#with every doctor visit they just find a new thing that is just fucked

[cosmickestrels]

universe heard me contemplating whenever i have the right to call myself disabled (because of my slowly but surely deteriorating health and some other stuff) and was like ‘a chronic illness be upon ye’

#Kestrel Ramblings #my body is not a temple its a trainwreck #with every doctor visit they just find a new thing that is just fucked #at least we have free healthcare otherwise ho boi would all these visits fucking hurt #i swear i am the son with every disease

[atyourmerci]

I don’t care that you’re a stoner

Ceo!abby

Dr. A.A

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!abby, mean!abby, sub!reader, light bondage (belt), tribbing brrr, talks of strap usage, tribbing breeding kink brrr, degradation, fingering, cum play

A/N: this is technically a drabble but I gave it a title bc that’s what Chappell deserves

◊

Why Dr. Anderson decided to come to you, your pathetic excuse of an ‘office’ instead of your usual frequent visits to hers, was beyond you. Following her around like a dog to her every beck and call. Having to call her doctor since she insisted on getting her doctorate in finance…fucking prick.

Even your credentials, your place in the hierarchy of the company didn’t exclude you from being her little bitch. She seldom gave you the decency of just looking at you when you did her dirty work. Filing her papers, calling her clients, getting her coffee, black of course, like she would drink anything with an ounce of happiness.

She never thanked you. She made it clear where you stood to her, below her. A bleeding, breathing, able-minded body. It could be you, or the next, as long as it was done correctly.

So nice of her as she glares at you from the door of your office that was always open. “What are your plans for tonight?” She says driving her veiny wrists into her slack pockets, her normal intimidating eyes driving into your soul.

“I should be done that paperwork by six, is there something else I need to get to you?”

“After that,” she remarks sternly, as if you should’ve know that, as if that was something she’d ever asked before.

“Uhh go home?” You answer dumbly, utterly confused by her insistence on your personal endeavors.

“Come out with us tonight. We go to max’s down the road,” it was a question with no opportunity for refusal. You didn’t say no to Dr.Anderson.

“Oh I don’t-“ you shake your head before she cuts you off.

“I know I can smell you. Seven. Tonight.”

Sprawled out, aggressively stripped of your outing dress, on her luxurious thousand thread cotton sheets. Dr. Anderson’s Louis Vuitton belt tied around your wrist, her attempt to regain dominance.

Even as she’s panting, muffled curses coming out as pleas as she grinds her soaking cunt against your own. Her clit is so swollen now, after completely abusing your hole. Her pent up arousal seeping into the sticky mess she created with her relentless thrusts earlier.

“Couldn’t fucking stop thinking ‘bout this,” she pants out, rutting into you like a dog in heat, her sticky white cum ruining her precious expensive sheets.

You can’t seem to find words to remark her pathetic admission, so completely fucked out from your previous orgasm.

Kneading your breast in her hand she brings her teeth to your neck, biting down on the thin flesh, sure to leave marks for everyone to see. But that wasn’t enough for her.

“Gonna cum in this needy pussy, let everyone know how much of a whore you are.”

A guttural moan leaves your throat, the thought of her marking you, claiming you as hers.

“Hmm the little slut likes that? Getting used as my fucking cumdump?”

The only thing you can seem to mutter out is a sad ‘mhmm’ as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

A ‘fucking slut’ is heard in the background as you feel her reposition herself, turning herself sideways inbetween your legs, throwing your leg over her shoulder. She reconnects your swollen clits, with the addition of sliding two of her thick fingers back into you. Slipping in with ease, coating her fingers with the mix of pearl slick.

“FUCK,” you come back to your senses at the new sensation, needing to hold onto anything but your hands are still bound by her belt.

“Still so fucking tight, need to stretch her out so it’ll only feel good when I do it.” Her pace beginning to quicken, her hips bucking into your thigh. Her teeth biting into the flesh of your thigh, holding back whimpers of your name.

“B-better take all my cum. Every last drop slut,” she begins losing herself, her thrusts only getting sloppier. Gripping into the flesh of your thighs to stabilize herself, trying to get you off again before herself.

“I-I promise doctor.”

Was what set her off, dropping her head back as her mouth gapes. “fuckfuckholyfuck,” her legs begin to shake, hot white cream dripping out of her pulsing hole, dripping down your clit and finding its home in your own twitching abandoned hole.

Huffing out as she regains her stability, realizing she’s losing time, her cum dripping down to her sheets and spreading. Not where she needed it.

She takes her fingers back to your cunt, scooping up what’s left, pushing it deep inside of you and keeping them as far as she can get.

“This is what you wanted huh? Nasty fucking mess stuffed with my cum,” she says with a grin of the devil herself. So pleased seeing you so dumb for her, another level of submission she could coax you into.

You give a pathetic nod, feeling her cum painting your walls as she’s deep in your cervix. She begins giving tantalizing licks to your clit as she watches your chest rise and fall.

“Abby please-“

Before you could finish you feel a rough grab on your belt adorned wrists, pulling you up to face her.

“Get the rest you missed.” She says pulling you down into the sheets, your mouth opening instinctively. Licking the cum soaked cotton sheets as she watches you from below her.

Once she’s satisfied she grips your jaw in her hand, guiding your gaze to her soaking cunt, still dripping with the mix of both of your orgasms-

“Every. Last. Drop.”

#abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby x fem!reader #dom abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou x reader #abby x you #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fanfiction #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson x f!reader

[schrodingerscougar]

Note: the 2nd part for this. fem!reader. cheating. i didn’t think you would like it so much, but since you did, here’s part two.

•••

Maybe if he watched you close enough, if he kept an eye on you while he was near, Simon would get the answers he was looking for. All he wanted was a glimpse into your mind, a glint in your eyes that would give away why you’d spent those nights by his side without saying anything about it.

The mission was slowly coming to an end, and he had overheard you and Johnny talk about your plans for your time home. The Scotsman offered to go on a short trip with you to Rome, visiting the city you’d read so much about in the past year or so. Going there was a promise you made to yourself on New Year’s Day and he was more than happy to help make it happen.

“Have you introduced her to your family?” Simon asked Johnny one evening when they went out for a drink.

The younger man gave him a confused look, but once the lieutenant motioned towards the corner of the bar where you were deep in a conversation with Laswell, his lips formed a flat line and he nodded a few times. “Yeah, well, I mentioned her once to my sister, and the next thing I know, my mother’s blowing up my phone. I’d rather keep her away from this insanity,” he explained.

“Wise choice.”

He hated this. He hated to know that Johnny was dating you, he hated to keep up this nice conversation with him, all while he was struggling to find out why you cared about him back then. His mind was full of stupid ideas again, that maybe you weren’t that deeply in love with the fellow sergeant. What if he was just your backup plan? What if the one you truly wanted was him?

Fucking hell. He was truly losing his grip.

“I’m going back to the base.”

Simon looked to the side, only to find you standing there with this adorable warm smile on your perfect, kissable lips. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Johnny taking your hand, his fingers lacing with yours before he raised it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on it.

He definitely didn’t have the right to be upset about it. Yet, he felt a pang of jealousy, and he was maybe even offended by the way Johnny’s blue eyes shined when he looked at you. His mind was telling him it should be him, even though he knew it was against the regulations.

“Let me finish my drink and I’ll walk you back,” Johnny said, but you just shook your head and told him he should take his time, have fun, and maybe he should talk to the others too. “You think I’m ignoring them? Well, I do spend a lot of time in the Lt’s company, that’s true,” he mused.

After he took a glance at the empty glass next to him, Simon had an idea. “I’m done for today anyway, I can go with her if you don’t want her to go alone,” he offered.

While Johnny seemed happy that he was kind enough to go with you, you looked hesitant. Unsure. Damn, if he didn’t know any better he would’ve said you looked scared for a moment. But why would you be scared? He didn’t do anything that could scare you.

In the end you agreed, so the two of you were soon out on the street, walking side by side. The need to reach out and take your hand poisoned Simon’s mind, and he decided to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jacket instead. He glanced over at you every so often, enjoying the view that he wouldn’t see for a few weeks at least.

“Why did you stay by my side in the infirmary while I was recovering?” he suddenly asked, his eyes fixed on you to see your facial expression.

And sure enough, at first you looked shocked. “What do you mean?” you inquired innocently.

With a sigh, Simon came to a halt and grabbed your wrist to make you stop as well. “I saw you there. And the doctor confirmed that you spent every night there with me while I was knocked out.”

“Look, it’s—”

“Why? I need to know,” he pressed on.

You buried your fingers into your hair as you spinned on your heels to turn away from him. “I don’t know, I just didn’t want you to be alone,” you admitted.

Once he took a deep breath, he was quick to blow it out. “So you stayed out of pity?”

“No! I mean… God, Ghost, I don’t know, okay? It just didn’t feel right to let you lie there on your own, I didn’t want you to wake up alone, and—”

He shouldn’t have done it, but it felt so good. Because Simon launched forward, his big palm placed on the back of your neck as his lips crashed into yours. At first you were frozen from surprise, but then you returned his kiss, lips moving against each other in perfect sync. He had been waiting for this for so long that he couldn’t even believe it was happening.

He was only pulled back to reality by your voice after you pulled away and took a few steps away from him. “What the hell are you doing?” you asked. “Fuck, what the hell am I doing?”

“It’s okay, we can always pretend it never happened,” he said with an aching heart.

“You don’t get it, do you?” When Simon shrugged and shook his head, you walked back to him and poked his chest with your index finger. “I’m with Johnny, this is totally against the rules, and no matter how badly I always wanted to know what it would be like to kiss you, this can’t happen again. But I know it happened and it’s going to torture me now.”

With a gulp, Simon nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me,” he said with a sigh.

To his surprise, you put a hand on his now masked cheek, a move so gentle that he was beginning to get very confused. And when you pulled down his mask, things got even more confusing, because you stood on your toes and kissed him again. This time you let yourself go, your fingers grabbing a fistful of his hair as you moaned against his lips.

“We should get going,” you said once you let him go and pulled his mask back to its place.

“I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Instead of answering, you flashed a smile at him, making his life a living hell by playing an innocent angel. But then you curled your finger to make him come a little closer. “Neither do I. But we will have to figure it out.”

(part 3)

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap #soap x reader #modern warfare #mw2 #mw3 #call of duty

[fluffylino]

zombie!minho pt 4

minho finally starts his new meds..but the side effects are a bit strange~

-contains mature themes

"its much stronger than the last medication...thats what the doc told me"

minho announced, telling you word for word what the doctor had prescribed him. he had just stepped back inside after visiting the doctor for his monthly checkup. it was time for a newer improved medication.

"but its effect is immediate. it'll get rid of my sudden fatigue and zoning out"

he took his shoes off, placing it down on the shoe rack.

"and what else?" you asked, hopping around him.

"i have to take two tablets once every month. the yellow one has to be taken before the blue one." minho said, taking his beanie and jacket off. he stretched his arms, dangling the packet infront of your face.

"any side effects?"

"he described it like how you get your period every month for 4 to 8 days, ill get something similar. instead of bleeding, ovulating and all, i'll get some kind of heat."

"heat...as in?"

the kinda heat you knew was the one you had read in abo fanfictions.

well those were...intense. if it were anything like that you weren't prepared.

"my sex drive will increase drastically in the first 24 hours and may persist for the next 48 hours...so basically ill be really fucking horny"

he admitted, sitting down next to you. he leaned his head on your shoulder. so that meant his body would be adjusting. trying to go back to his normal self.

"but he did mention that with every month that side effect will gradually become less. but the first dose is always pretty bad to handle."

"it kicks in about 2 hours after i take it. so i think ill have it tomorrow morning."

"yeah, i am a bit worried though"

how could you not be?

"i doubt it'll be that bad. if it takes away that hunger i feel then i don't mind being horny 24/7"  he joked but you didn't find it that funny.

.

.

"minho..." your voice faded out. "your pant.." he looked down at his pants. there was a wet patch on his crotch. he placed his cup of coffee down. 

"fuck i just showered"

you couldn't help but let your eyes trail down his body. he was hard. and his neck was a shade of dark pink. It had only been an hour and the symptoms were already showing up.

minho disappeared into the room for what seemed like hours. you peeked into the room, mouth dropping open.

he was a complete wreck.

stroking his length at an inhumane pace. choked out moans leaving him. his eyes were shut and his head thrown back against the chair.

stepping inside, you creeped up on him. he didn't notice. that was until you dropped down on your knees infront of him. hands holding his knees in place.

"go away"b minho hissed out. you ignored him, swatting his hand off his dick.

"what are you doi-...aahhh" you took his entire length into your mouth. moaning at the taste of his precum. his fingers tangled into your hair, thrusting up. you gagged at how deep he went.

"i warned you." he gritted out and then you knew you couldn't back out. not like you even wanted to.

.

"min-" you were cut off by his hand.

"i'm going to fuck you right now"

"right here" vhe announced.

bending you over the kitchen counter. you gasped as he pushed into you in one swift motion. he was still hard and leaking. his cum seeped out of you.

your eyes rolling back, at the feeling of it dripping down the insides of your thighs.

"keep it all inside"

you clenched, trying to not let it run down your thighs. but he was so far deep inside your cunt, you couldn't think.

"fill you up. m' gonna breed you. make you take all of me"

"pathetic."

you couldn't help but cry from the overstimulation.

minho never spoke so much during sex. you were used to silence. it was mostly him groaning.

so hearing him say such filthy things made you submit to him completely. made you more compliant. you let him use you. fuck you. breed you. deepthroat you. anywhere. anytime during the day.

"whats wrong? my pretty dick in your slutty little pussy rendered you speechless?"

his fingers pushed your head down, against the ice cold counter. forcing you to stand on your tippy toes, your legs began to shake.

"gonna eat you ah- mark you u-up and show everyone you're mine. all mine."

minho let out in a breathy voice, nipping at your exposed skin. his teeth digging into you just hard enough to leave bruises.  running his tongue over your sensitive skin, to ease the soreness.

"aahhh-nng" you whined, spit rolling off the side of your mouth and onto the counter. you closed your eyes, focusing on him.

him railing you. his other hand intertwined with yours. his hot breath against your back. his thick muscular thighs caging you in. his high pitched moans. his silent praises as you took him so well.

so eagerly. so sweetly.

you were going to cum again for the fourth time. and minho had cum only once. or more like he couldn't cum any faster until he had tired himself out.

now you had finally understood why the doctor had said that.

maybe this was a good thing. he was the most alive he had ever been.

#fluffylino works #zombie minho #lee minho smut #lee know smut #lee minho imagines #lee know imagines #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz drabbles #bang chan smut #dom!lee know #mean dom minho

[mosscreektarot]

Pick An Image: Who will you MARRY?

All about your FS!

To book a personal reading, DM me or visit my Etsy: https://mosscreekpsychic.etsy.com

Group 1~ Top Left

Group 2~ Top Right

Group 3~ Bottom Left

Group 4~ Bottom Right

Group 1: Liberation: "The Doubts and Fears still come up; you don't believe anymore that they're you."

Your FS sees your "brokenness" and loves the light shining through your cracks. You've been dealt a rough hand in the matters of love, and your FS understands your trauma. Your FS supports you by CHOOSING you. Again and again, no matter what, your FS chooses you. This steadiness and steadfastness to them is love.

Your FS is a bit of a loner, preferring to enjoy the company of few, rather than casting a wide social net. They are an outdoorsy person, frequently camping, hiking, and staying up till morning just to watch the sunrise. Your FS is kind of scatterbrained ("where are my keys!?"), but HIGHLY intelligent. Your FS is the type of person to observe in social settings rather than put themselves in the mix.

Your FS may come from a different country/ethnic background than you, and has deep cultural roots they are proud of. They do things differently than most people and are never phased by the judgement of others.

Group 2: Right Now: "Stay in the present and don't get too far ahead of the Flow. You'll soon trust that nothing more will come than can be handled each moment."

Your FS is one of the most honest people you know. Sometimes their insight into your mind is a little creepy. They are gentle and kind but are unafraid to speak their mind, even if it hurts some feelings or steps on toes. Your FS is the type of person who loves to debate in the comment section and is really fucking good at it. Not to say they are argumentative, but if they see someone saying/doing something blatantly wrong they will not hesitate to put that person in their place when necessary.

Your FS may struggle with their mental health/self care at times and is extremely good at masking their true feelings. To everyone else they are the happiest, bubbliest, most outgoing person. It's not a lie, but there is a duality between their public and private self.

This could be someone you already know who provides you with guidance and support, never letting you guess they are in need of the same. Your FS is their own harshest critic and is constantly working to better themselves. They are a warm and loving person with a pink and blue aura. You may feel like this person could ~never~ be interested in you or is out of your league but your intuition is wrong in that regard!

Group 3:

Change: "When the ego finally sees the utter madness of trying to control everything, you come to a sacred crossroads in your own evolution."

Your FS is a spiritual "go with the flow" type of person. They believe everything happens for a reason, and live very unconventionally. They're the kind of person who communes with trees and spends their free time barefoot in the grass. "Wild and free"~positive vibes, the type of person to look for the best in every situation, no matter how dark or dire. Loves social gatherings and connecting with new people. Your FS may come off as a bit awkward in social settings sometimes, but despite that are well-received and liked.

Your FS is always smiling and wants to bring the sunshine into your life every single day.

Your FS may be a little out of touch with reality and believe they can positively affirm their way out of situations which cannot be changed. They're the kind of person who would get sick and refuse to go to the doctor for a month, even if it's really bad because they think they will magically get better through willpower alone. Your FS will need to find a balance between their spiritual self and mundane reality. They may need you to be the "authority figure" in their life when necessary.

Your FS is disciplined and responsible when it comes to their career and finances. Oddly enough they have a very "serious" career like an accountant or lawyer and make a lot of money. They spend a lot of it on crystals though ;) .

Group 4:

Gratitude: "Fill me with gratitude for all You give! May I be a vehicle for You wherever I go."

Your FS is an introvert who likes to spend their time with their nose in a book at home with their cats. They love to help others and often rush around trying to provide assistance to anyone who asks. They are the kind of person who sees a car on the side of the highway and pulls over to change their tire.

Your FS is pretty quiet and likes to keep their thoughts to themselves. It can be hard to read them or to get them to talk about how they feel. They have their reasons, so please be patient with them. They are a slow and methodical person who always makes lists and ticks off the boxes of what they need to do in life. They live by a routine and aren't one to make rash or reckless decisions.

They often feel left out of their family/friend circle and feel like nobody understands them or that people wouldn't like the "real" them if they said what was actually on their minds. When you come into the picture they let go of a breath they have been holding their entire life. You connect with them in a way they never thought possible and they realize that it's okay to be themselves and that there is such a thing as "true love". They are forever grateful for your presence in their life and show it to you every day by bringing you tea in bed or buying little presents to show you they are always thinking of you.

#tarot #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot readings #free tarot #tarot reader #divination #intuitive reader #witch #tarot witch #witchblr #witchcraft #witch community #witches of tumblr #witchythings #pac tarot #pac reading #pac #pick an image #pick a picture #tarot community

[stuffeddeer]

DEEEER happy (late) new year 🎊

i been so busy with work 😭 hope you're resting well!

been thinking about dazai lately as i usually do, he would be such a fucking pain in the ass if you gave him a drawing (if you gave a mouse a cookie style LMFAO)

it doesn't even have to be anything good, just some stupid doodle of a cat, and then he pesters you every day for a new drawing just for him

oh GOD and if you actually draw as a hobby? INSUFFERABLE, he'd probably dig through the trash for your discarded drawings or smth (smfh this man) and then complain cause why didnt you show HIM first instead of wasting perfectly good paper!

lol this is so stupid 💀

anyway byee -🩵

I’M SO GLAD YOU MENTIONED IF YOU GIVE A MOUSE A COOKIE BC THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT.

Your face scrunches up as you stare down at the corner of your paper. Would it be weird to give this to him? The last thing you want is to be perceived as some weird stalker, and you know he'd find a way to tease you for this. But... is throwing it out worse?

"Hey, Yosano," you tapped her on the shoulder before taking a seat on one of the medical cots she was working near. "I have a question for you."

"Shoot," she speaks listlessly, continuing to clean up the many medical papers littering her desk. It's not that she's uninterested, just a little out of focus.

There's a clear hesitation, causing the doctor to spin and look at you. Fiddling with the torn paper in your hand, you sigh. "This is probably weird, but, I drew Dazai."

"Don't see how that's weird," she replies, an amused smile on her face at your awkwardness.

"Well, I doodled him, I should say. Just in the margins of my r-report— " that you tore up. Oops. " —because he was across from me. And I could just throw it away, but I could give it to him. Would he think I'm a total creep if I offered it up..?"

And after a pep talk from Yosano, you found yourself standing beside Dazai's desk. His eyes lit up, having already noticed long before you had even registered it that you were drawing him. Everyone at the Agency was aware of your hobby, a few members having taken small doodles in the past, and Dazai was excited it was finally his time.

— that, along with your continued glances between him and your page earlier made it obvious it was him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asks slyly, his tone higher pitched than normal and mischievous. "Are you visiting little ol' me just to say hi?"

"Not quite. I drew this, if you want it." Trying to swallow your awkwardness, you hold out the paper scrap to Dazai. For a small sketch, it was surprisingly detailed. So this is how you viewed him, hm? He'd always known he was pretty, but...

"Is it possible to fall in love with myself?"

You choke back a laugh. "Alright, Narcissus. I'll take that to mean you like it?"

Dazai nods happily, jumping from his chair to rest his body weight onto you. "More more more! Please? Next do us together! Or even us kissing," he wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

The laugh finally bubbles over as your hands rest on Dazai's sides. "Get back to work! Or Kunikida will stop letting me draw at work, and then you'll have nothing."

"So that means if I stop, I'll have more?" He grins, his face close enough to yours to make you stumble back.

"Do you have to be so close? You're so clingy," you mutter, still holding his sides to keep him from coming closer. "If you get off, I'll consider supplying you with more doodles. Maybe."

And Dazai immediately jumps off of you and back to work.

#HAPPY NEW YEAR????? #this rq has been a long time coming IM SO SORRY 😭😭😭 #im still sick and haven't written in a while Sorry If This Is Bad! #🦌anon #🦌anon🩵 #🦌request #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs fanfic #bungo stray dogs fanfic #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai bsd #dazai imagines #dazai fluff #bsd fluff #my real return was gonna be this nikolai fic about biting but i just heard all the wilbur mcyt stuff so mayb we postpone that one !

[kiestrokes]

i like had this thought in the back of my head of like what ateez would be like with an S/O who has a physical illness bcs i actually have one which causes a lot of pain to my bones and i'm like in a constant state of pain and discomfort, been going on for about 12 years HELL YA ✊🏻, if i don't keep up on my meds (currently don't have the proper meds so it only tides me over for a little while-) then im basically fucked so IDK i feel like there isn't a lot of stuff written about this kind of stuff (im a sucker for shit i hardly ever am able to read abt) ALSO IM NOT 100% SURE IF YOUR REQS WERE OPEN BCS I DIDNT SEE ANYTHING POSTED ABT IT SO- YA- if you don't want to write it obviously you don't have to !! no pressure at all lovely

ATEEZ Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition | SFW

Pairing: ATEEZ x Gender Neutral!Reader/You/Yn Rating: SFW Genre: fluff, slice of life, headcanons, imagines, scenarios. Warnings: chronic illness + immunocompromised talk.

🗝️ Note: Hey atiny anon! You actually asked the right person; I have fibromyalgia combined with a few other annoying chronic illnesses. Because you can't just have one 😓 I hope that you can find a decent fucking doctor and get on the proper medication soon. That's the biggest part of the struggle, finding a physician that will listen and is competent enough. I hope this was enough, I tried to assign each member a caring task that I felt fit them! Has not been beta-ed.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below. 

Seonghwa 

He’s here to help you prevent all the chronic pain that he can. Booking you massage visits. Trips to the hot springs. All the arnica rubs. Silly little games the two of you play, to keep your mind off the pain and depression spirals. His favorite is seeing who can build their new Lego set the quickest. Hwa is the biggest advocate for you, he would never return a dish at the restaurant when its wrong. But he will fight for you at every appointment, every pharmacy, wherever you need him to. Because he knows you've grown tired of fighting all the time.

Hongjoong

HJ's specialty is flexibility. You have a sudden burst of energy? He’s down to go explore that new pop-up market with you. You’ve come down with a bout of bone numbing pain? That’s cool, you’re getting changed into comfy clothes and piled up on the couch. Swaddled in your heating pad with all the snacks. Where he falls asleep on your shoulder. HJ never gets frustrated with your rapid change in mood or plans. Nothing but the most understanding partner you could ever have asked for, and boy is he so cute and snuggly when dozing on you. Small hands seeking your face for drowsy kisses that soothe your aches just a smidge.

Yunho

The quiet presence, the one who knows what you need before you say it. Passing you tissues, making you a cup of tea and most importantly holding you so that you can cry. Shedding angry tears about how frustrated you are with your own body for betraying you. For feeling weak. For missing out on things. He's gently calming every frayed nerve in your brain. Reassuring you that you're exactly where you need to be in this moment, and he will bring all of the fun to you. And he does, in small, manageable doses.

Yeosang

His way of caring for you is through caring for your outside. All the skin masks, hair treatments, skin softening lotions because if you feel cruddy, at least he can make you feel cute and comfortable. They do heal though, in their own way. The extra moisture of the humidifier and every cream and essence he buffs into your skin helps keep some of the aches away. Subsiding the itchiness of the nerve pain, just a little. And you can’t get over how cute Yeosang looks in each animal themed headband or with his hair tied back into teeny space buns or how nice his hands feel every time they glide over your skin.

San

Where Yunho is quietly attentive, San is passionately attentive. You cry, he cries (while holding you). Quite literally your pain, is his pain and he’s here to be with you through each step. No judgment is ever passed when he has to pick up your extra chores around the house. Because to him, that is the smallest act of service he can perform for you. San is the one who wishes he could take on your pain, that he could fight it and destroy it and it pains him that he cannot. So he will simply have to do everything else.

Mingi

He thrives on making you laugh and smile through tough days, because he understands feeling burdensome. Mingi never wants you to feel that way, he wants to make sure you verbally know that your presence is needed and welcome. His favorite thing is cuddled up in bed with you wrapped in your heated blanket watching shows. You looking so small in his arms, giving him the feeling of protecting something. He reassures you constantly, because he himself seeks constant reassurance. Mingi never tires of this, he will reaffirm every single self deprecating thought with a compliment even on his worst days.

Wooyoung 

He cares for you with his skinship, which is incredibly healing. His happy heartbeat encourages yours. His strong hands make you feel loved and needed. Who would cuddle him if not you? Woo often reminds you, whispering the phrase into your ear as he traces his nails through your hair, or while rhythmically drawing circles on your spine. Making you float into dream land and anchoring you in the moment with him at the same time. Woo also loves making you whatever dish you’re craving, knowing you need energy to fight off fatigue and pain. And cooking is one of his many, many love languages.

Jongho

Needing to hoard all the extra rest you can get; you seek out solace at Jongho’s place for nap time. Jongho has taken notice, he’s also taken inventory as to which blankets of his you prefer, the pillows that keep you asleep the longest, what temperature you prefer the room to be based on what you’re wearing. All your favorite snacks before or after. New blackout curtains. He’s made his place your ultimate nap zone. New heated blankets. Duplicates of your fave lounge wear and socks. And he takes his payment in cuddles. Holding you tightly in his bed or sprawled on the couch. Sometimes he falls asleep himself and flips you onto your back to bury into your side like a full-sized teddy bear.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

#ateez #ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #chronic pain #chronic illness #chronically ill #chronic fatigue #invisible disability #invisible illness #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x male reader #ateez x gender neutral reader #ateez x atiny #imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #atz #atiny #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho

[nochukoo97]

p.s. i love you (1)

pairing: doctor!jungkook x doctor!oc

summary: you’ve been tasked to a young toddler as a patient with jungkook, the both of you grow fond of the child, loving and caring for her like she was your own. yet when things take a huge turn and takes everyone by surprise, jungkook is there to catch you.

warnings: angst, comfort, mentions of death, but not oc or jk 🙃

word count: 3k+

p.s. i love you masterlist!

snippet of the chapter:

Jungkook pushes the hair out of your face and wipes the tear rolling down your cheek.

Your stomach does a flip.

“I hate to see you so upset, wish I knew how to make you feel better, hmm?”

It’s busy in the hospital at the moment as many patients are being admitted, you find your schedule more and more packed with various patients. Meanwhile, your eyebags are getting heavier and darker, your meal times have been cut short, and you practically now live at the hospital from how long you stay here every day.

“___ I have a new patient for you,” Your head of department is briefing the team, assigning them specific patients to give specific care to, those in the ICU. You pray that you aren’t being assigned to another creepy pedophile, out of your history of patients, these weren’t the most ideal to work with.

“You’ll be working with Dr. Jeon, you two have to watch over Yeseo, she’s 4 years old with stage 3 cancer, and her parents are not available to be with her all the time as they are financially unstable and need to work constantly in order to keep up with the hospital bills and treatments.”

“I hope the both of you take the time to bond with the child and watch carefully over her, her parents have trusted us to ensure she’s happy and safe.”

You nod calmly, but your heart is going to rip out of your chest.

You’ve just been assigned to your long term crush who has a full sleeve of tattoos and rides a Harley Davidson.

You tell yourself to stay focused on what is important, it’s the toddler with a detrimental illness, not your stupid crush.

You see Jungkook, who’s sitting a few chairs away from you, turn to face you. But you look straight ahead because if you even dare to move your gaze towards him, you’d just lose all control.

When the briefing is over, you pack your stuff up to rush to your desk, but an arm grabs you to halt you in your steps as you whip around.

Jeon Jungkook.

Shit.

“___ I’m aware we’re scheduled for 3pm later to visit Yeseo, but I have a clashing appointment with my new patient so I’ll be a little late, I apologise in advance,”

He has an apologetic smile on his face that makes you want to forgive him for anything, it makes you want to tell him that he can not show up at all and you would still forgive him.

___ you’re at work. Focus.

You’re really trying your best to ignore the fact that you have a massive fucking crush on him, trying to stay professional. But it’s hard.

————————————————————————

“Hi Yeseo, I’m ___ and I’ll be taking care of you with another nice doctor okay?” You use your baby voice that normally works when introducing yourself to young children, but it seems like she’s a little different.

She’s timid as she hides under the blanket, only her eyes popping out to stare at you.

You watch as her hands clutch onto the blanket tightly.

Poor thing, she must be tired and overwhelmed with the amount of therapy and treatment she has to go through, without her parents around.

“Do you like puppies?”

She nods softly, eyes lighting up at the question but still hiding under the comfort of her blanket.

“Well, Dr Jeon has a puppy and maybe I can get him to show you the very very cute puppy later okay?” You give her a big smile, trying your hardest to crack through her shell.

“Did I hear my name?”

Geez. Your heart drops as the familiar deep voice rings from the door of the room.

Jungkook comes in with his warm smile and you watch as his lips curve upwards, you want to kiss-

You seriously need to stop and control yourself.

“Puppy?” There’s a small delicate voice that comes from the girl hiding further under the blanket, probably from having a new face enter into the room.

“Ahh, did my partner tell you about my puppy? Wanna take a look?” Jungkook pulls the other chair towards the bed next to you as he pulls out his phone.

You sincerely hope he cannot hear your heart thudding in your chest from the way he said “my partner”.

But you remind yourself that he meant it as work colleagues.

You watch in endearment as Jungkook shows Yeseo short clips of his dog, Bam, which he had once brought to the hospital to show another young child who loved dogs.

You and Jungkook finish off the day with checking her vitals and preparing her for her treatment tomorrow, and when you close the door to the room, you sigh in satisfaction. Finally, after almost a ten hour shift, you get to relax.

“Thanks for today,” Jungkook snaps you out of your daze.

“Hmm? For what?” You frown, confused.

“Being such a good partner, I’m glad we got paired up together, you work so well with young kids it’s admirable, and I think we had a good start with her today thanks to you,”

He’s making you go insane at this point, you just hope he cannot see your ears turning a bright shade of red.

“You’re surprisingly good with them too, I think Yeseo will like you more because you have Bam,” You tease him, nudging his shoulder.

It’s really muscular.

“We’ll see about that,” He chuckles at your words.

————————————————————————

You rub at your temples and sigh, the elderly patient who was just admitted into the ICU for having high blood pressure and almost going into a heart attack is not cooperating.

She had been refusing to accept treatment from anyone, no matter how much convincing you and your doctors had tried.

“I don’t need this,” She's grumbling as her forehead wrinkles from frowning, “I am not sick and I don’t need treatment,”

“But Miss, You are in critical condition and I really advice you take the treatments-“

She cuts you off again, stubbornly rejecting you for the millionth time.

“Hey, I’m gonna take a breather outside,” You inform the other nurse in the room as she gives you a nod and a sympathetic smile.

Being a doctor wasn’t an easy job, but it was really rewarding seeing patients improve in their conditions and happily get discharged. Even though there were definitely some cases that made your head hurt, like today, you often tried to tell yourself not to give up.

It’s really hard when your head was throbbing and you were surviving on two hours of sleep. To add onto that you were on a schedule that ended at 10pm tonight.

You don’t notice Jungkook standing a distance away, distracted from the conversation he was having with one of the nurses. He watches your huffing and tired state, gaze softening as he calls Hoseok from his desk.

“Hey, Dr Jeon called me to take over you, why don’t you go and take a break before your next appointment, I think I’ll take over from here,”

Hoseok takes you by surprise as he approaches you, taking the clipboard of the old lady’s documents from your hand and opening the door.

“Thanks,” You called out before the door closed.

You look around to find how on earth Jungkook knew what you were doing, meeting his soft gaze as he mouths, “Take a break,”

You smile at him, mouthing back a “thank you” as you walk back to your office

————————————————————————

You’re back in the hospital two weeks after Yeseo had been admitted into the ICU, she had been in and out, her conditions were not very stable, yet she did show some signs of improving.

“Yeseo, I really need you to try and eat this okay? It’s really yummy and it’ll make you strong!”

You’re trying your best to persuade the 4 year old to eat some food. She had been refusing to be fed for the past 24hours and you’re desperate to get something in the toddler’s stomach.

She crosses her arms and pouts, spitting out a cute but fiesty “No,”

Jungkook, who’s sitting on the chair next to you, takes the spoon of porridge from you as he inches closer to the pouting toddler,

“Here comes the airplane~”

You almost sneer at the way his voice raises two octaves and how the spoon in his hands swerve around Yeseo’s face.

“Open wide!” The spoon in Jungkook’s hand nears her mouth, but she seals her mouth shut as he sighs at the failed attempt.

You let Jungkook figure out another way to convince the poor toddler to eat, or else it’s the IV drip that’s next.

“Yeseo, if we cannot feed you this food, do you know what Doctor Jeon will have to do?” He puts down the spoon and questions her.

The toddler shakes her head as she peers curiously, waiting for the answer.

“We will have to put another tube in you! Remember how you didn’t like the other tubes when we did your treatment?“

Jungkook tries to explain the IV drip to the four year old toddler in the simplest way for her to understand

But his tactic seems to work almost too well when Yeseo starts to tear up, her lips wobbling as she shakes her head.

“Don’t want! No tube!” She wails, the tears beginning to stroll down her cheeks.

“Okay, okay, we won’t put the tube if you help us to eat some of this yummy porridge okay?” You tell her, carrying her into your lap, as the toddler burying her face into your chest and sniffs.

“No tube?” Yeseo asks, looking at Jungkook for confirmation.

“Yes, no tube I promise, so now be a good girl and eat this for us okay?” Jungkook confirms.

————————————————————————

After feeding Yeseo, Jungkook walks over to check on her results from the recent tests she had undergone.

“Seems like she’s doing a little better,” Jungkook informs you

You smile at that, “That’s amazing,”

“Sleepy,” The toddler on your lap yawns, clinging onto your shirt to get your attention.

You check the time, realising it’s a little past her usual naptime.

“Okay, let’s go to sleep okay? Then we’ll be back tomorrow to play with you again!” Jungkook takes her from your lap, tucking her into the sheets.

She nods, eyes half shut as she waves at the both of you, an adorable habit she developed whenever she was going to fall asleep.

You smile at her actions, “And your mummy and daddy will be here to see you when you wake up, so make sure you sleep well now!”

She’s a little more excited to sleep as she forcefully shuts her eyes, making the both of you laugh.

————————————————————————

The last thing you expected was for you to walk into the office today, ready for work with a good eight hours of sleep, only to walk into a room that was filled with a solemn atmosphere.

Your head of department nodded for you to take a seat, you glanced over to Jungkook and he had this look on his face telling you something wasn't well.

“What happened? Is it Yeseo?” You’re panicking, thinking she’s back in the ICU after being out of it for a few days.

“Don’t tell me her cancer has progressed,” Your voice wobbles a little, afraid that after her condition seemed to be improving, there was a chance it could have slipped again.

“Yeseo’s parents are here ___, they wanted to tell you and the rest of the doctors something,”

That’s not a good sign.

Yeseo’s vitals and conditions had been going up and down recently, but with your analysis from you and Jungkook’s visit, she had been doing a little better.

You didn’t want to even think about what was about to happen next.

“I just want to thank you all, specifically Dr Jeon and ____ for taking such good care of Yeseo, as well as the other doctors who often came in to check up on her,” Her father speaks up

You gulp

“We are extremely grateful for the love and care you brought to her, and whenever we visit her, she always mentioned how you all showered her with so much love,” Her mum continues

A silent tear rolls down your cheek.

You know what’s about to happen.

“Unfortunately, Yeseo left us this morning, but when we came over last night to visit her, we talked to her,“

“She somehow seemed to know her time was up soon-”

Her mum begins to burst into tears before she can complete her sentence.

You do the same.

You run up to her mum, embracing her tightly.

“I’m so so so sorry,” You sob as you hug her mum, tears roll down your cheeks as you gasp for air, shocked from the news that took you aback the moment you walked into the room.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save her, I wish I could have done more to help, I’m terribly sorry,” You’re apologising over and over again,

Her mum shakes her head as she lovingly wipes the tears from your face, even though more begins to pour down.

Jungkook’s eyes turn red from the amount of heavy emotion in the room, watching as you cry in her mum’s embrace.

“It isn’t your fault at all dear, in fact, I couldn’t thank you enough for being there for her in her last moments,” Her mum tears with a smile on her face,

With more hugs and comforting, her parents leave teary-eyed, but with a smile, thanking everyone in the unit for all their help.

Jungkook wants to approach you to comfort you while you still cry as you walk out of the room.

But he has to control his own tears from spilling out.

He doesn’t make it in time to approach you before you hide in the comfort of your office.

————————————————————————

You haven’t been this affected by a death ever since your first dog had passed away.

You can’t seem to stop the tears flowing as you somehow feel regret.

Even though you know that whenever you serve a patient, there is never a 100% chance that they make it out, and it was something all the doctors had to train themselves mentally for. Most of the time you manage to comfort yourself and others, acknowledging how everyone did their best to help, and that was all that matters, no matter the outcome.

But with how close you grew with Yeseo and the determination you felt to make her better, the piece of news today overwhelmed your feelings.

It felt as if you had lost a child, a loved one who you cared for so much and nurtured.

It hurt you so bad to suddenly have her presence gone, to have to accept you would no longer have any more appointments with her.

There’s a knock on your office door that interrupts your crying.

“___?”

It’s Jungkook. You recognise his voice immediately.

“I’m coming in okay?”

You hurriedly wipe your tears, catching your breath as you pretend to look down at the documents on your table.

At the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook pull the chair across your desk next to you, head lowering slightly to attempt to look at you.

“How are you processing the information?” He questions, his voice soft yet filled with hesitation.

You shrug, not trusting your voice to answer the man.

“I know it’s hard, I’ve seen you grow so much with her and I have too, it’s sad but it’s a reality that we have as doctors, you never know who you can save and who you can’t”

Another tear rolls down your cheek

Jungkook pushes a hair out of your face and wipes the tear rolling down.

Your stomach does a flip.

“I hate to see you so upset, wish I knew how to make you feel better, hmm?”

His words take you by surprise, but you suppress your reaction to that.

“Don’t say it like that, you’re messing with me,” You whisper, peering up at him through your red bloodshot eyes.

He raises an eyebrow at you, “How am I messing with you baby?”

You stiffen at the pet name.

Jungkook’s quiet for a second, he silently cusses at himself for letting it slip.

“Come here,” He calls you.

You look up to him as he has his arms open, signalling for you to come closer to him.

You’re reluctant to let yourself do so, your heart thumping in your chest from the intimacy he’s about to make you experience.

He’s playing around with your feelings too much.

“Come on, I don’t bite,” Jungkook teases you, as you laugh, playfully smacking his arm, already feeling better with his presence.

You’re grateful for Jungkook’s muscular arms bringing you into a hug.

It makes you feel a little better knowing he’s here to comfort you.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts #bts ff #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook angst #boyfriend jungkook

[teddyeyeseddie]

To Hell I Go

If She Wants A Cowboy

✰ bull rider Steve x reader

masterlist

✰ cw: broken bones, an er visit, steve in a sling, an eddie debut, first kisses, straddling steve in a creek, smut, minors dni, oral (m rec), boot riding

✰ a/n: this series has been flopping but I am so in love with dandy and our boy that im gonna keep writing it bc they deserve to have their story told, thank you @lofaewrites for betaing :,)

now playing: If She Wants a Cowboy

Steve is rushed right back when he gets to the ER, grumbling an “I’m fine” when he sees the amount of sick kids in the waiting room. Despite his efforts to wait in the lobby, it only takes 30 minutes and he is sitting in a room awaiting his results.

Steve tears up at the news, knowing what this meant for his career. It came to an abrupt stop, throwing Steve forward into a mess of emotions. They did x rays to find that his shoulder was, in fact, broken. His coach eventually leaves, only able to offer so much reassurance and solace. 

He sits cooped up in the ER for what felt like hours, left alone to his devices, those emotions from earlier bubbling and breaching the surface now that he was alone. His dad was right, just like he always is. The job chewed him up and spit him out. Usually, a broken shoulder meant the gig was up, not many riders can recover from a serious injury like that. 

He wills away his spiraling, putting his head back in order to rest. When he’s about to fall asleep, a soft knock resonates through the room. 

“Hey cowboy,” the voice is like music in Steve’s ears, the sound flowing into the air and causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. 

“Dandy, they let you in here at this hour?” he questions, a small smirk on his face as he adjusts himself in bed, wincing when he disturbs his shoulder. 

“Jus’ had to tell them I was your wife,” she replies sheepishly, wincing slightly.

“I did give ya a ring, didn’t I darlin’?” he cracks a wide smile.

You settle yourself into a chair next to the bed, digging in your purse to find the small paper ring Steve had made you days prior. You slip it on your finger once you find it, flashing it at Steve causing him to let out a full-bellied laugh. 

“You kept it?” 

You offer a small nod, reaching your hand out to hold Steve’s free hand. The other slung up as the two of you waited to hear what the next steps are in Steve’s recovery. 

“What’s the verdict here?” you question softly, rubbing your thumb over Steve's calloused hand. 

“Shoulder’s broken. S’ a clean break but fuck if I know what that means,” he groans, throwing his head back as tears form in his eyes. 

“Shit Dandy- I’m sorry, don’t mean to turn into a mess while you’re here. It’s just this could be the end of the line for me,” he pulls his hand away from yours in order to wipe his eyes. 

He settles his hand back in yours, squeezing it as he stares forward at the wall in front of him. 

He didn’t ask you to come and the fact you did makes Steve’s heart flutter inside his chest. You came on your own, and that is more than Steve could ever wish for. 

“I’ll be right here with you, Steve,” you break the silence and lean up to kiss his cheek, the first time you had displayed any sort of affection aside from holding hands. 

He leans into your touch, relaxing and letting himself be loved on. 

The doctors come in moments later, setting his arm and immobilizing it with a fancy looking sling. 

Six weeks.

Six weeks of being rendered useless, Steve groans into the night air once he’s been released at the odd hour of 5 in the morning. Hand in yours as you guide him to your car, helping him get settled into the passenger seat. 

“I guess in the grand scheme of things, I’m lucky,” he says once you get situated. His head is leaned back, exposing the column of his neck as he turns to look at you. 

“How so?”

“A whole summer of being doted on by you? 

“Who said I was gonna dote on you?”

“Mmm I just gotta hunch, Dandelion,” 

Steve isn’t wrong, you are there every day you're off work, going on walks with him or helping his mother cook dinner. 

It’s been about 2 weeks of helping take care of Steve when you pull into his driveway at the early hour of 8am. You softly knock on the door, smiling when you hear a quiet, “come in” from the other side of the door. 

You and his mother, Donna you had come to learn, had become well acquainted, spending the evenings cooking dinner together giving you time to converse regularly. You got all the stories of Steve when he was younger, your favorite being the time he peed off the side of the pool when he was potty training. 

“Is he awake?” you question, setting the groceries Donna had requested you bring the night prior.

“He’s not, had a rough night last night. He said not to let him sleep in if you’re here though,” she says with a sly smirk on her face, like she knows something you don’t know. 

You ignore her look, not wanting to read much into it, trudging upstairs to wake Steve up. 

You smile when you see him, he’s propped up by some pillows, something his mom helps him do every night so he is more comfortable. 

You sit on the edge of his bed, extending your arm to caress his cheek. He stirs a little bit, waking with a small jolt when you begin to run your thumb across the expanse of his jaw. 

“Good morning, Dandelion,” he smiles, his voice thick with sleep, the groggy melody making your cheeks flush. 

“Good morning, Steve,” 

He sits up at the waist, using his free arm to push him up on the bed. He’s right beside you, free hand coming to rest on your thigh. His lips press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Didn’t think you’d be here this early, sorry I wasn’t up,” he mumbles, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“S’ okay honey, liked getting to wake you up,”

You get up, turning back towards the bed to help him stand. His pajamas are slung low on his hips, soft hair traveling up his belly and to his navel. He looks peaceful like this, freshly woken up, sleep in his eyes and bed head- it makes your heart warm. 

He stretches once he’s standing, averting your eyes as his already impossibly low pants stoop even lower. 

“You gonna shower?” you question, picking at the comforter on Steve’s bed. 

He shakes his head, turning towards his closet and pulling out a pair of wranglers and a t-shirt. 

He turns away before dropping his pajama pants, your cheeks flushing at the sight of Steve in just his boxers. 

He grabs the clothes he laid out on the bed, shimmying his pants up his legs, frowning as he gets to the button. 

“C’mere,” You mumble, buttoning his wranglers, knuckles bumping into his soft belly. 

He smiles down at you, brushing a hair out of our face. 

“Gonna help me with the top now, dandy?” 

You nod, grabbing his top and sliding it up his hurt side, carefully threading his arm through  while it is still bent. He chuckles as he pokes his head through the top, easily pulling his other arm through. 

You wait on his bed after you get his sling back on his arm, Steve having perfected his one-handed bathroom routine. 

He peaks out of the bathroom once he is ready, padding across the room to grab his hat. 

“Ya ready?” 

You nod, following him downstairs. 

When you reach the living room, you’re surprised to see Charlotte and Eddie sitting on the couch. 

“Mudslinger! How ya been?” Eddie gets up, pulling Steve into a hug, Lottie shooting him daggers as he does so. 

“Careful with the man, Eds. He’s fragile,” Charlotte scolds, pulling Eddie away when he starts to get too rough. 

Eddie listens to the woman, settling in beside her with a protective hand on her thigh. 

“Wanted to come visit ya, see if there was anything you needed before I head down to the barn to get some lessons started,” 

The two of the men fall into easy conversation but you and Charlotte find yourselves stowed away in the kitchen, chatting about anything and everything. 

“So- You and Steve, huh? He’s never brought a girl around,” she says as she stirs her tea. 

“Yeah- He uh saved me from Billy Hargrove,” you take a sip from your mug, glancing into the living room to check on Steve. 

“Oof- Eddie used to work on Billy’s ranch breaking horses. Never got paid enough for the work he did, here though? He’s taken care of, Donna makes sure he is anyways,” 

You had learned that a lot of the ranch bonuses and raises used to come from Donna pestering Richard until he caved, that was until Steve came around and gave everyone their well deserved performance based raises.

“Steve’s running it right finally, taught his Daddy more things than he’s taught Steve probably, I can’t wait to see what happens when he finally takes over, maybe he will settle down now that he’s broke himself,” Charlotte rattles off, your stomach lurching at her words, remembering why you’re here.

Steve hurt himself. If he hadn’t been rendered useless in terms of bull riding he’d be off riding in other competitions and eventually nationals. He was kept at home by a broken shoulder, not by you. 

You shake the thoughts away, Steve would have wanted you wherever he was, you had to convince yourself. 

You and Charlotte continue conversing, finally steering the conversation away from you and Steve. 

���Dandy-” You hear Steve shout from the living room, you set down our mug and straighten out your skirt before making your way to him. 

“Whatcha need cowboy,” you question, smiling when you round the corner to see him standing, cowboy hat situated on his head. 

“Come to the creek with me?” he questions, smiling softly as he holds out his hand. 

You turn back towards Charlotte, who is now left alone now that Eddie has gone to the barn to start lessons for the day. She nods her head, shooing the two of you away and out into the summer sun. 

Steve laces your fingers with his, boots crunching on gravel as he makes his way to the stables.

“Wish we could take sonny today,” Steve says, frowning slightly when you pass them. You distract him with a kiss to the cheek, bumping into his hat causing him to let out a chuckle. 

“Tryna kiss me stupid here, honey?” he asks as he continues walking, dipping into some trees at the edge of the property.

“Just tryna kiss ya, cowboy,” he smiles back at you as he leads you through the trees, finally stopping and letting you settle in next to him once you reach the creek. 

You release his hand, kicking off your shoes in order to step in the creek, turning to Steve who is still on the bank.

“Comin’ in?” you grin, looking up at him. He scratches at the scruff that is forming on his chin, contemplating kicking off his boots and joining you.

“I dunno, Dandy,” 

“C’mon, don’t make me enjoy this all alone,”

With that, he toes off his boots as you step forward in the water in order to roll up his jeans for him. You hold your hand out, Steve taking it and stepping into the water with you. The two of you wade in the shallow creek, your back to Steve when you feel a splash of water hit the bend of your knees. 

You whip around, scowling at Steve who has a wide grin on his face. You bend over, skimming your hand in the water in order to splash him back. Steve walks backwards, tripping over his feet, sending him tumbling, falling on his ass. 

You rush to him, dropping to your knees in the shallow water next to him.

“Are you okay?” you question, looking him over as if you’ll see any physical damage. 

He simply smiles at you, on your knees-so close to his lap. He wishes he could pull you onto him and kiss you breathless.

That’s when he realizes there’s nothing stopping him.

He hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him. He mumbles a soft, “C’mere,” as he motions with his head for you to get on.

You swing your leg over his lap, heartbeat high in your throat as you look down at him. It’s a little awkward, his sling taking up much of the room between the two of you, but it doesn’t matter.

Steve’s eyes travel to your lips, a smile forming on them as your hand raises to pet the hairs adorning the nape of Steve’s neck.

“I think you’re the one that’s trying to kiss me stupid,” you breathe.

“Just tryna kiss ya,” 

With that, he leans in, capturing your lips in a firm kiss. It’s slow–calculated, each movement well thought out as he guides you. You eventually crack a smile while kissing him, teeth knocking together as Steve begins to smile too. You finally pull away when it’s time to catch your breath. 

“Why’d you wait so long, cowboy?” you ask, hand still petting at his hair. 

“Kinda thought you deserved more, Dandy,” he breaths out, thumb rubbing at your hip as his eyes flash back towards your lips. 

“Well- why don’t you let me worry about that, mudslinger” you lean back down, kissing him sweetly before pulling away and getting off his lap. He looks up at you in a daze, lips pink and full as he cracks a smile. 

You help him up and out of the creek, using your now half soaked cardigan to dry your legs off before slipping back into your shoes. Steve gets along fine with getting his boots back on, but you can't help but giggle when you turn to see his jeans still rolled up. You bend down to fix them, Steve mumbling a soft thank you. 

You walk hand in hand back to the house, offering Eddie a small wave when you pass by the stables.

You’re both still sopping wet when you make it to the front porch, Steve groaning when he’s intercepted by Donna at the door. 

“I know you are not about to come in here with those sopping wet jeans on,” She scolds the two of you. 

Steve playfully rolls his eyes, nudging past her and making his way inside. 

“I’ll clean it Mama,” she playfully smacks his good shoulder before retreating back to the kitchen to continue cooking lunch for the Saturday workers. 

Steve opens the door to his room, closing the door after you. 

“Skirt’s pretty soaked, do you want some shorts and a new shirt?” he questions, turning towards his closet to grab himself a change of clothes. You squeak out a small “yes” as you kick off your shoes. He hands you a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, turning back towards the closet. 

In a surge of courage and confidence, your hands find the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head while Steve’s back is to you. 

When Steve turns around, he feels like he’s been punched in the gut. His lungs are void of air as his eyes rake over your frame, drinking you in. He swears he sees stars when your fingers dip into the waistband of your skirt, dropping it to the floor with a wet thud. 

You stalk towards him, fingers hooking in his belt loops as you guide him to the chair sitting in the corner of his room. 

“Dandelion- sweetheart what are you doing?” Steve asks as you drop to your knees in front of him, eyeing him sweetly. 

“Just let me take care of you, Cowboy,” you push him back by his hip, satisfied once you force him to sit in the chair. 

Fingers come to unbutton his damp wranglers, cock already straining against the rough fabric. You pop the button, slowly unzipping his pants, tapping his thighs so he will lift his hips. 

He’s looking at you with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide as he watches your hand sneak into his boxers and pull out his hard member. 

“Fuck, darlin you don’t have to do this,” his hand reaches down to caress the your flushed cheek. 

“Want to,” your hand strokes him, the drag causing Steve to throw his head back, loud groans leaving his lips as he indulges in the feeling of you taking care of him. 

You suck the head of his cock, tongue swirling around the tip. Steve’s hand comes to thread through your hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling just hard enough to get you off of him. 

“You wanna feel good too?” Steve questions, free hand coming to stroke himself. You nod your head, pleading eyes meeting Steve’s. 

“Ride me then,”

“S-steve your shoulder,” He laughs, the hand that was stroking his cock now caressing your face. His boot begins tapping on the floor beneath you. 

Tap-Tap-Tap

You look up at him through hooded eyes, biting your lip as you lower yourself onto his boot. You let out a soft mewl when the rough leather catches on your clothed clit. You begin to rock back and forth, riding his boot as you take him back into your mouth. 

You take him to the back of your throat, nose bumping into the soft pudge of his tummy, being tickled by the pubic hair that adorns the area. 

He groans, the deep growl echoing off the walls causing you to pull back and shush him. Steve chuckles as he guides his cock back towards your lips, you greedily sucking him in. 

Your hands come to rest on his hairy thighs, your own shaking from the impending orgasm, the coil in your tummy tightening as you use his boot to get off. 

“Jesus, Honey. I’m gonna come if you keep takin’ me so deep like that,” he moans as you release his member with a soft pop, a giddy smile on your face as you look up at him. 

“Kinda the point, Honey,” you begin to stroke him, hand slippery with your spit and his precum.  

“Gonna come,” he grits out, your mouth enveloping him as his hips stutter and his cock twitches in your mouth, hot cum running down your throat. 

You pull off him once he winces at the overstimulation. Your hips are still moving, your sopping cunt still dragging across the ridges of Steve’s boots. 

“You close honey?” Steve asks, a little hint of pity lacing his tone. You whine when he begins to mock you.

Three more thrusts of your hips and you’re coming undone, panties now soaked with your release and seeping onto his cowboy boot. You slump forward when you’ve finished riding out your high, face resting on his thigh mere inches from his now softening cock. His hand pets your hair, letting you rest there for a while before breaking the silence.

“These pants are still wet darlin, need to change,” he taps your cheek, causing you to rise from the spot in his lap and pull yourself off of his boot. You wince when you disconnect from him, blushing when you see the wet spot you left on the leather. Steve however, props his foot up on the ottoman that you were just wedged between and admires the slick spot on his boot-proud of what you’d done to him.

“Might keep it there,” You whine at his words, embarrassed you’d just come undone so easily for him.

“Hey- don’t pout,” he says as he gets up, a soft grunt leaving his lips as he does so. Tall frame towering over yours, his hand coming to brush your unkempt hair out of your face. 

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pushing down his pants and stepping out of them. He digs around for a pair of boxers before turning and offering you a pair. 

“Figured you’d soaked your-uh,”

“Panties?”

“You just had me ride your boot, now you’re shy about my wet panties?” you question, a small smirk forming on your lips as you take the pair of boxers from him. 

Now he turns bright red, cheeks flushing at the mere talk of your underwear. 

“I’m a gentleman, Dandy,” you roll your eyes, mumbling a soft, “not in the sheets” as you walk by him. 

“Come on mudslinger, let's get dressed. I’ll make us some lunch once we get downstairs,” 

#Steve x reader #steve Harrington x reader #steve x you #steve Harrington x you #steve x reader smut #steve Harrington x reader smut #steve Harrington x reader fluff #steve x reader fluff #steve Harrington #steve Harrington fanfiction #steve stranger things #steve angst #steve fanfiction #steve harrington fanficton #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington series #steve harrington angst

[crumbledcastle28]

Come Hell or High Water

Pairing: miguel x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Summary: After an anomaly raid resulting in your capture, Miguel attempts to get some rest after days of searching. He finds it more difficult than expected.

Warnings: swearing, Miguel is incredibly self-deprecating, descriptions of blood, crying, torture, and an ambiguous ending.

A/N: I’m trying out some new formatting. Feel free to let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for reading.

Part 2

Word Count: 1k Type: blurb

Miguel O'Hara never knew how easy it would be to memorize a popcorn ceiling. Every crack, bubble, fleck of dust, scratch of paint. He had gotten to know it intimately, more intimately than he thought was possible.

He preferred the endless, beige void of his bedroom ceiling to closing his eyes, knowing that once he did, he would be met with your own.

"Miguel," you whispered, light leaving your eyes as the Doctor Octavious variant stomped on your gizmo, wrenched your arm out from under you, and dove the both of you through his cross-dimensional portal.

"I'll find you," Miguel screamed, veins popping from his neck. “I’ll find you; I promise.” The frailty in his voice making his skin crawl just thinking about it.

"Miguel," you repeated, knowing the truth, and were gone.

Without a trace. A tracker. Or a goodbye.

And it was all his fucking fault.

He was the one who pushed. He was the one who agreed to let you come. He was the one who had not properly calculated how big of a threat the Doctor had become and sent you in to be totally blindsided. He was the one who let his true feelings for you show, right in front of the Doctor's beady, vendetta-filled eyes, allowing him to see just how to bring Miguel O’Hara to his knees.

He still felt the bruises and dried blood on his shins, kneecaps, and elbows from how long he had kneeled and buried himself onto that rancid cobblestone street. “I'll do anything, anything you want.”

The Doctor only smiled.

Miguel hadn't allowed himself to grieve. Or mourn. Or process any of it for long enough to come up with an actual plan. No. He tore through galaxies like an animal, commanding every one of his spiders to search every sector of every city, before moving onto the next one. He blocked off streets. Ripped apart homes. Trespassed into governmental bodies. Dug through sewers and trashcans and jail centers. He left every galaxy he visited in shreds.

It stretched on for days, this rampage, until Jess finally cornered him, and forced him to finally sit the fuck down.

“Look at yourself, Miguel. You're becoming the people who kill us. This isn't how we'll find her.”

Miguel merely scoffed, complying only to humor her.

“Go home, Miguel. Fucking relax.”

How could he fucking relax - how dare he fucking relax - when he was the one who had done this to you.

He couldn't get it out of his head. Your eyes slowly becoming solemn, sunken, defeated. Like you were disappointed in him. Like he had let you down. And yet, your gaze simultaneously memorized every inch of him.

Blood streamed down your face from a deep cut on your forehead, dripping a deep red into your eyes and mouth as you stared at him. The Doctor's grip on your arm was firm, firm enough to squeeze your triceps so hard muscle popped out on your underarm. Your suit was torn to shreds, signifying that you had more than just the wound on your forehead.

Miguel wondered obsessively if they had been cleaned, stitched, and treated properly, or if the Doctor stooped to merely let you rot in a cage somewhere.

If that was the case, Miguel wondered, would you even still be breathing?

He closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. No, you would be alive. Without you, the Doctor had no leverage, no treat to wiggle in front of Miguel's face, yet keeping it just out of reach. He would be keeping you alive.

His nostrils flared as his brain spiraled down a hole he hadn't let himself fall into yet. Alive was one thing, but how he was keeping you alive was another.

Miguel ground his teeth together as his occipital lobe flashed images into his mind before he could stop it. The Doctor starving you, trapping you, taunting you, putting his hands on you -

Miguel's claws began to pull out of his fingers, and his fangs dug into the skin of his bottom lip. Waves and waves of white hot, burning, pulsing rage washed over him, making his vision go milk white, paralyzing him to the bed. The images continued flashing and flashing, over and over again. The Doctor's smile gleaming as he touched you, your face a mural of pain and loss, screaming at the top of your lungs.

His claws dug into his mattress, and his fangs cut deep enough to draw blood. His mouth filled with metal.

He could hear your screams, echoing through his mind. It was the only thing he could hear.

He couldn't fucking take it anymore.

He sat up in bed, his bare, sweaty back sticking to the sheets as he did. He tapped on his gizmo, allowing his suit to stretch and encompass the entirety of his body. His ears rang and his neck twitched as he stood to his full height, allowing his suit to cover him completely.

As his mask covered his face, he closed his eyes. He breathed in, washing away the scenarios his brain was abusing him with, and breathed them out. He pushed all his emotions into corners of his brain, storing them away into tiny pockets, vowing to only open them once the job was done.

He opened his eyes, his body a vessel of only cool, venomous focus. He didn't care what the Doctor had done, what he himself had done, what anyone had done up unto that point. He only allowed himself to care about how to move forward.

He left his room, walking down the hallway of the Spider Society as silent and deadly as a loaded gun, and dug his claws into his palms. Blood trailed a path behind him.

He was ice. Pure, focused ice, and he was going to get you back.

"Come hell or high water," he whispered to himself, "I will get her back."

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @buckysblondie

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara smut #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #marvel 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x black reader #oscar isaac fic #marvel fanfiction

[seeker-of-stories19]

Simon who hates every scar on his body, from his top surgery scars to the Glasgow smile and every other mark between. He doesn’t wear them with honor like so many of the soldiers he knows- doesn’t even feel the slightest bit of pride in what he’s survived.

No his sense of masculinity and self worth was so damaged by his dad that he views each mark on his body as a failure. Too stupid, too weak, too slow, unable to save his mom, unable to save Tommy, unable to save his team from Roba, unable to save himself- even the matching crescents under his pecs that Gaz and Soap had been shocked to learn were quite old, so old it was a miracle he found someone to do the operation at all, don’t bring any kind of positive feeling to him it’s just another reminder of his body fucking failing him.

It breaks Johnny’s heart that he’s so deeply distraught by the marks on his body and he spends a ridiculous amount of time kissing them gently and reminding Simon how beautiful he is. He thinks of the scars completely differently to Simon- a constant reminder that he survived what no one else could.

He hates that someone so precious could’ve been hurt so much but throughout his entire life he survived every one of the horrible violent marks on his body, lived long enough to find him. Sometimes when they’re in bed and Simons in a particularly forgiving mood he kisses the painful pink smile carved crudely into his cheeks and tells him how good he is for waiting for him, for not giving up before they could find each other- tells him he’s brave for surviving everything just so they could meet.

It definitely makes Simon very emotional even if he doesn’t agree.

One day when they’re lounging around Johnny asks him if he has any scars he doesn’t hate and Ghost immediately points to a fairly fresh bullet scar on the outside of his thigh Soap is baffled as to why a random bullet wound, and particularly one that annoyingly knocked him out of commission for a couple weeks, would mean more to him than any of the more significant wounds he’s survived.

Simon just says that he likes it because it was for Johnny and he just sits frozen as Simon adds on that he likes all the scars he got protecting Johnny- those are the only ones that mean anything to him.

It’s something he thinks about a lot in the following months but he never expects that after Makarov he’ll wake up in a civilian hospital with Ghost pressed against his side, cradling his head as gently as possible and pressing kisses against his bandaged temple as he cries, apologizing profusely the whole time for not being fast enough.

Apologizing for not taking the bullet for Soap.

Soap can’t talk and can barely move at the time but he doesn’t forget those words even when everything else from that period blurs together.

When he’s finally released and honorably discharged with various medals he’s shocked when Simon tentatively brings up the incident with Makarov and asks him if he can forgive him, if he’ll still have him even though he couldn’t protect him. It’s absolutely insane to him that Ghost could even ask because they all know what they signed up for but the last thing Simon has ever done is not protect him.

Throughout his entire recovery the man was with him every day, his family had visited often as had Price and Gaz but no one had protected him like Simon. From the pity and discouragement and from himself. When the doctors said he’d never walk again he’d been crushed but Simon had just rolled his eyes and given him a look like ‘can you believe this guy?’ And it had been walking toward him clutching the rails for dear life in the PT room that he took his first steps into this new life.

Last night when he’d whispered into the dark of the hospital room his deepest insecurities that he’ll never be the same, that he might need help for the rest of his life Ghost hadn’t even hesitated before shrugging that it didn’t matter if he needed help because he would always be there if he did.

And now he was asking permission to rest after a lifetime spent in the trenches he was asking for gentleness and a life with him- most people would never understand the significance of that moment but from Simon it means more than a proposal ever could.

When they go home to his Glasgow flat together he sits on the couch while Ghost does the heavily lifting moving his things in alone and it takes everything in him not to cry when he pulls his shirt off to wipe some sweat away from his eyes with a tired smile before going back to work, pale skin flexing in the light, scars as much a sign of strength as his massive muscles.

When he’s done he makes them both coffee and settles into his side while Soap contemplates how to approach the idea he’s been mulling over for the last hour. Instead of bringing it up he reaches for the pen on the coffee table and starts sketching a slightly messy arrangement of flowers onto Simons upper arm opposite the tattoo sleeve.

He tries to pour all his affection and gratitude and love into each shaky stroke and line of the pen against his partners skin. Simon just hums contentedly, it’s not the first time they’ve done it and it won’t be the last but this is different than the little bar of soap and the Scottish thistle and little stars he’d sketched along the top of the unfinished sleeve Simon had got tattooed so long ago.

“S’ looks nice Johnny, spending a lot of time on it” he murmurs and Soap just bites his lip in concentration as he nods “Want this one to last” he admits as he adds another detail to one of the leaves in response as Simon lets out a surprised grunt. Sure he’s got several of Johnnys little doodles inked onto him permanently but it’s all random stuff and he’s certainly never asked Simon for this before or designed anything with the intention of it being a tattoo.

“Why this?” Simon asks confusedly and he briefly pauses with the pen “Cause you like the scars from saving me,” he blurts out like it hadn’t been an offhand conversation over a year ago “and in the hospital you apologized for not taking this bullet for me but you were wrong because you saved me from it in every way that coulda mattered- did so well mo ghràidh, you deserve a reminder- something pretty for doing so well.”

He’s half embarrassed to have said it and worried he’s overstepping but Simon just shudders and lets out a choked noise he thinks is his name before slumping shakily into his side as he finishes.

He does get it tattooed the next day and his big brown eyes tear up when Johnny kisses the saniderm and tells him again how good and strong and brave he was for protecting him.

It’s nearly a month later that Simon works up the courage to ask Johnny if he can decorate some of the other scars he got for him- to make them pretty. Since Simon is super into the meaning of different flowers and that’s the theme Johnny choose for the first tattoo he sticks with it for all the smaller ones, picking a flower that’s symbolic to how he got each scar.

He’s very careful not to cover the puckered skin at all, instead creating little rings of flowers around bullet holes and Simon gets each of them tattooed. It’s not many compared to the sheer amount of scars he has but the little flashes of color never fail to make Simon blush when he looks in the mirror and Johnny absolutely melts because he never could’ve imagined something so simple could keep Simon from flinching at his reflection.

Of course it reaches a point where all the scars Ghost has from protecting Soap are done, each having their matching flowers and he thinks it’s over.

But then he cuts his finger opening a jar for Soap who’s hands shake slightly and who’s grip is too weak to loosen the lid and when it heals into a thin white line Soap draws a single stem next to it.

And the same happens when he pushes an angry chihuahua off a terrified Soap and the dog doesn’t like his skull half mask, biting his ankle.

The tattoos draw attention to the scars Simon doesn’t hate and they stand out from the black and grey ones he’d had done in the military.

One day a few years into their marriage when Simon is working at his flower shop while Soap paints in the studio upstairs a young woman buying flowers for her friend asks him about the ring of small blue forget me nots looped around a circle of puckered pink flesh on his bicep where his shirt has ridden up. He proudly tells her that the scar is where he took a bullet for his husband and that Soap had drawn the flowers around each of the scars he got protecting him.

The woman tears up a bit at the story but it’s nothing to how Soap dissolves into silent tears in the stairway when he hears Simon share the story behind the markings with pride in his voice because he hadn’t ever though that was in the cards for him with how he talked about himself prior to the tattoos.

And it just hits him in that moment that they truly made it out in a way that so many who make it out on paper never manage. They’ve built this life together from the ashes of something difficult to even think about and it doesn’t fix any of the horrible things that were done to Simon but they made it out and they were safe now.

Most importantly he has made something Simon thinks is beautiful not only out of their life but out of the mess of gnarled scars on his skin.

He did that.

And Simon is a little confused by his clinginess that night but he absolutely melts into it as Johnny kisses each cluster of brightly colored flowers decorating his skin.

#call of duty #trans ghost #soapghost headcannons #mw3 #soap cod #cod #soapghost #john soap mactavish #ghoap #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #tattoo and flower shop au #scars

[ech0schamber]

Hey hey hey could you write the s/o in coma scenario but with akutagawa?

sure thing!

☆you had been working on a mission that mori has sent you on. little did you know, mori knew you were going to get hurt, he doesn't exactly care if an underling get hurts

☆you were sent alone, of course, and it ended with you getting too close to an explosion (as that seems to be a reoccurring theme in bsd)

☆you got lucky as the area you were in wasn't too far from emergency services and they immediately jumped into action, so you got to the hospital before you could bleed to death

☆i would like to think that this mf never answers his phone if he doesn't recognize the number, so it was either gin, chuuya, or the bastard of a boss that told him the news

☆he managed to keep his composure in front of them?? expect if it was gin that told him, then his panic attack would be very obvious

☆he wanted to rush to the hospital, but oh look at that. he's a public criminal... he can't go anywhere near the hospital

☆so he asked gin to go in his place, of course he would only trust his little sister with that. she gets the information she needs from the doctors, but she doesn't visit you for too long. surprise surprise, she cared about you too. like a lot, so it hurt to not only see her brother in such a state of panic, but it hurt to see just how injured you got

☆that's how it went every single day. akutagawa would ask gin to go pay you a visit, hoping that you would be awake

☆during this time, he started taking care of himself less. typically that wouldn't mean much, but you had actually convinced him to start taking care of himself more. now that you weren't around to make sure he was doing that, he fell back into his old habits of just not taking care of himself

☆gin and chuuya tried their hardest to make sure that he was at least eating 2 meals a day. gin would quite literally drag her brother and basically throw him in the shower once a week

☆this poor baby had finally found a reason to take care of himself, to start seeing the good in some people, to stop putting himself in as dangerous situations as before, and now it's been ripped away from him

☆hell, dazai probably even noticed that akutagawa wasn't fighting atsushi for his approval as much

☆and queue a lot of peoples confusion when he suddenly started attacking atsushi again dont let atsushi find out why, he may accidentally use it against him during an agrument

☆it was gin who got the call that you had finally woken up after being in a coma for a year. of course, aku still couldn't visit you, so she went in the check on you... basically see if you can handle if aku decides to break into the fucking hospital to see you

☆thankfully he doesn't. but he really wants to, but he knows that you wouldn't be too pleased with him if he did that, so he exploded something to get that urge away.

☆he is probably going to get more violent in this time, he has no way of contacting you (cause they don't allow phones in the hospital) and has to depend on someone else to know if you stay awake

☆and finally, after (insert set amount time here, i have no idea how long hospitals keep you after you wake up from a coma) you were finally released. while you were mainly stuck to a wheelchair because your muscles are too weak to carry your weight, you made sure that you could at least stand with only one crutch so you would hug your boy

☆you and gin decided to make it a surprise for aku. and man, did it work. if it wasn't for the fact that you were leaning on one crutch, and the wheelchair behind you, he would have thrown himself at you

☆instead, he 'calmly' walks over to you, lays his head on your shoulder, and just starts crying. gin was nice enough to give you two some privacy, please hold this boy to the best of your abilities. he has missed you so much

☆now, if he's under the impression that you went willingly, expect him to lecture you. he listens to you though, so simply tell him that mori made you go and gave you no warnings

☆it's not like you have to worry about the people that attacked you though, they died in an... accident about two days after you were sent to the hospital :]

☆surprisingly, he is willing to help you with physical therapy! but you are going to have to explain why you are having to do each exercise. it's not that he doesn't trust the doctors, instead he is curious about how these will help you. it's a learning process for the both of you, how cute!

☆possessive. anyone even looks at you wrong now and he threatens to kill them. he will go against moris orders if it means that you are no longer going on any mission he deems dangerous.

☆i feel like he'd also freak out anytime you got hurt. if it was a small papercut, he wouldn't freak out, but you fell because you're leg gave out on you??? roshomon is now carrying you for the rest of the day.

----

i can't think of anything else :] maybe i need to rewatch the show to get a better grasp of some of the characters... oh well

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #akutagawa x reader

[pip-n-chips]

The Harper pregnancy asks got my brain juices flowing so please indulge me for a hot minute.

What if PC got married down the road and it turns out that her spouse is infertile. Spouse seems blissfully unaware and PC thinks it's on her end it out so she approaches Harper for help. Who initially sees this as an opportunity to just make some more cash via pictures or videos (the way he does during his Friday visits in game) and test some new fertility drugs he's cooked up. While she's happily taking them, Harper is looking through his list of regulars to find matches who look closer to PC's spouse. Can't have the kid looking TOO different, right? And he prides himself on providing excellent service.

He starts inviting her over twice a week under the guise of treating her infertility while in reality, he's hypnotizing her and letting her get fucked by his regulars. Really, just a way to make some quick cash. He's not TOO emotionally involved in this.

But our good doctor pretty much starts salivating when PC does end up pregnant and shows up for regular check ups. He cannot stop touching her belly, maybe shows her how to knead her breasts to help with lactation later on, takes so many measurements and asks invasive questions, is just a general creep who is quickly becoming obsessed with having PC carry his kid. He's so mad at his past self, he should have been the one to knock her up, everything else be damned. He can hypnotize her still, sure, and he does so (rubbing his dick all over the curve of her belly. Making her use her growing breasts. Having her bounce on his dick later on and Harper rubs his hands all over her, he cannot get enough) but it's just not the same.

So when PC shows up again a year or two after having the first kid, looking down and miserable because her and her spouse have been trying again but it seems the treatment needs to be reapplied, Harper jumps on the opportunity. He becomes obsessed the second PC says 'We'd like to have another baby'. He acts all sympathetic and soothing and reassures her that he will look into it again, to please come back in a week. Because he wants to prepare for this properly. Meanwhile, his mind switched to the fast lane and his thoughts are racing. No way he's contacting his regulars again. This time, it'll be his child. He can potentially explain away the looks by going 'PC is an orphan, maybe the kid got their looks from PC's parents' and he is curious to see how his child's pregnancy data/stats would compare to the other one but that's when it hits him. He can give PC stronger meds. Give her additional shots. She could have twins. Maybe triplets.

Harper's hand is down his pants before he can stop himself.

He'll fuck her so well. Fill up her aching, empty womb, again and again and again. Maybe hypnotize her and make her stay after hours so he can truly indulge. Take a video of her sitting on an examination table, legs spread and gaze glassy. Harper instructing her to say things like 'I'm going to be impregnated by Doctor Harper today. I couldn't be happier' or 'Doctor, please, come inside of me.' She'd look so pretty and big and she'd have to visit him so often to make sure the pregnancy is progressing as intended. He might get to indulge himself every day. Take so many pictures. Let his hands roam, chart every inch of skin and jot down the results. Get his mouth on her breasts. He really could induce early lactation this time around, drink her creamy milk, get samples for his research.

Harper cannot fucking wait.

The next appointment PC shows up for, Harper's waiting for her with a smile and some very good news. (And maybe, just maybe, he is already planning her third pregnancy.)

holy shit, anon

Harper isn't the only one salivating anymore cuz hot damn

#i love hearing y'all's thoughts and writing and stuff!! its like youre knocking on my door and giving me free food #and this food is VERY VERY tasty #degrees of lewdity #harper the doctor #ask #anon #others writing #cw pregnancy #thirsty #hnnnnnnnnnghhhhhhhhh /positive

[astaraels]

so let's talk some more about gallavich and their adopted runaway trans daughter Starr (more on her here and here; it'll make more sense if you read those posts first)

I mentioned that I think Mickey and Ian would move back to the South Side, and they'd have a house instead of an apartment, and that Starr would clean up the place in thanks for letting her stay—while she's doing so, maybe she runs across a school photo of a little blonde kid with a goofy smile, and familiar blue eyes, and big glasses, and she'd bet anything that this kid is related to Mickey

and she finds a frame that isn't being used, maybe up in the attic, and puts the picture in the frame and sets it on the mantel in the living room next to other family photos (Debbie and Franny; Debbie, Carl, and Liam; Lip and Tammi and their kids; a selfie of Fiona at the beach; Mickey and Ian's wedding photo; stuff like that)

so Mickey is home one day while Ian is off visiting his siblings—Mickey is too peopled out that day and decided to stay home—when he notices the new picture with the others; Starr sees his reaction, like he's seen a ghost, and she says she found the picture when she was cleaning, and thought it looked good in the frame. but Mickey's reaction maybe spooks her a little bit, and she's like "I hope that was okay"

Mickey doesn't say anything at first, but he's uncharacteristically quiet when he nods and says "yeah, that's okay" but he doesn't explain—and look, Starr knows when people wanna talk about stuff but also don't want to at the same time, but she's thirteen or fourteen years old and has no impulse control so she asks who the kid is, and even though she guessed it she's still kinda surprised when Mickey says "that's my son"

and she asks him "do you wanna talk about it?" to which he says fuck no; she's all prepared to drop the subject when he says that he hasn't even seen the kid in years, not since he was in prison and Svetlana brought Yev to visit. and slowly—maybe over the next few weeks—she learns more of the story, and even though Mickey doesn't tell her everything, she's smart enough to put the pieces together

because I really love the idea that Mickey and Svetlana get back in touch after everything went down and he and Ian got married (she'd give him shit about where was her invitation and he was all "I didn't know your fuckin address!" but she loved seeing the pictures and said "you and carrot boy look very happy together"), and now they meet up every few months for lunch or something, maybe text now and again; she keeps him updated on Yevgeny and how he's doing in school ("he wants to go to college and be doctor") and she told Mickey that if he wants to meet Yev properly he can, but he's never taken her up on the offer because he thinks Yev is better off without him

and Starr just looks at Mickey, and the picture of Yevgeny—he's a couple years younger than she is, I figure this would be when he's about ten or so—and tells him about how she thought her parents loved her, but that was only when they thought she was their son, and "I don't know what you did before but you can't be worse than my folks"

they talk about it now and again—Ian knows they do but he's learned to let Mickey work through things at his own pace—and she finds out Yevgeny is about to start middle school, and Starr eventually tells Mickey that he should go see his son. Mickey of course thinks it's a terrible idea but she's like look, man, you guys have been great to me, and it wouldn't be the end of the world if your kid at least knew you were out there. unfortunately she's painfully aware of what it's like knowing your parents don't want anything to do with you, but it's also clear to her that it's painful for Mickey to think about his son ("talking to him might be hard, but it can't be worse than staying away")

finally after Starr has been staying with them for a while—she eventually got Ian on the "talk to Yevgeny" train too, and Mickey complained that they were "fuckin ganging up on him"—Mickey goes into the kitchen after dinner, and Starr and Ian can hear him talking on the phone to someone about "-wanna see the kid next time, if that's okay" and they give each other a tiny high five

when he comes back from lunch with Svetlana a few weeks later it's with a smile on his face and some new pictures of him and Yevgeny on his phone, as well as one with him and Svet and Yev

Ian is absolutely over the moon, too, and insists they print out the pictures and put them up on the mantelpiece; and Mickey asks if the two of them wanna come along the next time he sees Svet and the kid (and Ian is like uh yeah I haven't seen Lana in forever and I wanna know how Yevgeny is doing because he loved that kid so much and I really feel like the show dropped the ball on Ian and Svet's relationship too, which is a crying shame)

and the three of them settle in to watch TV together, their cat Duchess sprawled across Mickey and Ian's laps, and their pit bull Lady curled up by Starr's feet in her chosen armchair, and Ian just grins at Mickey and doesn't have to say how proud he is of his husband, because it's written all over his face

(I'm sure I'll write more about Starr and her adopted gay uncles in the future but I just love the idea that she'd be a catalyst for Mickey reconnecting with Yevgeny, and how he'd try his best to be the exact opposite of his own dad ;~; )

#starr verse #gallavich #galladads #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #svetlana yevgenivna #yevgeny milkovich #shameless

[captainsophiestark]

Anyone But the Spin Doctors

Kai Parker x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2022!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Prompt: “Nobody warned you about me?”

Summary: Y/N is loosely a member of the Mystic Falls gang, and basically the only one who doesn't think revenge is the best answer to every problem. After spending some time in New Orleans with their best friend, Kol Mikaelson, they come back to Mystic Falls to find Bonnie and crew exacting revenge on their latest enemy, Kai Parker. But, after Kai showed some signs of humanity and change, Y/N is convinced there's a better way to deal with him. So, they steal an ascendant and go to 1903 to get him out.

Word Count: 2,735

Category: Fluff, little bit of angst (esp. at the beginning)

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Wait, what? You just left him there?" I demanded, staring at Bonnie in utter disbelief.

"Yes. Because that's what he deserves. Did you not hear me telling you about all the awful, horrible things he's done, Y/N?"

"Yeah, Bonnie, I did hear you! Did you not hear me when I brought up how easily our problems were solved when we made friends with people and gave them a chance instead of immediately trying to kill them? Or when I laid out how many times our problems were caused by getting trapped in some giant circle of revenge?"

Bonnie rolled her eyes. I was absolutely fuming, and so was she. I'd just come back from visiting my best friend, Kol Mikaelson, in New Orleans, after hearing my friends fill me in on some new witch who had been causing problems lately. Based on what they'd told me most recently, after going through quite literally a hell of a lot, there was actually starting to be a glimmer of hope for this new witch to be roped into joining our side as a friendly, and not an enemy.

Until recently, when Bonnie had apparently stabbed him and left him for dead after pretending to give him a second chance.

"Look, Y/N, just because your little rehab project half-worked on Kol Mikaelson-"

"Bonnie, Kol is my friend, because we built up trust and mutual respect and stopped crossing lines with each other! We broke the fucking circle of revenge that you people–him include–seem to just love living in for some reason!"

"Does not mean that Kai Parker is redeemable!" Bonnie continued, shouting over me to be heard. "I'm not forgiving him, Y/N! And you have no right to tell me I have to!"

I sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Bon, I know. And I'm not trying to tell you you have to forgive him. I'm sorry if that's what it was coming off as. You have every right to never forgive him, and I'm not saying you even have to be friends with him! But I am telling you that getting revenge by literally stabbing him and trapping him in some nightmare hell dimension, when he was just starting to show signs of wanting to make some kind of change, is the literal worst decision you could've made!"

"I've had enough of this," she said, holding up her hands and shaking her head as she took a few steps back from me. "I'm going to go see Elena, and I don't want to hear about this anymore."

"Fine. I was kinda done talking, anyway," I said. I took a deep breath and reached into my pocket, trying not to look too suspicious as I grabbed the ascendant that I'd stolen from Bonnie when I'd first seen her. Shady, for sure, but I stood by the fact that it was the right move. Every time my friends decided to get some kind of revenge when there was another option, it backfired. This time, I was determined to get us on a different path.

Being a witch had its perks, and it didn't take me long to work a little magic of my own on the ascendant. I saw Bonnie's eyes widen as she realized what I was doing, but then, before she could stop me, I was somewhere else. I looked around, finding myself in a clearing in the woods, a heavy blanket of snow all around.

This feels like a scene out of a horror movie, I thought, and immediately scowled at myself for going there. Not the kind of mindset I wanted to have right now.

I took a deep breath and looked around the circle, hoping for any signs of life, but I came up empty. Despite the fact that every instinct in my body told me not to, I took a deep breath and shouted into the darkness.

"KAI! Kai Parker, are you here?"

I waited, listening intently, but heard nothing. A shiver ran up my spine and I took a deep breath, trying not to let my imagination run away from me.

"Kai? Hello? My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I came to get you out of here!"

"I don't think I've met you before."

I whirled around at the sound of a voice behind me, doubling over with my hand on my heart as the adrenaline spiked and then started to drain away. A tall, handsome man with piercing blue eyes stood there staring at me, his head tilted slightly to the side with one eyebrow raised.

"Kai Parker, I presume?" I huffed between breaths, finally calming down enough to stand up straight again. "You scared the shit out of me."

"And who are you?"

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N-"

"Yeah, I heard your introduction. But who are you?"

"I'm a friend of the Mystic Falls gang, sort of. I've been gone visiting a different friend for a while, but I'm back for a visit. When I got here, Bonnie told me what she'd done to you, so I..." I trailed off then cleared my throat, feeling slightly guilty for what I'd done behind my friend's back. "I stole the ascendant and came to get you out."

"Nobody warned you about me?" asked Kai, prowling a few steps closer to me. I laughed a breathy laugh and held my ground, despite my heart picking up the pace ever so slightly.

"No, they did. At length."

Kai stopped at my words, quirking an eyebrow again.

"And you still came?"

I shrugged. "It sounded like you were interested in making a change, or even just making some friends, but nobody gave you a chance. I've been there before, and it sucks. So I thought I'd come and do something about it."

Kai just stared at me for a few beats, and I swear I could see his mind processing all the new information. I held in a smile at the sight; it was kind of cute.

"Okay, so, I'm kind of new to this whole... emotions thing," he said, waving a hand in the air and grimacing. "But... I'm feeling kind of... weird, right now."

"Weird how?" I asked, taking a few steps closer to him. He stared down at me, looking incredibly confused that I wanted to approach him, but answered any way.

"Weird like... like there's something moving around in my chest, and it's grabbing my heart in a claw and squeezing it."

This time I couldn't help it; I smiled.

"I mean, that could be a lot of things, but... maybe it's a little bit of relief? Or being overwhelmed that I'm here, and that I came for you?"

"Relief... hm, maybe. By the way, it was an absolutely insane choice for you to come here without even knowing me. Why did you... why did you do that?"

I shrugged. "Ever heard of Kol Mikaelson?"

"Mmm... maybe. Crazy powerful, insane Original vampire with a lot of brothers and a sister who like to terrorize the world?"

"Maybe not how I would describe them, but yeah."

"My parents talked about them. They debated trying to step in and put them down a few times."

"Oof. Probably better for everyone involved that they didn't."

"And what's your point?"

"The Mikaelsons first came to town a few years ago, and caused absolute chaos. Honestly, it was pretty terrible, and me and the rest of my friends were scrambling to figure out what to do about them. Kol was especially problematic, and he almost killed, like, half my friends."

"I can see why you speak so fondly of him now."

I rolled my eyes at the sarcasm. "Okay, we didn't really get along at first. But then, while Damon and crew were cooking up some insane attack plan revenge scheme whatever, I happened to run into Kol at the Mystic Grill. He was being menacing and trying to manipulate me, but then a song came on in the Grill, and we both immediately grimaced because it was a terrible song. It was such a tiny moment, but we actually made a real connection over it. And from there, little by little, we became actual friends. Instead of getting caught up in manipulations and scheming and attempts to do each other in, we started hanging out and making compromises about lines we wouldn't cross. And then he stopped being a problem for me and my friends."

"So...?"

"So, ever since, I've kind of made it my mission to give people a chance at redemption before going apeshit with the rest of the Mystic Falls Gang and their insane ass schemes. Sometimes it doesn't work, but sometimes it does, and it saves us all a lot of hurting. And, sometimes, I find a new best friend."

"So you're best friends with a psychotic Original vampire now, because you both hated the same song?"

"Yup! He's the friend I was coming back from visiting, actually. It's crazy how life works sometimes, isn't it?"

"What was the song?"

"Uck, some garbage by the Spin Doctors."

A ghost of a smile flashed across Kai's face, and he huffed a small laugh.

"You hate the Spin Doctors?"

"Big time."

"Huh. So... assuming I go along with this, and don't just siphon your magic and take the ascendant..." he started taking a few casual steps closer to me. We were almost chest to chest now, but I still didn't back down an inch. "What's your plan for stopping me from getting revenge on Bonnie for literally stabbing me in the back?"

I sighed. "What is everyone's obsession with getting revenge all the time?" I cried, throwing my hands up in the air. "Seriously, don't you people have better things to do?"

Kai just raised an eyebrow at me again, so I put my hands on my hips and fixed him with a look.

"My plan is to convince you of the same thing I convinced Kol: there are way better things to spend your time on than some ridiculous revenge scheme that's only gonna make life worse for everyone, you included."

"By doing what?"

"Offering you a better option." I smiled, then gestured with my hands to add a little dramatic flair to my words. "Picture this: touring the world, visiting all kinds of cool new places, singing some good karaoke, and finally escaping all the stress and heartache and negative emotions that come with involving yourself in Mystic Falls drama."

"Possibly tempting... say more."

"Kai, look, I know I don't know you. But I'd like to. And if you agree, I say we go on an adventure together. You're new to the modern world, there's no way you've seen all of the coolest things we have to offer post-nineties. Let's go explore it together. We can start in New Orleans, and you can meet Kol, and then we can go wherever the hell we want after that."

Kai swallowed hard, and although I could tell he was trying to keep up his smooth, cool, scary posturing, I'd gotten pretty good at reading emotions over the years. There were finally some cracks in the mask, and I could see the hope and hurt swirling just under the surface.

"You'd really... you'd really do that?"

"Yeah. I'm all about having adventures, and I want a buddy to go see the world with. So... what do you say? Wanna be my buddy and dip out on the whole revenge thing?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Kai's mouth, and although he tried to fight it, he couldn't hold it in.

"Well, I guess since you came all this way..."

I grinned at him, not even bothering to try to play it cool. I held out my hand, and after a short pause, Kai took it.

"You know I can siphon peoples' magic by touching them, right?" he asked, his grip on my hand tightening just a little. I squeezed right back.

"Yeah, I told you before, I got briefed on your whole deal. Now c'mon, we've got places to see."

With my free hand, I pulled the Ascendant out of my pocket. I could see Kai smiling out of the corner of my eye as I started to the spell to take us back, and our hands were clasped tight enough that I could feel his heart racing through his palm. Sure, my style of dealing with things didn't always work, but a little kindness and an olive branch sure could go a long way.

It didn't take me long to get the spell right, and suddenly, Kai and I were standing in the middle of the Salvatore living room, right where I'd left Bonnie after our argument. I really shouldn't have been surprised, but we were immediately surrounded by the Mystic Falls gang, looking ready to fight.

I swore, clutching Kai's hand a little tighter. He squeezed my hand back, which I hoped was a good sign, and I did my best to stare down my friends.

"Guys, listen, I get that you're not a fan of Kai, but I seriously need you all to back the hell off-"

Their faces immediately transformed into looks of shock and horror, and then they stopped looking at me and Kai and started staring around the room instead. At the same time, I felt just the slightest trickle of my power drain away, and I turned to Kai in confusion.

"What-?"

"I made us invisible," he quickly explained, suddenly looking a little concerned. "I hope that's okay. I needed to siphon you to do it, and we didn't really have time to consult. Agh, just, don't freak out on my-"

"Kai," I held up a hand to stop him, and he immediately froze, looking at me with wide eyes. I could see the fear and insecurity as plain as day, as he clearly worried he'd just scared off his new (and only) friend. "It's okay, I was just surprised. Honestly, it was a great move. We should probably get out of here, though, before they get any ideas."

Kai sagged with relief. "Okay, good, because for a second I thought-"

"Hey. Seriously, it's okay. It's going to take more than a well-timed spell to frighten me off. I'm friends with an Original vampire, remember?"

Kai smiled at me, then started to look confused again as he raised his free hand to clutch at his chest.

"Is this... what is this? Ugh, feelings suck."

"No shit," I agreed with a laugh. Gently, I tugged him towards me with our joined hands, and he looked at me with wonder in his eyes. "You wanna talk about what it feels like?"

"It feels like I'm having a heart attack. And like... like insects are flapping around in my chest whenever I look at you. Are you secretly killing me with some spell I don't know about?"

I couldn't help a small laugh, even as I shook my head.

"Most people call those butterflies, Kai."

"This is what people were talking about when they said that? Weird, but... kinda fits."

I hummed, then on whim that I let myself be carried away by, I leaned up and kissed Kai on the cheek. He turned to look at me in complete shock, a disbelieving but happy and dazed look on his face, and I couldn't help another small laugh.

"C'mon, we can analyze how close butterflies and heart attacks are to the same feeling later," I said, tugging him along with me towards the front doors of the Salvatore house. "Right now, we've got a road trip to New Orleans to begin. And once we get to the car I can show you Spotify. You're gonna love it."

"I can't wait," he said, his voice still a little dreamy as he followed behind me. Now it was my turn to fight butterflies as we snuck out of the house together, still hand in hand. As much as I'd compared him to Kol, I'd never felt like this around my best friend.

Whatever the future held next, I could tell it was going to be an absolutely incredible adventure. And no matter what, I truly couldn't wait to get to know Kai Parker, especially away from all the drama of Mystic Falls.

I had a good feeling about this.

#fictober22 #the vampire diaries #kai parker #kai parker x reader #kai parker fanfiction #kai parker imagine #kai parker one shot #The Vampire Diares #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries oneshot #TVD #tvd fanfiction #tvd one shot #tvd imagine #Mystic Falls #Kol mikaelson #bonnie bennett #malachai parker x reader #the originals

[privateanxieties]

you fascinate me so (my sweet refuge)

Summary: Peter is the physical therapist she sees three times a week following New York's latest scheduled disaster. Unbeknownst to her, he is also the one who pulled her from the rubble of her office building.

Pairing: healthcare worker!Peter Parker x Reader (she/her);

Words: 15.6K

Warnings: 18+ mature, dumbasses in love, talk of trauma, shameless flirting, mutually agreed upon impropriety in a medical setting, oral sex

--------------------------

The Universe is said to always seek balance. It gives and takes with impartiality, whether from the downtrodden or the well-off, in an attempt to keep the world spinning. At least, that's what the guru from the spiritual retreat said. She was there for a long afternoon, her money for the full week be damned. She's not really sure why she went for that option first when there were other perfectly good psychologists to visit. She just felt it would be weird to have someone else apply the same techniques on her that she used on her own patients. Plus, she already has a therapist she's seeing three times a week. She can skip on the head doctor until her body gets better.

It makes her somewhat of a hypocrite, because that's the very thing she's criticized in others: delaying treatment, even if they can afford it. And yet, this is her reality for the foreseeable future: Zoom sessions with her remaining patients while she finds a different office, trying to rebuild her clientele (five of her old-timers are dead), and 7 o'clock physio with Peter Parker every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

She can't even drink to take the edge off, and not just because she's aware of how terrible that would be for her mental health, but also because she's on medication. She'll remain on medication for a long time, a fact that definitely hasn't sunk in yet. She wonders if any of her patients have picked up on differences in her conduct or attitude, because she isn't so sure she's the best judge of that anymore.

The last session of the day ends with an agreement that next time Sara wants to try something exotic in the bedroom, she'll make sure to talk it through with her quite surprised partner. That is, before she presents him with an extensive array of colorful dildos.

At least Sara has someone to proposition. She sighs as she shuts the laptop lid a little harder than normal. Good fucking luck putting yourself out there now, she thinks. It's one thing to not be shallow enough to think physical appearance is everything, and another to be entirely confident in what her body looks like now. She used to like prancing about in her apartment wearing only lingerie, and now the radiators have to be turned off because she gets too warm in her clothes. She tried wearing thinner shirts but she can feel the scars through the fabric.

Her phone chimes with the reminder that she needs to leave for the clinic in Brooklyn. It's much farther away from her Queens apartment than it needs to be, but the therapist came with a glowing recommendation. So far, she can't exactly contradict the stellar review.

Peter Parker is the sort of medical professional you can't fault for anything. His bedside manner is impeccable, and he's incredibly skilled at creating the right atmosphere for each patient. Not like she can vouch for that - he's only seen him work with her, but something tells her he knows how to talk to just about anyone. It's both admirable and a little annoying, because talking is supposed to be her job - her whole job, in fact. Listen and talk. Counsel. Make people feel heard, seen. Make them feel safe. Parker does all those things so well, it makes her a tiny bit jealous. He has an edge over her. Or that's just how it feels in her head, because she hasn't yet managed to figure him out.

It's a bad habit derived from her profession being what it is, and it isn't helped at all by the fact that some people are instantly intriguing. Thirty-year-old Peter Parker had her brain scrambling to decode him the very first time they met. He's insufferably likable, and that means his closet must be full of skeletons. Perhaps tap dancing skeletons. No one is that nice, that skilled and that good-looking without some serious damage. Whatever she needs to tell herself to stop the blood rushing to her face when he smiles in greeting, and rushing other places when he touches the back of her knee. It's wrong of her to think those things about an unsuspecting (at least hopefully unsuspecting) fellow healthcare professional, but it's also hard not to. He's seen her in short shorts and complimented how nicely she was healing. Truthfully, she shouldn't be reading so much into something extremely normal for a physical therapist to say, but Parker is the sort of handsome that when she saw him for the first time, she contemplated abandoning the appointment before having to be vulnerable in front of him.

It was early in her physio journey. She's since grown used to him and his gentle approach, but in the worst way possible. She now looks forward to therapy for all the wrong reasons. In the five months since that first Monday, Peter's company and caring nature have come to override all her reservations. She doesn't even mind the pain she knows she'll be in for an hour each time. That hour is due to start in about three minutes, she notes after shutting her locker.

Gym shorts. Tank top. Wrist band. She could wear different clothes, sure, but that first session she had with him was so tense and uncomfortable that it led to this being the only option. It wasn't his fault. There were just so many scars littering her body that he kept touching one or another whenever he had to do anything, and it psyched her out to the point she started crying. He handled that one like a pro too. He promised he'd do his best not to touch any of them so long as she told him where they were, but the idea of having to point it out every time was even worse than showing skin in front of him. He also said that her reaction is normal - her body isn't the same anymore. She's allowed to mourn the changes as long as she understands they don't make her any less of a person. Her value hasn't changed one bit. If anything, she's survived more than most - it should count for something. Those were his words.

So, here they are. She's a bit soft for him now. The way he greets her in that sultry tone doesn't help at all. He's got a nice voice; he could say pretty much whatever and she'd find it soothing, but what he directs at her is instantly more enticing. Whether it's in her head (most likely) or just what he sounds like with everybody makes very little difference. However, what he's wearing always makes a difference. She's learned in these last five months that earth tones look dreamy on him, in a take-you-home-and-cuddle kind of way. He's wearing a fitted t-shirt tonight, deep burgundy like the late October leaves of the great oak tree across the street from her apartment. It would be cozy enough if he weren't also wearing gray sweatpants, a different pair to his usual black ones. She doesn't allow her eyes to linger.

"Hey tiger," Peter greets with the same easy-going smile as always. He's standing by the massage bed, fixing the head rest to her preferred position.

The room is nice. It ought to be, for how much the clinic charges per session. The colors that dominate the space are mostly soothing, the exception being the splash of bright blue found in one of the wall illustrations. She would not have picked that particular artwork. Spacious but not cold, every station is a decent distance from the next so the patient can focus singularly on their current task. You can't wish you were doing another exercise while working through the one you hate, and for her that was anything floor-related. Every time she lies down on the mat, she remembers being trapped under a slab of concrete.

"Hi," she says quietly, setting her phone down on Peter's corner desk.

"Not feeling up to it tonight?" he asks with a small frown.

She contemplates telling a lie, but doesn't see the point in doing so. However soft she might be for him, he's her therapist first. She would hate being lied to if the roles were reversed. It's just annoying that she has to be honest about things she would definitely hide were this a different type of relationship. She wants to be able to say only those truths that would cast her in a positive light, not talk about her pain levels with him.

"The doctor changed my prescription." She tries getting away with a short explanation, but knows Peter will unravel it to his satisfaction. He's nothing if not thorough, and she can't even fault him for it, because she's known to do the same in her practice.

"Old one not working anymore?" he asks just like she predicted, crossing the room to stand closer to her. She shakes her head.

"Not really. And they give out opioids like candy, so as soon as you tell 'em you're in pain, they jump you."

"I would hope your primary care physician isn't jumping you. You need to report that."

Easy. It's so easy for him to make her lip quirk upwards.

"Or I could just retaliate in kind," she suggests, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling.

"Doctor on doctor violence? Savage. Didn't expect that from you," he retorts with a smirk.

"I'm a psychologist, not a doctor," she points out.

"You have a Ph.D."

She tries to come up with something to say in return, but he is correct. She is, technically, a doctor - albeit not a very smart one when standing in front of Peter Parker. If she wrote her doctoral thesis with the same wit and clarity she wields in conversation with him, she'd never have graduated.

"Are you taking the medication?" he switches subjects, a small smile on his face that she registers as victory over leaving her speechless. Could be pity.

"Just started. Thought I could do without for a while, but then I woke up today and called a friend to go get them. I couldn't get out of bed."

Her words hang in the air for a while, and in any other room with any other person, she would dread the sympathy to come with the confession. Peter will give her none of that. She's at ease waiting for him to speak.

"You wanted to power through it?" he asks with that glint in his eyes she can seldom decipher.

"I wasn't trying to be brave. Just didn't want to… I didn't want…" she trails off with a frustrated sigh, rubbing at her eye like it'll summon words to the forefront of her mind.

"It's a lot. The meds change your mood. They mean more side effects. Probably don't need to deal with that along with everything else."

Again, she can't fault him for reading every inch of her with deadly accuracy. She can just pout - in her head. She'd never be caught dead pouting in front of him.

"Yeah. It doesn't help that they're addictive. Probably ruined more lives than they improved."

Addictive substances and behaviors weren't her specialty, but one reads many things when in school for an additional ten years. It would be hard to find a professional in her field who's unfamiliar with the opioid epidemic.

"I know. But you have to get out of bed. The rest we'll figure out as we go," Peter says in encouragement, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

He always does this - he refers to her own health progression like it's a group activity. She doesn't have any argument against it, no matter how hard she tried finding one. It's like everything she's ever done with her own patients is now seeing application in her struggles, and at every turn, the only objection she can think to put forward is this sucks.

"Alright, come on. We can chat over there too." He motions to the wall farthest from them, where they usually begin.

She holds back a groan, already dreading the ache in her deltoid muscle after the first ten minutes will be up. Once their session starts, Peter morphs into a vigilant hawk. He won't let her complain, and he'll only give her the break she actually needs, which she's come to appreciate. It wasn't like that in the beginning.

There was a struggle between them at first. With both of them trained to recognize body language cues in different capacities, a natural competition emerged for who was really right - her, extremely aware of mental processes and needs, or him, experienced in what the body can actually handle. They've learned to work together since; Peter will give her a break as long as she asks for one invoking the real reason she wants it. She can't cheat by pretending her back hurts too much to keep going when it's just her mood that's plummeted.

And it's like he knows when she's going to be difficult. She barely said hello tonight and he picked up on her attitude instantly. It's the mark of a good therapist to be so in tune with and understanding of others, but sometimes, being seen this transparently makes her defensive and unreasonable. Being a psychologist doesn't mean she can't be childishly petulant when it suits her.

"D'you need a map?" Peter asks.

"Huh?" She blinks at him, suddenly put on the spot.

"So you can get back to me. Where'd you go just now? You're not in the room. I need you to focus."

Childishly petulant. She craves a good stomping of her foot at being admonished in this manner, especially by him, but wouldn't that make him correct in every way? So she endures this one gaffe, nodding reluctantly and doing as he asked, thinking she can come out on top some other time. Maybe there's still a little bit of a struggle on her part. What's worst is that she can tell it clearly isn't reciprocated by him. He's just doing his job - she's the one thinking she needs to play mind games to keep her dignity. Or maybe it's some kind of allure she's struggling to maintain in front of him. He can't have her all figured out.

Together, they work through the first set of exercises on rotation tonight. These are meant to improve her arms' mobility and strength, and in the five months since they've started, she's noticed a few positives. She can, for one, open her arms wider than before, but still not all the way. The priority at first was to be able to dress herself, and once that was accomplished, Peter switched gears to less crucial uses of her limbs. Quality of life first, then everything else. It's somewhat of a motto for him, but she's inadvertently found herself saying the words under her breath on particularly awful days. Standing before her, Peter extends his arms to where her last known limit was - just about enough to welcome someone into a hug, but far from a complete 180 degree angle. She mirrors him by bringing her arms up parallel to the ground, then slowly opening them until she matches the angle. Peter gently takes hold of her wrists, wordlessly telling her to breathe through it.

In, out, in, out - steady at first and then shaky as her arms predictably begin to tremble with the effort, but also from nerve damage that will never completely heal. They continue working as the muscles in her back increase their protest, but she says nothing. She wants to disappear into her thoughts again, but Peter is watching her intently, marking every flicker of her eyes and twitch of the brow. She wonders if she'll ever get to watch him like this, roles reversed and vulnerability all his to bear. Keep dreaming.

"You're quiet tonight," he remarks softly, momentarily catching her off guard.

"You told me to focus," she shoots back almost predictably, like she was waiting to make a comment about his reprimanding.

"You're overcorrecting. You're so focused you haven't even noticed we're done."

Are ten minutes up already? And does she want to admit to him that she was busy trying to match the intensity of his gaze for the mind games played only by her?

"Whatever," she says before she can think it through. She sees how it ticks him off. A rare sight.

"Don't 'whatever' me. You're not at the gym, you're in therapy."

His tone is more than gentle, but all she hears are the words. None of the things she's learned at her job keep her from an overblown response. She drops her hands from his hold less delicately than she should and forces a grimace back when a pain current wracks through her spine.

"Am I? I haven't noticed, to be honest. I only come here every other day because my life is great."

Peter fixes her with a look that immediately tells her what he's going to say, and the worst thing is, she knew the moment she finished her sentence that it would only lead to more of him getting the high ground. She keeps saying all the wrong things, despite being more than capable of taking a person apart with words.

"Don't throw a pity party. You're not in the mood, fine. Have a break, we'll move on. You need to vent, then vent. But don't do this."

God, she shouldn't be on the verge of crying in frustration just because she's being met with patience. She shouldn't be seeking to rile him up enough to make him say she isn't worth the effort. That's so messed up, and all the more sad because she knows she's doing it consciously.

"If you got it in your head that you can make me drop you, I'm sorry. The only way you get out of here is if you walk out."

She looks away from his steel gaze. There isn't enough fight in it - at least, not the kind she wants to see. She searches her brain for something to say, something to counter his statement and maybe even make him renege on it, but it takes too long. His warm hand is on her shoulder, one of the only places she's comfortable being touched.

"I'm not letting you quit on yourself," he promises. It's soft like the comfort she isn't sure she wants, and so quiet it can't drown out her sniffle.

"Hey."

Even in her distressed state, she picks up on the change in his voice. He's come a little closer, his other hand lifting her chin up delicately. He's only done this once before.

"It's a bad day today," she finally admits, swallowing around the lump in her throat and daring to look up despite the welling tears. She's met with focused brown eyes that have every intent of drying her own - if she'll let them.

"I can see that. Do you wanna talk about it?"

She nods before she can change her mind. It isn't fair, she knows. She shouldn't put this on him, because he's not her. He's not the psychologist she should be going to see. But, he offered and it was hard to say no.

"Ok. Think we can still do something while we talk?"

"What?"

His lips twitch mischievously.

"You were in a rush on Friday. I didn't get to do my job properly."

Oh. That. The last part of their session is the one most people think of when they hear physio. It's both the best and the worst, because on the one hand, she doesn't have to move. On the other, she has to sit there and pretend she's normal while he flexes and massages every limb expertly, peering down at her with his knowledgeable gaze.

"You're going easy on me?" she tries for humor, but knows he's of a different persuasion.

"Who says I'll go easy? If we're not doing anything else, I'm going all out on this," Peter says, making his way towards the massage bed by the wall. She doesn't follow immediately, waiting for his back to be turned before she runs her mouth again.

"I can handle it, don't worry." She wants to rile him up again, but maybe in a different way this time.

"I know you can."

She thinks she sees a tiny smirk when he half-turns to beckon her forward, but it's gone as soon as it appeared.

------------------------------------

Parker has nice hands, if a little calloused, and he works them so well that she ends up thinking about them long after she gets home. It'd be easier not to, of course, if she hadn't forgotten to bring her lotion and he didn't have to use the one already provided by the facility, because now she smells like him. Every twitch of her finger and brush of her arm as she puts together a meal , every time she moves about the living room trying to tidy up - it all sparks a little firework in her brain and she inhales deeply every few minutes. Pavlovian would describe it nicely, this pressing instinct to just consume something, but she's already eaten dinner and dessert. She's not satiated by a long shot, and she has a feeling she'll be reading herself to sleep tonight if this persists. She's considered a shower more than twice, but each time she glanced at the bathroom door, something turned her away with exquisite resolve.

She realizes with mild intrigue and no small amount of horror that she wants to smell like him, because she likes it. Her first reaction is to correct this. It would do no one any good if she even slightly entertained the notion that she can look him in the eye while thinking inappropriate things about him and his exceptional dexterity. The occasional flirtatious comment that's taken in good faith and goes nowhere is one thing. Unilateral sex fantasies that might get her humiliated, either privately or publicly, are another. The rubber band inside her that feels ready to snap any one of these days can be assuaged some other way. Maybe a documentary that engages her intellect instead of her libido.

She climbs into bed with Netflix and popcorn, knowing the morning will find her stripping her bed sheets instead of picking at every little kernel bound to fall out of her bowl and mouth. She picks the most unappealing subject possible: unethical human experimentation in the late 20th century, and she clicks play with another deep sigh. And she tries following along. She really does. It's just that under the sheets, there is nowhere she can go to escape the woodsy scent drawing her attention to how much better her calf muscles feel after that massage. It would be a nice sensation, if the tension hadn't moved elsewhere.

She hesitates like it'll make a difference. She can't focus on anything. All day, she's been walking around with weights tied to her feet, more so than usual. She woke up in the most pain she's felt since the attack. She was fighting every impulse to snap at her patients. She tried picking a fight with Peter and it failed, and that was a good thing but also a frustrating failure. It scarcely mattered to her coiled up nerves that he made very good points during their conversation. Yes, it's good to admit you're having a tough time. Yes, letting people know about it is always better than holding things in and blowing up unexpectedly. No, she won't sass him next time.

But she wants to. His determination to not let her quit on herself despite her obvious willingness to be rude and unfair just makes the propellers in her mind spin faster. It's an ambition she can't remember ever being stuck with before. He's so composed and patient and insufferably adept at taking her apart with a few well-placed lines and a knowing look, so much so that it makes it difficult not to pick a fight. She wants someone to talk back to. This is her problem. This is why she should not have skipped out on mental health to focus on physical recovery.

And yet, despite seeing this as clearly as any other incontestable fact, she knows she won't be calling any offices tomorrow. And though she should have more self-control than this, her hand still drifts low above her navel, hesitating briefly before figuring she should at least go to sleep with one less frustration. As much as she tries to think of anything else, the scent lingering all around makes brown eyes appear in her imagination and firm hands ghost across parts of her they never would in real life.

---------------------------------

It's only incidentally that the TV was on. Her mother called at noon on Tuesday to make sure she was alright, because every news channel in the country was transmitting live from the Lincoln Tunnel, parts of which had been accidentally demolished in what appeared to be a serious maintenance mistake. Had she not seen the images already, her mother's frantic explanations would have done nothing but throw her into a mild panic attack. The contrast between what the woman is like now and how she used to be growing up always gives her whiplash,  but she can't be mad her mother got the help she needed.

As it is, she's doing alright. She tries not to watch obsessively, keeping herself busy between the only three appointments she has today, but every time she checks back in the body count gets significantly higher. By mid-afternoon she has to resort to breathing exercises to steady her mind, and they work insofar as she keeps at them. However, they don't do much of anything when the 6 o'clock news announces what they believe to be the final death toll. Sixty-seven people perished in the chaos and destruction, and almost two hundred more have been hospitalized with mild to severe injuries.

It's a day of mourning in New York, like so many before it. She, like many others in the city, is glued to her screen with an array of emotions she's doing her best to handle. Others, much less fortunate than them, are crying and screaming, paralyzed by shock and grief. The least fortunate aren't feeling anything at all, and who knows what they might've felt in their last few moments.

She has an idea. Images like the ones shown today dance behind her eyelids just about whenever she isn't keeping a tight lock on her focus. They've been rapaciously beating at her door on and off throughout the day, and she is running out of viable distractions. Many aren't even an option at this time, because she'd feel terrible watching a movie to distract herself from all this. Maybe she should just read that study she's been meaning to get around to and simply go to sleep, sure to wake tomorrow with a little less stinging sorrow.

She intends to do just that, but right as she prepares to take her meds and climb into bed, her phone chimes with its usual ringtone. She's surprised to read Peter's name on the screen, but answers quickly nonetheless.

"Hi," she says evenly. There's a lot of wind on his side, and she wonders if he heard her because he doesn't say anything at first.

"Can you hea-"

"I have to cancel tomorrow."

Her judgment immediately sends her down the most obvious path, and she wastes barely a second before flicking her psychologist switch on. She's never heard his voice like that, over the phone or in person.

"Are you alright? Was anyone you know - "

"No. I just - I can't. See you Friday."

She takes a short breath before trying again.

"Peter, I know we're not very close, but you can trust me with anything. I promise. If you need to talk, I'm here."

She isn't sure what's wind and what's breath at first, but a noise cuts through that she's too familiar with to mistake for anything else. He hangs up before she can speak again.

------------------------------

At three in the morning, a short jingle from her nightstand chases away already restless sleep.

Back on for tomorrow. See you at 7.

A few seconds later, another bubble manifests as she reads the first one over.

Thank you.

She sighs, dropping the phone next to her as her thoughts are overtaken by an urge she's always found impossible to resist. She takes apart their phone call and his texts like they're ancient secrets one can only decode with the right tools, and finally taps out at six, an hour or so before the autumn sun rises. Wednesdays are free, and she always sleeps in. Today of all days would be best spent away from news and the general public, but she can't stop thinking about what she'll say to him tonight. She fell asleep thinking of him and awoke worse off for it, but there's also an energy that refuses to dissolve no matter what she distracts herself with.

You have to get out of bed. The rest we'll figure out as we go. More of his little phrases find their way into her daily rotation of things she tells herself to keep going. Today, it's the words he told her on Monday that keep the soles of her feet from retreating into the plush mattress, away from the hardwood floor and inevitable pain. She sets one foot in front of the other until she makes it to the kitchen, and she takes her morning medication with less dread than two days ago. She has to train herself to notice the slightest improvement, much like she asks her patients to do. And then, once successful, she has to reward herself somehow.

Today, her reward will be a day without guilt. Horrible things happen all the time with no rhyme or reason. Yesterday was a terrible accident, and that day all those months ago happened to be a vicious attack, but all the same, the result is suffering. She'll try not to think of everything that's been clawing its way into her awareness since noon yesterday, and she'll see where it takes her.

The first item on her task list is prepping her bag for tonight, because risking another forgetful episode and ending up with the same frustrations she did on Monday is unacceptable. It's not just the guilt of surviving that she'll try to avoid for today. She touched herself to the thought of him and tonight she has to look him in the eye. It wasn't even an elaborate fantasy - she guesses maybe two minutes passed before she was slumping back into the bed, the tension having snapped almost unexpectedly when she thought of what he'd sound like moaning her name. She's sure the real thing might put her in an early grave, but why waste time imagining the impossible?

They're alright, but their chemistry isn't off the charts. They get along fine as far as the patient-therapist relationship is concerned, and they've had a chat here and there about more personal things, but they're hardly in each other's lives in any other capacity. He did once ask her if she'd like to grab a smoothie, mindful of the fact she couldn't drink on meds, but she was running late for an evening class after physio and took a rain check. She ended up never collecting, and he never asked again. Maybe if she had, she wouldn't be grasping at straws now, trying to figure out his phone call to her.

Despite her background and training, a part of her still believes that some people are just meant to click. Instantly, they know they'll be a fixture in each other's experiences on Earth. She cried the first time she met with him, and was more than embarrassed and uncomfortable for the following days. Hardly the start of an alluring romance. It doesn't stop her from conjuring what-ifs and crafting the perfect exchanges that might lead to one thing or another, but at the end of the day, what is there to offer him?

A lifetime of chronic pain and debilitating nerve damage that would take the fun out of most things. There are so many date ideas she can't even entertain. When will she ever put on a pair of skates again, or go hiking on a challenging trail? When will she ever wear a dress that shows any kind of skin again? Be carefree taking it off? Get down on her knees for someone?

She perks up before she can sink even further down the spiral, wiping away the one tear or two that managed to escape with her wayward thoughts. Her coffee machine has sat unused for months. Caffeine is off limits too, and tea is a suitable replacement, but she might also just risk it and have a flat white. Her body isn't going to get any better. She might as well enjoy some things while her heart and liver aren't drowning in medication.

She sips at the long-desired indulgence as the first texts of the day pour in, all in response to the one she sent out following the accident yesterday. Most of her patients get back with reassurances they're alright, but by four in the afternoon, one notable absence sits on her brain until she picks up the phone to verify. It rings a few times before a surprisingly small voice utters a quiet hello, and she realizes this must be Emily, the eight year-old girl whom Christie once referred to as her entire reason for living, but also the reason she never got to live.

"Hey sweetheart. Can you put your mommy on the phone for me?" she asks gently, trying to guess what her answer might be. Something has happened for sure, because Christie really isn't the sort of person who lets her daughter pick up a ringing phone, not when they're looking over their shoulder for a rageful man.

"Mommy's in bed. I don't think she wants to talk to anyone. She won't talk to me."

Deep breaths.

"I see. Hey Emily? Can you do me a favor? You don't have to, but if you put the phone on the bed next to mommy, I can talk to her. Make her feel better. She doesn't have to say anything, she just has to listen. How does that sound? Do you wanna help me help mommy to feel better?"

"Yes," Emily says in that heartbreaking way children usually do when found helpless. It's almost a question.

"Alright sweetheart. Thank you. Just put the phone next to mommy on the bed and let us have a chat, yeah? And can you tell me one more thing?"

"What?"

"Have you eaten today?"

"Mm… not really. I'm a little hungry." She can almost hear the shrug in the girl's shoulders, because of course - her mom is lying in bed, isolated and unresponsive. For children, not being loved is a much more immediate fear than going hungry.

"Ok. How about, while I talk to mommy, you go make yourself a sandwich? Yeah? Don't use the stove if mommy isn't there."

"Ok. I won't."

"Thank you."

It takes a minute, but rustling on the other side and Emily's muffled I love you lets her know the phone is where it's supposed to be. Now for the difficult part.

"Christie? I know you can hear me, so don't pretend you can't. You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but you do need to listen." She pauses for her own benefit, trying to dispel a frown she barely realized was carving deep ridges into her forehead.

"I talked to Emily earlier. I've never heard her voice before. She sounds smaller than she is, doesn't she?"

No response.

"She's also smarter than you think she is. Little girls her age see you better than you see them. What's Emily been seeing today? What's she been thinking? Do you know?"

Nothing.

"She's been thinking her mommy doesn't care about her, Christie. She didn't go to school. She hasn't eaten. I know you're probably tired of hearing your own thoughts from my mouth, but motherhood is exhausting. You don't get breaks. You don't get to turn away when you don't feel like it. You have to get out of bed. Every day. For her."

"What the fuck do you know about it?"

"You're right. I don't have children. But I had a mother who didn't care if I was cold, or hungry, or scared, and I've worked with kids who grew up like that too. They don’t know how to pick a friendly face in a crowd. Everyone looks hostile to them. You don't want to do that to Emily. She's too precious. She doesn't deserve it."

"She doesn't," Christie sobs, but the line goes quiet for the longest time, long enough that she doesn't think anything else will be said. She looks out the window at the great oak tree being robbed of its burgundy treasures by an unkind gust of wind, following a particularly large leaf with her eyes until it touches the ground. Christie speaks four minutes after that.

"This little girl… she died in my arms yesterday."

Her breath catches on nothing, expecting anything but that to be the reason for Christie's catatonic state. She's had episodes before, but never have they been triggered by something this serious.

"Were you - Were you in the tunnel, Christie?"

Despite the immediate pain, she has to stand up from her kitchen table right in that moment, or she'll lose her cool at the worst possible time.

"No." Another sob drowns the phone line, but this one isn't followed by an endless stretch of silence. When it rains, it pours.

"I was going to pick Em up from school. I came out of the tunnel right before it blew. So many - so many people were trying to help. They were pulling everyone from the rubble. From the water. Old people, parents, little - little kids. They were so small. I don't know what I was doing… Someone just handed me this little girl who was blue in the face. She couldn't breathe very well. I tried to help her, I did. Please believe me. She was just so little. She was gone so, so fast. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't."

There comes a point in therapy when the boil threatens to singe both patient and provider. Fresh trauma has the potency of a thousand latent squabbles and shortcomings. It's a motorcycle on a tank frame, uncontrollable and well guarded against reason, experience or wisdom. There's only one or two weak points that can unravel the entire thing, but no two models are ever completely similar. You have to work with new eyes every time.

"Christie. That isn't your fault. What happened yesterday was a horrific turn of events. An accident of negligence, if you're comfortable with that. They happen to good people. They happen to bad people. No one has to do anything to deserve it. That little girl wasn't guilty of anything. You're not at fault for not being able to help her. Whatever you're thinking, nothing is going to happen to you. Or to Emily. There is no cosmic punishment for deeds done or not done. There are only people, and the things that happen to them. And we're only responsible for the things we choose, not the ones that happen to us."

"If I lose Em, I don't want to live."

She breathes in sharply, holding it for a few seconds and releasing it slowly.

"Christie, Emily is right there. She's in the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Your little girl is thinking about you. You're thinking about her. But you're right next to each other. You can go give her a hug. Nothing is stopping you. You can spend all the time you want with her."

"What if something happens to her?" Christie whispers.

What if. Of all the questions she hears from patients, the ones that start with those two words are the trickiest to steer away from. So often they are nothing more than facts of life. What if someone I love dies? What do I do with all that love? What do I do with myself?

"You can't spend all the time you have with her thinking about that. That's why we're alive. We're here to love others until we can't. No one is offering you guarantees, and no one gets to know how long they have. That's life. It gave you Emily. It's giving you time to love her and care for her. That's enough. It has to be."

Moments pass. Christie releases a ragged sigh. It's that sound that makes some of the tension leave her shoulders, but her leg hurts more than usual. She didn't even realize she'd been gripping her thigh viciously all throughout the phone call to keep centered. Focused. Keep herself from being too involved in a subject so close to home.

"Can you stay on the phone with me until I get to her?"

"I can stay as long as you need me to."

It's another minute or two until she hears hushed whispers and sweet apologies, and it takes her a while longer than it should to hang up, intruding on a mother and her daughter's private moment for her own selfish reason. Christie doesn't need her anymore for now. She did well. If only she could reason with herself this effectively.

She sets her phone down on the kitchen table and glances at the oven clock. Just after five. She has some time to wind down after the impromptu therapy session, and the two hours between now and physio are just about enough to grab food at that Korean place by the clinic. Already dressed, she takes a cab to Brooklyn that only manages to wind her up even more, because the driver, however polite, insists on telling her things she didn't ask about the tragedy everyone is discussing. Even within her extensive repertoire of conversation dampeners she can't find a sensible way of asking him to stop without seeming like she doesn't care about the victims of a horrible event. She does slam the car door with all the strength she can muster after getting out. It hurts, but it's worth it to blow off some steam.

Woori Bar & Grill caught her eye weeks ago, but eight p.m. has always been too late for heavy foods and she's always been too tired after physio to keep standing. Well, not exactly - she's always been too sleepy after being handled by Peter, and it always took the car ride home to wake herself up. She's wide awake right now, which is why she spots him at the bar almost immediately upon entering, like her eyes had nowhere else to land but there.

It's almost six, which is strange, but maybe he got hungry and had some free time. Unfortunately, her assumption is dispelled as she studies him. Peter is nursing a half-full whisky tumbler, head hung low and body language almost textbook perfect. He's most definitely drunk. Proceed with caution. Crossing the room almost diagonally, she makes her way to him with a neutral expression, and notices him notice her without even looking. It's like someone plugged him into the wrong outlet. She can sense he isn't going to be welcoming.

Stopping a couple of feet away, she sets her bag down on the empty chair next to him and sighs to herself. She can see the right side of his face. He seems adamant about staring at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, what she can discern of his features set into an icy glare.

"Are we still on for tonight?" She chooses to open with the obvious, because dancing around the topic wouldn't serve either of them. This is a version of Peter she hasn't seen before, and he proves her right when he scoffs into his drink.

"Why? Did you answer my texts?"

He's caught her off guard. Completely. Even a brief recall makes her realize that no, she didn't. She read them twenty-seven times, but she didn't answer. It's a fuck up that he seems to want to use against her, but if he thinks he can, she'll demonstrate otherwise.

"No, but I saw them. I assumed that was that, we were still on. I should've answered earlier, I'm sorry."

"Yeah well, I'm sorry too." He doesn't sound apologetic, for whatever it is he might be referring to.

"For what?"

Peter veers his head at her, and she's too surprised by the cuts littering the left side of his face to be affected by his words.

"For thinking you were serious about recovery."

He's in pain. The eyes that normally watch her with patience and care drag across her face with disdain that isn't meant for her at all. She can see that, and she knows it to be true in her mind, but it's still hard to be on the receiving end of his disapproval, however misdirected.

"You don't think I'm serious about my recovery because I didn't answer your three a.m. texts?" She raises an eyebrow. "Be honest, Peter. You're having a bad day. You're not in the mood, fine. You need to vent, then vent. But don't do this."

Throwing his words back at him isn't something she does to be petty or retributive. She says them to him because he was right to say them to her.

"I don't need to vent. Least of all, to you." He glares, pushing the glass away as he turns his body towards her more.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks patiently, without malice. She isn't insulted. She can't be, because she's needed right now.

"Like you don't know?" he sneers. "You don't think I can see you, taking me apart in your head every time we meet? Trying to figure me out? Suspicious of everything, like I'm judging you instead of helping you? You're always trying to pick a fight, like that'll give you your precious insight into who I really am. Well, here you go. Here's your fight."

He puffs up his chest but it's just a drunken motion, supported by the fact that he has to keep his left arm on the counter so he doesn't fall off the chair.

"Something bad happened to you, and now you're waiting for someone to confirm what you already think about yourself. You want someone to tell you you're wasting your time. That you'll never be the same. You don't like me looking at you up close. You can't stand that you aren't seeing what you expect to see. Why am I looking at you like you're a person someone might want? Isn't that what you think?"

All the restraint in the world isn't enough to keep her eyes from welling up with hot tears, but she refuses to cry. He doesn't mean any of it. He doesn't.

"I don't know what happened to you, but you're lashing out at me unfairly," she says, voice shaking despite her best effort not to let it.

"Unfairly? You don't think it's fair? You get to live. Others don’t. You're alive, and you're acting like it's this great inconvenience. The pain has nothing to do with it. You just don't think you're worth it now that you're damaged. You don't think you have anything to offer anyone."

It feels like her feet are nailed to the ground. They won't listen to her command to turn and just get out of here.

"I don't understand what I did to you." She switches approaches, because this is too personal. The vitriol he's hurling at her can't originate anywhere else. It might be caused by something else entirely, but something is bothering him about their relationship specifically. She wants to know what.

"Oh, you don't? Every time you show up for therapy, you're waiting for me to act the opposite of how I feel. Every time I smile at you, you don't think it's sincere. Every bad day you have, you think I'll tell you to leave. I could get down on my knees for you and you'd think it was a declaration of war."

It's too much. He's said so much in just a few minutes that she's now disoriented and afraid to speak, should he unveil more of her worst thoughts in response. He's looking at her with unbearable clarity. Is he even drunk at all? He hasn't slurred any of his words. He's just used them to take her apart, vivisecting her in public to no one's awareness. Nobody can help her, and she wouldn't ask anyway. He's right. About everything. It burns at her soul so badly that she wants revenge, despite knowing better. But who is he to peel away at things she hasn't even dared say out loud? To throw it all in her face like he's perfect and all-knowing and was just waiting on her to put it together like the inferior mind reader she is?

"I didn't see you get down on your knees. All I saw was you doing your job. Or was I supposed to jump you because you saw my body up close and didn't look away disgusted?"

The incision isn't quite as precise as his, and in any case, he's had something to dampen his reception of it. She has to fight with him sober and blindsided, while he looks like he's been sitting on this for a while.

"Fuck off. That's all you saw because that's all you'd let yourself see. But you can't lie to yourself when you're alone. There's no one to pick a fight with to distract yourself."

Peter stands from the bar chair quickly enough that she doesn't have time to move back, and they brush chests when he squares his shoulders. He peers down at her with narrowed eyes that have lost some of their fight, and his lips quirk upwards in a self-satisfied smirk.

"I bet you think about me when you're alone."

"Is that what you're doing? Picking a fight with me to distract yourself? What happened to you? Where did you get the cuts on your face?" she insists, ignoring his daring statement.

Something of what she says makes his eyes harden again, but it's like he's left the room to go somewhere unreachable. He's not here with her, but wherever all this started. She tries pushing through one more time.

"What happened, Peter?"

His face crumbles. He's the picture of overwhelming grief for only one second, because he sidesteps her and heads for the door before she can react.

"Peter!"

She shouldn't follow after him. She's heard more than enough for one night, and he's packed too many hurtful truths in what amounted to barely half a therapy session. So, whatever makes her hurry in his direction can only spring from irrationality. Typically, irrational actions are fueled by three things: anger, envy and a third thing she isn't willing to admit to.

Despite having only spent minutes inside the bar, the chill of late October hits her much worse than when she got out of the cab. She pulls her cardigan closed as she follows a worryingly wobbly Peter down the sidewalk, guessing he must be headed to the clinic just a few blocks away. By the way he's swaying left and right, he shouldn't have been able to say even one coherent thing to her, but he rattled off all her faults like he was speaking directly from her subconscious.

"Come on, Peter. Just stop!" she calls after him, but he continues on without acknowledgement. He's walking too fast for her to catch up without putting herself through significant discomfort, yet she keeps following at an increased pace. They make it for two blocks before she shrieks in pain. Her shoe gets caught onto a sharp protrusion from the pavement, and she puts her arms out to break the fall, but her knee still takes the brunt of it. It's so intense she grits her teeth hard, grunting through tightly closed lips as shocks travel along the cartilage. Her palms burn with indented gravel that scrape at easily breakable skin, and her left arm gives way from the impact, leaving her head to bounce off the pavement.

Breathing shallowly and gripping whatever she can to soothe the pain, she doesn't realize Peter has returned until his hands cover hers. He's muttering incessant no's under his breath, moving skittishly and touching her seemingly everywhere at once before cradling her head in his lap.

"No please, please. Please, not you."

He says it over and over, and she's so confused it almost overrides the pain emanating from the bluntness of the impact. Peter begins to murmur apologies as he dabs at her temple with the hem of his shirt, making her look up at him in a daze. She's putting all the effort into studying his face, hoping it'll both distract her from the burning of her knee and unravel previously elusive mysteries. Like why his eyes seem to be perceiving something other than what he's really seeing, and why his chapped lip trembles like something horrendous has happened.

Something horrendous has happened, she realizes, but not here and not now. She reaches up with her less injured hand to wipe the tears that begin to fall, noting how warm the skin of his cheek is. Her other hand goes to cover the one of his that rests awkwardly on her shoulder. He's touching her where he knows she's comfortable, despite his frantic outburst just a few seconds ago. She doesn't think she'd mind very much if he just swallowed her up the way he seems to be itching to do.

"Do you need a map?" she whispers to him, drinking in his glistening eyes and wholly wishing to dry them.

"What?" Peter sniffles, just as quiet of a whisper leaving him.

"So you can get back to me."

He flounders in response, clearly not knowing what to do. Her thumb needs to stop brushing the underside of his jaw before she does something stupid like asking him to kiss her. He's in distress. He's drunk. She's taken a bit of a tumble, and his words still linger not very far from her heart. They're a mess tonight.

"Can you help me up?"

To her surprise, he doesn't. He swoops her up entirely, and a frightened whimper escapes her at the thought of how wobbly he was a minute ago. She'd put both arms around his neck if she could, but her left can't reach. The angle is too wide. The adrenaline must be wearing off now, because she's hurting in more places than she realized.

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

She scoffs, amused. Even she knows it's not that bad.

"You're taking me to the clinic so I can get a band-aid and a leg compress. Maybe a lollipop for being so brave."

Peter nods, looking serious like a heart attack, and it makes her laugh despite herself. She can only hope they'll make it the remaining few blocks without another tumble, and she's impressed to find that he seems to have shaken off his stupor entirely. His grip and balance are both excellent, and she feels secure. Not that she has anything to compare it to - she's never been carried before, at least not that she remembers. Either he's masking it very well, or the intoxication evaporated some time in the last few minutes. The woman at the front desk stands up in surprise when they enter, but Peter assuages her concern with a quick dismissal.

"It's ok Norah, I got her."

In some capacity, she does feel 'gotten', whatever that means. His chest is warm and solid against her head, and though he still smells of alcohol, the scent that spun her in a tizzy Monday night lingers at his collar. It's different on him. It's the difference between melting sugar in cold versus hot water. One of them takes significantly less to achieve its purpose. She isn't exactly eager to be set down, but eventually his warmth does leave her. She keeps inhaling surreptitiously until he gently puts her down on the massage bed. He leaves the room before she can even sit up properly, and she has a minute to sober up alone.

First deciding to assess the damage, she pulls the hem of her tracksuit bottoms to just above her knee, seeing the skin is already starting to bruise in that nice way that lets her know some tiny blood vessels popped. Not that she can see all that many of them under the layer of scars running from knee to ankle. They're jagged and nonsensical, because rebar doesn't usually follow a steady pattern when piercing your leg. The pain is somewhat manageable, but she suspects that's because she took her medication only an hour before leaving for the Korean place. A mild stabbing sensation every few seconds is the worst of it, at least for now.

The second part of the assessment is the worst one. There's much to think about, particularly all the things that were said that crossed many lines. Professionally and personally, a transgression has occurred.

When Peter returns, he stops closer to the door than to her. Their eyes meet, and they both appear to be thinking along the same lines. He's holding a first aid kit in one hand and leg compression sleeve in the other.

"I can um - I can get someone else to do this if you don't want me to uh… Just, if you don't want to see me right now."

She hums, studying him from head to toe. Not wanting to see him is an exaggeration, she knows that. And though he seems to have calmed from his previous state, he was inebriated enough to be swaying left and right. Maybe talking more isn't the brightest idea. So why can't she decline politely and say they'll meet up at a better time for them both?

"Do you want to?"

His eyes widen.

"Want to what?"

"See me," she clarifies.

All at once, he seems to soften up - shoulders sagging, releasing a breath that looked like it hurt to hold in, head tilting. He steps closer and closer until he's right there, jeans lightly brushing against her exposed knee. He's caging her in with his gaze, and she's letting him.

"I wanna take care of you."

Her soft little sigh is, even to her ears, the picture of weakness. How does it take only a handful of words to make her throat close up? How is she seeing things that aren't even there?

"Stop doing that," Peter says, lips pressing together for the briefest moment before he speaks again. "You heard what I said. That's all there is. Stop turning it into something else in your head."

He speaks so determinedly, she misses the moment he sets down the supplies he brought, and it's only when she feels his light touch under her chin that she's embarrassed to notice her eyes well up.

"If you need me to say it flat out, then I guess that's what I gotta do."

That line snaps her attention like an unruly planet pulled into orbit by a much larger cosmic force. Suddenly, she's just there to listen with no background noise.

"I care about you. You're important to me. I know it might not look that way, because I said a lot of awful things to you. But I swear, I didn't mean any of them. I was - " He looks away. "Something terrible did happen. I was taking it out on you, and I shouldn't have. I never should have. I might've just blown it all up before I even -"

He sighs in frustration, but it's also just the most exhaustion she's seen him display, ever. Peter looks worn out, and the contrast between the him she's come to know and the person in front of her now is more jarring than it should be. He didn't get like this overnight; it was her that missed and misinterpreted who knows how many clues into his well-being. The cuts on his face solidify that fact even more. Some psychologist she is. Where was she looking? Was she looking away, trying so hard not to be seen by him that she ended up the one blinded?

"What do you think you've blown up?" she asks, hoping her voice will work and surprised when it does.

Peter bites the inside of his cheek, letting his hand drop from her chin and running it through his hair.

"I dunno. Maybe I've been imagining things too. Seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe there wasn't anything to blow up."

Her heart surges through her throat and attempts to crawl out of her mouth. She hasn't been this scared in a while.

"Peter. Please, tell me what you think you've blown up," she finds herself begging, unable to give a verdict until she knows beyond any doubt what he was trying to say.

And Peter, for his part, looks misty eyed and desperate too. Time has slowed down just a little bit.

"This. Us. If that was ever a thing. I can see why you might not feel that way now, but I - I do. I don't know if I can say it any more clearly."

Breathing out to try and regain some semblance of outer calm, her initial reaction is to look away while speaking. But she can't. She owes him the same direct honesty, and she's been averting her gaze for too long anyway.

"You haven't blown anything up." For a moment, she thinks that will be enough, but quickly realizes it's only because she's hoping to spare herself vulnerability. Unfortunately, that's also the instinct that got them here, so getting them out will require a different approach. She needs to say what she thinks, and she needs to stop turning very clear statements into something less than what they are. He likes you. Deal with it.

"I like your smile. I've never thought it wasn't sincere. I just thought that maybe it was too good to really mean what I wanted it to mean," she confesses, taking a break to let the words be heard by her too. She's uncomfortable in every way one gets when utterings truths that have never seen the light of day. It makes language seem a different force altogether, capable of wielding reality in unpredictable ways - the opposite of everything she's learned to do.

"You said some harsh things I wish I didn't have to hear from you, but you didn't lie. And you weren't fully yourself. I was worried you might still not be, but you seemed pretty observant at the bar, so…"

Peter winces in response, seemingly wanting to say something in return but stopping himself to let her continue.

"It's ok. I don't hold grudges." She smiles. "Especially not against people I need in my life."

He looks caught off guard, and she wonders if what she said is a surprise to him. He had her all figured out just a little while ago.

"I'm sure there's a lot of specialists in town who could do the job."

He picks now to be coy? Or is he the one flustered for the first time? It's strange to think that just a couple of days ago she was wondering if they'd ever switch places, with him being the one under the microscope for a change. Is this that moment? It's not as triumphant as she thought it would be. This doesn't feel like a power struggle. It's just two idiots doing what should have been much easier from the beginning, what with their respective professions.

"Maybe, but none of them are you. I need you in my life as Peter, not as my therapist."

"Is this you saying you no longer require my services?"

It's good to see a glimpse of his usual good humor returning. It lights up his eyes to her preferred twinkle, and she doesn't feel as tense that she might be staring at his mouth. It's allowed now - in moderation. Still, there is something she'd like to address tonight, before it fizzles out into obscurity and remains a sore spot between them.

"What you said earlier, about me being afraid I have nothing to offer anyone - " His grimace gives her pause, but she presses on ahead for the sake of clearing the air.

"I have thought that before. I can't say it isn't on my mind more than once a day, especially if I'm by myself. I just wanted to make things clear. I don't hate myself. I just know there's a lot of things I can't do anymore. I'm in pain every day. It makes me tired, and it makes me more irrational than even I know what to do with. And it's not shallow of me to say that yes, I don't look the same anymore. I haven't come to terms with that. I don't know how to be carefree just wearing whatever. I - you know I don't like being touched. That's not going to go away immediately just because I know how you feel now. It's fine when you do it in our sessions, but somehow, the thought of it happening in any other setting sort of…" Makes me nervous.

She doesn't continue because it might be a little too much honesty. She didn't need to bring up the concept of him touching her in different contexts. That's not the kind of thing people discuss before they've even gone on one date. But, she has brought it up, and now she must deal.

"Do you think you wouldn't like it?"

Jesus, that was blunt and an absolutely insane question. She remembers every bit of the fantasy she had Monday night. He probably wouldn't even have to touch her to unwind her like a clock. Daring to peek at him, she's surprised by the genuine intrigue she finds there. He really wants to know, because he might not be as good a mind reader as she assumed.

"No, that's not it. I know I would, I just - "

"You know you would?"

Shit. Shit. Of all the things to say without thinking.

"So you have thought about me."

The smirk in his voice makes her groan, but she resists the urge to climb off the bed and scurry away. The brave thing to do would be to just face him and admit that yes, she has thought about many things, but that would just give him the upper hand. Instead, she'll take the coward's way out and provoke him.

"And you haven't?" she asks, blinking at him. They're the same height in this position, and it's weirdly empowering to not have to look just slightly upwards all the time.

The question rattles him, but not as much as she thought. In fact, the glint she can see take shape in his eyes spells nothing but danger.

"I'll tell if you do."

If she replaced the Cheshire Cat with a picture of him on the cover of Alice in Wonderland, she doesn't think anyone would notice.

"Information isn't free. It has to be earned."

Wherever that comes from, it manages to change the atmosphere in the room in seconds. Peter is quiet as she watches him, transfixed by his expression. It's then that he moves closer, tapping her knee with a featherlight touch. She parts them on instinct, enough to allow him to step forward. He's so close now that her breathing automatically becomes shallow and her eyes unfocused for the briefest moment. It feels good to have him standing between her legs, but the real delight is his arm slowly wrapping around her lower back and pulling her against him, eyes watching attentively for any sign of discomfort. None to be found.

"I wanna kiss you. I've been thinking about that, among other things."

It's really unfair the way her ears seem to be working better than they ever have, picking up on every breathless little whisper, every change in tone from him and sending all that information not to her brain, but much lower down.

"Please."

Every second he leans in closer her heart beats faster, and she worries it might actually stop in her chest when their lips touch. It's gentle and soft and so languid it drives her insane, because the way he's holding her to him and gasping against her mouth between switching angles makes her toes curl in her shoes like she's never been kissed.

His other hand comes up to the junction of her neck and jaw, big and firm and hypnotizingly warm. Embarrassingly, a low moan escapes her lips right before he captures them again, tightening his arm around her in response. A single kiss has never been good enough to make her moan like that, and she fights the urge to wrap her legs around him. She's not sure how that would work out, because they already feel pretty weak and her knee still hurts.

Peter pulls away slowly, thumb caressing her cheek and making her keep her eyes closed for a second longer. When she opens them, she finds a wholly different Peter, pink lips parted enticingly and eyes just a tinge darker than they were before. It's something about his face, or maybe just the way he's holding her, or his scent once again spinning her stupid, but he's changed somehow. The way she's being looked at, though new and unusual, is instantly recognized by the instinctive part of her brain, the part that doesn't really have much to say while her eyes follow him, mesmerized, as he reverently drops to his knees in front of her.

She swallows quickly before she can choke on air. Peter is so close she can feel his breath on the skin of her exposed knee, which his face is almost level with. She's getting more dizzy with every passing second, and she can't decipher the question in his eyes until he says it out loud.

"Can I take care of you, sweetheart? Show you what I've been thinking about?" he murmurs.

The vibration of his lower timbre sends her pulse climbing and a shiver runs through her entire body when his hand touches hers on the edge of the bed. He lifts it gently so he can put his underneath.

"Or maybe you can show me what you've been thinking. Hmm?"

He wants her to show him? Fuck, this is bad. It's a proposal she has trouble processing, because how have all her reservations flown out the window the instant she looked down at him? He might be the one kneeling, but her brain is the one that got short circuited. She can't think of any reason to deny herself what he's offering because she can't think at all. Peter Parker is on his knees, asking to take care of her like that's a thing she knows how to respond to.

"What's going on in that head of yours? Still overthinking?" he asks not unkindly. Someone else would've been turned off by her silence a while ago, but he keeps looking up at her through those unfairly long lashes.

"I don't know what to say," she answers honestly before she can run it through a filter.

"Just say what you're feeling. Do you want me to touch you?"

"Yes." Fuck, that was even faster than her previous answer and more effortless than she imagined.

"So show me where to touch you, baby. You're in control. Show me how to make you feel good."

She breathes in through her nose to attempt to steady herself, removing her hand from atop his to guide it to his cheek, and just that singular touch has her skin tingling with anticipation. When he leans into her palm she almost closes her eyes.

"I thought about you a few days ago," she tells him quietly.

"Yeah?"

She nods, all of a sudden shy but doing her best to mimic his confidence.

"Remember how I forgot to bring my lotion? And you had to use the one here?"

Peter looks confused for a moment before he nudges her hand, urging her to continue.

"I couldn't think of anything all night because I kept smelling you on me."

Her hand leaves Peter's cheek, moving back to cover his hand and boldly guide it to her covered knee. She keeps it there for a few moments before moving hers away.

"I couldn't sleep either. I kept seeing you every time I closed my eyes."

Peter listens intently, moving his hand in a motion that's meant to be soothing but just serves to wind her up. His touch isn't new, but the context and intent are so different that it doesn't matter. If anything, it only makes her wonder more.

"Yeah? What'd you do?" he murmurs.

She tears her eyes away before answering, because despite talking being her main activity in life, saying sensual and lewd things to Peter Parker makes her feel like she's never said anything eloquent ever.

"I thought about you touching me. Like you are now, just… less clothes."

He raises an eyebrow in question, and this time he doesn't have to say it out loud. He's asking her permission and she all too willingly gives it, taking his hand again and guiding it to the waistband of her pants. She helps him pull them off by leaning back on her hands, and she notes with amazement that she's completely forgotten about the tumble she took earlier. The heels of her hands are still smarting, but she can't find it in herself to care.

But, suddenly, reality hits: she's in her underwear in front of Peter and he's looking at her through hooded eyes, and she realizes her fantasy doesn't hold a candle to the real thing. Nervousness blossoms in the pit of her stomach, but she doesn't get to say anything before Peter takes her hand again.

"We don't do anything you don't want, yeah? Promise me."

It rings true of the early days of therapy, when he made her promise not to push herself beyond her limits just to seem tough, and she melts just a little more on the spot. Nodding her head, she whispers the promise back to him and takes advantage of their intertwined hands to once again place his on her thigh, this time higher than earlier.

"I trust you."

Peter smiles softly and leans forward to gently kiss her busted knee, and that one gesture pulls a whimper from her lips. Keeping his eyes on her, he places another kiss further up on the inside of her thigh, right where a different scar begins. Blunt concrete also leaves interesting marks with no particular pattern, but she calms herself through the knowledge that Peter has seen all these before. He's not going anywhere, and he's still watching her like he wants to eat her. She feels his tongue dart out to lick a short stripe in the same spot he kissed.

"Is this what I was doing to you, baby?"

It doesn't even matter what he was doing to her in that scenario, because this is far and above anything she could come up with. But the longer he spends kneeling in front of her, the more her tongue loosens and her mind starts saying whatever it wants.

"Yeah. You can… You can touch me. I want you to."

He might as well, because she's pretty sure he can see the spot forming on her panties. But instead he keeps placing featherlight kisses higher and higher on the inside of her thigh, slow and soft and she's about to ask him again when he sucks a mark against the sensitive skin. He's so close to where she wants him that it drives her insane, and when his tongue peeks out to lick a stripe along her panty line she can't hold back a moan.

"Peter, please."

His immediate groan travels straight to her core, and she gasps as he kisses her through her underwear. It all happens so fast after that, it's like she unlocked some part of his brain with her plea. He moves her panties aside with two fingers and licks into her with a moan that almost ends her. She tilts her head back, eyes closed as she melts into his touch. She can't look at him anymore. She's so wound up and he feels so good that it'll all be over before she's gotten to enjoy it. Her heart is hammering away, thighs trembling as he holds them open with his hands. The sounds he's making have her whimpering this high-pitched nonsense she's never heard spill from her mouth, because he almost sounds like he's the one in ecstasy.

"Taste so good, sweetheart… Fuckin' sweeter than I imagined."

She tries to focus but his words just keep sending her deeper and deeper into the pleasure-induced haze, and without thinking, she brings her hand to his hair and pulls. Peter sucks her clit into his mouth, and it almost pushes her over the edge, but then he moans again and she gets dizzy, going limp in his hold as he devours her.

"Look at me, baby. Wanna see those pretty eyes."

She opens her eyes and notices the room is spinning, but she looks down like he asked and a shock runs through her at how dark his eyes are. He hums appreciatively and pulls her even closer to his mouth, bumping his nose against her and flicking his tongue perfectly.

"Peter," she keens helplessly, arms trembling from the effort of holding herself up. He's got her on the edge of the bed, about to slip off when he pulls away to hook her knees over his shoulders. He wastes no time diving back in and the new angle makes tears gather in her lash line. It feels so fucking good she doesn't want it to stop, but it's then that Peter moans her name, sucking on her clit again and looking straight into her soul. She comes with a soft mewl, his name spilling from her lips repeatedly and mind blanking when he just keeps going, bringing her down gently with kitten licks and light kisses.

"You ok? That feel good?" he asks quietly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Kiss me," she pleads, sure that if he doesn't do it in the next thirty seconds she might start crying.

Peter sets her legs back on the bed carefully, kissing her knee one more time before standing up and gathering her in his arms. His kiss is sweet and reverent, grounding her the way she knew it would and helping to slow down her pulse. She can taste herself on him - a new sensation - and finds that she doesn't mind it. It makes everything even more intimate than it already is, and a tear does escape despite her best effort to calm down.

She pulls away to take a deep breath, and Peter frowns upon seeing her damp cheek.

"What's wrong?" he asks, caressing the skin with his thumb.

"Nothing." She shakes her head. "That felt really good. I just…"

She sighs, biting the inside of her lip to stop another tear from falling. It's stupid, yet important - the sort of thing she doesn't like having to say out loud to another person, but has Peter not proven he can handle what she throws his way?

"I'm not used to this. I'm not used to being treated like - like - " She swallows hard, trying to look at him but failing.

"Like you're precious?"

She hides her face in his neck as soon as the truth is out, but nods to let him know and to let herself acknowledge it at last. Peter kisses her temple and shushes the small sobs that couldn't be quieted by her, whispering reassurances that she's everything and more than that to him. It takes her a minute, but she feels much lighter once calmed. A blanket of serenity falls over her in his embrace, and as she slowly becomes more focused, she notices something she didn't before. Peter is rock hard between her legs, and the feeling of it makes blood pound in her ears. She's already drunk on him and wanting, and the emotional security she feels right now makes him even more irresistible. But, when she moves her hand down his chest, he stops her just before she reaches his belt. She's confused and almost hurt for a second before his sinful smile puts her at ease.

"Let's take it slow, yeah? We've all the time in the world and I don't want our first time to be here, kinky as that may be."

She raises an eyebrow at his statement, because he did just eat her out with seemingly no problem, and he didn't care about where they were in the least. A handjob shouldn't be so far outside the bounds of acceptability.

"Oh, baby… Do you think I can have you touch me and not fuck you senseless afterwards?"

She stutters without words while Peter looks like the cat that got the cream, seemingly very happy to have rendered her speechless. He gives her a quick peck before pulling away, looking to the side for the supplies he brought in that have been completely forgotten in favor of a different type of care.

"Let's clean you up and get you home. Gonna have to catch up on our session tomorrow. No slacking."

He's switched to doctor mode so quickly it gives her whiplash, and a small chuckle leaves her at his serious expression. She decides to play into it.

"It's Thursday tomorrow. We don't have a session."

"Don't we?" he volleys back without pause, a grin appearing on his face as he works to clean the small scrape on her forehead from where she hit the pavement.

"I don't know. Where would we meet? The place is closed on Thursdays," she points out with no small degree of mirth, waiting for him to finally ask what she wants him to.

"I think I know a spot where we could go."

"Yeah?"

Peter stops what he's doing to lean in for another kiss, taking her breath away with the look in his eyes. He murmurs a quiet yes against her lips before capturing them with his own, and she sighs blissfully as her eyes close slowly.

.

.

.

Epilogue

Friday, December 17 | 7:52 p.m.

"Come on, sweetheart. Just give me one more."

"Peter, I can't."

"Yeah, you can. C'mon, I got you."

Grunting with the effort, she concentrates on the feeling of his warm hands on her calf to distract herself from the uncomfortable stretch. She's never had her leg at this angle since before the surgery, and even then, it was under much more pleasant circumstances.

"You know, I'd be more motivated if we were doing something else instead," she says, wiping at her brow with the back of her hand.

"Yeah? Like what?" Peter challenges.

"I don't know. What could we possibly be doing that would involve this much contorting?"

"Well there's gymnastics, acrobatics, the trapeze at the circus… Maybe pole dancing," he rattles off, looking down at her with a smirk.

"Mm. Wouldn't mind dancing on some pole."

Peter snorts, amused but undeterred.

"Come on, you're almost there. Just push a little further."

"You know, the things you're saying to me could very easily be heard in a delivery room somewhere."

"Stop wisecracking and focus."

"Bossy," she exhales, moving her leg higher and relying on him less to keep it straight. She can't hold it very long, but the fact is that she's made it - she's finally managed the elusive ninety degree angle they set as a goal a month ago, and it's a victory that doesn't take much to make her smile. Peter helps her move it back down when it starts to shake, but the tremors can't ruin the happiness of having gotten farther than before.

"I did it!"

She sits up from the floor mat, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses until he laughs.

"Easy, tiger. You haven't stretched yet. Don't wanna pull a muscle," he says, pecking her lips in return.

She pouts easily, something she recalls being dead-set against doing in front of him just two months ago. They've had so many firsts together in such a short time, yet none of them felt like moving too fast. Between spending time at each other's places and sleeping together, moving physio from the clinic to her living room still feels like the biggest transition that took no effort at all, at least on his part. He said he wanted to keep being her therapist as well as her boyfriend, but the latter made doing the former difficult. She thought it might have something to do with having to assert authority in their sessions while being equals in a relationship, but the explanation he gave almost made her laugh. He felt weird charging her. That was it.

"Can we skip stretching? I'm really sweaty. Wanna go shower."

She watches him contemplate her proposal, and he sighs in resignation when seeing the hopeful look on her face. He helps her up from the floor, watching her carefully until he deduces she's fine.

"You know, I was gonna ask you to join me, but if you're disappointed, I get it. I can shower all on my own… Just me and my thoughts in there. Who knows what I might come up with?" she muses, walking away from him and towards the bathroom. It's only a second or two before she hears him follow after, biting her lip and squealing when he picks her up from behind. The pain has been getting better over time, or maybe she's learned how to live with it more easily, but overall she suspects it's the change in morale that helps the most. Having someone to care for you and caring for them in return rivals the strongest willpower that attempts to go it alone.

She's been thinking about that more and more as the holidays approach, because as far as she knows, neither of them have any plans. Peter mentioned his only remaining family is his aunt May, but nothing has been said in relation to any end of year celebrations.

She uses the time they take in the shower to come up with the least intrusive way of asking, but Peter wandering hands and gentle touches have her starting the process over. By the time they've gotten out and he's laid her on the bed, taking her apart with his mouth and fingers and cock, her mind has quit on her completely. She's barely coherent as she writhes above him, bracing herself on his chest as he thrusts into her from below, whispering profanities that make her lightheaded.

"So fucking tight, baby. I can feel you shaking. Gonna come for me again?"

She whimpers from a particularly deep brush of his cock inside her, watching his eyes as they glue themselves to the spot where they're connected. Peter isn't just incredibly vocal in the bedroom, she's learned. He's also a voyeuristic lover whose adoration and worshipping can sometimes be overwhelming enough on their own. He's caught her frowning at herself in the mirror once and managed to make her come right there, with lazy flicks on his fingers through her soaked folds and words she'll never forget hotly whispered in her ear.

"Asked you a question, sweetheart. Wanna answer me?" he growls, sitting up so they're chest to chest. Her nipples keep brushing against him with every motion, adding to the flurry of sensations that build up to a crescendo.

"Yes," she moans, hugging him to her. "Yes, I'm close. Don't stop."

"Fuck, you're perfect. Feel so good around me."

"Peter," she tries warning him, and he reacts by pulling her down at the same time that he thrusts up again, ripping the sob of his name from her lips greedily and holding her still as she shakes around him, walls clamping down on his cock repeatedly. He groans into her mouth as the feeling of it snaps his self-control, thrusting a few more times as his orgasm washes over him.

They're both left panting as they come down, her more so than him. Her stamina might not be what it used to, but his is absolutely insane. He'd keep at it if she didn't ask him to stop, and one time she didn't just to see if he could fuck her stupid. Mystery solved. She begged him not to stop until she passed out for a few seconds, and when she came to, Peter was none too pleased. He's been careful ever since.

Her thoughts drift back to her earlier intentions, remembering she had a plan. Well, sort of. She has something she wants, and she has an idea of how to ask for it, but courage? Maybe it's too early, regardless of how well they're bonded. Maybe he does have other plans, and he just didn't discuss them with her, because this is new for them both and she doesn't expect -

"Need a map?"

She laughs breathlessly, dopey and in love as she stares into his eyes.

"Nah, I'm good. I just wanted… I wanted to ask you something. And you don't have to feel like you have to say yes just because you're still inside me."

It's Peter's turn to laugh at her disclaimer, pushing little wisps of hair from her sweaty forehead. They showered for nothing.

"What is it?"

"Well… I know we haven't talked about this, so if you have plans that's ok, but uh, it's gonna be Christmas soon and I would like to spend it with you. Whether we celebrate something or not doesn't matter to me that much, but I know I'll miss you, and I'd like to invite you to stay with me this week."

She tries not to study his reaction too closely, although in their current position that proves difficult. Peter juts his bottom lip out as he appears to think, and it's just shy of adorable and terrifying at the same time. She has no idea what he'll say.

"Well, to accept that I have to ask you something in return. And you don't have to say yes just because I'm still inside you."

She laughs at him repeating her words back to her, and laughs even harder when Peter groans, dropping his head to her shoulder.

"Don't do that," he admonishes without any force behind it, stealing a kiss from her neck before he pulls back.

"What is it? What do you wanna ask?" she says, brushing his hair back and running her fingers through it the way she knows he likes. He closes his eyes after she does it a few times, and she smiles at the sight.

"We don't really celebrate Christmas, aunt May and I. At least not in a religious way. My parents were Jewish, but they were also scientists, so believing in God wasn't really a priority. May and Ben raised me how they knew - we made our own traditions. We ate together on the 25th and we exchanged presents because I told them I heard other kids at school did it and I wanted to do that too, but we don't go through the whole 'putting up a tree' thing."

He's rambling out of nervousness. She can tell because it's different to his usual, more passionate rambling about things he finds fascinating. Still, it's nice to hear a bit of his family's story, and she's happy to know he's had many people to love him, even if he lost them.

"Baby, what do you wanna ask me?"

Peter opens his eyes slowly, looking sleepy and a little bit shy. She tries not to melt, but it's a losing battle.

"I was wondering… if you'd like to do that with us this year? Have lunch at May's house and do presents? I want the most important women in my life to meet," he says, watching her just as patiently as she watched him.

Her heart skips an involuntary beat at his declaration, the phrase ringing around her head and threatening to make everything fuzzy and warm. It's almost enough to make her tear up, but that would make her too emotional and she'd end up saying things neither of them is ready for yet. She settles for kissing his forehead, overwhelmed by the rush of affection warming her chest.

"I'd love that," she murmurs softly.

"Yeah?" he returns just as gently, one of his hands cupping her jaw.

She kisses him in response, trying her best to show him how much his question meant without words that would give away too much too soon. That will happen in its own time, and she's entirely happy letting things come as naturally as they have so far. All they have is each other and a growing tenderness, and it's more than enough for every day. The rest, they'll figure out as they go.

- fin -

A/N: Whew, that was insane. I wrote this in about four days like a woman possessed. It’s also the first time I’ve written any smut whatsoever and now I feel like a whore, but a proud one. As always, let me know your thoughts and don’t hesitate to drop into my inbox with questions or random thoughts about my fics. Thank you for reading.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter fluff #andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!spiderman x reader #healthcare worker!peter #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker smut #tasm!peter smut