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lazyjellyfish300 · 2 months

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With New Eyes Every Time 🌊🪸🐚👁️

Miguel O'Hara x Reader S/O

Synopsis: Aquarium date with Miguel! 😄💕 Not much else to say. Word count 2.6k

A/N: inspired by my amazing moot @huniedeux ! Thank you for making a post about wanting to go to the aquarium and inspiring me in the process! 🥰 All thanks to you! 🫶🏽 Also really need to thank @hikaru-sama for being so patient and amazing at helping me with Spanish translations! 🖤🫶🏽 I owe you my life lol 😫

Crocodile facts I used came from: Royal Society Publishing and Wildlife Sydney AU (I kept getting confused on the crocodile embryo fact and the Royal Society Publishing ended up being the correct one in regards to that fact)

CW: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, A SMIDGE SUGGESTIVE SO MINORS DNI, BRIEF MOMENT OF GRIEF, OTHER THAN THAT JUST FLUFFY FLUFF. No mention of reader's gender.

"Well, actually, it's your turn to pick the date spot this time." Miguel hums as he gently blows on his oatmeal before taking a spoonful.

"Goddamn it...I'm so bad at choosing." You drum your nails against your coffee mug, the motion generating small tinkles of sound against the white porcelain.

Miguel smirks, "Thought since I'm a Libra, I'm the one who's supposed to be indecisive?"

"Doth mine ears decieve me?!" You clasp your hand to your chest, making a gasp of over exaggerated astonishment. "Astrology's #1 hater is reciting accurate lore of his own sign back to me?!"

Miguel shakes his head, blowing air out of his nose in amusement. "Nah, I'm still the number one hater." He winks. "Just proving to you that when you talk, I do listen. Even if I'm bad at responding."

"Bah." You wave your hand at him and sip your coffee, shifting your thoughts to where you'd like to go on your date with him this time. Truth is, Nueva York was huge. You hadn't been to all the restaurants and bars and every single spot just yet. You just had a few favorites that you kept on rotation.

Miguel, a man of routine and structure, didn't mind that one bit. Actually, there was a place you did really want to go to, you just hope he'll be okay with it since you were just there together for Valentine's.

"Perhaps..."

"Mhmm?" Miguel turns the page of his newspaper, doing his best to be responsive to you while getting caught up on yesterday's news.

"Don't be mad at me..."

"Mad at you?" Miguel's eyes flicker from the newsprint to yours. Scarlet spotlights on you.

"The aquarium." You say finally, your lips pull into a cheeky smile to indicate that you're well aware of your redundant choice but you don't care because you're dying to go anyway.

The corner of Miguel's mouth tugs a little into a half smile. "That's the spot, huh? You think I was going to be mad at you for choosing the aquarium again?"

You shrug. "Well, I do drag us there a lot. But it's so fun! I love seeing the fish and everything. You know me. I can't get enough of that stuff."

Miguel gives you a warm smile. "Well, the aquarium it is then. And believe me, that's farrr from one of my least favorite places we go. It's actually one of my favorites, too."

You echo his warmth, mixing it with some playfulness in your tone, "Oh yeah, I should've known, you love that under the sea, nerdy stuff too, huh?"

Miguel chuckles. "Guilty." He stands up, picking up his empty bowl. "Vamos, los peces esperan." (Let's go, the fish are waiting)

----

You can't help but smile giddily as you walk around the vast aquarium. It's dimly lit, and not very busy at this time, to both yours and Miguel's relief. The fact it was a Wednesday likely helped, since the rare occasion when Miguel's days off coincided with yours were quite sporadic and random.

First, you started with the reptiles. As you walked in the more brightly lit section, you peeled off your hoodie and tied it around your waist as the humidity of the exhibit started to get to you. Moisture hung in the air and the spattering sounds of water hitting rocks from the waterfall that stood tall in the middle of the exhibit created the illusion you were somewhere tropical, a welcome respite away from the March wind chill of Nueva York.

Frog croaks, monkey shrieks, and clicking and chattering of birds rustle in the exhibit, creating the ambiance of a rainforest. You look up at the large bird habitat in front of you, shielded by thin netting, groups of colorful birds hanging out in small clusters, rotating between perching and flying from one resting spot to another. A large smile breaks out on your face when your eyes land on a toucan perched on a twig garland hanging from the ceiling, busy cleaning his feathers.

"Babe look..." You say in a hushed voice. Miguel follows your gaze and his face breaks out into a smile as well, admiring the cute little bird as he ruffled and stroked his black feathers and puffed up his white bosom with pride.

Miguel nudges your side playfully with his hip. "He takes a long time to get ready, kind of like someone I know..."

You try to nudge him pitifully back in response, but Miguel stays anchored in place with a chuckle.

You move on to look at the geckos, lizards, snakes, and caimans as well. A baby crocodile sits with his belly dipped in a shallow pool of water, legs splayed out and mouth wide open, basking in the warmth emitted from the heat lamp at the top of his tank.

"He's SOOOO cute!" You gush, leaning your head just a little closer to the glass. Miguel looks away from the yellow poison dart frog exhibit and follows your squealing noises, putting his hands in his pockets as he stands next to you with a smirk.

"Not sure if cute is how I'd describe him..." Miguel tilts his head at the mini croc, its green eyes still unmoving. "He'll grow up to be an apex predator like his parents."

"Look at you, Mr. Wildlife." You look up at him, impressed. "What else do I not know about Kenny here?"

"Kenny?"

"That's his name, babe. It says so on the sign."

"Oh." Miguel laughs. "Well... crocodiles have three eyelids."

"Oh, you told me that one already, baby. What else?"

Miguel smiles and lists some more facts for you. You love it when he's like this. He was like a sponge, always absorbing knowledge that other people might have found boring or useless. He'd gladly tell you about it too, and he never ever made you feel silly or dumb for not knowing something.

"The sex of embryos in crocodiles is actually determined by the temperature at the time of incubation. So, Kenny here was probably incubated at a higher temperature which is more associated with producing males, whereas cooler temperatures are associated with producing females." Miguel points.

You click your tongue in admiration. "I learn something new every day. Let's hear one more."

Miguel purses his lips in thought for a moment, then says, "See those lumps and bumps on his back? Those are actually called, ‘scutes’. They actually enable them to be more stealthy in the water. They stop it from rippling."

Your eyebrows raise, your eyes still on Kenny and then they move to the tank beside him with the bigger crocs. "Whoa..." you nod. "Well, that proves my point earlier."

Miguel raises an eyebrow.

"Crocs have scutes. So they are s'cute!" You cross your arms triumphantly and head towards the ocean part of the aquarium.

Miguel thinks in his head that you probably wouldn't use that word for long if you knew how large crocodiles killed and ate their prey, but he doesn't argue. He smiles to himself and gives a curt nod in farewell to Kenny before he leaves to catch up to you.

----

Your eyes get big as you enter the room with jellyfish tanks. Soft blue and pink globs glide effortlessly in the water, sinking down slowly before using their tentacles to propel upwards, bobbing hypnotically in dizzying movements.

You and Miguel keep stealing glances at each other when the other isn't looking. You turn to look at him once more, the bioluminescence from the jellyfish mixed with the blacklights of the aquarium cast a soft glow on his features, the crimson in his eyes making him look just as ethereal as the beauty of the sea you're both gazing at. His full lips jut outwards subtly as he purses them in thought, his cheekbones sharp, framing that divine, sculpted face of his.

He looks at you, catching you staring at him this time. You take his hand, wrapping your other hand around his forearm to pull him closer to you. His head turns briefly for a moment, making sure you two are the only ones in the room before he leans down and gives you a soft kiss, that jittery feeling in your stomach when one of his hands cups the side of your throat, pressing you a little harder against his lips. Before you pull away, you add a lingering bite to his bottom lip, making him blush.

"Pórtate bien...." (Behave yourself) He murmurs, running his tongue along the slight puffiness on his bottom lip your teeth left behind, trying to calm the small flame you lit inside him.

Your mouth curls into a grin at the mini rise you got out of him, and you walk into a new area, marvelling at the saffron-colored coral and dainty seahorses.

Miguel moves to the other side of the exhibit where the largest tank resides with an assortment of fish swimming in and out of a large, fake shipwreck, but stops in his tracks when he sees the clownfish and regal tangs. A twinge of sadness pulls at his heart.

After watching the seahorse disappear behind a seaweed stalk, you turn and notice where Miguel is standing and your eyebrows knit in worry as you take long strides to come stand by his side, squeezing his hand.

He exhales at your touch and squeezes back in response, not needing to say anything because you can read him better than anyone. Sometimes this part could be rather hard for him. Clownfish and Regal Tangs were the species of Nemo and Dory.

Finding Nemo was Gabi's favorite movie.

You both watch the colorful fish in peaceful silence, darting in and out behind rocks, speeding up and slowing down, jolting and occasionally bumping into one another as they weave and glide through their underwater habitat around the large sunken ship.

Eventually, you pull Miguel gently by the hand leading him to one of the empty benches behind you. You sit and watch the fish together some more, enjoying the serenity of the buzzing undersea ecosystem before you, smiling when you see the comically large sea turtle next to all of his smaller fishy cohorts, dodging them and spinning like a rotisserie above your heads like it was second nature for him.

After a few more minutes, you turn to Miguel, "Well, last up is the shark exhibit." You try and brighten the mood a little, "That one's your favorite. You ready?"

Miguel turns and looks down at you, his arm still resting on the top of the bench behind you. His hand comes to give your shoulder a squeeze. "You sure? This one's your favorite. We can take our time."

You try to shake your head and play it off, "No, really I've seen it a hundred times, plus I think there's a new tank with stingrays or something..."

Miguel knows when you're trying to be too nice, a not uncommon behavior of yours. "We have all afternoon, really. I want to make sure you're having fun." He reassures you.

Your eyes melt as you sit back in your seat, indulging in staring at the fish for just a while longer like you wanted. Once you're satisfied, you let him know with a nod of your head and a squeeze of his hand and you two make your way to the escalators that run to the lower level, taking you to the shark exhibit.

As you do, you can't help but think about the times when you invited your friends and they practically rushed you through the whole experience, asking if there was anything new you could look at instead or passing up on going to the aquarium altogether, saying they've seen it all.

Miguel was one of the only people in your life who didn't make you feel bad for revisiting places you loved because it made you happy to re-experience it all over again. Hell, he was eager to and even expected an invite each time you did.

Source: Google search, from Las Vegas Magazine

You press your lips together in anticipation and your eyes go wide as if you're looking at it for the first time as you enter the large, underwater tunnel, dozens of sharks swimming in every direction, the shimmery reflection of the water and aqua light of the exhibit immersing you into a whole new world. It takes your breath away and you slow down, pausing in one spot right in the middle of the tunnel, losing yourself in the oceanic beauty above your head. It's one of those no camera moments, a time that requires silence, appreciation, and the person you love right next to you.

Miguel's watching you with sheer admiration, slightly envious even that something else could make you that speechless with adoration. He wants to make you feel that way all the time. It's memories like these with you that he's so glad he lowered the gates of his heart all that time ago. Never guessing when you crossed his path, it would lead to moments as blissful as these. The best part of the whole thing is that they won't end anytime soon. As long as you'd let him, he'd continue calling you all his. Could now be the time to make it permanent? Perhaps. No, you deserved something more planned out, something really special. He hadn't even gotten you that ring that you liked so much, sending not so subtle hints by texting him the link to it every so often while he was at work.

When he feels it's a good time, he approaches you from behind, touching the corner of your elbow, curious to know what's been on your mind. "¿En que piensas, mi alma?" (What are you thinking, my soul?)

You hum and turn around, following that low, mesmerizing voice of his, and you look up at him, the face of your lover looking down at you, warmth dominating his countenance that pulls you right in.

"Just thinking about how much I love coming here with you. You never make me feel bad for wanting to just take my time and see everything, you know? Even if it's my quadrillionth time seeing it. I just love the beach and the ocean, you know? It's like a brand new experience every time."

Miguel smiles down at you, then his eyes briefly wander, the group in front of you starts moving on so you two are left alone once again. He takes a deep breath and turns you back around so you're looking at the sea life once again, keeping his hands on your arms as he gives them a little love squeeze. "Kind of like how I see you, hmm?"

You chuckle, leaning backwards into him. His cologne enveloping you in that embrace that made your heart flutter and your knees grow weak every time. "What do you mean, Mig?"

"Con ojos nuevos cada vez." (With new eyes every time)

You close your eyes with your head against his chest and his arms wrapped around you for several moments. You bring your own hands up to his, sliding your fingers underneath his jacket sleeves in search of the warm skin of his forearms to which he softly exhales into your hair at the sensation.

You murmur to him, "Can we get smoothies on the way home?"

"Hmmm, you don't like my green smoothie recipe?" Miguel asks with a teasing grin.

"It had.. too much kale for my liking."

"Ouch."

"Sorry, baby."

"Ha, ha...well, I suppose we could. In that case we might as well get lunch. You need real food too, not just a smoothie. You're ready to go already?"

"Just a little longer?"

"Of course, sweetheart."

You smile and lean back into him once more, letting your bodies lean against each other in familiar, loving solitude as the sharks swim around you in the tunnel of the aquarium, white flashes of light shimmering against the glass every so often that the water hits the sunlight that's slowly begun to peek out from the afternoon skies above.

🌊🦈🐟🐠🐡💙

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel ohara fluff #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #Spotify

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onceuponastory · 1 year

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heartbeats - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: Like most people in the hospital she works in, Y/N is head over heels in love with the gorgeous paramedic Bucky Barnes. Yet she has come to the conclusion that their small chats they have whenever he drops off a patient is the closest thing they have to a relationship. That is, however, until an accident on a night out brings them closer together. Pairing: Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Doctor!Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, needles, pain meds/drugs, injuries (nothing too graphic) and bruising. As always, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: This is my first entry for the @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse Challenge! One of my squares was Nurse, so here we are! Obligatory I am not a doctor (clearly), so my medical knowledge may not be the most accurate. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

“Hey. What have we got?” Y/N asks, waiting to greet the incoming ambulance.

“You know, I’d say I admire your tenacity to provide the best care to patients as soon as they arrive… but I know the real reason you got down here so quickly.” Her coworker smirks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here to help treat the patient, which I swore an oath to do.” Y/N lies, ignoring the way her cheeks are heating up with embarrassment.

“Oh suuure, you’re totally here for honest reasons. Definitely not just to see if the hot paramedic is coming. You’re really not subtle, Y/N.”

“Who's to say that’s not why you’re here, too?” Y/N replies. But her coworker is right. Y/N loves her job as a doctor, and getting to help so many people from all different walks of life. Especially after the amount of studying it took to get here. Yet, she’d be lying if she said that seeing the paramedic Bucky Barnes isn’t a big part of her job happiness. Bucky, the aforementioned hot paramedic, is charming, caring and makes everyone in the hospital swoon with just a smile in their direction. If Bucky treated all the people who have heart palpitations and need oxygen when he shows up, he’d be a billionaire.

As one of the lead emergency doctors in the hospital, Y/N comes into contact with Bucky a lot during her shifts. And each time, his dazzling ocean blue eyes and winning smile send her heart into a flutter and make her legs go weak. Like everyone else in the hospital, Y/N is head over heels in love with the charming paramedic. Every time she sees him, she wants to get over her nerves and finally ask him out, or just to get to know him better. While, of course, secretly hoping that he feels the same way as she does. And yet, she just can't bring herself to tell him the truth. She and Bucky have a great working relationship despite only seeing each other during a patient handover, and despite how much she wants to get closer to him, she also doesn’t want to ruin what they have, and make either of their jobs awkward.

And besides, he has the pick of almost everyone in this entire hospital, so he definitely wouldn’t go for her.

But then, the sound of sirens cuts through the air, interrupting Y/N’s thoughts. It’s time to go to work, and not think about her incredibly attractive coworker. Yet, when the ambulance door opens, a familiar face steps out.

“Afternoon ladies.” Bucky grins. Y/N swears he even throws a wink in there. Immediately, her heart starts beating even faster. Sometimes, Y/N wonders if Bucky does actually know the effect he has on people, how he makes them all swoon and go weak with just a smile. If he does know, Y/N thinks he relishes in it.

“Hey. What have we got?”

“This is Mike. He’s a 23-year-old male who had a fall at work, and is now complaining of pain in his left side.” As Bucky explains the man’s condition, Y/N’s mind goes back to her feelings for him. She’d love to tell him the truth about how she feels more than anything, but the only time they see each other is when they’re with a patient, which doesn’t exactly lend itself to a lot of conversations, let alone heart to heart talks about your feelings. And her time spent with Bucky is always quick before he has to go be a hero again. She can’t just dump all her feelings for him when he’s about to leave. “Can I leave him in your very capable hands, Y/N?” Bucky asks, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Of course.” As Bucky departs, Y/N watches him go, registering a strange twinge in her heart. One she normally feels whenever Bucky is around. God, this man is definitely going to break her heart one day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few weeks later,

“Y/N, are you sure you’re okay? Your ankle looks really bad.”

“I’m fine.” Y/N lies. “I’m a doctor, remember?” A doctor with a very twisted ankle that hurts to even move. Groaning, Y/N leans back, trying to avoid hurting herself even more. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. It was a celebration of finally finishing four night shifts in a row and having some time off to recharge. But, after one drink too many and a pair of heels that are just too high to walk in comfortably, here she is. Sitting on the side of the road with a throbbing ankle and her pride and happiness shattered.

“Y/N, I really think we should call you an ambulance. You need to be checked out.”

“I’m a doctor, I can do it. I’m okay.” Y/N snaps. Gritting her teeth, she tries to push herself up, but cannot get to her feet without yelling out in pain.

“Absolutely not. You need to go to the hospital, and none of us are sober enough to drive you.” One of her friends replies, taking out her phone and calling for help, ignoring Y/N’s complaints. As she sits back down, trying to manoeuvre her ankle into a more comfortable position, Y/N knows her friends are right. She needs help, which she isn’t able to provide for herself. Maybe for once, after all her time spent taking care of others… it’s her turn to be taken care of. Soon enough, albeit longer than Y/N likes, an ambulance pulls up.

“Thank god.” She murmurs. However, when the paramedic steps out, illuminated by the streetlight, Y/N immediately regrets her words. “Oh, fuck.”

Bucky Barnes is standing right in front of her.

“Hey everyone, where’s the- Y/N?!” he gasps. She can’t fully explain the emotion on his face as he looks at her. In fact, it looks like a mix of emotions: surprise, concern and pity all rolled into one. Heat rises through Y/N’s body, settling on her cheeks. Bucky is the last person she wants to see her like this, sitting in the middle of the street on a Saturday night, in pain and crying, no doubt with her makeup smeared everywhere. At that moment, all she wants is for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Bucky kneels beside her, his face mere inches from her. “Not going to lie, you’re not who I expected to see tonight. But it’s a welcome surprise.” He smiles, and Y/N registers a familiar fluttering sensation in her stomach. “So, how are you feeling? Your friend said you broke your ankle, but what’s your personal diagnosis, doc?” He chuckles, and Y/N’s blush deepens. Bucky’s never called her doc before… and she’s just realised that she loves it.

“I think it’s just a sprain. Nothing worth worrying about.” Bucky chuckles, shaking his head.

“Well, you say that… but I still wanna check you over in the ambulance.” Y/N suppresses a groan. Of course he does. God, why does he have to be so thorough?! Why can’t, just this once, he- “Besides, if I missed something, I’d never forgive myself, especially if something terrible happened to you.” He admits, his words suddenly leaving her speechless and her heart racing. “Can’t have the best doctor in the area out of action, now can we?”

“Okay, now I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Nope. It’s true.” Bucky shrugs, and Y/N gasps.

“I-I-thank you.” She stammers out a reply, still in shock. She’s not used to this, to seeing Bucky outside of her job, and especially not as a patient. Or to be complimented so much by him. And what a way to start. But at least she’s finally going to know what being cared for by Bucky Barnes feels like.

“Can you walk?” Bucky asks, gently helping her up. When she yelps in pain after putting pressure on her injured foot, Bucky whispers: “It’s alright. Just lean on me, okay? Your carriage awaits.” He chuckles. Despite how weird this situation is, it feels nice to be so close to Bucky, and to be cracking jokes with him like they’re actually friends, and not just coworkers. Y/N just wishes it could be like this all the time. Aside from the twisted ankle, of course.

Slowly, Bucky leads her inside the ambulance, and onto the bed inside. Y/N watches him as he grabs all the equipment he needs. Her brain feels like it’s going a million miles a minute as Bucky’s words replay in her mind. “I’d never forgive myself.” Does he care about her? Is there a chance he feels the same way about her?

But then, her mind brings her crashing back down to reality. Of course he cares about her. It’s his fucking job. And right now, she’s just like any other patient. One that’s hopelessly in love with her paramedic and wants him to feel even a smidge of the love she feels for him. Although maybe, just this once, she can pretend that it’s just for her. Slowly, Y/N’s eyes wander lower. God, how does his ass look so good in that uniform?

“I bet this is a unique experience for you, huh? Being the one getting diagnosed?” Bucky laughs, turning back to her. “Especially by me.” Y/N nods, hoping and praying to whatever higher power there is that Bucky didn’t catch her staring, and especially not at his ass. “I just need to check your vitals.” Bucky explains, holding up a stethoscope. Y/N gulps. Bucky’s going to be closer to her than he ever has before, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Gently, Bucky lifts up her shirt, pressing the stethoscope to her skin. Despite the sensation of the cool metal against her skin, Y/N has never felt so warm in all her life.

“Your heart rate seems to be elevated.” He muses. “Take a deep breath for me.” As she does, Bucky tuts. “Your breathing is a little shallow, and you seem stressed. Although, I guess that’s normal after something like this.” Oh, if only he knew the true reason. As Bucky checks her blood pressure, his face is mere millimetres from hers. So close Y/N can see the grey hairs within his beard, feel his breath against her skin and even smell its minty freshness. And it’s sending her heart into a spiral. If only she could actually work up the guts to tell him the truth about how she feels. “So, do you mind me asking what happened?” Bucky asks as he checks her ankle, gently pressing against the tender skin. Each time he touches it, it sends shockwaves throughout her entire body.

“Well, let’s just say alcohol and high heels really aren’t the best combination. God, I knew it was a bad idea to wear those shoes. Especially when I’m so clumsy.”

“It’s alright. You’re not the first patient I’ve seen who needs a bit more practice with heels, and you definitely won’t be the last.” He reassures her, his words making her smile. A genuine smile, her first since she hurt her ankle. “If I’m hurting you, just say okay?” Actually, it doesn’t hurt. Or at least, not as much as she expected it to. Of course, part of it could be down to the shock, but she knows a larger part of it is because of how much care and tenderness Bucky is treating her with. She looks up, catching his eyes. Would telling him the truth be so bad after all? “I think you’re right. It’s starting to bruise, and it looks like a sprain. But I still want to take you to hospital to get you checked out and get an X-Ray, just in case.”

“Let me guess, the one I work in? God, my coworkers will never let me live it down.” Y/N groans as Bucky injects her with some pain meds.

“If anyone gives you trouble, just tell me, alright? I’ve got your back.” He winks, and Y/N’s stomach flutters again.

“My hero.” she giggles, and Bucky even bows for her. But Bucky is a hero, one who saves people day in and day out. Hopefully, he knows just how loved and appreciated he is. Of course, as a doctor, Y/N knows people would say the same about her too. Yet, she knows she doesn’t hold a candle to just how kind and caring Bucky is.

Throughout the ride to the hospital, Y/N begins to get sleepier as the meds begin to work. “Thanks Bucky. You know, I should get you a drink after this.” She mumbles, not expecting him to hear her. But when Bucky laughs and says,

“Okay, sure. I’d love that.” her blood chills. When she said before that she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole when Bucky first saw her in pain, she was wrong. This is when she wants the ground to swallow her whole. After that, she sits in silence for the rest of the ride, all the way til Bucky wheels her into the hospital. “Well, this is the end of the line.” He sighs, his tone causing Y/N to raise a brow. Maybe it’s just the drugs talking, but she swears Bucky is sad to see her go. “Now, promise me you’ll take care of yourself, alright? I don’t wanna see you here again anytime soon. At least… not on this side of things. We have to get you back here as soon as possible.”

“Thanks Bucky.” She smiles. “It’s just part of the job, right?” She chuckles. Yet, Bucky shakes his head.

“Not always. Sometimes it’s because you care about the person too.” But before Y/N can say anything, he’s gone, off to save the world again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I still cannot believe you got treated and brought in by the hot paramedic.” Y/N’s coworker gasps as she bandages her foot. “What did he say? What did you say?!”

“Nothing.” Y/N sighs. “I was in shock for most of it. Both literally and figuratively.”

“Well, at least you got to hang out with him outside work… sort of.” And now, she’s off work for a bit until her ankle heals, meaning she won’t see Bucky for a while. Just her fucking luck. But then, a knock sounds at the door, and her supervisor pops his head inside.

“This arrived for you, Y/N.” He says, passing over an envelope. Inside is a get well soon card. She knows who sent it to her before she even opens it.

“To Y/N. My favourite doctor. Or should I say my favourite patient? Don’t tell the others I said that. Honestly, though, I hope your ankle feels better soon. If you are serious about that drink, give me a call. Although maybe don’t bring your heels this time.” Bucky’s number is written underneath. Y/N stares at the letter, still unsure that it’s real. Maybe it’s even a hallucination caused by the meds. But, it’s still there. It’s still real.

And that means Bucky wants to see her. Immediately, her heart pounds, and her stomach flutters all over again.

“Oh, my god.” Her coworker gasps, peering over her shoulder to read the card. “Are you gonna call him?”

“Yeah…” Y/N smiles. “Yeah, I think I will.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky x Female Reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #paramedic!bucky barnes #paramedic!bucky barnes x doctor!reader #marvel oneshot #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Connect4AU

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thedivineart · 1 year

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PICK A CARD: FACTS AND SECRETS OF YOUR GREATEST LOVE.

⠀⠀⠀꒰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⌷ .⠀⠀d i s c l a i m e r⠀⠀✿𝆬

[ 𝒜𝓇𝓉 ✧ ] any events and other things in your life are cannot be accurately predict by me and the tarot cards, do take a note that we are 'still' the creator of our 'future'- what you 'do' now will be the outcome of your future life and this could be either a good or bad, if your doing good and you are good to others expect the bright future ahead but in reverse you might expect the worst.

[ ℰ𝓂𝒾𝓈 ✧ ] to pick a pile, firstly take a good deep breath, second focus on every pile in the photo provided below { pile one, pile two, pile three }, and lastly scroll more down to reveal your reading. if you cannot still pick up any of the pile, do remember the sequence of what is written in the first sentence.

ꕀ ׅ࣪ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒹 ; facts and secrets of your ᵍʳᵉᵃᵗᵉˢᵗ ˡᵒᵛᵉ

[ 𝒜𝓇𝓉ℯ𝓂𝒾𝓈 ✧ ] grammatical errors ahead, if you're a perfectionist then leave this pac. I do write with so many flaws and I know it's not perfect since my first language isn't english.

-` 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝐷𝐼𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑇 ´- ✰︵ — m a s t e r l i s t ´-

: ･. ﾟ ✧. : ･. ☽˚｡･ﾟ ✧: ･. :.

PILE ONE

seems that they likes socialising, sort of life of the party individual and may possibly that they got alot of friends since they value friendships however there's something happened between them and a friend ( probably group of friends ) which lead your person to feel victimize and got anxiety. either this called friend is hating/sabotaging them or bullying them, idk but this one 'friend' and your person isn't in good terms, definitely fear this 'friend' too. hmm, I feel that there's something fishing involve here, I think your person and this 'friend' have something before, like they tried to be in relationship before but actually failed to become stable. this person of yours may/already feel heartbreak and betrayal in their timeframe, even though they got friends they still feel need someone to fill their loneliness. on the other side, they literally got it all and might come from wealthy or wealthy by themselves (if they are a 'man'), high status in life and often in leadership position like in company being it's c.e.o or the boss where they work, actually they got multiple options and choices about their life, like they can get what they like unlike the others. however they tends to daydream and imagine often. also likes luxurious things or materialistic individual they are, they care about the money alot and good at handling it, they literally hate it when someone is late when there's a sched and call time when it be happen, but they are slow to be anger. when you see this person physically and in reality, you'll be having the thought of "they looks tough and cold individual" when it quite faraway from it, they know how to hide their innocence and vulnerability inside by hiding it on their appearance. one thing that keeps me interested with this individual, they willing to give it all if they love someone that's why often they end up feels of being disappointed and just hurting themselves but they know how to heal themselves too. knife and skull symbol might be prominent for this person maybe a tattoo or they like those symbols.

- dm me for personal readings

PILE TWO

tw: die, kill

soulmates connection here.there's two scenario here, first -they know within themselves that they are defensive being but of course they don't wouldn't tell it, if they found themselves in that situation they tends to walk away and leave that situation or where they are now, they want to leave and scape to that place but they don't know how, all they can do now is to be patient most of the time. and might be conservative in everything. they also know how to manifest specially to their desires, they believe that action and willingness with manifestation will lead you to a prosperous and secure life, at some point they prefer to work alone like being self employed. might be ailurophiles, they love cats. seems that they are more confident, if they achieve something or if someone is supporting them. they like to offer for people alot whether it's time, money or support from them. negative sides might be forgetful and hot tempered, idk if they are famous since they have alot of supporters maybe quite well known where field or place they are. they do believe success comes from hard work and overcoming obstacles, love how optimistic they are. finally a secret was channeled here, they may don't seem one as physically but they are very sensual individual who knows how to hide it. they do care about the animals specially if this is a cat and the humanity. you can easily may know their true identity by how they act in front of you. for some point, some people here may already know this person or will gonna know this individual this year. dang bruh, I'm shock to this message but this person having thoughts of wanting to die, they want to commit this sin or their anxiety is getting worst day after day, they want to tell it to someone but this person thinks that ' will they understand them even though they will tell it to someone'. s/he got the reason for it, the story behind of why they want to do it but might be afraid that no one will understand them. just a reminder that be observant to people who surround you, look how they behave and think before you outburst words coming from your mouth cause we don't know who suffer, this type of mental illness can kill, no kidding around.

- dm me for personal readings

PILE THREE

this person got powerful aura than the rest of the piles and somewhat seems that this pile is the combination of 1 and 2. they come from a wealthy/stable family/high status or inheritance from old people around their family, that's the reason why they don't suffer much when in comes to finances, this money may came from a masculine energy more likely the father or their grandpa. mostly who pick this pile, your person is more mature in appearance or by mentally or by age. might be working on authority level like the boss or in government and law or higher positions like manager, being team leader etc. for some people who pick this pile, I see that they still studying like maybe in higher grade than yours or simply this person loves to learn and very determine as well dedicated to what they are studying. however they may have fear that someone is more better than them, or they experience anxiety or deep unhappiness which causes to got some sleep paralysis/negativity. on the other hand, I'm seeing that they will overcome this one his/her obstacles. they tends to act hasty or bad mouthing and expressing how bitter they are in life maybe because of what they just experience, or they been/will face betrayal in life. they got big social cycle, alot of people know them and they know alot of people too, possibly that they are famous in their surrounding, however your person really knows who are the true and enemy to them or your person may feels that every people around them are not true and just want them for the money and fame specially if those individuals are his/her friends. they been wishing for healing from what people did to them for a very long period of time, they got solution and want to fly away to rest and ease this pain within themselves. they want some joy in their life and was eager for seeking it. as a addition, I see here that this person got some eagle eye or great observation, like they see it but other people wouldn't. everyone seems to respect this person and they know it, they know they are someone who should be respected too ( seems overbearing for me ). when they talk they are too honest to their words and doesn't care if the someone may feel hurt from it or spilling tea is one of their habit/mannerism. one more thing, they think people around them are ugly ( lol, that's bad ) like they based on physical appearance but of course they will keep it by themselves however if you focus on their eyes you can see the judging looking.

- dm me for personal readings

[ 🤎. ] Hello! Thank You so much for checking out this pac reading, if you ever like it please do follow and reblog for more pac. Let me know what you feel by commenting down below...

© thedivineart — do not plagiarize any of my work, translate or repost it on other social media platform , do remember that this is only my official account where all my pac are posted, if you ever see something like mine from word by word kindly report it to me, thank you<3. theme is included

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drdemonprince · 2 months

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“anyone who doesn't wear a mask is disabling or killing people“ this is a true statement. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go to the dentist or make other complex decisions. But it is a true statement and I do not fucking like how anon implied it’s not. Also very telling that the focus here is about the abled choice to do things, and not how the same choice from a disabled perspective is about weighing our own lives. Sometimes a small risk is still pretty unnacceptable for certain people ( not the Normals of course! ) Also also can you give me sources on the dentist thing. I actually do believe you I just want to be able to better judge that risk myself because like I said I clearly have a different health risk to balance than you

That is literally not a true statement. That is not how statistical risk works, and flattening a very complicated risk calculus to such a simple, factually incorrect statement is not helpful in allowing people to make informed mitigation decisions.

Would you say that every person who has ever had sex without a condom has killed someone? Of course not. It is not the case that every person who has ever gone maskless has disabled or killed someone. It would be accurate to say that every time a person goes unmasked around others, they place the people around them at risk of serious illness or death. The reality is quite severe enough! we don't need to erroneously call anyone who has taken a sip of water on the bus a killer to convey the seriousness of this issue!

The dental data: here are some studies to get you started. The risk for patients is consistently very low. Studies are a bit more mixed on provider outcomes! but most still indicate it being low. Thanks for asking.

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tired-but-willing · 6 months

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I wholeheartedly do not understand the take of "Luke is Padmés child"/"Leia is Anakins child". I understand it's very popular within the fandom, and it's a way for fans to create a connection between characters— but I just don't see it.

Long-winded rant coming. Hope it makes sense. No spoilers for recent Star Wars media, but I do briefly talk about the Original Trilogy, the Prequels, the books (Legends and Canon), and the comics.

The biggest argument that I have seen for both sides is temperament. "Leia has Anakins temper" "Luke has Padmés calm". But really, that's not wholly accurate. Every time that we see Leia becoming angry, it's righteous anger. She's been taken captive. Her planet has been threatened. Her planet has been destroyed.

Now compare that to Anakin. He's mad Padmé won't return his advances. He's mad the council doesn't trust him— for good reason, but we'll touch on that later in a different post.

A major difference that sits between Leia and Anakin (aside from the obvious), is timing. Leia knows when the time for sarcastic quips is. She knows when the time for angry comments is. And she also knows when to shut it down. If you want to compare her to anyone out of the family, it should be to Padmé; but I'll do you one better. Leia's temperament is all Bail and Breha Organa.

It's plenty sweet to want to connect the twins to the mother they lost, but truthfully, they don't get their personality traits from her. If Leia were to take after anyone, it would be the parents who raised her. The ones who brought her up to be good and kind and care about the people of Alderaan. I went off on a tangent: Leia does not have Anakins temper. Not even close.

Compare her moments of righteous anger to his outburst in the council chambers. Mace Windu— quite fairly, in my opinion— tells Anakin to sit down when his adult self starts throwing a temper tantrum for not becoming a barely-out-of-teens Jedi Master. He's entitled. He thinks he deserves the position, regardless of meeting very few qualifications. I'll likely make another post about that as well. The main point of this paragraph being; for Leia to share Anakins anger, it would need to come from a place of entitlement. It does not.

Now onto Luke. I see people attempting to mould him into Padmé for a multitude of reasons. Some want to, as I said, connect the twins to their mother in a way that is easy. They want a parallel to Padmé and Anakin that can be found in their children. Others, I'm sure, just want to make Luke "softer" (though Padmé is far from soft; some people just lack media comprehension). Luke is not some patron saint of patience. He CAN be patient, yes; but it is not his defining character trait. Throughout the movies, books, and comics, Luke has had outbursts. He's not some holier than thou figure who never gets angry. He just works to overcome that anger. Maybe that is a bit reminiscent of Padmé; but do you know who it reminds me of?

Beru Lars.

The same way his stubborn determination (look at him, look at me in my eyes, and tell me he's not stubborn) reminds me of both Owen and Beru.

There's no crime in comparing the twins to their biological parents. I understand the want. I love parallels in media as much as anyone else. I only wish that Star Wars fans would quit labeling Leia as "just Anakin's daughter" because she got a little angry That One Time when That One Thing happened, and quit labeling Luke as " just Padmé's son" because he's a Cool and Collected Jedi. There is so much more to their characters than just their biological parentage. I am begging people to read more into the characters who actually raised them and gave them love for nineteen years of their lives.

Long-winded and incomprehensible rant over <3 ty for reading.

#luke skywalker #leia organa #padme amidala #anakin skywalker #star wars #meta #ft: bail and breha organa #ft: owen and beru lars

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wanderinginksplot · 8 months

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Fives + Overcharge

Fives x gn!reader (no use of 'y/n' and no pronouns). Romantic.

Word Count: 2,700

Warnings: self-doubt, mentions of lack of payment for clone troopers, ridiculous fluff, mild extortion

---

“Ooh, there he is!” your coworker Lanji whispered as she walked past you. She did a little shimmy, turning her movements into a dance as her head-tails swayed. The pretty Twi’lek was a favorite in the GAR’s mess hall, and more than a few troopers paused to watch her graceful actions.

You didn’t have to ask who Lanji was talking about - the trooper came into the mess for almost every meal when the 501st was on Coruscant. Of course, he didn’t have much of a choice. The GAR provided this food. Troopers were welcome to take their meals elsewhere, but they were responsible for covering the cost. That was tricky for beings who weren’t getting paid.

So you saw a few hundred similar faces every day working in the GAR’s Coruscant mess hall. It was a simple job and you liked it. Maybe it was a little silly, but you liked knowing that you were helping the Republic, even in something as basic as making sure the troopers were fed. Besides, your job gave you a different perspective on the army fighting against the Separatist droids.

It didn’t hurt that some of the troopers took the rare opportunity to interact with a civilian and used it to flirt. One of the most frequent offenders was a trooper named Fives.

Fives was a born flirt, and he was good at it. He had a line for every job you could possibly do around the mess hall, everything from compliments to more… suggestive options. He was handsome, too. All of the troopers were, but there was something about the way his humor shone across his face and intelligence burned in his eyes. And he was loyal, if you were to judge from conversations you had half-overheard between him and his brothers.

But you kept yourself from melting too obviously around him. Someone like Fives flirted as a habit, not as a way to start a relationship.

“There’s my favorite GAR employee!” the man himself crowed, breaking you out of your internal reminder not to overthink this.

“What gives, vod?” the trooper beside him asked, laughing despite the false outrage on his tattooed face. “So much for having my back.”

“You’re not an employee, Jesse,” Fives explained patiently. “Employees get paid, remember? Employees get credits. We just get paid in gratitude.”

Jesse nodded understandingly while you choked on air. You hadn’t been expecting Fives to do an impression of Chancellor’s Palpatine’s quavery voice, much less for that impression to be remarkably accurate. “Is- Uh, is this everything?”

“Yep,” Fives told you, leaning against the hip-height counter between you. He glanced you up and down in a leisurely study. “Unless you want to throw your comm frequency in. Or maybe a little more than that… Don’t you have a break coming up, sweetheart?”

He flirts with everyone, you reminded yourself sternly. Don’t take it seriously or you’ll look like an idiot.

“Nope, sorry,” you told him with a cheerful smile. “Just finished a break, actually. I don’t have another on this shift.”

A sly glint entered Fives’ eyes. “That’s okay, maybe we could do something more time-consuming. When are you done tonight?”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was more than simple flirtation, right? This was an actual invitation. Wasn’t it? Or were you misreading the situation again? He flirts with everyone…

“Fives, stop harassing people,” a stern voice cut in. When you glanced over, you spotted the tired face of Captain Rex. The captain lifted the loaded tray in his hands. “I have work I need to get back to.”

“Okay, Captain,” Fives agreed cheerily and you felt a little flat. If it had been an invitation, he didn’t seem too concerned with the interruption from his Captain.

You finished recording all of the items on Fives’ tray and offered him a smile. “You’re good to go.”

Fives picked up his tray but paused, leaning in to inspect the screen displaying the list of everything he had taken. With a comical look of suspicion, he glanced over at you, brown eyes dancing. “That looks a little steep. Are you sure you aren’t overcharging me?”

This was more familiar ground, and you found yourself relaxing. It was the line Fives used every time he interacted with you at the checkout area. You faithfully delivered your lines from the little script the two of you had subconsciously developed, offering the response you always did: “You don’t pay for any of this, the GAR does.”

“Just trying to be responsible with the Republic’s credits,” Fives told you. As always, the answer was given with a winning smile.

Unlike every other time, his playful manner was undercut by a loud groan from the line that was forming behind Fives and Jesse. “C’mon, vod, some of us want to eat today.”

Jesse shifted his weight nervously. “Fives, maybe we should-”

“I know, I know,” Fives grumbled. He glanced back at you, reluctance written across his handsome face. “Hope I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

And then he was gone, leaving you to work your way through the long line that had formed. The dinner rush kept you so busy that you didn’t have time to be flustered about your most recent encounter with the 501st’s famous flirt.

When everyone was through the line with only a few grumbled complaints aimed your way, Lanji came back to your register. She made as if to jump up and sit on the rail that lined the checkout lane, but you gave her a warning look. Your manager was never happy when people sat on the rail and you had ended up scrubbing it for an hour last time. Lanji stopped herself, leaning against the rail instead.

“So?” she pressed, the delicate pink of her closer head tail curling as if to implore you for information. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you told Lanji stubbornly, pretending to dust your workstation.

“Fives, obviously!” she replied, far too loud for comfort.

You hurried to shush her, but no one had taken any notice. The noise of the troopers in the mess hall was louder than anything less than a shout. “He asked me when I’m done tonight.”

Lanji squealed, and that was loud enough to attract some attention from the dining room. You shushed her again, but she paid no attention. “And? Where are you going? Do you have time to change? I have some clothes you can borrow. Not that you don’t look fine in that, but you’ll want to dress up for a date-

“We’re not going on a date, Lanji.”

Her rose-colored face scrunched in confusion and disappointment. “What? Why not?”

“Because he didn’t mean it,” you reminded her, trying to take your own explanation to heart. “Fives flirts with everyone.”

“He doesn’t flirt with me,” she countered. Despite yourself, you had to admit that it was a good point. Everyone flirted with Lanji. She wasn’t done, however: “And I’ve asked around. He doesn’t flirt with anyone else here. Just you.”

There didn’t seem to be an answer to that. Lanji, to her credit, didn’t rub your speechlessness in your face. Instead, she just gave you a victorious smile and strutted away.

You were working the evening shift that night, and with the dinner rush past, you didn’t have much to do but think and mindlessly clean until it was time to close the mess hall for the night. One by one, your fellow mess hall workers left for the night. You were the lucky one who got to stay, finish the tasks that needed attention, then program the droids to do the overnight cleaning.

By the time you had completed your work, it was almost ten and you were more than ready to leave. It had been a long day, but it was finally your day off.

Which made it all the worse when you stepped through the GAR’s front entrance and realized you had left your ID badge inside.

“No… No, no!” you chanted, frantically patting at every pocket you had as if that would make the slim card materialize once more. It didn’t work and there was still no sign of the badge. When you paused to take a breath, you could picture it resting neatly next to the recorder screen of your workstation.

It was the perfect storm of consequences: you couldn’t get back into the building without the ID. If you left it there, the cleaning droids would read it as garbage and dispose of it since no lost items were meant to be kept at the checkout counter. The GAR charged over two hours of pay to get a new badge, and those were credits you didn’t want to part with.

And yet, you had no real options. All of your coworkers were already gone and you had no ability to program the droids to leave the card where it was. By the time anyone arrived to help, your ID would be long gone.

When you let out a singularly self-pitying groan, you heard footsteps and the sound of your name in a familiar voice. “Are you okay? What happened?”

It would be Fives, honestly. You forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “I left my ID card inside. The cleaning droids will throw it away. And I can’t get inside without my ID card.”

Fives’ brow furrowed, but you shrugged before he could say anything sympathetic. “My own fault. I know better. This is gonna hang over my head all day tomorrow…”

“I’ll get it for you,” he offered.

You stared at him, unable to fight the surge of hope behind your ribs. The feeling deflated only a moment later when you realized the flaw in that idea: “The cleaning droids lock down the mess hall. You won’t be able to get in.”

Fives winked at you. “Let me worry about that.”

And then he was gone, slipping in through the heavily guarded main door. You took a moment to be jealous of him - the troopers all had access to the building literally encoded into their bodies. That had some horrifying implications, but it meant that they didn’t have to worry about ID cards or the potential of losing them.

You waited nervously outside of the GAR building for a long time… Far too long, actually. Even accounting for your own racing thoughts, you stood there long enough for Fives to have reached the mess hall and come back a handful of times.

As you stood staring fruitlessly at the entrance where Fives had disappeared, you tucked your hands into your pockets and wished you had thought to bring a thicker jacket. It wasn’t necessarily freezing outside - the nature of Coruscant’s climate control tech meant it couldn’t be dangerously cold - but that didn’t stop the shivers.

Fives had clearly been caught by someone or something. Was he in trouble? Worse yet, what could you really do about it? You couldn’t get into the building. That had been the problem in the first place.

You were muttering curses under your breath and kicking at random debris on the duracrete sidewalk when the sound of the door opening behind you made you whip around. Fives reached to steady you - unnecessary, but the warmth of his hands was welcome.

“Oh, you’re okay!” you told him, sounding breathless even to your own ears.

Fives furrowed his brows. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You took so long…” you explained, feeling sheepish. When you pulled your eyes from his face, you noticed that his hands were still on your shoulders and you shrugged them off.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Fives said. For a moment, you thought he was apologizing for his grip on you, but realized that he wasn’t nearly as preoccupied with it as you had been. Embarrassing. “I ran into one of my brothers, and he wanted to come along.”

“Did you get it?” you asked, sparing only a glance for the other trooper who stepped out of the building behind Fives.

“Yeah!” He sounded victorious. “Took Kix and I a little time to get around the droid lockdown, but we figured it out.”

After a moment of fishing in his pocket, Fives held up the small square of your ID and the tension disappeared from you. “Thank you so much, Fives! I don’t know what I would have-”

But Fives pulled the ID away as you reached for it, holding it out of reach. “Ah, ah. I think I deserve some kind of payment for such a good deed.”

Much as you hated to admit it - because it was a fair request, all things considered - your opinion of Fives dropped slightly at that. You sighed. “I have a few credits I can give you, but I can’t spare a lot.”

“I don’t want your money,” Fives told you, sounding insulted. “I want something cheaper but much more valuable for my payment. Just one little kiss.”

“A kiss?” you repeated blankly. Your heart was suddenly pounding, and you only hoped that he couldn’t see it in your throat. At the risk of sounding too eager, you filled your tone with suspicion. “A kiss where?”

“Wherever you like,” he replied, his eyes filling with something you didn’t fully recognize as he added, “Though I have a few preferences.”

You considered it, glancing at the other trooper to give yourself some time. Kix, you were pretty sure Fives had said. It was hard to tell for sure - Fives seemed to be the only trooper who had chosen to tattoo himself with a permanent label. “Aren’t you supposed to talk him out of stuff like this?”

Fives made an offended sound while Kix scoffed. “No one can talk Fives out of anything. Especially when he’s this determined.”

That made you smile, and you beckoned Fives closer. With a grip on his chin - in case he decided to do something cute that would probably make you fall in love with him - you held his face still so you could kiss him on the cheek. Admittedly, it did land a little closer to the corner of his mouth than you meant it to, but nothing that looked too suspicious.

When you pulled away, Fives looked a little dazed. He handed you the ID badge without further comment. You had tucked it safely away before he spoke again: “Your hands are cold. Let me take you for a cup of caf.”

“Fives, you don’t want that,” you said softly, hating the disappointment laying thick in your voice. “It’s fine to flirt with people and not follow it up with anything else. It’s okay - you don’t need to pretend you want something more. You’re just a flirty guy.”

Kix made a strangled noise before he gave in and laughed. Fives sent a betrayed look his way and he shrugged. “Sorry, vod, but that’s pretty accurate. You do like hitting on people.”

Your stomach sank at the confirmation of your suspicions. “Like I said…”

“Wait,” Fives pled. Despite your instincts, you turned to face him again. “I like you. I have for a while. The only reason I didn’t ask you out before was that… well, I didn’t think you would say yes. I thought flirting would be good enough. But it’s not. I want to go out. I want to talk. I- I want to know more about you and tell you more about me. So? What do you think?”

“You were really flirting with me?” you asked, feeling a little stunned.

“Yes,” Fives confirmed with a miniscule nod. “I wouldn’t have kept flirting if I wasn’t interested.”

Kix snorted and Fives glared back at him for a moment. “Okay, I might have kept flirting. But I wouldn’t have stopped flirting with everyone else.”

“Then I guess there’s only one problem,” you concluded.

“What?” Fives asked, looking distinctly nervous.

---

You raised a single brow and crossed your arms. “A kiss for my ID? Are you overcharging me?”

Fives beamed at your joke. “Sweetheart, compared to what I wanted to ask you for, that was the deal of the millennium.”

Author's Note - I'll admit, I struggle with Fives' characterization, but I love him and I'm pretty happy with how this turned out!

Thanks for reading! You can find other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist here.

Taglist: @rexs-wife @sugarpuffsstuff @stargazingthenightaway @just-some-girl-92 @kimageddon @ladysongmaster @carodealmeida @adriiibell @boomtowngirl @bitchylittleredhead @blck-omen @lackofhonor @captxin-rex @literallydontlook @salaminus @lucyhelena @808tsuika @ladykatakuri @bikerlorian @torchbearerkyle @frietiemeloen @tsedeshgishnii @buddee @justanothersadperson93 @leotatombs @mavendeb @rain-on-kamino @itsagrimm @captain-splock-you @dancingwiththeplanets @hummellchen @theclonesdeservebetter @cyarinka @ladyemxo @maulslittlemeowmeow @rosmariner @staycalmandhugaclone @coruscanticoffee @crookedwiings @eyecandyeoz @fordo-kixed-rex @musigrusi @lucyysthings @dinsverdika @bombshe77 @cawyden

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #reader insert #reader insert fic #fives #arc trooper fives #ink's fics #captain rex #jesse #kix #501st legion

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transmutationisms · 5 months

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have you heard about HOCD (homosexual obsessive disorder)? i discovered this recently (which is not in the DSM "yet" but many therapists will still "diagnose" it). i'm perplexed, it seems like a way to add "homosexuality" back into the DSM without officially doing so. i've been trying to read up on it and it feels like it might just be... repressed homosexuality? internalized homophobia? there's a whole subreddit for it that mostly consists of "i looked at a guy today, could i be gay?!" and the responses like "don't worry brother, you're straight, just believe in yourself." (also, the description of HOCD seems to erase a lot of sexualities between gay and straight? and also how people tend to think a lot about their sexuality anyway?) what do you think, is this fake, insidious, or what

yep some patients and practitioners do refer to 'subtypes' of ocd, where this (or the broader 'sexual orientation ocd') are one such label. i don't actually know of any sustained effort to add these sub-labels to the dsm and i wouldn't expect to see such a thing unless and until someone starts marketing specific drugs or therapeutic modalities matched to particular 'subtypes'---dsm labels being insurance company billing codes

anyway i agree this label is ripe for use by people who simply want to discourage gay people existing (there is a corresponding and equally insidious 'gender identification' subtype these days as well) but fundamentally i do think this comes back to the idea that sexuality is some kind of discoverable, essential quality buried deep inside each of us, rather than a particular social-scientific taxonomical scheme attempting to capture and classify some of our extremely complex and personal thoughts and behaviours. i don't think it's actually very helpful to tell anyone with any kind of 'sexual orientation ocd' that what they need is, like, a qualified professional who can examine them mentally and root out the traces of Unwanted Fake Sexuality Thoughts, whether this goes in the direction of fearing you're gay or fearing you're straight or anything else.

i've always said it's fine to use a sexuality label if it feels right for you, no scrupulosity test required; similarly, i just don't think it's feasible to sit there all day trying to sort out which desires are real or fake. you can just act on them, or not, and it doesn't actually mean your soul has moved into some alternate categorical state either way lol. like i really just don't find it useful or accurate in general, the idea that there's some deeper, pre-social level of ourselves that we can or should discover. it's all contextual, gay desires equally to straight ones. basically you can do what you want forever and you actually don't have to torment yourself over how it reflects onto any mythologised notion of a stable or unitary Self. i think this is a much more incisive way of stopping the obsessional cycle of any ocd presentation than getting strategies for how to verify to yourself that you 'really are' xyz forever and endlessly 👍

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thedivinershiddenarchive · 1 year

Text

"cupid's dilemma: valentine's madness"

information.

Cupid, the God of desire and erotic love, making people's fantasies come true on this year's Valentine's day. Send him a letter with a target you aspire and with enough time, the contents of your letter will turn into a reality.

terms and conditions.

Follow the Cupid's terms and conditions in order for your love letter to be accepted and granted to come true. Do follow the format provided in it in order for him to clearly understand what your desires are and pick two prompts to finalize your request.

format; (1.prompt) + (2.prompt) + character + (context/story) + (kinks) + (extra.)

example of format; may I request cupid's weapon to be the windblume ode with refinement 3 targetted at Al Haitham? Both reader and Al Haitham are a married couple going through their honeymoon together! Maybe with some dacryphilia and breeding and virginity taking?

all these prompts belong to thelonelyempath

cupid's mailbox is: closed!

This event is mostly NSFW. 17 under, please do not interact at all costs and don't request anything SFW because my event isn't for that.

Female readers only. I do not write for gender-neutral or male readers so please do not request them. I will proceed to remove them if you do.

Do not request for characters that are not listed + anything in my "I will not write"

Please have your request be understandable so I can write it accurately and to your liking.

Writing requests may take longer so please be patient with them when you send one.

One character per concept/request only.

Update: Request the available characters. Give them chances on getting a fic because I'm only open for 4 requests. Check what characters I've already written for by searching the "cupid's dilemma ; valentine's madness" tag.

Run your mind wild with imagination! Don't hold back but also consider my rules still!

cupid's trusty weapon [1.prompt]

Alley Hunter ― "When I open the door, I better see you naked and on all fours for me."

Amos' bow ― "I don't think I can cum anymore."

Aqua Simulacra ― "Done already? We just started!"

Blackcliff Warbow ― “You better keep the volume down or I’m gonna go even harder.”

Messenger ― “You talk too much. How about we use your mouth for something else?”

Polar Star ― “I’m gonna fuck you so good you forget all about that bastard.”

Windblume Ode ― “Is that gonna fit?” “I’ll make it fit.”

Elegy for the End ― “Ooh, you’re not wearing any underwear. Trying to tell me something?”

The Stringless ― “Quit eyefucking me and get over here so you can actually fuck me!”

Skyward Harp ― “Go and lock the door for me. I don’t want anyone to walk in while I’m balls deep.”

The Viridescent Hunt ― "I know it hurts, but be a good girl and take it."

Thundering Pulse ― "Wanna see what I'm wearing under this?" "Hopefully it's nothing."

Hamayumi ― "Do you think you can take more of me in?"

Royal Bow ― "I don't know where the fuck you think you're going. Get that sexy ass on the bed and take your clothes off."

Rust ― "Let me dominate you so you don't have to do any thinking."

Prototype Crescent ― “I saw you naked once. And now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Sacrificial Bow ― "“I love that we both already finished and your legs are still shaking.”"

Mouun's Moon ― “Would you rather make out or make love? Me, personally, I’m up for both.”

Fading Twilight ― "You've been playing that stupid game for hours. I'm horny, damnit!"

Favonious Warbow ― "No one else is home, which means we can be as loud as we want."

Hunter's Path ― "Is there room for two in that shower?"

End of the Line ― "Oh yeah, you like when I touch you like that, baby."

Compound Bow ― "I'll only put the tip in. Unless you want me to go deeper."

Predator ― “I called in sick. Now we can stay in bed and fuck all day.”

Mitternachts Waltz ― "I'll be a good girl/boy! I'll be good for you!"

Recurve Bow ― “Your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner doesn’t need to know about this.”

Hunter's Bow ― CUSTOM. Pick a dialogue prompt that isn't in the list of bows.

bow refinements. [2.prompt]

Refinement 1 ― Friends with Benefits

Refinement 2 ― Hybrid!Reader or Hybrid!Character (specify which and what Hybrid they'll be)

Refinement 3 ― Domestic Relationship

Refinement 4 ― Mafia AU

Refinement 5 ― Perverted Stalker AU

Refinement 6 ― Yandere AU

Refinement 7 ― Vampire AU

Refinement 8 ― CUSTOM. Pick a dynamic that isn't in the list of refinements.

masterlist.

[AL HAITHAM] - Fondful Graze.

[DILUC] - Partners in Virtue.

[TIGHNARI] - A treat for two.

[CAPITANO] - Addicted.

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hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog · 30 days

Note

Tell me about Dean falling in love with a girl who has long covid - maybe they met when he saved her from a monster and they became friends, she occasionally helps him with research or patches him up if he gets hurt. He doesn’t hear from her for a while, and when he goes to check on her, he finds out she’s in the hospital with Covid - a monster he can’t save her from. He realizes he loves her, but may lose her. After she gets out he keeps coming to check on her because he knows she tires easily/has trouble breathing at times.

@deans-spinster-witch thank you for this ask. Actually thank you all that submit asks or sent me story prompts, I am going to get to them all, but I thought this one would be a good place to start.

First let me start off with my disclaimers:

1) I haven't see the last few seasons of SPN, so I don't know how they addressed COVID, if they did at all. So think of it as alternative timeline, not really canon.

2) My COVID representation is probably not 100% accurate, either by the reader symptoms or that I don't mention Dean wearing a mask or that he was able to be in the hospital with the reader.

3) I just POV and I think I may have jump from 2nd to 3rd person writing? I did my best to correct it, but sometimes I can't seem to correct it. Also did my best with editing, but I am sure I missed something. Flashbacks are bold italic and internal thoughts are just italic.

4) I am not sure if this is 100% what you were looking for. It does end on a cliffhanger, so I will be posting a second part. It was getting hella long coming in at 7,500 words. 😬 sorry.

5) swearing, hints of past trauma that we may get more in the second part. Self doubt/hate. Angst heavy!

Okay think that's it. It's a Y/N x Dean focus story with Sam making an appearance via phone. Characters are not mine but the work is. So please don't post as your own.

Feel free to like, reblog, send me feedback in the comments. And if you have a story idea, send it my way via asks or message. Or if you want me to tag you on my work let me know.

Okay think I have stalled long enough. Here it is, my first story back from 3 year break.

JUST BREATHE-

"Excuse me, sir, you can't be up here." A female voice, strong, laced with exhaustion, mixes with the sounds of the hospital. Doctors are being paged, staff are going in and out of rooms, and machines are monitoring patients. All of it, white noise, too, Dean. Because he can't look away or tear his eyes from what is in front of him. Y/N is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator. What happened? How did it come on so strong and so fast? He had just seen you last week when he came through town on his way to his next hunt. Picking up research that you had done for him since Sam was working on another case in California. You were the best…no, are, you are the best researcher he knows…you have to get better; you can't…

"Sir! I will have to ask you to leave if you're not family. The ICU is only for families." The female voce, insistent on getting him to pay attention to her. Tired, she was just so damn tired of no one listing to her today; she had better things to do than police people about.

"How long has she been here?" Dean asks, his voice firm but slightly wavering. He can't look away, watching as the vent goes up and down, breathing for you. Y/N, come on, you have to pull through; I can't lose you, Dean thinks, trying his best not to break. He prayed to God if he thought it would help if he thought the ass would be listing.

"Sir, I can't give that information if you're not family." Dean looks away from you for a moment, noticing the nurse standing beside him. She is dressed in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back, and a mask on. He can tell she is on her last nerve with him, and he has to win her over. He can't leave you, not now. "So, are you family?" she asks again.

"Umm…" He knew he needed to lie. If he told her that you were just a friend, he would never get answers and would never get back to this floor again. It was dumb luck that he could get your room number out of the receptionist downstairs. He pulled himself together to give her his winning smile and wink. "She's my sister." Clearing his throat, he looked back to you.

The nurse looks down at the chart in her hand. "Miss. Moore didn't have a brother listed as next of kin, but then again, a neighbor brought her in." Looking back up to Dean, he doesn't respond. "How about we go somewhere a little more private to discuss your sister's condition?" She lightly grabs Dean by the shoulder and turns him away from the window and you.

********

Dean did his best to listen to the nurse, but all he really wanted to do was get back to you. It was driving him crazy that he couldn't do anything; this wasn't caused by a demon, monster, or anything in his wheelhouse. You were brought in about a day or two after he had seen you. Your neighbor had come over to borrow something and saw you in the window, passed out on the floor. COVID had hit you hard, and you just couldn't shake it; your lungs filled up so fast with fluids that you passed out.

That was a week ago; you had been in the hospital for a week and on a ventilator. The doctors feel that your body just needs time to fight off the infection.

"She seemed fine when I saw her last; how could this happen?" Dean questions, trying to be as respectful as possible without raising his voice and getting kicked out.

"COVID hits everyone differently; we really don't know why. Some people may never get it, and some…" Not finishing her statement, the nurse looks away from Dean.

"Can I go back and sit with her?" Dean asks, more like pleading with her. He just wants to ensure you're doing alright and stand watch until you wake up. He doesn't know what else to do.

"I am sorry, but no," the nurse replies as kindly as possible. Seeing that he will protest this, she quickly adds, "But, you can come back during visiting hours. You won't be able to go in the room; we have to keep it clean because of COVID, but you can see her from the window." Hoping this will be a compromise he can live with. She doesn't want him to get upset and have to call security and have him escorted out. She can tell he cares for her and is scared.

Dean will take it; he knows he has to. You're the strongest person he knows. You will get through this; you have to. "Alright, I guess I will come back then," Dean says, getting up from the table.

********

Walking out of the hospital, Dean calls Sam to tell him what is happening and that he wasn't leaving until you were back home. Screw the world, let the monsters run amuck, and let demons rain hell on earth; he had more important things to do. "I don't care, Sammy, I am not leaving again. This is the only number you can reach me at, and only you," he says, getting into the Impala and firing it up.

"Alright, Dean. I hear you. Do you want me to come? I am almost done here." Sam offers, knowing that Dean won't take him up on it.

"No, I am good, but thanks. You stay on the West Coast until the world calms itself down." Letting the engine run for a bit, Dean takes a second. This has been the longest they have been working apart. It's been hard on both of them, but at least Dean has you to talk to. He has been leaning on you more since Sam was in California. Could Dean have caused this? Was he asking too much of you?

"Dean, hey, you still there?" Sam breaks through his intrusive thoughts.

Clearing his voice, "Yeah."

"You know, she will get through this. She's going to be okay," Sam says, trying his best to reassure him and get him out of his head because even if they are miles apart, he knows his brother. Dean is blaming himself right now for something that he can't control.

“Yeah, I know… I just… what if I…..”

"No, don't think like that, and don't think you had anything to do with this happening." Sam quips back, knowing where his brother's thoughts are going, and he will not have him spiraling out.

"But I ask so much of her. You know she will never say no. Even when she has other things to do, she always drops everything when I ask for a favor. God, I am such a user…"

"No, you're not. Y/N is strong, and she said she would tell you if she didn't want to do something. She wants to help; she thrives on researching this stuff, and you know it." Sam states, "Come on, you know she would rather research lore or listen to one of your 'tales from the front lines,' as she likes to call them, any day of the week."

The thought of you saying these words to him as you patch him up, 'Alright, Dean, what tales to do we have this time?' or how your voice would be giddy when he called you about a case he found. "Yeah, you're right, Sam," Dean replies. Feeling a bit better after talking with Sam, he always knows how to keep him from spiraling too much.

"I know I am; now go get some rest. She's going to need you when she wakes up."

"Night brother"

After hanging up the phone, Dean didn't want to go to a hotel or bar, but he was now wired and needed to do something. Pulling out of the parking lot was second nature, and he found his way to your driveway.

Sitting there, looking at the modest, two-bedroom, two-bath house, he would consider a second home for as much time as he has spent there. It was odd to think about walking through that door and you not being there. When getting out of the car, the sound of the door opening and closing is the only noise that breaks up the silence of the night. Taking a few steps, Dean stops himself from knocking like he usually does. Habit, he thinks. Pulling his keys out, he flips until he finds the one for your house.

It was an argument you had won, not that he didn't want a key. Of course, he did, but he didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands should something happen.

"No, I don't need a key, Y/N," Dean protest, not wanting to have this conversation right now.

"Yes, you do; now take it." You say, holding out the key for him to take.

"I don't need it; you're always here. Why would I need to get into your place when you're not here?" he questions. Finishing off his beer, he gets up from the couch and heads toward the kitchen. "You want another one?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

You get up and follow him. "Don't change the subject, Winchester," you say, following him and sitting on a kitchen stool. What if I wasn't home tonight?"

Tossing the empty bottle in the recycle bin and turning to face her, he can tell by the severe look on your face that this is an argument that he won't win. But why make it easy on you. "But you were," giving you a smirk, he opens the fridge to pull out two more bottles. "Besides, where would you be on a Friday night? You have a hot date I don't know about?" he questions. Handing one of the bottles to you.

He struggles slightly to open the bottle with his left hand since his right is currently in a sling. After putting his shoulder back into place and stitching him up, you open the beer in your hand, hand it to him, and take the other one from him. "Maybe," you say cryptically, a twinkle in your eyes.

"Really? Didn't know you were dating anyone?" Dean is slightly put off by this. It's not that someone would want to date you; it's the opposite. You're beautiful, and he always wonders how you were still single after all this time. Intelligent and funny, any guy would be lucky to call you his. Heck, he would like to call you his.

"I am not," you say, putting him out of his misery and his slight spiral of another guy touching her, kissing her… But I could still be out. Do you want to be sitting out in your car waiting for me to get home?" you question, pushing the key towards him. "Just take the dam key. It's only a key. I am not asking you to move in with me."

If you asked him that, he would say yes in a heartbeat. But the reality of his life, what he and Sam do for a living, gives him pause to take the key. "I just don't want anyone else to get their hands on it."

"Who, like Sam? Of course, you can give a copy to Sam." You joke, knowing what he's getting at but trying your best to keep this conversation light.

"No, not Sam. I am thinking Crowley, another demon or monster, or worse, Lucifer. I would hate for anyone other than Sam or me to get their hands on this and come after you."

"Dean, that's not going to happen."

"But it could, you know it could."

Letting out a sigh, you decide to pull out the big guns to get him to take this damn key. "A key is not their first choice to get in. You have put up all the wards you could think of." You say, proving that you are as safe as possible. "Heck, you made me even get this thing." Snapping off your leather bracelet to show off the anti-possession tattoo. "and you know how much I hate needles." The black tattoo shows nicely against your light skin and hides the other barely visible scars.

"Yeah, I found out real quick that day. I think I still have scars on my arm from you digging your nails in," he jokes, bringing his hand up to his wrist to run his fingers around the tattoo and the scars he knows are there.

"Haha, that's real funny." You fake laugh. " Just take it, please. It will make me feel better if you have it." You do your best puppy dog eyes as you push the key closer to him.

Dean takes a moment before caving. "Alright, but I am only going to use it for emergencies." he conceits, taking his keys out and putting your house key on the ring with the rest.

Getting up from the stool, you smile at him, "Thank you, Dean," you say sweetly and hug him.

Dean shakes his head, trying to shake the thoughts from that night, as he shuts the door behind him. He stood in the entryway, just taking in the quietness of the house, holding his breath, waiting for you to come down the hallway, saying, ‘Dean, you look like shit; what were you up against this time? Let me get you patched up, and you can tell me all about it.’ Guiding him to the kitchen, you would pull the first aid kit and a beer from the fridge.

Watching these memories play out in front of him, it's not until he lets out a shaky breath that he had been holding that he feels the tears run down his face, "Fuck! Y/N, you got to get better, okay…." choking back, "I can't lose you." The thought of losing another important person in his life. Someone who should have a happy and long life and who, without them, Dean wouldn't be standing here today. He owes everything to you.

Dean can't bring himself to step past the entryway, feeling like an intruder. "I can't…" feeling pressure in his chest, he turns and walks out the door. Locking the door and making the short walk to his car, the pressure subsides once he is in the driving seat. Knowing he can't stay in the house. Too many memories of you and his dark thoughts will keep him up. He also can't put the car in drive and go to the motel just outside of town. It's like his body won't let him leave.

*******

Y/N POV

You were in the hospital for two weeks, and Dean was by your side, or somewhat outside your hospital room, every day, every hour he could be. At least that is what the nurse told you once you were awake. Your 'brother' Dean has been by your side. The first time they told you this, you looked confused, which caused concern from the staff.

"Your brother, Dean," the nurse says again, her voice laced with concern as she points to the window that looks into your room from the hallway.

You turn your head slightly, your body stiff from being in bed for so long, and the breathing tube just being taken out. There you see him, Dean Winchester, raising his hand to give you a short wave, and a look of relief washes over his face, which is covered with a slightly heavy five-clock shadow. You give him a smile and look back at the nurse. "Yeah, sorry, of course, he's my brother. Just didn't know anyone called him?" you reply, "Can I have some water?" you ask, you're throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Sure," the nurse says, filling a cup and handing it to you. "Well, the doctor will be in soon," she says, giving you a short smile and walking towards the door.

"Umm, can my brother come in?" you ask. Knowing that no matter what she says, Dean will make it in here one way or the other. The nurse hesitates. "It's just that I would like him to hear what the doctor says. I am still groggy, not sure I am going to remember everything he tells me," you add, hoping this will pull on her heartstrings just a bit.

Which does work, "Sure." she replies, giving you a smile and then walking out the door. She briefly talks to Dean before walking away, and Dean enters the room.

"Hey, sweetheart," Dean says, shutting the door behind him and walking towards you.

"Hey yourself," you reply. You try to sit up a bit more, but you struggle a bit.

Dean quickly gets to you. " Here, let me," he says, finding the remote for the bed, setting you upright, and then readjusting your pillows. "Good?" he asks once it looks like you're settled.

Feeling slightly embarrassed that he saw you like this, you’re sure you're a mess, bed hair, hospital gowns, and oh man…your breath has got to stink by now, right? Trying your best not to breathe out, "Yeah, thanks." you quickly reply. Dean sits in the chair next to your bed but doesn't say anything. Okay, guess you will start. "So brother, hum?" you quip.

He smiles at this and looks away from you to the bedding. "Yeah, I had to say something; otherwise, they would never let me back in." Then, looking back at you, a slight panic sets in that you might be mad at him for this small lie. " You're not mad, are you?" he asks.

"No, of course not," you reply, wanting to reassure him that everything is fine. This does, as relief washes over him a second time. You hold out your hand for him to take. "Just wonder what Sam will say about having a little sister, that's all. I am sure he will hate being the middle child," you joke.

Dean gives a short laugh: "Oh, Sammy will be all right with it. He will be happy to hear you're awake, is all." Dean's fingers rubbing your hand back and forth are nice.

"How did you know I was here?" you ask, trying to remember the day before you were brought in, but it's all a blur. Was he coming to see you? Was he working on a case?

"I was coming back through, and you had helped me with the case in North Carolina…" lowering his voice, even though you're in a private room," that Dinji." Dean recounts, seeing you not remember. He continues, "I stopped by your place, and your neighbor was out and said you were in the hospital."

None of that is registering at all, like last month, which is a blank slate. Fuck, what else are you not remembering? "And you have been here this whole time?" you ask, wondering what the state of the world must be like if he has taken himself out of saving the world for two weeks! Is Sam okay?

Dean's eyes, bright green, lock with yours, cocking his head slightly to the side, with slight confusion at your shock that he was here the whole time. "Of course, where else would I be? I wasn't going to leave you alone here," he says, a matter of fact.

You're about to reply to this, ask more questions, ask how Sam is, but before you can, the doctor enters the room. "Miss. Moore, welcome back," he says, looking at your chart and then at you and Dean. And this must be your brother?" he asks, holding his hand for Dean to shake.

Dean does, letting go of yours, the loss of him, his touch is apparent. "Hey, doc, when can I take my sister home?" Dean asks.

The doctor starts to talk, but you're not listening; your mind drifts to Dean. He put his life on pause for you? Wow, that's something, but you're sure he would do it for Charlie, Jody, Claire, or Alex, right? Yeah, of course. Dean sees you as family, which is what you are to him; that's what you will always be. Yes, you were close. He and Sam saved you from the vampire nest, explained everything about their world, and gave you a purpose.

You feel a slight pressure in your chest. Now that you're awake, how long will he stay before he leaves again?

"So I will get the nurse to start the discharge paperwork, and you guys should be out of there in a few hours," the doctor says. Giving you a smile.

Not hearing anything but that, you just smile back and look towards the window. You hear Dean thank the doctor, and he leaves the room. "nice guy," Dean says, filling up the silence.

"Yeah," you reply. You’re not sure what you are feeling; it's almost like a weight on your chest, pressure. Maybe it is COVID; it will be better once you get home. It has to, right?

******

You didn't know Dean could fuss over you more if he tried. He insisted that he be the one to wheel you out of the hospital, only after he made sure the car was pulled up as close to the door as possible so you didn't have to walk too far. Then, when he pulled into your driveway, he insisted he carry you the short walk to the front door.

"No, Dean, I can walk. My legs aren't broken; I had COVID, that's all." you quip back as he comes over to your side of the car to pick you up.

"The doctor said you shouldn’t over-exaggerate yourself, that's all," he replies, trying again to wrap his arms around your waist and pick you up from standing against the closed car door.

You block his hands again. As much as you would like his arms around you, have him cradle you; where is this coming from? You also don't want him to hurt himself, or God forbid the neighbors see him carrying you bridle style. "Yeah, walking the three feet to my front door is not going to kill me." This comment is like a punch in the gut for Dean; it's written on his face. Shit, was my COVID scare that much of an effect on him? But why? Trying to write your wrong, you try to play it off. "Come on, man, I have been on my back for two weeks and must move a little bit." You quip back. Playfully pushing him aside and walking towards the door.

You get to the door but realize you don't have your keys, you didn't have those, or your phone when you were brought into the hospital. You wait for Dean to come up behind you. He doesn't say anything, pulling out his keys; he opens the door and lets you walk in first. You shuck off your jacket and shoes and go to the living room. Sitting on the couch, you try to hide the sigh of exhaustions that you feel from the small activities you just did; but it slips past your lips and is not lost on Dean.

"Want me to make you some tea? You hungry?" Dean asks.

"No, I want you to tell me what's happened since I was in the hospital. Did all the evil in the world decide to take a break while I was out, and that's how you got to have some time off?" you question, motioning him to sit next to you on the couch.

Dean shrugs at this, "No. I just told Sam I was taking myself off the board, is all." he says casually.

"Taking yourself off the board? Hum, I didn't know you guys could do that," you ask, Giving him an intuitive look.

Dean is giving you nothing back, shaking his head, looking around the room, and clapping his hands together. He points towards the kitchen, "I am going to make that tea for you." He walks away before you can stop him, leaving you to your thoughts. Something else is happening, and you know who to call to get the truth out.

******

Making that call seem more complicated than usual since Dean didn't leave your side for anything. Three days, three days of hovering and mothering you, and as much as you care for Dean, and possibly secretly loved him. Let's face it, those chest tightening pains at the hospital, the loss of his touch was not COVID symptoms, it was your heart telling you what you already knew. You were in love with Dean Winchester, and the fact that he dropped everything for you made your head spin and feel like the most important girl in the world. But you are a realist, and Dean Winchester is out of your league. He sees you as the little sister he got settled with, not the girl he wants to kiss and do other things with.

On top of that, you are sure his opinions of you drop a few points since you found out really quick that to pass the time while he waited for you to wake up, he decided to clean your house from top to bottom. The sheer embarrassment when you found out had you want the couch to swallow you up right there. "Excuse me, you did what?" you ask, thinking you didn't hear him right when you ask; the following day, a book you usually had on your coffee table was now on the bookshelf that it was never on.

"I did some cleaning while you were…" Dean says, not finishing that statement while he grabs the few dishes off the coffee table and heads towards the kitchen. He never finishes that statement. Whenever he says it, he never says 'when you were in the hospital' or 'when you were sick.' After three days of the hanging statement, you get frustrated over that.

But knowing he cleaned your house, how clean is clean? Did he do your laundry? Yep! Did he clean under your bed and put stuff away on your nightstand? God forbid he did a deep clean in your closet—oh, the embarrassment. "Why?" you ask, now following him, waiting for an answer that you sure won't come.

Dean has his back to you, rinsing off the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. "What? It's not a big deal. I had time, plus the nurse thought it was a good idea for you to come home to a clean hose." He says while wiping down the counter.

You try your best to breathe and calm down. Yes, all that is true, a clean house to come home too make sense. But having him go through your personal and private things, fuck, him cleaning your underwear. He will never look at you as desirable again, not like he did before. You look up from the floor to see him watching you, waiting for a reply. "thanks, I guess," you say, defeated. "I am going to go take a shower." You say, needing just a few minutes by yourself, shake off this feeling of rejection you know he doesn't realize he caused.

"You need some help?" he asks, approaching you and walking a step behind you.

You take a second, knowing again that he just wants to help, but God treats you like an old woman. Because you know that his offer of 'helping you out' in the shower does not imply sexy times; it's he saying he thinks you are weak and that you're going to get tired, fall, and hurt yourself. You get to the bathroom door. "No, I got it, thanks," you say, opening the door and shutting it before he can say anything.

*****

Dean POV

I know I am being overprotective, maybe even going overboard with not letting her do anything, and perhaps the deep clean was an overreach. But in my defense, I thought I could lose her, and if she was going to, no, when she was going to come home, I wanted it to be in a clean, COVID-free house.

I turn away from the bathroom door and walk towards the living room. I start to clean up, picking up the discarded blanket from my makeshift bed; even though she has a spare room, it's on the second floor away from her, and I want to be close in case she needs me in the night.

The rigging of my phone pulls me from my thoughts of her. Picking up, I see it's Sam. "Hey, what's up?" I ask, dropping the blanket and myself onto the couch.

"Just checking in, how's Y/N?"

"Good, still low energy, but I am just happy she’s walking and talking, even if I am annoying her."

"You, annoying her, I can't believe it," Sam says, with fake shock. "You know she can take care of herself; she has been doing that for some time now." Sam reminds me. Knowing that my hovering is coming for a place of love for Y/N, but it could be doing more damage than good.

"I know, it's just…" I pause briefly, looking back to see the closed bathroom door. "Sam, she just looked so helpless there lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to those machines…and there was nothing I could do…nothing that could save her…I just had to wait."

Sam knows that's not my strong suit, "I know, I get it, but maybe just ease off a little. I am sure it's making her feel like a burden, you doing everything for her."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I will try."

"I know I am." He clears his throat and paused briefly before asking what he knew I would not want to answer: "So when are you heading back to the bunker?"

I pause momentarily; the idea of leaving you hadn't crossed his mind. "Umm…" Hearing the door open, he looks to see you walking out of the bathroom and down the hallway to your room, wrapped in your navy-blue plaid robe, hair slightly damp from the shower. "Not sure yet, but I will keep you posted. I got to go." I say quickly, hanging up the phone. I know that she can take care of herself, but at the same time, I don't want to leave her again; what if I do and something happens, and there is no one here to save her again. Sam's right, though; I have to back off, or I am liable to smother her.

*****

Y/N POV (about a week later)

Something seems to have changed in Dean in the last few days. It was like the old carefree Dean was back. He hovered less, not watching my every move, and even went on a quick day trip to the bunker to pick up more books for me to read since I had read everything in my place twice, and if I was going to be stuck inside I wanted to do something productive. Granted, I had to ride shotgun on this trip, so although we got out of the house, I was still under his protective eye. But he wasn't babying me anymore; he cracked jokes, smiled, and even complained when I made him watch the same movie repeatedly.

Dean was going on a food run, and this was one outing he didn't let me go on. Too many people, could possibly get sick again, so he didn't want to risk it. But he also hated doing it, leaving you alone. "You're sure you're going to be fine," he asks again, standing in the doorway, you on the other side, trying your best not to push him out and lock the door.

"Yes, Dean, you'll be gone for an hour. I think I can survive." you quip, pushing him playfully, "Go, I promise, no running around the house with scissors or jumping on the bed. I will keep my butt on the couch until you get back."

Dean's worried face slightly softens, knowing that you will be fine, but that pit in his stomach—the thought of him walking out that door again and not having you in his sight—will never go away. "Okay, but call me if you feel off," he reminds you again.

"Yes, now go." You reply with a smile. Yes, he was getting on your nerves slightly, but you still loved the guy for it.

You watch as he pulls out of the driveway and down the road before you head inside. Walking to your room, you find your cell phone charging, and you quickly make the call you've been waiting to make since you got home.

He picked up on the second ring: "Y/N, everything alright? Dean texted me to say he was going on a food run. Do you need him? Are you not feeling well?…" Sam blurts out, a lengthy, run-on statement that has you slightly spinning.

Trying your best not to laugh at him. "Sam, calm down; I am good. I just wanted to talk to my friend. How are you?" you ask, wanting to ease into this discussion. Plus, you really did want to know how he was doing; ever since you came home, you only talked to Sam when Dean would call him and have him on speakerphone. Even then, Sam was instructed not to speak about cases he was working on. Dean had a theory that possibly COVID was stress-induced, but you know it wasn't.

"I am good, making my way back to the bunker. I have a case in Wisconsin, so I'm in your area. I was thinking of seeing you guys once it's done."

"Oh yes, please do, Sam. It's been ages since we've hung out together. I feel like a movie marathon is needed."

"Yeah, if you're up for it. Dean tells me you get tired easily. Is anything else not the same?"

"Umm…brain fog for sure; I lost all memory of the week before I went into the hospital. Some things don't taste the same. But honestly, Sam, can we not talk about me for a bit. Tell me about the case in Wisconsin; what are you hunting this time." You inquire, done talking about yourself, need a distraction, and avoid asking Sam what you want to know.

Sam, being the best friend, a girl could ask for, knew that a distraction from your symptoms was what you needed, and although it would be breaking his promise to Dean, he could hear it in your voice, the need for some kind of normalcy, at least what normal is considered for us. Giving you all the details, you can come to the same conclusion that it was a vengeful spirit and a simple salt and burn job is in order.

Once Sam is done talking about Wisconsin, a lull in the conversation forms, and you look at the clock to see Dean should be home soon. "Sam, can I ask you something?" You feel slightly nervous and try to figure out how to phrase your question.

"Of course, you can ask me anything."

Taking a breath, you wait a second before asking, "How was Dean when he found out I was sick? He said he 'took himself off the board' and has been hovering since I got home. He's gotten better, but those first few days, it was like he was a different person."

Sam can tell by the last statement that you're trying to bring some levity to an otherwise heavy question, a question that he is surprised you have to ask. taking a breath, he thinks about how to say, ‘You idiot, he loves you! and you love him!'

"I am glad to hear that he's lost up the reins a bit," giving a chuckle, "but honestly, Y/N, he was devastated. I know he's my big brother, and he tries his best to hide his emotions, but I could tell that night when he called to tell me what happened, he was scared. Scared that he was going to lose you, scared that he might have caused this to happen to you."

"How could he have caused COVID? I mean, I get he sometimes can have a big ego, but, come on, he can't cause an infection."

"No, but he thinks he has been asking too much of you, wearing you down. I can't say whether he's right or wrong. You and I know you occasionally burn the candle at both ends."

"Yeah, I am trying to get better at that. But Sam, he was treating me like I was 90 years old. He wouldn't let me do a thing around here. And did he tell you he cleaned my house—my whole house—before I got home? I mean everything."

"Oh man, I am sure you were not happy to hear about that."

"Your damn right. I wasn't."

"Look, it's not my place to say, but I will tell you this, remember that night when you and I got a little tipsy, and you might have let slip your feelings for a certain green eye hunter?"

Fuck, of course, he remembers that night; that was right after you had helped him and Dean take down a wraith, and Dean was out on a beer run. "Yeah, you asked me why I never seem to be dating anyone, and I said I can't be with the one guy I want, so why be with the wrong guy at all."

Sam waits for you to connect the dots, and although you're not sitting in front of him, Sam has a feeling you're making the connections: "Let's just say Dean has the same idea, and he has his eye on a hazel eye researcher that he thinks he can't have."

You're about to protest Sam's statement that Dean has no feelings for you other than sibling love, but before you can, you hear the front door open and Dean yelling, "Honey, I am home," sweetly.

"I've Got to go, Sam. Talk soon," you say, and hang up before he can reply.

*********

Sam's words kept rolling around in your mind all night, distracting you from Dean. During dinner, you were quiet, letting him lead the conversation and not making it known when he mentioned Sam might be stopping by in a day or two that you two had talked earlier. "Oh, okay, sounds good." you responded, still thinking, 'He has his eye on a hazel-eye researcher that he thinks he can't have.'

Dean went for girls that were the complete opposite of you, blonde, curves in all the right places without an ounce of fat to be seen, the girl that guys walk across fire for, not the girl that they run into fire to get away from. Not the girl who is socially awkward around strangers, who can put her foot in her mouth easier than anyone, and who has more of a backstory than is worth mentioning. No, Dean goes for simple, noncomplex girls, which makes sense, given his life is entirely of danger and complexity. Why go for a girl to add to it.

Dean can tell your mind is elsewhere, and he is slightly worried that you're lost in your head or that this might be another symptom. "Hey, space cadet, you with me? Because if you're not watching the movie, I will gladly turn it to something we haven't seen twice this week," he jokes, hoping to make fun of the situation.

His voice shakes you from your thoughts, and you look over at him; his eyes have just a hint of worry to them. The blanket across both of you, him in a simple white t-shirt and sleep bottoms, you in gray leggings, tank top, and open cardigan. Perfection, you and Dean cozy up on the couch, not a care in the world, him teasing you about your love of disaster movies, and you forcing him to watch the same one repeatedly, and he does; why? Because he loves you. He loves you like a sister, a friend, someone he cares for, just not someone he’s IN love with.

"yeah, sorry, I think I am just going to go to bed." You shake off that last statement: he's not IN love with you. God, you really know how to cut yourself deep, don't you? Getting up from the couch, you grab your water glass and head towards your room.

Dean gets up with you, "here, let me help you," he says, walking around the couch and placing a hand on your lower back.

This is the last straw, the final statement of his wanting to help you, again treating you like you're helpless. "Stop! Just stop!" you yell, feeling yourself boil with rage you knew you had been keeping at bay. You know his hovering is with the best intentions, but for you, it's blurring the lines between what you want from him and what you know he can give you. Your mind won't let it be accurate even after what Sam told you today.

Dean stops his hands from touching you, standing still like he is frozen in time. "Y/N, hey, I just want to help. You look tired, is all." His voice is soft and sweet.

He’s trying to placate you, like he would a child or grandparent, "Dean, I am fine; I can walk ten feet to my room on my own and not get lost or fall down, okay!" You lock eyes with him and see his face fall, and in that moment, you know that he's hurt; you've only ever yelled at him when you were injured and need him to find you. But that was screaming for him, not at him. You know that you should feel bad for your outburst, you do, but you know that this is not real, that this ideal version of him and you playing house can't last.

"What is wrong? Is this another symptom? Did something happen while I was out?" he asks, wanting to understand your sudden change since this morning. You start walking away from him, wanting to get into your room and away from him, knowing he will get the truth out of you. You don't want to hear his excuses or him placate you even more about why he and you will never be a thing.

You turn halfway down the hall to look back at him, standing there watching you. "No! It's not! I am a capable woman who can take care of herself. Stop treating me like I am dying, Dean! You saved me once; that should be enough for you." Turning back, you reach your door, hand on the handle to open it, when you hear Dean.

"What does that mean?" Dean questions, his footsteps pad against the hardwood floors, standing right behind you; you can feel his breath on your neck, "I know you are capable; you are the strongest woman I know." his voice low, sending shivers down your body, you feel his hand on your arm, turning you around to face him. He sees your tear-stain cheek, "Fuck, Y/N, talk to me; what is going on? Why would you say saving you once was enough?"

Your eyes, trying and failing to hold back the tears, are now on the brink of spilling out. He needs to just let you go. You lean back against the door, knowing he took that little movement as exhaustion, and you are. You are exhausted by talking about this repeatedly, tired that he just can't let you leave, won't give up, and will go back to seeing you only when he needs something. He needs to go back to his life and let you put him back into the box of things that you don't let yourself have. Taking a breath, you run your hands over your face, wiping the tears and pushing them back inside. Putting on your brave face, "You know, Sam will be here in two days. I think you should go back with him. Go back to the bunker, and 'put yourself back on the board.'"

Throwing his line back at him, telling him he needed to return to work and that you would be fine without him. Will you, though? In time, maybe? You turned the door handle and stepped into the room, never breaking your eye contact with him. He shut the door in his face and flipped the lock, not giving him a chance to speak, knowing that he would not force his way in.

To be continued

#supernatural #fanfic #fanfiction #dean winchester #writing prompt #fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean fan fiction #dean x curvy!reader #dean x chubby reader #dean x reader angst #dean x y/n #dean winchester angst

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storiesofsvu · 8 months

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Solace in Solitude Ch 5

Emily Prentiss x reader enemies to lovers warnings: language, medical talk (some of which is not accurate, don't at me), minor hurt/anxiety, y'all know the drill already. My deepest apologies for how long this update took. Life really took over, ya know? I hope it won't be that long before the next one! Don't wanna miss an update? Sign up for the taglist here! Like what you read? Interact, Tip your writer!🩵

Emily wasn’t sure if it was anxiety or excitement coursing through her veins but she was practically buzzing from the moment the first nurse of the day left her room. The reason for the buzzing of course, was that all that stood between her and getting discharged was your signature. One little scribble on the bottom of a piece of paper and she would be out of this godforsaken hospital room for good, back out in the real world with fresh air, proper food and she could only pray, an actual coffee. She felt a bit like a child on the very last day of school, where you were stuck watching the clock tick each second by while you stared out the window watching the sunny day go by, aching to be running through the field rather than trapped in class, even if all you were doing was watching a movie. She was ready to rip out her IV and wander through the streets of Paris and at least attempt to enjoy this forced vacation.

The issue being that you normally swung by earlier in the day, checking on her and making sure everything was good before you started your rounds on other patients, took in other traumas and dove into surgeries. Emily reluctantly sat through a morning of near silence, no one coming or going from her room while she played scrabble on her tablet before lunch was served. She made sure to eat every ounce of it, on the off chance this was some kind of test, before she spent the afternoon switching between napping and catching up on the most recent season of The Bachelor that seemed to have her enamoured. She swore the sun was almost setting in the skyline by the time you finally rounded the corner into her room, this time you were in cozy clothes instead of scrubs, a small smile on your face.

“Sorry. Things got a little crazy today, how are you?” You asked, sweeping through the room to glance through her chart.

“Aching to get out of here.” She replied with a soft sigh and you chuckled.

“Well… everything looks good.” You flicked the chart closed, moving to the table, “I’ll sign off on these, file them, take your IV out and we can finally be on our way.”

“Are you serious?” Her face lit up and you were pretty sure it was the first time you’d actually seen her smile, “like, you’re not fucking with me?”

“Why would I fuck with you?” You barked a laugh, “I know this is what you’ve been waiting for, I wouldn’t dare tease.”

“No last minute tests or scans?”

“Nope.” You smiled, “everything yesterday checked out perfectly. You’re doing good in PT, incisions all healed, ribs back to normal and in the places they should be. You,” you picked up one of the newer clipboards from the base of the bed, scrawling your name across a handful of dotted lines, “are free to go.” You pulled off the pages of discharge papers that were her copies, handing them to her, “there’s some after care instructions and a few other things in there you’ll need to read over.” Moving through the room you gloved up, swiftly taking out her IV, un-attaching her from the rest of the machines, “alright. I’m gonna go file these and punch out, give you time to make sure you’ve got everything.”

“Thanks.” Emily flashed you a bright smile as you collected all the paperwork you needed and disappeared from the room.

She let out a huge breath of relief, shifting from the bed as her eyes carefully glanced around the room to make sure she hadn’t missed packing anything up, not that she had much to begin with but she still wanted to double check. She had just tucked her phone charger into her bag when you popped back through the doorway, your bag tossed over your shoulder this time.

“Ready?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” She replied, cautiously picking up the small duffle, only wincing slightly when she got it over her shoulder.

“It’s not far.” You commented, digging through your bag until you found the spare metro card, passing it off to her, “that’s for the rest of the month.” You seamlessly switched to French as you exited the hospital doors in an attempt to blend in “have you been to Paris before?”

“Yeah.” She replied, pausing for a moment as you nodded toward your right in the direction of the metro, “lived here for a bit growing up.”

“Well, at least you won’t be utterly lost then.”

Conversation fell quieter as you ducked into the station, not only could Emily tell that you’d had a long day she was catching the vibe that you’d had a long week and were very much looking forward to getting home after you’d finished chaperoning her. On top of that, this was her first time out in civilization in months, she was a little on edge, a little rusty in her profiler ways as she discreetly listened to conversations around the two of you, eyes carefully darting around making sure your surroundings were safe and Ian wasn’t magically on the same train platform. You seemed to sense this, discreetly giving her wrist a gentle pinch when your train showed up so it wouldn’t look like you were fully giving her directions, guiding her to a seat at the back of the car where her back could be to the wall and she could keep an eye on things. You still weren’t sure on specifics but you knew she’d been a little freaked out about leaving the safety of the hospital, that this could be overwhelming for anyone getting discharged after that length of time much less someone who was living a fake life currently in order to survive.

A few stops later, you gently nudged at her good side and she followed you out of the car, taking note of what station it was and which exit you took that was closest to your destination. You nodded toward a little market, asking if she wanted to grab a couple of things on her way home and she agreed, silently slipping through the aisles until she’d found enough to last through a couple of days and met back with you at the counter. She felt awkward when you passed off cash to the shop owner, realizing she didn’t have any and you muttered an apology to her as you left the shop, saying you’d left her bank and credit cards in the apartment with her passports and stuff, not wanting to lose them. You took the bag from her so she wasn’t carrying too heavy of a load as you walked up another block and a half and you directed her to an apartment building, using the fob to get through the front door and into the elevator where you scanned it again to make it move.

“Extra security is nice.” Emily mumbled, letting out a breath as she relaxed into the back wall, “and I appreciate the escort, but you really didn’t need to come up with me.”

“I didn’t want you to struggle with two bags.” You retorted and she let out a little laugh, interrupting when you tried to continue your stream of thought.

“Am I not trusted with the key?”

“No, you’ve got your own.” You dug through your bag again, pulling the second chain from it to pass over to her.

“My… own?” She stalled slightly as the elevator doors slid open, glancing between the key in your hand and the one in hers. She watched as you stepped a few feet down the hallway and slid your key into the lock, “do you have a key to my apartment?”

“Seriously?” You raised a brow to her, pushing the door open before silencing the alarm as she scurried out of the elevator and to your side, “they spent seventeen thousand on your funeral, another six hundred and forty two thousand on your medical bills and that doesn’t even cover your ongoing PT. You’re lucky they gave us a two bedroom.”

“What.” Her voice hardened slightly as she stepped into the doorway of the apartment, her lips forming into a tight frown.

“Between their allocated budget and your level of ongoing care it was the best option.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She stepped into the space, letting the door swing shut behind her and after a brief second thought, she turned to quickly make sure it was locked. The apartment wasn’t small, but it wasn’t giant either, a small entry space filled with a rug, coat and shoe racks and a small table that you tossed your keys and work bag down onto as you kicked off your shoes. A foot or so down on the left was a small kitchen, enough space for most standard appliances and counterspace that curved into a breakfast bar opening up into the living room. The space was tidy, clean, dishes sitting in the drying rack that she could only assume were from that morning, a few blankets tossed over the back of the couch and one of the larger chairs, a few books, some of which looked like medical text books on the coffee table along with a vase of flowers. Off to the right were three doors, each open and it was safe to assume two were bedrooms and the one in between was a bathroom.

“Laundry’s in the basement.” You commented, pulling her out of her trance as you crossed to the kitchen to put the food away in the appropriate places, “the card for it’s with your bank and ID’s on the bedside table.” You gestured towards the room closer to the door and she was safe to assume that meant it was hers, “some extra clothes and things in the closet. Make yourself at home.”

“Yeah.” Her tone was terse, letting out a huff as she kicked her shoes off and disappeared into her room to dump her bag on the bed, looking around the space.

“I’m gonna run down to the gym, you have my number if you want me to pick anything up on the way back.” You called to her as you wandered into your room, pulling your hair up into a ponytail as you grabbed a couple of things.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Her reply was barely audible through the apartment though the slamming of her bedroom door certainly was. It caught you off guard, jumping slightly at the sound before you glanced in the direction of her room through the wall. You hadn’t really thought sharing a space would piss her off like that, hell, after the way she’d been acting through the week you were back at the point that you thought the two of you might actually end up being friends. Rolling your eyes you let out a small sigh, scooping up your keys and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge before you stepped through the door, making sure it was locked behind you.

In her room Emily dropped down on the edge of the bed, her head burying in her hands as she let out a heavy breath. She’d been in such high sprits all day that she was finally going to be free, that she was going to be able to live her life again, be herself again. She’d nearly forgotten why she was in Paris in the first place, that just because step two was done and she was out of the hospital did not mean that things were going back to normal. She still wasn’t able to go home, wasn’t able to call any of her old friends and still had to be alert whenever she was out. Because she wasn’t herself, she was Valerie. And Valerie deserved a fighting change at surviving this mess, even if Emily didn’t.

You came back a couple of hours later to a dark and quiet apartment. Considering Emily’s reaction to the shared space you figured you’d give her a little bit longer to adjust to the new environment, giving her a chance to explore the space without you in it while you were out. Instead it looked like she had stayed shut away in her room, not a single thing out of place when you returned.

Flicking on a few lights you changed into pyjamas first, tossing your gym clothes into the laundry hamper, you’d opted to shower at the gym already so at least that was checked off your nightly list. Wandering back to the kitchen you pulled a few things from the fridge to whip together an easy chipotle chicken pasta, pouring yourself a hefty glass of wine to go along with it. Crossing through the apartment you set your dinner up on the balcony, wanting to enjoy the spring evening and fresh air outside of the hospital while you ate. On your trip back into the apartment you picked up one of the novels on the coffee table to indulge yourself with, before you glanced up to the closed bedroom door and let out a small sigh. You took a brief break to quickly plate up the second portion of pasta, topping it with fresh parmesan, wrapping it tightly in tinfoil before tossing the pot into the sink to be cleaned later. On your way back to the balcony you gently knocked on the closed door,

“There’s a plate of food on the counter, I know you didn’t eat dinner.” Was all you said before you slipped back to the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind you. You figured if she had some privacy and her own space she was more likely to come out to at least get the food if not eat it.

You weren’t sure how long you were outside, but the sun was fully set, a chill in the air pulling shivers from you as you finished another chapter. Figuring that was the signal to head back inside you picked up your things, book going back to the coffee table while the dishes came with you into the kitchen. The extra plate of food still sitting exactly where you’d left it. You sighed softly, sliding it to the side so you could do your dishes, putting away the ones from that morning in the cupboard. You glanced toward her room, huffing softly before you picked up the plate and stashed it in the fridge, if she wasn’t going to touch it you at least wanted it edible tomorrow so you could eat leftovers.

Emily had fallen asleep not long after you’d knocked on her door, truthfully, she was pretty exhausted. If the sheer annoyance and frustration hadn’t kept her riled up when you were at the gym she knew she would’ve fallen asleep then. She was still recovering after all and even a short journey through the city was more than enough to wipe her out. She’d drifted in and out through the silence and the sound of you doing dishes, listening as you putzed around the apartment a bit before your bedroom door finally clicked shut. She could feel the pit in her stomach beginning to ache and knew she would need to eat something before attempting to get some sleep but she didn’t dare leave her room until long after she’d heard you flick your bedroom light off and get into bed.

Only once the apartment was in complete silence did she finally, silently, slip from under the covers of her bed, pulling JJ’s sweater tighter around her as she snuck around the apartment. With you off in dreamland she finally let herself look around the space properly, it was decorated nicely, although she was sure some of that wasn’t you. This was likely some federal apartment, and Interpol one, maybe even a Doctors without Borders one, that was even more likely knowing her trail had to be covered. But there were still touches she knew had to be you, more personal items that you would’ve picked up over the last couple of months, the blanket over the back of the couch looked particular inviting, fuzzy but not in the overstimulating itchy way, dotted with constellations and she was sure that was yours. She liked the flowers on the table, the idea that you liked to fill your space with something alive, colourful and considering the shape of them you changed them out every couple of weeks, she’d noticed an array of flowers at the market you’d stopped at earlier. Above the tv there were some photo frames scattered on the wall, a few of you with a girl a few years younger who looked an awful lot like you, considering they all looked like travel pictures she figured that was your sister. Another frame looked like a family photo, an older brother from what she could tell from resemblance, who had a couple of kids, your sister and your parents. The third was from a graduation, judging by your age she figured when you finished medical school, the same friends copying over into a couple of other photos, one where it looked like you were a bridesmaid. Little pieces of home you’d brought with you in an attempt to ground yourself and not forget who you were, things that she didn’t have on this particular journey.

Her stomach growled and she let out a sigh, thankful it had distracted her before she could spiral down the hole of not having any pieces of her old life here. She quietly wandered back to the kitchen, not even daring to flick the light on, using the fridge and stove lamp as her resources as she found the plate of food wrapped in the fridge. Her hand rested on the counter as she pulled it out, hitting a patch of condensation where it must have been sitting warm, waiting for her earlier and her head tilted in realization. Directly beside the spot was a three quarter full bottle of wine, an empty, clean wine glass, as if you’d left that out for her along with the food originally. Her eyes darted to the drying rack, a water spotted glass sat there, you’d clearly already had yours. Popping the plate into the microwave she thought for a moment, the only meds she was still on were the sleeping ones and anxiety ones, both you’d mentioned no heavy drinking on, but she was sure one glass wouldn’t hurt. Hell, it would probably knock her the fuck out with the meds and that truly was what she needed if she was gonna get any sleep in a new environment.

She managed to catch the microwave before it beeped, glancing up toward your room and listening for a moment before she pulled open a drawer in search of cutlery. Unbeknownst to her, she actually copied your routine, taking the food and wine out to the balcony to enjoy. She couldn’t help but want to feel the breeze on her face, breathe the fresh air, the coolness of it helping calm her racing heart, help ease her anxiety while she ate. She felt bad leaving the glass and plate in the sink but by the time she was finished her wine her eyelids were drooping so heavily she knew she wasn’t going to make it much longer, enough energy to make sure all the doors and windows were locked before collapsing into her bed.

Emily tugged the blankets tighter around her, letting out a little shiver as she curled around herself. She inhaled heavily, frowning when the scent of detergent was overpowering, only a flicker of JJ’s perfume remained on the sweater. It had stood out so strongly against the chemical smells in the hospital it had been her go to calming mechanism, a memory of home lulling her to sleep. Now so much time had passed it was nearly gone and she knew she would need to wash the thing soon, then it would be gone forever. Her body sunk heavily into the bed, at least this one was more comfortable than her last, letting out a breath a tear rolled over her cheek as she nestled deeper into the pillows. It was only a moment later she was asleep, hoping that her dreams would distract her, that maybe she’d wake up in a different situation, that maybe all of this had been a nightmare of its own.

_______________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @its-soph-xx xx @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @s1ut4nat @scorpsik @prentiss-theorem @strongsassysexysloane @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @pagetboobstarcomments @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @theclassicgaycousin @regalmilfs4me @kalixxh @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @niyizh @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @tommyriddleobsessed @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @romanoffsho @honeyycat @ratsnestinmyhair @assgardangod @originalbrunettecharacter @elz-artzzz

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #enemies to lovers #solace in solitude #emily prentiss fanfic

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icantthinkofanythingcool3 · 1 year

Text

Sessions

This is probably going to be only for a very niche part of the internet, but I'm obsessed with Bones again at the moment so here ya go.

Agent Y/n is an FBI agent that occasionally works with Booth, Bones, and the team. She has become good friends with Sweets, and Angela. After an extra brutal case that involved a serial killer and an intense fixation on Agent Y/n herself, Y/n needs mandated counseling from her favorite psychologist. The following are the sessions that document the beginning of something more than a professional or even friendly relationship.

Session 1

“For the record, I think this is totally unnecessary.” Y/n sighed.

“I do not agree. You’ve been through a traumatizing experience.”

“How is this any more traumatizing than the events I witness on a day-to-day basis. This is literally my job Lance.”

“It’s not everyday that a killer is specifically targeting you y/n, so, once again, I disagree. Plus it’s mandated by the FBI, so you don’t really have a choice.” Lance said matter of factly, “I’ll take your extreme eye roll as acceptance. You know some people say that your eyes could get stuck that way.”

“Shut up and do your psycho shit.”

“There’s nothing for me to do, we just need to talk. We talk all the time, what’s the problem now?”

“We talk as friends, this is not us talking as friends Lance, this is some bullshit test to see if I’m still capable of doing my job. I don’t think it’s fair to me to think that just because some asshole murderer decided to set his sights on me means that I suddenly don’t have the ability to do my damn job anymore!”

“Y/N that’s, well that’s actually an accurate depiction so I can’t debate that. But I want you to understand it’s not me personally that feels like that. It’s the men upstairs, as one would say, you can still talk to me.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” Y/n smirked at him

“Well, if I thought this could actually be a problem I absolutely would have suggested that you go to a different psychologist, but I don’t think it’s that kind of problem. I still think you need to talk to someone though.”

“Ehh, I think we need to talk more about how you’re totally showing favoritism here.”

“Let’s talk about that after we talk about you, yeah?”

“If you insist, Dr. Sweets.”

Session 2 “How many more of these do we have to do?” Y/n complained.

“This is only session number two y/n, I think you know it’s going to take more than that. I would like to discuss how you’re feeling now. It’s been exactly 10 days since he was caught.”

“Well, I would still like to talk about how you’re showing immense favoritism by seeing me as a patient since we’re quote, unquote friends.”

“Woah, woah, now that makes it seem like you don’t think we’re friends.”

“Now, I didn’t say that, but I would like to dissect why that was your immediate thought.”

“Oh, so now you’re the psychologist, huh?” Lance asked, quietly laughing at y/n.

“Yes, you know what. I think I would like to switch professions…would you mind switching seats with me? I think it’s time for me to take over this session.”

“You know what, sure. I think this will be good for my analysis. Go ahead there y/n, take your new seat.”

“So Mr. Sweets-”

“Woah, woah so in your fantasy my degrees suddenly fail to exist?”

“Shhhhhh, we’re doing things my way now, remember? So, Mr. Sweets, why is it that you seem to be showing me favoritism?”

“Well technically, how can I be showing favoritism if, in this fantasy, you have taken away my degrees therefore I would have no-”

“Lance!!!!! You are not making this fun for me!!!! Can you stop with your logic please and just answer my question?! Why are you avoiding the answer?” Y/n said half joking, but also half annoyed at him for not letting her have any fun.

“Okay, okay. Well, Dr. y/l/n, I suppose I show you favoritism because you’re one of my favorite people. Some may say, as I’m sure you know with your vast knowledge of psychology and all the varying fields, that I’ve been creating my own family since my parents died. I consider you one of those people.”

“Wow…that’s. I…don’t….that’s probably one of the most honest and sweetest things anyone has ever said to me… As a friend, not as a psychologist of my vast knowledge, will you tell me about them? About your parents?”

“Of course I will.”

Session 3

“Y/n are we finally going to discuss what we’re here to talk about?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Do you think that maybe it means something that you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, I just don’t wanna.”

“Y/n, come on. The longer this drags out the longer we have to keep doing these sessions.”

“Well maybe I like the sessions and I don’t want them to end.”

“Well, you know they don’t have to, right? Just because we speak about what we have to discuss doesn't mean that we have to stop having the sessions, just that I can finally sign off on the papers your bosses are asking for. If we can get through this we can talk about whatever you want in the next session, maybe even me again if that’s what you would prefer.”

“Fine, but I just want to say that I am doing this entirely against my will…”

“I will definitely put that on the record.”

“I guess what I feel is…not safe. I don’t feel safe at my house, I don’t feel safe at work, I don’t feel safe in the field. Honestly, the only place I feel safe is here. I guess that’s why I don’t want these meetings to end. See there goes my vast psychological knowledge at work.”

There was a moment of silence where y/n said, “See this is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything. Your face looks sad, like you’re pitying me right now.”

“I’m not pitying you, y/n. That’s not what I'm feeling right now. I’m feeling sad for someone I care about because they just told me they don’t feel safe anymore. I’m frustrated that you can’t function in life without being scared. I’m angry that some maniac decided to set his sights on you and now you’re not who you were before. I’m just pissed, I’m…I don’t even know.”

“I think you’re more angry than I am. Can’t you take some comfort that I find some solace in here with you?”

“Well, I mean yeah, but it doesn’t make me any less angry. Why…why do you feel safe here?”

“I don’t know. I mean I guess because well first off, you obviously. Talking to you makes me feel like I don’t have anything to worry about. It’s also a small office, only one access point, so logically I have a better chance of protecting myself.”

“I don’t like that, but I can understand it. I wish that you didn’t have to feel like that.” Lance said, putting his notebook down and moving next to y/n on the couch.

“Not very psychologist-like of you, Lance.”

“You’re right, but very friend-like of me. That’s what’s more important right now I believe.”

“Well thank you for being my friend. I…I…uhh really appreciate that. I appreciate you.”

Session 4

“Sooooooo, you said we can talk about you this time, right??”

“If you’re so inclined, I still think we should talk about you though.”

“I just think that you want to avoid being psycho-analyzed like you do to everyone who sits on this couch.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

“I think it’s very fair. Anywhooooooooo, tell me more about what you were like as a kid.”

“Oh so now you’re going to delve into my childhood trauma?”

“I mean yes that was the plan, but you seem to have uncovered it way too soon. See no fun.”

“I already told you about growing up with my parents. Dissect from that what you will.”

“Well yeah, but what were you like, 6 or 7? What about before that? And what about your biological parents? Did you know anything about them?”

“It’s not really something I want to get into y/n.”

“Come on, you show me yours, I’ll show you mine. We can go question for question.”

“Y/n. I said I do not want to talk about it! THAT’S IT.” Lance said angrily.

“Lance, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how serious it was. Really, I’m sorry for pushing. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, y/n, it’s me. God, I’m such an asshole. It just…well it wasn’t a good time before I got adopted by my parents. I didn’t feel safe before them. That’s…that’s all I want to say.”

“Understood. I’m sorry that you had to go through that, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt you now, let alone little 6 year old you with a sweet little baby face. You know your last name actually fits you very well, kinda like fate if you ask me.”

“That’s very kind y/n. Thank you, I appreciate it.” Sweets smiled at y/n.

“Just being a friend, nothing to thank me for here.”

Session 5

“So, I’ve come to a conclusion.” Y/n said, smiling cheekily to Lance.

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“You’re literally being paid to sit here and talk to your best friend. That’s like a totally cushy gig.”

“Oh, you’re my best friend?”

“I mean yes. Clearly, we are definitely best friends. It's, like, completely obvious.”

“I was unaware so thank you for informing me of that.”

“Lance, come on. You totally know we’re best friends. Don’t try to hide it. You have no reason to be embarrassed, you know, I’m a pretty cool person.”

“Well, you are a pretty cool person. And like I said previously, I do consider you part of the family I’ve made. I guess it is obvious we’re best friends, silly me for not recognizing it earlier.”

“I like talking to you Lance.”

“I like talking to you as well, y/n.”

Session 6

“Y/n.”

“Woah, you sound serious.”

“I am, there’s something I have to talk to you about.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“I can’t be your psychologist anymore.”

“Woah, wait, what. What do you mean? Where is this coming from? Lance, did I do something? Say something?”

“Y/n, it’s not about you. Well, I mean not like that. It’s nothing that you did, or said. I…I just. Well you were right before, this is kind of a conflict of interest. Professionally, I shouldn’t be seeing you. It’s not right.”

“Oh, I, uh…thanks for proving me right I guess. Um…I think I’m going to go now.”

“No! Wait! I know you feel safe here, with me, in this room. We can still talk here, we can still have these conversations. I don’t want to take that away from you. I’m just recommending that I cannot adequately finish clearing you from what happened.”

“I don’t understand what’s changed suddenly. I brought this up weeks ago. I don’t want to go sit in someone else’s office and talk about this shit. I didn’t want to go through this in the first place. Lance, I don’t understand why you would do this. You know how hard this was for me, I can’t believe you would do this.”

“Y/n, just trust me, it’s for the best.”

“I don’t trust you right now. This isn’t what is best for me. I can’t believe this, I can’t believe yo-”

Lance cut y/n off, “Y/n I LOVE YOU…I…I am in freaking love with you and that’s why I can’t do this anymore. It’s not fair to me either.”

“Lance…I…you…I…”

“I think you should leave now.”

“Wait, wait, no…I love you too. I’ve been falling for you since the moment I met you.”

“y/n-”

“I’m serious. All of these sessions just confirmed it more for me. That’s why I felt safe here, with you. You make me feel like I don’t have to worry or be scared anymore.”

“Y/n, I…you make… you’re-”

“Just shut up and kiss me already.” Y/n said, already leaning in to place her lips on his.

#lance x reader #sweets x reader #lance sweets x reader #lance sweets #lance sweets imagine #bones tv

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prince-liest · 30 days

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Hey, I want to start by saying that I love everything about your writing so much!

I just read your Fanfic Author Ask Meme reply where you said you gave yourself mild tendinitis in Feb. If you’ll permit me, I’d like to gently shake you by the shoulders and say: Please take care of yourself!

As someone who drew so much for their degree that they gave themselves carpal tunnel (which then developed into chronic pain that’s 5 years strong and counting) I totally get the enthusiasm to create. I hope it was enthusiasm that caused it and not any pressure you may feel by our enthusiasm for your work.

Either way, I just wanted to say that I bet everyone would be cool with you taking your time with writing if it meant that you weren’t hurting yourself. I love reading your work, but I’d hate for you to injure yourself and get to the point where you still have the enthusiasm but aren’t able to act on it. Enthusiasm is great and beautiful but sometimes one needs to be reminded that slowing down isn’t necessarily a bad thing when it comes to creating, if that makes sense? I’m not too sure if I’m accurately conveying my thoughts or feelings on the matter. I guess I just wanted to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

I’m gonna stop lecturing you now, just let me climb down off my soap box and take a few deep breaths. Sorry for shaking you; hearing about creative injuries just flips a switch in my brain 😅

Aw, haha, I really appreciate your concern! And I'm very sorry that that happened to you as well. Let me assuage at least this particular instance a little bit!

This isn't a totally new tendonitis for me: the usual main exacerbating factor is not actually keyboard typing but being on my phone way too much, and when it comes around, I switch to using a stylus, which helps a lot.

I've slowed down quite a bit and it's not currently bothering me!

My writing "too much" is one of those things that is totally internally motivated: I don't feel outside pressure to do it, I was very much just riding the most intense phase of a hyperfixation. It's not a normal behavior for me, haha, and it's not actually possible for me to write that much most of the time unless I have that time off as I did on this occasion. So! Forced limits, haha.

I wrote 80k words in three weeks, which is pretty fucking insane, and even as much as I'm still writing now, it's notably less than that and isn't causing any physical issues!

When I realized it was happening because of the typing and not the phone thing this time, I took measures to tone things back. I've gotten overenthusiastic in ways that caused longer-term injuries before and am not interested in a repeat, haha.

That said, doctors (and those soon to be, in my case) are absolutely known to be the worst patients, hahaha. I fully acknowledge that I have a high pain tolerance and am a person who walked on a broken foot for a full week because it wasn't "that bad" until my mom made me go to the ED. I'm usually better at judging my own health based on objective signs rather than how bad something hurts, but sometimes I do slip, and "in the throes of creative fury" is definitely one of those moments where I can be prone to it.

So thank you for your kind words! They're important ones to live by! We only get one body: it's imperative to treasure it, and not to do anything to it now that's going to make us irreperably miserable later.

#ask #personal #artistmarchalius #the phone thing WAS still writing related bc I used to RP on my phone under the desk in undergrad #but it's something that I'm v much at the “oh shit I did the thing again on accident time to stop” stage of managing #as opposed to the “This Is Fine” stage haha #my dad's always been firm on not going to physical extremes because I'll regret it later in life so glib jokes aside this is v much #something I keep an eye on in my actual daily life

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qqueenofhades · 2 months

Note

Hi! Just wanted to say I found my way to your blog after a mutual recced one of your Old Guard fics and mentioned you were a medievalist (I LOVE medieval history, though I am simply an amateur nerd) and was extremely pleasantly surprised to see so many level-headed political takes on this blue hellsite. I'm sure some of your posts on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in particular have attracted more than a few mouth breather asks, so I just wanted to say I really appreciate your thorough and nuanced breakdowns of not only the conflict, but American politics in general. I know it's not your academic area of expertise, but your perspective as a historian is incredibly insightful and has honestly even brought some comfort in These Trying Times. I like to go through your posts whenever I feel the 2024 election anxiety seizing hold.

Aha, thank you. I do my best. And while yes, I do periodically get deeply stupid asks/notes on some of my more controversial posts, I will say that I am at least old enough to not give a shit about what idiots on social media say, and I am nothing if not stubborn. So yes, I persist, and I am glad that plenty of people also seem to appreciate what I do and like to listen and/or be comforted by what I have to say. Win some lose some, etc.

As I have said, I am a historian, and while that doesn't mean I have the Greatest Takes Ever of All Time and nobody can question me, it does mean that I view things in a particular long, careful, and systematic way, taking into account multiple perspectives and facts and points of view, because that is what I have been trained to do. As far as the election goes: trust me, I am as terrified about it as everyone else, and I'm already having to carefully manage, restrict, and otherwise be mindful about how much content I am taking in and from what sources. It is only February and November is probably going to kill me. But we have to do our best to be both realistic and hopeful, so I do.

Once again, I am just a person on the Internet and I do not have some magical guarantee of being right. But I will say that my predictions and views do quite often correspond closely with actual reality, and that makes me decently confident that I do in fact understand the situation and am able to analyze/discuss it accurately. Which is certainly something that anyone can do, if they're patient; you don't need to be a historian for that. As I have said before, I am doomed on social media because I don't go in for short soundbites or pithy black and white statements. But it does show that I am able to think and speak in a hopefully more useful way than the usual garbage noise, I'm honored that people are often eager to come to me when they want some basic reassurance, and I do my best. So yes. Thanks. (And glad you enjoyed the fic!)

#cbk1000 #ask

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thatcheesyler · 3 months

Text

Literacy Lessons

Summary: After the huge success of his new chocolate factory, Wonka finds himself struggling to create accurate price tags since he still can't read or write numbers yet. Luckily, Noodle is willing to teach him everything he needs to know...but, our beloved chocolatier is having issues focusing, he just can't stop thinking of new sweets to make!

A/N: This is a sfw Wonka tickle fic, if you do not like it, please dni. Enjoy! <3

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The overwhelming smell of rainbow fizzy belts and salted caramel flooded Noodle's senses as she waltzed into the factory's main hall, pen and clipboard in-hand. Her temporary 'student' was currently perched on one of the giant marshmallows that bordered the chocolate river, sketching new designs for sweet wrappers that he could use to help advertise his confectionery.

"Willy! I'm here! Sorry I was late, my mum needed me to clean a few plates before I left." Noodle explained, approaching his hunched over figure and sitting herself down on an enlarged gumdrop while adding to her speech, "Are you ready for your lesson?"

To which the enthusiastic chocolatier looked up from his drawing with a signature smile and gave an approving nod, setting his sketches to the side for now.

"Of course! Y'know, I was actually thinking we could start with a funny number, like 123,456! Imagine if I managed to read that perfectly.." Wonka commented, the sparkle in his eyes never faltering, even as Noodle sighed and shook her head with a 'seriously?' look, the corners of her lips curling upwards despite herself. She then wrote down the number '1' on her clipboard, turning it around and showing him what she had written.

"Okay Willy, what is this number?" She questioned with a patient expression, watching as her friend studied the simple few lines of ink with a slightly tilted head and squinted eyes. "Hmm, is iiit...seven?" He answered with half confidence. Well, technically a '1' does kind of look like a '7', but unfortunately that wasn't correct. The little girl shook her head once more, jotting down a little '7' at the bottom of the page as a reminder of the differences between both of those numbers.

"Incorrect. Would you like to try again? Or move on to the next number?" She inquired with a tiny smile, as sad as it was that he couldn't read or write numbers, it was also quite the entertainment for his younger friend. But the man in question wasn't really listening to her, instead continuing to draw small details on the wrapper sketch next to him, adding little polka dots to it. To which Noodle frowned, now feeling slightly hurt because of his oblivious ignorance. "Willy?..Willy! You need to focus, please!" She exclaimed with a tinge of frustration laced into her tone, this lesson wasn't going to get anywhere with his constant doodling.

The abrupt raise in tone snapped Mr. Wonka out of his creative trance, and he allowed a sheepish grin to play at his lips.

"Sorry Noodle, you're right, I should pay attention." He answered, now providing his almost full attention to her literature session, with the occasional glance towards his sketches. Unfortunately this continued on for a while, Noodle would be struggling to keep her patience as she presented the differences and slightly different ways of writing each number, and Willy would just be doodling away every five minutes. Now, Noodle wasn't really known to be an even-tempered person, it was now the fourth time that he had completely disregarded her teaching, and she did not care for it.

Oh, and he also somehow gained the audacity to interrupt her, saying something like, "Hey Noodle, do you think polka dots or stripes would suit me more?" and boy would it make her blood boil. She didn't want to be mad at him, he was just energetic, but she couldn't contain her annoyance for any longer.

"Willy." The young girl announced firmly. "You have ten freaking seconds to run." R.I.P Willy Wonka, he didn't even have a clue what she was mad about. But the look on her face was hard to miss, the suddenness of it making him instinctively scramble up from his seat and bolt towards the nearest candy tree, clambering up onto a high sturdy branch. Noodle followed close behind, not quite as skilled at climbing, but managing to pull herself up onto a different branch near his, keeping one hand on the tree trunk for support.

The young man felt a bit fearful now, he couldn't tell why she was angry, but her determination made him question things, a few nervous chuckles bubbling from his throat.

"I have a feeling that I did something wrong...I don't want you to be mad, but could you please tell me why you are?.." Wonka inquired, losing his balance for a few seconds as a hand suddenly swiped at his torso. "Because you kept ignoring me when I tried to teach you numbers, and you blatantly interrupted me multiple times!..Look, I don't want to be frustrated like this, but you have dug your own grave by now." Noodle responded quite loudly, continuing her attempts at reaching out to grab his maroon coloured coat.

This got a little "oh." out of her older friend as he realised his mistakes, now feeling more guilty than scared. The fear was very much still there though, because he was actively backing away towards the end of his branch while she progressively inched closer at the same time.

And then...snap!

Willy had put so much of his weight onto the branch, that the narrow piece he was standing on broke off, and the poor chocolatier went plummeting down to the sugary grass below, landing on his back a little harshly. "Oh- ffffferrero rocher that hurt..oww." He croaked out, not moving for a few seconds as the pain slowly but surely subsided. A concerned gasp was audible from the girl, and she clumsily weaved back through the stripy maze of branches below her, racing over to him as soon as her shoes touched the ground.

"Willy! Willy are you okay?!" She exclaimed worriedly, kneeling down beside him with a now concerned expression as the chocolate-maker inhaled through gritted teeth, disoriented for a moment. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses (sum1 pls get the ref), he couldn't help the remorseful frown that spread as he remembered that she was probably still annoyed with him. "Yeah, I'll be fine..I'm sorry Noodle, I wasn't taking your feelings into consideration and I just ended up making you upset. I'm sorry, again."

With such a heartfelt apology, how could she stay angry? Well, she still wanted revenge for his accidental ignorance, plus he was sad now. "..I forgive you...but, I still want to make up for all that lost time trying to teach you."

A wry smirk built up as she cracked her knuckles, bending her fingers into makeshift claws and wiggling them simultaneously at him, presenting him with an obvious hint as to what she meant by that. In response to the 'threat', Wonka tensed up and a couple fearful chuckles slipped through his newfound wobbly grin, immediately attempting to roll away from the deviant young tickle monster beside him. Sadly, he didn't get very far before Noodle had yanked him back by the arm and plunged 4 fingers (and a thumb) into his briefly exposed abdomen.

To which, of course, a loud squeak that bordered on a screech elicited from her friend as he instantly curled in on himself, giggling like a madman. "ACK! Nohohoodlehe, stahahahapp-! Ihihit tihihicklehes hehehe!" The chocolatier cried throughout his bouts of high pitched laughter, gently swatting at her hand even though he had no intentions of fighting back.

"Well duh, of course it does, silly Willy! Say, why didn't you tell me you were capable of such adorable giggles? (Not a ship.) It's like you've transformed into a little boy!" Noodle teased, allowing a few content chuckles of her own to drift out while she continued to scribble her fingers all over Willy's clothed stomach. An unmistakable blush tinted his cheeks at her words, causing his arms to confuse themselves, half of him wanting to cover his face in shame and the other trying to protect his sensitive midsection.

"Nohohoooo! No tehehahasihing, yohohu're beheing mehehehan!!" He squeaked, his legs uselessly writhing and kicking simultaneously as his friend spidered her nails briefly over his ribs before gliding back town to his tummy. "Mean?! Why I never! I am simply distracting you from the way you hurt yourself earlier! Hmph, and here I thought you never jumped to conclusions." Noodle complained, feigning offense and taking the opportunity to lightly squeeze both his sides as a small 'punishment' for calling her mean. Which, of course, elicited a lovely squeal from our adorable little man, a constant battle in his limbs on whether he should defend his oh so ticklish body or just give up entirely (personally I'm rooting for the latter 🤭).

"Eek! I'm sahaharry fohor assuhuhumihing, buhuhut ihit's stihihill mehehean!" With that one final smidge of effort he had left, he forced himself onto his stomach, pushing Noodle's hands safely out of the way during the process so that she didn't get hurt. Practically gluing his arms to the sides of his torso, a cocky little smile tugged the corners of his mouth upwards as he looked to the girl at his side. "Hah! Try and tickle me now, Apple Stroodle!"

But with his arms clamped down, Noodle still had access to his entire back, and she fought back a shit-eating grin of her own as her nails proceeded to skitter gently along the thin fabric on his back. Sadly, only a few titters formed in result, and slight disappointment washed over the cheeky spark in her eyes.

"Sorry Nohoodle, buhut my back just ihisn't that sensitihive." Willy pointed out quite smugly, basically not even reacting to her efforts and shrugging. But that very same shrug gave her an idea, her skillful hands trailing up towards the back of his neck, but then stopping abrubtly at his shoulder blades. As if testing the waters, one finger scratched gently in the dip between one shoulder blade and the backside of his ribcage. Oops, looks like a certain someone was telling porkies, a short girly scream erupted from the chocolatier and now it was all over for him.

"Hah, liar." Noodle chuckled gleefully, experimenting just how far she could take this by tracing patterns with both index fingers along the inner edge of his shoulder blades and gauging his every reaction. "NONONONONO NOODLE PLEHEHEHAHASE! NAHAHAT THEHEHERREEE!! I PROHOMIHISE I'LL PAHAHAY ATTEHENTIOHON TOHOHO YOUR LEHESSON, PLEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAPP!!"

His back arched involuntarily and both hands flew out to cover the sensitive spot from Noodle's devious behaviour, helpless cackles pouring from his upturned mouth as he struggled fruitlessly. Luckily, while the young girl thrived on her disobedient attitude, she reluctantly complied to his desperate pleas, her tickle attack demoting down to a few feathery brushes along the skin on the back of his neck. "Say you're sorry and I'll stop completely."

Frantic laughter fizzling into a jumbled up giggle fit, Wonka mashed together an apology that sounded mostly like tickle-drunk gibberish. "Ihihihi..I'm reheheally ssohorryhyhy, it wohon't happehehehen agahahain..." Good enough, right? Well, thankfully Noodle thought so, fully letting up and giving a few reassuring pats on the back to her older friend. Just as expected, he devoted his undivided attention towards her next attempt at teaching him numbers, and well, he did pretty okay in the end.

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Wow, I have not managed to complete a fanfic in forEVER, I honestly feel good about this one, unlike some others. Anyway, hope everyone enjoyed this sappy story and have a wonderful day/night! <33

#tickles #sfw tickling community #wonka tickle #wonka tickle fic #lee!wonka #ler!noodle #IT'S FINALLY DONE YIPPEE

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