doctor’s couch, the way her head was thrown back, the way her --

Stop it. 

But he can’t. He’s weak. She’s there now, in his mind, in his fantasy, and who is he to turn her away? Who is he to kick her out of bed, or off his couch, even if only in his mind?

I’m sorry, he thinks, with the last grasp of his rational brain, I tried. I’m sure she’d appreciate the effort -- Sorry, Scully, I tried really hard not to reappropriate your traumatic recollections as masturbation material, but I just couldn’t do it. 

In his fantasy, she’s in his lap, her legs spread. They’re on his couch, the blue screen at the end of a forgotten and finished movie giving off the only light in the room. Her blouse is unbuttoned. Her skirt hiked all the way up around her waist. Her underwear long ago discarded on his floor. 

In his fantasy, he’s the reason she’s making those sounds. He’s slipping a finger, then two, then three inside of her, reveling in the wet heat, anticipating how it will feel when he replaces his fingers with his cock. But the fantasy isn’t really about his pleasure -- it’s about hers. 

She makes the sounds he’s committed to memory from the tapes of her hypnosis. The little moans. His fingers slow inside her, and then he takes them away. 

“Oh my God,” she whimpers. “I can’t --” 

Just the way she said it -- no, stop it, he thinks.

He adds in some new dialogue. 

“You can’t what, Scully?” he murmurs into her ear, her hot back resting against his chest. He palms her breasts over her bra as she wriggles against his erection. 

“I can’t take anymore teasing, Mulder. Please,” she whimpers. 

The tenor of her voice, the little gasps, the desperation, they’re familiar. But here, in his fantasy, she’s writhing with pleasure. 

“You want to come?” he asks her, moving a finger to her clit. 

She jolts, throws her head back against his chest. He imagines the movement of her neck as she gasps for air, as she swallows, as she says: “Yes, God, Mulder, make me come.”

He slips a finger inside as he works her clit.

“I’m going to make you come, Scully, and then, I’m going to fuck you until you think you can’t take anymore, and make you come again,” he promises her.

“Oh,” she whimpers as his fingers move faster. 

Her eyes are closed, and she gropes blindly to find his free hand. 

She clutches his hand in hers, and she comes, shaking and moaning his name. 

As fantasy Scully — perfect, pure — comes in his mind, real life Mulder — guilty, ashamed — comes in his hand, alone, thinking of her. 

*

He stuffs it away, in a corner of a closet in his mind. It’s something he mostly forgets, and then stumbles into, unexpectedly, now and then. When he’s imagining her bent over his desk, or in his mysteriously delivered water bed with the mirrored canopy, or in a dirty motel after a draining case, he’ll realize the sounds his Imaginary Scully is making in his mind aren’t imaginary -- they’re real, lifted from an ugly memory. He always feels bad about it, but it never stops him from coming, which makes him feel worse about it. It doesn’t happen a lot. But it happens.

Eventually, Scully isn’t strictly imaginary. Eventually, she winds up in his bed, on his couch, in her bed, on her floor, all sorts of places -- for real. 

He doesn’t need to imagine how she’ll sound in a moment of pleasure, or to reappropriate a moment of horror to hear it in his mind -- because he’s heard it, for real. Those are the memories he comes to revisit in his mind on the nights he is alone, when she’s beyond the connecting door, or across town at her apartment. The box is stuffed further into that closet in his mind, at the back of a high shelf, cobwebbed. 

Until.

Until one day, they’re on his couch, and he realizes, with a start, that they’re in the same position as his fantasy. She’s in his lap, he’s teasing her, she’s moaning, she’s panting, calling out to her God in frustration and desperation when he pulls back.

As he draws back in, she grips his hand, tight. And he remembers.

This, he thinks, this is the real deal. He thought he knew back then -- he thought what was on that tape of her hypnosis session was how she’d sound. 

But the real thing was different. Yes, there was desperation in her moans and cries. But there was also joy, and a sense of comfort and safety that had been totally absent during her hypnosis session, and as such, absent in the fantasy he’d drawn from it.

“Yes,” she pants. “I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

His big hand squeezes her smaller one. He feels an overwhelming desire to keep her safe -- even from his own dirty mind.

“I’ve got you, Scully,” he murmurs into her ear. “I’ve got you.”

“Oh, Mulder,” is all she says in reply before she comes, clutching his free hand for dear life. 

He never thinks of the hypnosis session again. 

*

author’s note: I mean come on, I’m not the only pervert whose mind goes there during that scene, right?

#my fic #xfiles fan fiction #xf fanfic #xf fic #msr fanfic #msr fic #msr smut #xfiles smut