#Dr ten thumbs

[greyssell]

Dr ten thumbs

Dr ten thumbs how to#

Pseudoclubbing is also more likely to be asymmetric. Pseudoclubbing: distinguished from clubbing by the preservation of the nail-fold angle and bony erosion of the terminal phalanges on radiography. The causes of HPOA are the same as those of clubbing. Median nerve palsy may make one hand produce a.

If a patient has painful wrists, painful ankles and comes to see you and you miss that they also have clubbing, you will go down the wrong path looking for RA etc, when what they have is Hypertrophic Pulmonary Osteoarthropathy. Ask patient to use both hands to make and Okay sign by forming a circle with thumb and index finger.

Ideal for adults and kids alike, Ten Thumbs teaches you the 5 habits of highly effective touch typing that will last you a lifetime. Have you noticed a slight shaking or tremor in your finger, thumb. The condition is often painless, but your child may also experience pain when straightening her digits and. Ten Thumbs is the easy and fun way to learn to type. Know the 10 early signs of Parkinsons disease to tell if you or a loved one has PD.

There are other causes of clubbing, outside the heart and lungs, but these are the important ones. Trigger thumb, stuck in a flexed position (flexion).

COPD IS NOT A CAUSE OF CLUBBING (if you seen clubbing in a COPD patient, think lung cancer).

The M-Disc can be used with any standard DVD drive to read information.

Pus in the lung (bronchiectasis as in CF, but also lung abscess and empyema) A more realistic lifespan for magnetic tape is about ten to twenty years.

(Yellow from nicotine, and clubbed from cancer).

Lung Cancer (clubbing is in general an ominous sign for this, and remember "beware of the yellow clubbed digit".

Use the new window to locate the files you would like to copy.Important causes of clubbing in the adult: While keeping the USB drive window open, press Ctrl+N to open a new File Explorer window.

Dr ten thumbs how to#

RELATED: How to Find Your Missing USB Drive in Windows 7, 8, and 10 Find the Files You Want to Copy Natural selection just favours the configurations which currently. If the USB drive doesn’t show up in your “Devices And Drives” list, you’ll have to perform some in-depth sleuthing to figure out what it going on. Why did human evolution stop at 8 fingers, 2 thumbs, and 10 toes Evolution never stops. Generally, its additional files, such as preference files and application support files, still remains on the hard drive after you delete Ten Thumbs Typing. There may also be a visible growth or bump at the joint as. The first thing you may notice is swelling and pain in the joint of the thumb, accompanied by aching and tenderness and loss of strength. The calcium in your kidneys can trigger a plethora of symptoms including increased urination and kidney stones. When you have too much calcium in your blood, some of it may be deposited into your kidneys. All Motorcyclerepair Results in Goetz Dr, Canyon Lake, CA 92587. Note that the “C:” drive is almost always the main drive on your PC, unless you go very out of your way to change it.ĭepending on how File Explorer is configured (see the “Layout” options under the “View” menu), the style of the icons within this window may appear different on your machine. The symptoms of basal thumb arthritis are distinct, and as soon as you think you may have an issue in the joint, you should seek medical attention. Tums can raise your blood calcium level to a point of essentially overdosing on calcium. I personally recommend him and his shop to anyone. If your USB drive has been recognized correctly and is ready to receive files, it will appear in this location with a name and a drive letter assigned to it, such as “D:”, “E:”, or “F:”, or another letter. In the window that pops up, locate the section called “Devices And Drives.” If necessary, click the small carat-shaped arrow to the left of the section header to reveal a list of the drives.

[badolmen]

I can fix him*

*bad writing, underutilized gameplay mechanics, characters with unfulfilled potential, funded by bootlickers

[gonnahaveabigtalklater]

i think every RCM officer should be able to exchange silly little messages via Esprit De Corps. harry-based cop snapchat.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader requested by multiple: doctor visit

The pediatrician's office is very bright.

Bright walls, bright furniture, bright toys. The hallway is painted a bright blue, dotted with wispy, spongey clouds, spiraling in patterns from floor to ceiling.

The exam room is not much better. It's yellow. Supposed to be soothing, you tell him. It's anything but.

The bright colors unsettle him, but he shoves it down. Swallows the gnawing anxiety brewing in the back of his mind, forces away the spiral attempting to swallow him whole. He falls back on what gives him comfort, what allows him to sleep at night, what makes him feel whole. The only one who doesn't make him feel torn to shreds. The one who can touch his bare skin without making him shake. You.

You're nervous too. It started when you got the baby undressed, and has only gone downhill from there. He can see it in the way you pace back and forth in the room, holding Ry to your chest, bouncing him, rubbing his back. There's dread scrawled into your expression, grim unease radiating from your bones.

"C'mere mama." He reaches, pulling your forearm and tugging you close, resting his chin on top of your head. You relax, but barely. "Everything's going to be alright."

"He hates shots."

"He's a baby, course he does. Can't blame 'im. Huh bub?" He strokes Orion's chubby and round cheek, tilting his head to press a kiss to your temple.

Someone knocks on the door, and it creaks open.

"Hi!" A young woman in a white coat smiles at them, giving Simon an odd look before stepping forward. He swallows the acid burning the back of his throat.

"Hey, Dr. Marsh." You greet weakly, face pinched. She says hello, and washes her hands, keeping a stream of chatter until she's seated on a rolling stool with an iPad in her hand.

"How's our big man?"

"Still big." You quip drily, and she laughs, glancing up at Simon. You look at him too, and then your mouth drops into a little o. "Sorry, this is Simon. Orion's dad." She stands, extends her hand. He takes it, careful to not squeeze too tight before letting go and hanging his own rigidly by his side, tense, like he's priming for a fight of some kind.

"I guess we know where he gets his size from." Fingers tap across the screen, and then she sets it on the examination table. "So, how is it going?"

"Fine, good, I think. He's still feeding every three hours. I feel like he's gained ten pounds since our last visit." She nods. "I've been trying to pump as much as I can but... there's just... not as much."

"That can happen. If you're still happy with breastfeeding, I don't have any concerns. Of course, if you want to stop, that's more than okay. As long as he's getting what he needs, there's no wrong way to feed him." You nod, rubbing his back. Dr. Marsh asks about any other concerns, and after you say you have none, she reaches for him. "Let's see if our guy is still a ninety nine percenter, huh?" Simon frowns.

"Ninety nine percenter?"

"He's uh, in the ninety nine percentile. Very big."

"Very big, and very tall." Dr. Marsh says from over her shoulder, where she's now got Orion on the baby scale. "Born at what mum, four and a half kilograms?" Simon blanches. Bloody hell. You haven't really told him too much about the birth, and he hasn't pushed you on it. Maybe this is why. You don't have a c-section scar, and he winces thinking about you giving birth, naturally. He should have been there. Should have held your hand, told you how amazing you were. How strong. The familiar feeling of regret resurfaces, and he gives you an apologetic look. You shrug with a little smile.

"He looked like a giant in the nursery, next to all the... regular sized babies." Dr. Marsh laughs, but Simon grimaces. Guilt settles in his stomach like a rock.

"Sorry, mama." He apologizes sheepishly, squeezing your hand, and you rub your thumb over his knuckles.

"It's okay, I kinda," your eyes sweep over him from head to toe, "expected it."

"Alright, so," Dr. Marsh brings Ry back over, handing him to you, but Simon intervenes, pulling him into his arms. He worries about your back. She smiles again, types something into the tablet, and then clears her throat, "growth is slowing down."

"Is that bad?" You sound alarmed, and she shakes her head.

"Not bad, considering he's been outperforming in height and weight since he was born. This happens, it's normal, there's nothing to worry about. However, he's still in the nineties. Just shy of eight kilograms."

"What's normal?" He's curious now, wondering how big his son is really, compared to others. He'd even feel proud, if he wasn't worried about the trauma having him may have caused you.

"Fiftieth percentile is around six. Now," she rests her hands on her thighs, and levels a serious look at you. "How are you? Sleep getting any better? Are you keeping up on hydration?" Simon peeks down at you, lips tugged into a firm line.

"He still feeds every three hours, and I'm the source so... not really."

"Any more dizzy spells?" What? His head snaps your direction. Orion gurgles, and he pats his back absentmindedly. Dizzy spells? Why haven't you said anything?

"Uh, not really. Maybe a few."

"Breastfeeding can take a lot out of you. It uses a lot of metabolic energy, so try to make sure you're eating enough and drinking a lot of water. It's normal to feel exhausted or fatigued, but taking care of your nutritional needs will go a long way. I know I sound like a broken record but, I think it will help. You might also try talking to your OB, since you know... I'm only a little human doctor." You swallow.

"Okay." She gives you a serious look, and you nod.

"Alright then, let's move on to everyone's favorite part."

He holds Orion for the entirety of the rest of the visit. He squirms and screams as he gets his shots, crying at the top of his lungs, and Simon closes his eyes at one point to take a deep breath. He's okay. He's safe. They're both safe. They're here.

You take him afterward, lips to the top of his head, eyes closed as you whisper. "Shhh, I know baby, I know. It's over now. All done. You were so brave." Simon's heart aches. It hurts to know you're struggling, that you see yourself as a failure, when it's so blatant that you're anything but. He's going to fix that.

You stop at the reception desk, lingering until the girl behind it gets off the phone. "Um, can we update Orion's emergency contact list? I want his dad to be on there, too." Simon looks down at you, momentarily dumbstruck. Sweet, sweet girl. Sweet little kitten. The receptionist smiles brightly, taking the information he provides, phone number, back up phone number (work cell) and his name.

The two of you head towards the elevator, and you give him a hesitant look as you step inside. "You don't mind right? I didn't want to overstep but... you're his parent too, I thought you might want to be-" You don't get to finish before he's swooping down with a hand at the small of your back and another on the baby's head, slamming his lips to yours so fiercely your breath hitches.

"Mama," he kisses your forehead, and then cups your chin. "You and Orion are my family now. You're it for me, and I'm chuffed you'd think to put me down as an emergency contact." You jerk back at his words, eyes wide. Too much? Too soon? Too strong? He doesn't care. He needs to start easing you into it, getting you used to the new reality, before he's moving you and the baby out of your flat and giving you a new last name.

"Simon." You whisper, but he shakes his head.

"I told you. I wanted you the night we made him, and I still do. You're everything. You're mine. You and our boy." You don't say anything, and the silence kills him until you reach for his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. "An' we're going to have a talk about you getting dizzy and not saying anything to me. Alright?" You gulp.

"Alright."

[benevolentbones]

gideondaughter!reader and spencer first time talking when the team goes to dinner and spencer is just a mess talking to her

thank you sm for the request!! hope you enjoy<3 requests are still open i’ll be working through them!

kids table | spencer reid x gideon!reader part 1

part 2

warnings: mentions of alcohol, light flirting.

word count: 1.5k

summary: it’s gideon’s birthday dinner and the team are here to celebrate.

“are you sure he booked it for 8:30?�� jj hummed, holding her clutch purse close to her sage green maxi dress.

“yes. gideon party of nine at mastro’s, 8:30pm.” spencer recalled, having the time and place drilled into his mind in fear of being late.

“party of nine? but there’s only eight of us?” elle’s brows contorted, she counted everyone in the room. jj, morgan, reid, garcia, hotch, prentiss, herself and then gideon who was yet to show, that was only eight.

“maybe he’s bringing a date?” penelope chuckled, her hands smoothing down the hem of her fitted pencil dress.

“gideon? with a date? i highly doubt that.” morgan snickered, leaning against garcia.

the group of agents waited rather impatiently for gideon to arrive to the restaurant. all adorned in their best dress for the awaited man of the hours birthday dinner.

hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb.

“it’s only 8:25, he will be here.” he muttered out.

spencer began to fumble with his hands, he would class himself as a fairly patient man, the only thing on his mind currently was who the mystery ninth guest could be. he didn’t like not knowing things, it was part of being a profiler he guessed.

the doors to the dimly lit restaurant swung open, jason gideon walking in full stride with a grin on his face. he wore a navy blue suit jacket paired with his signature chinos.

“finally you’re here, they’ve been complaining for the last ten minutes.” prentiss sighed, placing a hand on her hip.

“its not even 8:30, i said i would be on time- but y/n here couldn’t find the shoes she wanted to wear.” gideon let out a small chuckle as a figure walked through the doors behind him.

a girl, roughly in her early twenties stood beside gideon. her hands clamped together in front of her, a black satin dress adorned her figure, hugging her nicely, which she paired with matching black heels.

“well i found them in the end, dad.” she mumbled out, greeting the group with a small smile.

half the team stood there it awe, mouths gaped and eyes locked on the latest arrivals.

“you clean up nice, jason.” hotch nodded towards the older man, then turning his sights on you.

“beautiful as ever.” he smiled, which he rarely did, and leaned over to give you a hug.

“thanks uncle aaron.” you grinned back, embracing his warm hug.

“i’m sorry you need to catch us up real quick- dad? uncle?” morgan titled his head like a confused puppy.

“i didn’t realise you’d have trouble putting two and two together, morgan. this is my daughter, y/n.” gideon mused, ushering you further into the room.

you held out your hand, derek quickly took it in his, giving it a small shake, cogs in his mind still visibly turning.

“and aaron isn’t actually my uncle- he just acts like it.” you pulled your hand back, returning it to your side.

gideon quickly introduced you to the rest of the team, everyone seeming to come to terms with the fact gideon had a ‘secret’ daughter that he never once brought up.

all the while spencer stood, hands glued to his sides as he eyed you. he had never seen someone so perfect, the way the dress hung from your frame, the way you politely greeted every member of the team.

when gideon had finally reached him to introduce y/n to him, he was caught off guard.

“reid, meet my daughter y/n, im sure it’s not as hard for you to understand.” gideon hummed, making a dig at morgan who had migrated with the group to where the table was set up.

unlike the others, you kept your hand to yourself, but shot spencer a sweet smile.

“it’s really nice to meet you dr. reid- my dad has told me so much about you, i know you’re not big on handshakes.”

spencer’s heart was practically doing backflips at this point. he was completely enamoured by you.

“really nice- to meet you too.” he managed to stutter out.

gideon internally rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what was happening.

“how about we sit down and look at the menu.” he began to usher his daughter towards the table, spencer following quick at his heels.

by the time the three of them had reached where the table set for nine was, the rest of the team were sat, eagerly awaiting them. the only free spaces were at either end of the rectangular table, and an extra place next to the end seat.

“hey gideon come look at this” jj beckoned the older man over, to the head of the table. he briefly turned back to his daughter, before he could utter a word she nodded, knowing that she wouldn’t be sitting with him.

“guess we can sit down at the end together.” you affirmed, shuffling to the free seats with spencer by your side.

once seated, everyone began flipping through the menu, all besides spencer who’s gaze every so often flickered over to the girl beside him, who seemed deep in thought about what she was going to order.

“what are you going to get?” she asked, attempting to make quiet conversation with the man at her side.

spencer hummed, he had researched the restaurant before hand noting all of the dishes he might like.

“the uh- the pasta, i think.” he paused for a moment. “what about you?” he cursed the heat that rose to his face, lifting his hand to loosen the dark purple tie around his neck.

you smiled, still scanning the menu, taking glimpses of spencer in his flustered state.

you had heard many things about most of the team throughout your fathers years of working with them, and when he finally allowed you to meet them, you were most excited to meet spencer.

“i might have that too, it sounds good.”

a few hours had past since everyone had sat down, everyone had finished eating and were now onto their fourth round of drinks, all besides you and spencer.

everyone was deep in conversation about a case from a few years back, obviously you had no clue what they were talking about.

you turned to spencer, who seemed to have gotten more comfortable being in such close proximity to you.

“i swear it feels like we are sitting at the kids table at a christmas dinner.” you giggled to yourself.

“i know right- it’s it’s like we aren’t even here.” spencer returned the chuckle, his heart beating a little faster.

“how are you enjoying the night- i hope im not boring you too much, if you want to join the rest of them feel free.” you mumbled out, eyes migrating to your hands that you had placed on your lap.

“no no- i like it here, i like you- i mean i like being with you i-“ spencer fumbled on his words, causing you to smile. god he was a complete mess.

you reached a hand over, placing it on spencer’s forearm. he could swear his skin felt like it was burning from your touch.

“i like being with you too, spencer.” you whispered out, a soft pink blush dusting your cheeks.

his hazel eyes locked with yours, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. he was partly confused as to why someone like you had enjoyed his awkwardness and rambling.

to say he had little experience talking to women in more than a friendly way, was an understatement.

he was completely out of his depth, and the fact that your father, his boss, sat at the other end of the table made things a little more awkward for him.

“you look really-good tonight, by the way.” he managed to mumble out, without sounding like a complete idiot.

this caused your face to flush, darting your eyes away from him briefly.

“thank you spencer.”

“would you maybe want to-“ before he could continue, gideon had stood up from the table, all eyes were on him.

“lets go y/n, your old man is getting too tired for this.” he joked.

“oh right-“ you stood up quickly brushing off your dress, you did a small lap of the table thanking everyone for the lovely evening and telling them it was great to meet them.

you then followed gideon out of the room, all remaining eyes were now on spencer who slumped down into his chair.

“that’s rough man, you had all night and didn’t even ask her out.” morgan shook his head lightly, feeling somewhat bad for the boy genius.

before spencer could say anything, he watched you dart back into the room, a piece of paper in your grasp. you quickly placed it in spencer’s hand before pressing a light peck to his cheek and running off out of the restaurant again.

the now flustered brunette un crumpled the paper, scanning the scribbled words.

thanks for talking all night, id love to go out with you sometime x

555-555-555 - y/n

“never mind- atta boy!”

[helen-with-an-a]

ona batlle x Putellas!sister!reader

reader an ona are in a relationship but nobody knows in a game against real madrid ona gets hurt and you comfort her and almost got a red card that is when alexia sees that you are more than just friends

Hiiiiii - thank you so much for the request. I hope you enjoy it. I did read the request wrong so R gets injured not Ona but I think it's cute and funny still ahahaha. I hope you enjoy it.

Exposed

Ona Batlle x Reader ; Alexia Putellas x Reader

Description: It takes an injury for Alexia to figure out R is in a relationship

TW: Injury

Word Count: 1.5k (i think)

It wasn’t exactly how you imagined telling your sister you were in a long-term relationship … a secret long-term relationship that you had been hiding from your sister for a very long time. In your head, you probably would have done it years ago, before you went over to Manchester, before you left Barça to play for Madrid CFF. In your head, you would have done it after Ona kissed you after your final match for La Masia.

Who would have thought that you and Ona would have been in a relationship since 2017 without Alexia catching on? You hadn’t meant to hide it from anyone, not really. You had told Patri after you phoned her freaking out over your imminent first date with Ona. And Ona had spilled to Leila after you asked her to be your girlfriend. Over time, almost everyone but Alexia was in on the secret. Alba had caught you and Ona coming out of a café, hand-in-hand, looking at each other like you were the only two people on the planet. Ona’s brother had been slightly less lucky as he walked in on you mid-make out in Ona’s bedroom. Your Mamí had been introduced to Ona formally one night when she came over to Manchester to watch one of your matches. Ona had snuck you away from Barcelona to her family home to for you to officially meet her parents too.

Was it the best idea to remain hidden for that long? Probably not, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. You had seen the way Alexia had reacted to Alba’s partners – the stern words, the rude grunts and her overall displeasure at the person Alba brought home. It would have been ten times worse with you. Alexia was a protective person when it came to her friends and family. But you, you were her Hermanita. You were had littlest sister that had followed in her footsteps and taken to football like a duck to water. If an opposition player even breathed in your direction, Alexia was looming over them, anger in her eyes as she laid a slightly-too-harsh tackle on them. You couldn’t bring yourself to let Ona be on the receiving end of that anger.

It was a slightly awkward conversation, having to broach the subject of hiding your girlfriend was not easily brought up. At first it was fine, Ona hadn’t made her sexuality well known and so keeping things lowkey was fine. It took Ona seeing Alexia rant and rave about Alba’s ex and how no one would ever be good enough for her little sisters to finally realise that you weren’t ashamed of your relationship or hiding it from the world. You were merely protecting Ona and her own friendship with Alexia.

That all came crashing down after Misa’s poorly timed dive for the ball. You were a forward, dodging approaching goalkeepers had become your forte. But not this time. This time, Misa’s body was at your feet before you knew it and you were colliding with the goalpost before you could stop yourself.

You felt totally fine as you sat up, a little dazed perhaps and your head throbbed and something was keeping your eye from opening all the way. You were mainly concerned about the cuts along your thumb. You knew that wearing your necklace during a match wasn’t allowed, you it was long enough to keep hidden, normally. You must have caught it as you fell, the stinging in your hands keeping you preoccupied.

“Princesa?” Ona’s voice was frantic, the worry palpable as she rushed to your side.

“My hands,” you whined, looking down at your thumb that had a rather a lot of blood dripping down it.

“Princesa, your head,” Ona placed a hand on your cheek, dragging your attention away from your cuts.

“No, Oni. My hands,” you whined again, not quite understanding what she was so concerned about.

The two of you were in your own little bubble. You didn’t see the looks from the team, or your families in the crowd. Or your sister, who was simultaneously arguing with the ref for a red card for Misa and casting glances back at you and Ona, confused as to why she had a feeling that she was missing something. You and Ona had been best friends for years. You had been roommates at the academy. And then you moved to Madrid together, sharing a small flat there and Valencia before moving to Manchester at the same time. But she couldn’t help the nagging sensation that she was missing a piece of the puzzle.

Eventually, the medics arrived and the looks on their faces as they guided you to lay back down was something Alexia could not ignore. She gave up arguing, leaving that to Marta and Patri and came to your side.

“Hermanita?” She asked, her face appearing in your field of vision.

“Hi Ale,” you smiled. Clearly the medics had given you something for the pain.

“Are you ok, cariño? That’s a nasty cut.” She nodded to your eyebrow that was slowly dribbling a trickle of red liquid and had already swollen to double its size.

“I’m good,” you said breezily, the pain meds having already kicked in. “Just … just,” you flailed your good hand about, reaching for Alexia and holding on tightly. “Don’t let mi Oni do anything stupid. She seemed really angry.” You couldn’t help but let the tears start to fall. She blinked, your Oni

“Oh, Hermanita, you’re ok. You’re gonna be just fine, cariño.” She pressed a few kisses to your knuckles as the medics sat you back up again.

It was clear to Jona that Alexia would not be continuing the game. The way her eyes followed you, the way she bit her lip, the way her hands were shaking ever so slightly as she grabbed a water bottle.

“Alexia, I’m switching you out,” Jona called, already handing the papers off to the official.

“What? No, I’m ok, I promise.” Her lie was caught as she broke off, seeing you gingerly get to your feet.

“It’s not for you, it’s for her,” Jona justified. “She’s going to need her big sister,” he added in a more private tone. It was a well-known fact in the club that you hated anything medical – simple check-ins, a basic assessment, the smallest of things, you had to have either Ona or Alexia in with you. You were so high on whatever pain meds you were given you barely even clocked Alexia was in the room with you. Your eyes kept flitting to the door before something else caught your attention, but it wasn’t long until you were staring at the door again.

There was about 10 minutes left of the game when the murmurs started in the corridor outside.

“Let me in,” someone shouted. Alexia couldn’t recognise who it was, but clearly you did.

“Oni,” you squealed, trying to sit up and go to your girlfriend.

“No, hermanita. Stay still,” Alexia said firmly, putting a hand on your shoulder and lying you back down.

“Let. Me. In,” Ona said more firmly this time. After a moment, the door swung open, and Ona stood with a Liga F official by her side.

“You really should be in the changing rooms, Ms. Batlle,” he tried to insist.

“Yeh, and I really need to see my gi- ... friend,” she countered.

“Ona,” Alexia said carefully, catching everyone’s attention. “Thank you, sir. I’ll take it from here,” she smiled at the official. Even he gulped at her tone.

“Did Jona sub you off?” You asked, breaking the tension. Ona couldn’t lift her eyes from the floor.

“Answer her,” Alexia asked sternly.

“Not exactly,” Ona offered a weak smile that looked more like a grimace.

“Then why aren’t you on the field?” Alexia raised an eyebrow.

“I got a red,” Ona whispered

The room was silent.

“Did you protect my honour, Oni? God, you’re such a good girlfriend.” You smiled happily, not quite realising what you had just confessed.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

[georgeclarkesgf]

shush, it's a secret | george clarke

it's not unusual for you to be over at george's flat considering you and him met at university and both moved to london around the same time. but about four months ago, your relationship changed from close friends to just that, a relationship.

you'd both decided to not tell anyone, despite how difficult it was proving to be to not be all over each other 24/7. the fans knew of you, to an extent. you'd appear in the backgrounds of videos or tiktoks posted by the boys. your social media was public, however, none of your accounts included your name, making it less likely for fans to find you.

tonight, you're over at the flat again, legs strewn over george's lap and eating some of the dominoes he'd ordered. a movie chris had picked out plays on the tv, but was now long forgotten about since a debate has broken out amongst the boys. over what? you don't know. you're too focused on the way george's hand is subconsciously trailing up your thigh, dangerously high for a 'close friend'. he honestly hasn't noticed that he's doing it, too engaged in the ongoing debate. so, you pick your phone up from your chest and message him.

too high x

his phone dings and he leans forward, grabbing it off the table before noticing it was from you. you watch as his brows furrow in confusion, before sending him another message.

your hand x

realisation hits george and he squeezes your thigh gently as an apology, moving his hand back down to rest above your knees. he mouths 'sorry' at you, to which you can't help but giggle and shake your head. arthur (hill) looks between you two in slight confusion, going to say something but deciding to keep his mouth shut.

it wasn't that you didn't want to tell people, you'd both just agreed it would be easier figuring things out and adjusting to this shift in dynamic without other people prying their noses in. it didn't make the thrill of getting caught any less exciting though. even the simple things such as him wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder made you get an adrenaline rush.

you can feel your eyes growing heavy, despite it still being relatively early, and decide to call it a night.

"sorry guys but i'm gonna head to bed," an echo of boos fill the room while you shrug, laughing, "i'm tired guys leave me alone. mind if i crash in your bed george?"

it feels weird having to ask your boyfriend if you can sleep in his bed, but it seems to be doing the trick of keeping the relationship a secret. there are only three bedrooms and you've known george the longest, so it makes sense you'd stay in his room.

"no go for it, i probably won't be long." you give him a smile and climb off the sofa, heading to his room.

george's eyes widen when he next checks the time, not realising it was so late.

"shit." he mumbles to himself, gaining a weird look from the boys.

"you alright george?" arthur (hill) questions.

"yea i'm fine. just didn't realise it was so late that's all, got stuff to do tomorrow. i'm gonna go to bed though, night guys." he was lying right through his teeth, he had nothing to do tomorrow.

what george had meant to be ten minutes or so had turned into an hour and a half. arthur (tv) ended up coming over and they'd gotten so caught up in conversation that time seemed to fly by. he knows that you hate falling asleep without him and feels guilt seep into his skin. especially since he knows you won't ask for him to come to bed, not wanting it to come off weird since to the others, you're 'just friends'.

you're staring at the ceiling when he shuts his bedroom door, having fallen asleep for all of twenty minutes before you woke up to an empty bed over an hour ago.

"i'm so sorry baby, i didn't realise it had been that long," you turn to look at him, enjoying the way he starts stroking your cheek with his thumb, "have you been waiting for me?"

"mhm, fell asleep for about twenty minutes and been awake since. it's okay though, kept myself busy," george's jaw drops slightly, clearly misunderstanding your words, "oh my god george, no! i meant by reading some more of my book you perv. get your mind out the gutter."

he laughs and goes in to kiss you but you push his forehead away before he can. you scrunch up your face in disgust.

"ow, what was that for?" he's rubbing his forehead like you just hit him with a bat, making it much more dramatic than necessary.

"brush your teeth, you have pizza breath." he tries to do it again and catch you off guard but fails, "i mean it george."

"yes ma'am."

he disappears into the bathroom and returns a few minutes later. his teeth are brushed and he's wearing a pair of grey joggers. your arms open wide, inviting him to lay on top of you so you can run your nails through his hair and up and down his back. a feeling both of you love.

"can i kiss you now?" he teases, grin widening when you nod your head.

several kisses are planted on your face and you know he's purposefully missing your lips. you frown, wanting him to kiss you properly, not having felt his lips on yours in what felt like years. realistically, it's been a few hours.

"george, kiss me properly." you whine.

and he does just that. one hand holding himself up to hover over you, the other stroking your cheek and bringing you in closer until your lips finally meet. the kiss starts off slow and loving, until he presses you further into the mattress, his hands beginning to roam your body. every ounce of sleep you were feeling disappears, suddenly becoming hyper aware of what's happening.

pulling away, you mumble, "we can't, everyone's here. they'll hear us."

"never stopped us before." george whispers against your mouth, connecting your lips once again.

well touché.

a/n don't ask where the inspiration for this came from at 2 in the morning cause i don't have an answer. not proofread either sorryyy. shall i make a part two? i feel like i'll end up doing it anyway but what do you guys think??

[redocity]

kinda emergency request. Okay so I’m super sick right now but I also had a lot to get done this week so I pushed through and ended up collapsing. It was a whole thing and I went to the hospital for a few days. I hadn’t eaten cause I was nauseous or slept because I was in pain. Any way would it be possible to get a Evan Buckley x reader on that. Sorry it’s a lot I know! But thank you!

PUSH THROUGH — E.BUCKLEY

Being sick and being a firefighter were two things that should never exist at the same time. when you push yourself a little too hard and end up collapsing, buck gets more than a little worried.

WARNINGS: gn!reader, sick reader, mentions of nausea and wanting to throw up, reader faints

evan buckley x reader || hurt/comfort || 3.0k || requests open!

a/n: i hope you’re alright and get better soon!

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

Being a firefighter was hard. It consisted of long and physically taxing workdays, a lot of mental scarring, and most prominently, a lack of regular breaks.

Some days were okay, slow days where you only had three or four calls in a 12 hour shift, but on days like today, where you had spent a grand total of 35 minutes in the station in the last six hours —with the first 20 of those being before your shift even started— being a firefighter felt like you were living through your own personal hell.

“Hey—” Buck nudges you with his elbow, and you blink your eyes shortly before turning your gaze to him with a small hum, breaking yourself out of your dissociation of staring blankly across the lounge room.

“I’ve been calling your name for like a whole minute, are you okay?” Buck’s eyebrows furrow in an obvious concern for your well being, a dark line forming at the top of the bridge of his nose that you fight the urge to smooth out with the pad of your thumb.

You might have an unprofessional friendship with Buck, but even you knew what boundaries were unsafe to cross.

“Mhm, I’m fine,” Your voice is distant even to yourself, like there’s a layer of cotton coating the inside of your ears.

“You’re not though,” Buck presses the back of his hand against your forehead to feel for a temperature, and you swat it away lightly with a small shake of your head, something that does nothing in disproving Buck’s theory. “You’re all quiet and warm, and I can see your hands shaking,”

You clasp your hands together at the last part, interlocking your fingers and holding them securely in your lap so that they can’t move without your consent anymore. “I’m fine,”

He sighs at your continued dismissal. It was obvious that you weren’t okay, so why would you keep trying to pretend like you were? “Have you eaten anything yet? Maybe you should eat something, you know, replenish all of those nutrients or whatever,”

“Okay Dr Buckley, no need to treat me like a five year old,” You roll your eyes with a short laugh, and a small smile etches it’s way onto Buck’s face at the flicker of your usual personality shining through despite your current condition. “I’m not hungry right now—” Buck opens his mouth to argue, but you hold up your hand before he can get a word out. “—But, i’ll see about getting something after our next call okay?”

He lets out a short breath through his nose as he concedes defeat, leaning back against the lounge sofa dramatically. “Fine, but I will make sure of that,”

You hope he doesn’t.

You’d tried to make yourself a piece of dry, bland toast this morning to quell the growing ache in your stomach from how little you’d fed yourself over the last two days, but it ended up with you feeling so sick that you had to take almost ten minutes of your morning doing deep breathing exercises so that you wouldn’t throw it back up again. You didn’t fancy a round two of that.

“Yes sir,” You exaggerate your response through a mock salute, and he gives you a short laugh and a pat of his hand on your lower thigh, squeezing it lightly.

You take the end in the conversation to relax against the back of the sofa, but as soon as the back of your head meets the top of the cushion the alarm rings out and you curse your own downfall.

Buck gives your leg another pat as he stands, holding out his hand for you to take so he can help you to your feet, something which, although you would keep to yourself to stop him from worrying about you even more, you were grateful for in the wake of your staticed vision in the first few second of you standing upright.

—

It wasn’t the worst call in the world, some driver going 10 over the speed limit managed to swerve off the road, over a patch of grass, and land right into somebodies six foot hedge lining their yard. All you had to do was winch the car out and check that the driver didn’t have any injures. It took less than half an hour.

But by the time you climbed back into the truck you felt like you had absolutely no energy left whatsoever, your shoulders slumped and your head limply resting backwards against the headrest in fatigue.

You were just absolutely exhausted, probably not helped by the rough nights you’d been having because of the phantom pains that seemed to plague you whenever you moved so much as an inch.

You considered asking to stay at the station for the next call, or just asking to stay at the station for the rest of your shift entirely at this point. You weren’t sure you’d have the physical capacities to be of any help at all, and if you were to tag along you’d just be a nuisance to everybody else as they tried to do their jobs.

You didn’t have to make that decision yourself, your body made it for you.

Buck had been extra attentive to you on the call, and that didn’t end once the truck parked in the station, he climbed down the truck’s side ladders before you, turning to hold out his hand so you’d have an extra balance point if you needed it whilst climbing down, but instead he was met with your clouded gaze, literally watching the moment your consciousness seems to slip away from your body as your foot misses one of the steps and causes to stumble forward.

He catches your weight in his arms before you can hit the floor, a panicked “Cap!” echoing through the engine bay as he lowers you to lie on the floor with your head resting on his thighs, all colour drained from your face as your eyes flicker underneath your eyelids.

Hen and Chimney are at your side before Bobby is, but he’s not far behind as the rest of the team circle you in concern.

“What happened?” Hen furrows her eyebrows as she watches Chimney check your heart rate, tightening a blood pressure cuff around your arm.

“I don’t know they just collapsed—” Buck’s voice mirrors his expression it’s panic.

“105/70, alright, lay them down on the floor, Eddie, put your jacket underneath their feet,” Hen removes the blood pressure cuff as Buck and Eddie rush to follow her instructions, and her and Chimney share a nod as they both confirm you’re not in any medical danger.

“Are they okay?” Buck hesitates to lie your head on the concrete floor, so his leaves his hand as a barrier between you and the floor.

“They’re fine, it’s just hypotension, do you know if they’ve eaten or drank anything today?” Hen puts a comforting hand on Buck’s shoulder to help calm his panic as the adrenaline from your collapse slowly dissipates.

“I asked if they were hungry earlier and they said they’d eat something later,” Buck presses his lips into a line, feeling mildly guilty about not pushing you to eat something earlier when he had the chance to.

Your head twitches in his hand before he has the time to drill himself into a spiral over it, and soon enough you’re squeezing your eyes shut tighter before flickering them open.

“There you are, welcome back to the land of the living,” Chimney rubs your shoulder with his hand as you wake, and promptly pushes you back to lying flat when you try to sit up. “No, stay there, you’ll only pass out again if you sit up too quickly,”

“What happened?” You squint your eyes under the harsh overhead lights, covering them with the back of your hand.

“You collapsed on the way out of the truck, gave us all a scare there for a moment,” Bobby crosses his arms as he steps into your line of sight, tone carrying reprimand but his expression laced in concern.

“Right… sorry,”

“Don’t apologise,” Bobby shakes his head shortly, “When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh…” You don’t know whether it’s the fact that you’ve just fainted, or the weird angle you’re currently at that’s making you slower than usual. “This morning,”

“It’s almost 4pm—” Buck’s voice announces you of his presence like he hasn’t been protecting your head from the concrete for the last five minutes with his hand, and you crane your head backwards to look up at him.

“I felt sick, I didn’t want to throw up everywhere that’s gross,” You groan slightly as your neck begins to ache. “Can I sit up now?”

“Slowly,” Hen takes your hand as she carefully pulls you to sit upright, and Buck remains on his knees behind you in case you need to lie back down again. “How are you feeling? Still lightheaded?”

“A little,” You rub the knuckle of your thumb over your forehead in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension lingering there, and Hen hums.

“Alright, it’s time for you to eat,” Buck places both of his hands on your shoulders as he stands, squeezing them softly before extending a hand out to help you back onto your feet, which you take without complaint.

“Okay,”

You let Buck lead you up to the open lounge with mild guilt written across your face. Guilt and embarrassment at the fact that you’d passed out in front of everyone.

“Okay, so we’ve got tomato and onion pasta bake, left over macaroni and cheese, uh…” Buck rifles through the fridge for what’s left of different Bobby creations over the last few days. “Ooh there’s lasagna in here, I might have to keep that for myself,”

He knows it’s not the funniest thing he’s ever said, but when he turns back to check on you, the way you’re sat blankly staring at the table doesn’t spell anything good.

“Hey,” Buck abandons his fridge endeavours with a small sigh, walking over to put his hand on your shoulder. “Are you alright? Really?”

You barely so much as acknowledge him, giving him a small hum as you rest your forehead on the palms of your hands. “I think I should go home…”

Your tone causes the worry to flood back into his features. “You have to eat something…”

“I don’t know if I can stomach it right now,” You close your eyes momentarily, slumping forward so your entire upper body weight is resting against your hands. “I still feel sick,”

He can’t really argue with you about that. Nauseousness was a pain in the ass. But that didn’t mean you didn’t need something in your body to help whatever deficit you were going through right now.

He takes a moment to think through his options, biting the inside of his cheek. “Uh… What about a protein shake? I’m pretty sure I left a few packets here somewhere—” Buck leaves your side to look through some of the kitchenette cupboards for protein shake packets he’d stoad hidden from the team.

“Ah,” He makes a sound of triumph as he retrieves them, holding them up above his head as he’s crouched behind the kitchen island so you can see them. “We have…” He turns the packets in his hand one by one. “Chocolate, banana, vanilla, strawberry, and… blueberry, take your pick,”

You give him a look that tells him you’d rather not have any of them, and a worry line forms in his forehead once more. “Come on… It’s like a milkshake, and you can drink it as slow as you want,” He walks back over to you slowly, the packets held out in his hands towards you so you can choose one. “Please? You’re starting to worry me for real now,”

You begrudgingly take one of the packets from his hands with a small sigh. His concern was appreciated, but it was also mildly daunting. You didn’t like the way his face furrowed when he was concerned about you, it didn’t suit him like smiling did.

“Thank you,” He takes the packet back from you once you’ve chosen which one you want, leaving the others discarded on the table as he prepares the drink for you. “Drink this and then go home and get some rest okay? I’ll drop by your apartment after the shift is over to check on you, and if you still feel really bad then we should go to the hospital,” His words are spoken unevenly as the exertion from shaking the drink canister reaches his vocal chords.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital Buck, I’m fine, i’ve just got the flu or something and pushed myself too hard,” You shake your head adamantly at his suggestion, and he mirrors it himself as he pours the drink into a glass and puts it on the table in front of you.

“Some people go to the hospital when they’ve got the flu and don’t push themselves too hard,” He points at the glass once it’s on the table. “Drink it,”

You oblige with a roll of your eyes, your first sip barely even considered one as you try and force yourself to swallow it through the invisible blockade in your throat.

“And maybe try and take a nap or something? You look exhausted,”

“Oh thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” a your voice is dripping with sarcasm, and it leaves a small smile on Buck’s face.

“You know what I mean,” He shakes his head lightly as he stashes away the remaining protein shake packets. “How much sleep did you get last night anyway?”

He asks you the question right as you go to take another sip of the shake, and you force yourself to swallow it uncomfortably to answer him. “Maybe like three hours? I had a really bad migraine and my lower back was hurting,”

Buck sighs loudly as he pulls out a chair to sit behind you, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

“I know I know, that’s not good, i’ll work on it okay?”

“That’s all I can ask,” He gives you a small smile with a shrug of his shoulders.

—

You didn’t have to think about complying to Buck’s suggestion of going home, and after a long hour of trying to digest the protein shake in front of you, that’s exactly what you did.

The station felt remarkably quieter without you there, but that was arguably because everyone was still shrouded in a combined worry for your well being that left them more solemn than usual, their usual banter getting lost in the process.

Once the shift was over, Buck kept his word in heading straight to your apartment, knocking the door with no answer.

He questions whether he got the number right at first, but he’s been to your apartment enough times to know that he hasn’t just stumbled to the wrong door. And the longer it stays shut in his face the more worried he gets.

So he tries the door handle, and it opens, meaning you’d left your apartment unlocked.

He calls your name a few times as he walks in, a small rush of adrenaline making its way through his veins at the slight possibility that something could’ve happened in the few hours since you’d been home alone.

A small breath of relief escapes him as he finds you.

You were circled up into yourself on your couch, TV left on standby as you slept in what Buck assumed to be an extremely deep sleep.

How you manage to make that tiny sofa look like the most comfortable place in the world he doesn’t know, but you seem to be more than happy wedged into the corner with a decorative pillow clutched tightly against your chest.

It’s a welcome sight after everything you’d been through today, and Buck rifles around to find a blanket to throw over you before taking a seat on the other end of the couch and settling in for an evening of watching random movies on your TV until you woke up.

Even if that meant him staying overnight.

[calthinez]

Pie kinda guy

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Dean loves all pies. He loves apple pie on festive holidays like thanksgiving, and cherry pie in the summer. But Deans all time favorite pie... is cream pie ;)

A/N: Have you guys watched 'The boys'? I think it's so weird watching Jensen play Soldier boy after watching him play Dean for so long. Also, I have no idea if somebody came up with this idea before me. If there has been a post like this before, let me know. I hope you guys enjoy this <3 This could also be summarized as "a collection of times Dean has nutted in you" but I think my wordplay is much more fun.

Warnings: smut (obvi) creampie, fingering, quickeys, unprotected sex,

The first of many times is when you and Dean are at the bunker alone. Neither of you felt like going out into town to shop for groceries, so you both volunteered Sam to go out.

After seeing Sam out, you and Dean ventured into the 'dean cave' to watch some stupid hospital drama show about sexy doctors. "What's your deal, huh? What did Dr. Sexy ever do to you?" Dean asked you, accusatively. You rolled your eyes at his childish behavior, the both of you walking to the two-seater lazy boy couches. This show was Deans ride-or-die, and Chuck forbid anybody had anything negative to say about it.

You sat down in the seat next to him with your blanket and curled your legs into your body while Dean pulled the lever to recline his seat back. "Nothing, I shouldn't have said anything." You knew Dean would die defending the honor of this show, and you really didn't want to go back and forth with him. "Mhm yeah." He's being smug now. Smug because he knows you'll stay and watch his doctor show, even though you think its stupid.

Not even ten minutes into the show you're bored out of your mind. If you were to make a list of 100 things you could do with Dean to occupy your time, this show would be at the bottom of the list. After a while of daydreaming of all your could-be activities, you come up with a devious plan.

"I'm cold." You whine to Dean, scootching and snuggling up close to him. He coos at you as he slings his arm around your back, his hand resting just above your ass. "Well, I'll warm you right up, sweetheart."

He was completely oblivious to your plans.

A few minutes later and you start resting your hand on his upper-thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. He doesn't say anything about it though, thinking maybe that's just where you hand coincidentally landed. Towards the halfway mark of the episode, you move your hand from his thigh to directly on his groin. He looks at you with a devious glint in his eyes. "Watcha doing there, Y/N." You smirk and don't respond, instead, you gently squeeze his cock through his jeans.

Dean is now completely ignoring the show playing on the TV. He's got you on his lap. your legs straddling his thighs. Both of your pants long discarded. He's kissing you so fast and forcefully you think your lips might bruise.

You slide your hand up and down his bare chest a few times before you finally reach down to his ignored cock. You wrap your hand around the head of his cock. Softly dragging your thumb to collect the precum you start to pump his shaft.

Dean has always been vocal when it comes to having sex with you. Anytime you fuck or you suck his sock he's always moaning like a whore. Hell, even when he eats you out its like its just as enjoyable for him as it is for you.

This time is no exception, he's moaning into your mouth through kisses. "I want- I want to be inside of you." He says in-between kisses.

You smile against his lips and nod your head. Dean pushes your panties to the side as you hoist yourself up with the help of his shoulders. After positioning his cock into the enterance of your pussy you sink down, letting out a high-pitched mewl into his open mouth.

"Thats it.. that's it, pretty" Dean encourages you as you're getting adjusted to the stretch of his large cock. You take him balls deep, the burn from the stretch is familiar and welcomed.

One of Deans hands rests on your hip, the other makes its way to your clit to rub fast tight circles. You moan into his mouth as the heat creeps its way into your belly. "You're drenching my cock, sweetheart." He mumbles into your ear, his gruff voice sending shivers down your spine.

You can feel your orgasm quickly approaching. "You close, Y/N? I'm close." Dean moans. You known neither of you are going to last much longer. You lay your head onto his shoulder, no longer holding in your moans. "I'm gonna cum- can I cum in you, sweetheart, please?" He begs as he erratically kisses your jaw and neck.

You nod your head and squeak out a few 'yes's. Deans movements quicken as he hums sweet praises into your ear. The tight coil in your belly abruptly snaps, you cum hard around Deans cock. He isn't long after you. He releases into you, the both of you now panting from your orgasm.

*

The next time is at one of the dingy motels during a hunt. It was definitely more risky than before. You Sam and Dean all decided to share one motel room. The three of you drawing straws to see who would have to sleep on the crusty couch.

In the middle of the night, while Sam is fast asleep, Dean comes to your bed. "Bathroom quicky?" He asks you in a hushed tone. Dean smirks when you nod your head and follow him to the bathroom.

He shuts the door and you hop up on the sink. Dean stands in-between your legs. "We cant be loud, Dean," you tell him. "What? I'm never loud." He lies to you. You shake your head and lightly laugh at him, "Mhm, yeah." You say to him just before he kisses you.

You've been hunting with the boys for maybe two and a half years, sleeping with Dean for a year. Never once have you guys had sex in the same "room" as Sam, you always thought it was too risky. Dean was definitely getting more needy for you. He even lets you sit up front in Baby with him.

You dont have the chance to think too much more about the nature of your relationship with him because soon enough Deans hands roughly grab at your boobs over your shirt. The kiss is messy, also. Tongues meeting together in a slobbery mess. The hand not occupied by groping you is wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his body. You can feel his hard-on through his pajama pants, staining against the fabric.

Dean abruptly stops kissing you for only a moment to pull both your pants and panties from your body, letting them fall to the floor. "You're so wet already." Dean praises to you as he feels you with his middle finger. "Do I make you like this?" He teases, his middle finger slowly circling over your clit. You eagerly nod your head.

"Just fuck me already, Dean." You're sick of his teasing and want to feel him already. He smirks and drops his pants. He sets one of his hands on your thigh and the other grips the base of his cock to pump it a few times. He lines himself up with the entrance of your pussy and teasingly slowly bottoms out. Dean grabs your jaw and brings your face to his to kiss you again.

Its an awkward position to be fucking in but you don't really care, with his cock inside of you and his thumb circling your clit you don't focus on the face that your ass is going slightly numb from sitting on the resin top. Trying to be as quiet and as quick as possible Dean starts pounding into you.

The only sound coming from the small bathroom was both of your held-in moans and exasperated breathing along with the wet sloppy sounds of skin meeting skin. You were sure that is Sam woke up he would her you, you hoped he was still passed out on the bed. Because that would be very awkward for all three of you.

Soon enough you feel the familiar tightness in your belly. You're sure Dean feels it too, with his stuttering hips and his jumpy breathing. "You wanna cum with me?" He asks in your ear. You nod and pull him back into a kiss. He rubs circles on your clit faster, bringing you closer to cumming.

It all suddenly snaps, the coil in your belly shatters and your legs shake around Deans waist. Dean cums not even a second after you, the squeeze from your orgasm brought him to his. He cums inside of you and he stays inside for a few moments. Collecting himself.

He kisses you on the mouth as he pulls out of you and pulls his pants back up. "I think I'm gonna shower." You say softly, breaking the silence. Dean smirks. "Without me?"

* Yet another time is in the back seat of Baby. You were honestly shocked when he brought it up to you. You never thought he'd ask you to get back seat freaky in Baby, that's his- well- baby.

He was on top of you, your legs were wrapped around his waist as he pumped into you in a slow speed. His mouth is on your tits, his tongue flicking over your nipples. The sensation was fueling the fire in your belly. The car windows actually started to fog from the released breaths of you too.

This time was much more drawn out. You guessed he was making up for the quicky that took place just a few days prior. He moves his head to your other breast to lick that one and massage the one he just had his mouth using his free hand.

Your moans are much louder than before, there isn't anything around where Dean parked the car. He kisses his way up to your lips from your chest, paying special attention to your collarbone to suck a light hickey onto your skin. Your nails scrape against the skin of his back.

Once he gets to your lips he speeds his pace up. Both of your mouths melting together. You whine into his mouth.

"There you go, sweetheart." he says as you grind your hips up to meet him mid thrust.

His hand reaches down in-between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. You feel the fire in your belly once again. Dean kisses you like he's a dying man, licking and nipping at your bottom lip.

The both of your bodies are slowly moving in sync. Your hand traces up his bicep to hold onto him. You squeeze his right bicep and he flexes his muscle against your hand. His scruffy cheeks tickle your face. All of these sensations are like a drug to you, you cannot get enough of Dean Winchester.

You cum first this time. It takes Dean a little while longer, desperate to make you finish first. He moans into your mouth when he finishes. Singing you quiet praises. He pulls out of you and he takes a moment to look as his cum seeps out of your pussy.

Dean pinches your cheek after he helps you clean up the mess between your legs. "You ready to head back?"

[generalsdiary]

Dr. Ratio x Aventurine

warnings: none

word count: 1.1k

a/n: inspired by this artwork here, done by @kimeoshi

description: Ratio creating an Aventurine sculpture, fluff

the statue's pose was nothing if not an intricate one, but he wasn't fully incapable.

the life-size statue, needed, simply some finishing details. using cold tools in his hand to shape the fingers, add details to the hair... the tool flipping to sit between his fingers when he decides to press his fingertips into the statue's face, his eyes closing… drawing from his memories. Ratio finds himself yearning, forefinger smoothing out the bridge of the nose, thumb shaping the lips. in any other situation, it would feel illegal to stare at those lips for so long. his plaster covered fingers tracing the curve of the lips he likes so much, wishing the statue could depart them at his touch like the human version of it does. he is but a spectator enveloped by his own work.

satisfied with his work, and knowing he needs to step away, perfection doesn't exist, Ratio walks off, leaving the statue to dry.

an acceptable time later, Ratio's hands are clean from the plaster, his step firm, walking into the room full of statues... of himself mainly. except for the one in the middle, the one that looks like it is dancing, freshly completed. Ratio stands, extending his arm to hold the statue's extended one, the other one moving to the back. is this how it would feel like to dance with him? his posture returns to normal. Ratio steps closer... he needs to know if he got it right, gazing at the plaster lips. thump, thump, light sound informing him someone is approaching. like a flash of lighting, Ratio covers the statue with a plain white sheet and turns to face the person about to knock on the door. ... there is no knock, the door opens without a warning.

"it is polite to knock," Ratio says not even looking at the person entering, his gaze on the book he quickly fetched.

"indeed, but in the room of clay models, I doubt you'd be doing something in need of knocking" the blond man jests and flashes him a bright smile. his relaxed steps echo in the room, mentally reminding Ratio to place some rugs on the floor. Aventurine gestures to the sheet covered model, "this is the new one?"

Ratio quickly attempts to make a convincing excuse. "I'm unsatisfied with it, it is not for your eyes, dear gambler."

"you, unsatisfied? I assure you it is perfect, may I see?" Aventurine's hand resting on the sheet ready to tug it. Ratio reached out, putting his own hand over his. "don't"

Aventurine's eyes sparkle, smirking, "oh... you made something that isn't... appropriate~"

Ratio shakes his head, keeping his cool, despite the gambler getting under his skin immediately. "it is perfectly appropriate, the statue isn't nude."

Aventurine steps closer to him, ignoring the clay man under the white sheet, "this makes it even more interesting, who would you make out of clay and marble, that would make you this defensive?"

Ratio blinks, gulps, can he not just drop the topic? by instinct, from observing the lips for so long on the grey-white man, his eyes drop to Aventurine's lips, scanning if he got it all right.

"... weak attempt at a distraction, doc" Ratio's ears barely register the words.

"it's you." he settles, coming clean, in the simplest terminology.

Aventurine tilts his head, Aeons he is so pretty, "I'm the distraction? or are you..."

Ratio moves past the statue, so he doesn't block Kakavasha's view, and in a swift movement pulls off the sheet.

Aventurine observes his likeness in silence. "I was told my eyes are the money piece, in this form, you don't get to enunciate them." his arms crossed across his chest as he looked over the details.

"I'm unsure if I got your lips right."

"ahh, so that's why you're not satisfied" Aventurine turns to face the taller man. "why not test?"

"I am not kissing my statue." Ratio coldly replies. in his mind that is true at this moment. yet, in a desperate time such as ten minutes ago, he'd happily press his lips against the cold unfeeling sculpture.

"who said kiss?" Aventurine gently takes Ratio's hands and presses his thumb against his lips. He takes the other hand and presses the thumb to the statue's lips, "go on. test."

Ratio is once again reminded of how human he is, and how human this man treats him. he can feel the flush in his cheeks, and despite it, he does trace... both lips with his thumbs. similar, almost there... "your softness, warmth... could never be replicated." his hand falling off of the statue.

Aventurine's voice turns softer, "is that so?" speaking against the thumb on his bottom lip. "also~ if you wanted to dance, you should've just asked."

subconsciously, Ratio steps closer, he cannot control being drawn to the brightness of Aventurine, like a moth to a flame... the most beautiful flame this moth has ever seen. the moth wishing this could be the only flame for him.

Aventurine's eyes soften, "is anything bothering your mind, Veritas?"

"I really..." Ratio seems distracted, focused, lost, and determined, his moth form jumping around the flame, "I really want to kiss you right now."

Aventurine smiles, stepping closer, "allow me to fulfill that wish" the smaller hand cups his cheek, pulling him down, the height difference painfully obvious as Ratio leans in. once their lips meet, it is no longer just about the kiss. Ratio's arms embrace him, and pull him closer, Aventurine's hand gingerly caresses his cheek, and the other hand seeks Ratio's hand on his back, taking it in his own. it becomes about holding each other, enjoying the intimate proximity.

how could he be so lost? his wings flapping around the bright form of heat. his mind fills with useless, obviously untrue thoughts, such as; I could die in this moment and I would never regret it, this is what perfection feels like, oh he is mine, please be mine. it isn't until the kiss ends that he realizes how much of his mind was preoccupied, he looks sad, feeling it was too short.

"don't pout," Kakavasha whispers.

"I fear I could never come up with enough words to describe you, no word could ever be enough. no word would dare to match the exquisite depths of your eyes, the lingering song of your laughter, the melody of you saying my name, the softer than cotton feeling of your skin under my fingertips, the way I can barely keep standing when you look at me like this after we kiss. although it will never stop me from trying, dear gambler"

"your poetic, romantic side outmatches me, doc." the blond man smiles, pulling the taller man in for another kiss. before their lips meet, he exhales, "I'm insanely fond of you too if it wasn't obvious already" he smirks and tilts his head up to meet the taller man's lips.

a/n: this beautiful artwork (linked in the beginning) had me writing this piece while I was still in bed and barely awake.

[ladykailitha]

I See You Shiver With Antic--

Remember that one shot I was telling you about? This is that, but I split it in two because I'm a Dweeb!

Summary: Eddie and Robin are taking their friends to a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show where they all dress up. Only thing don't go quite according to plan when Steve gets self conscious about his costume. Now it's a race to get the belle to the ball, Eddie has just the fairy godmother in mind, his old friend Janice former Hellfire Club member and now makeup artist.

***

Eddie heaved a sigh. He had been knocking on Steve’s door for the last ten minutes without much success in getting his friend to open his bedroom door.

“Come on, Stevie,” he cooed. “I’m standing here in fishnet tights and a corset, how much worse could it be?”

He was dressed up as Dr. Frank N. Furter as all of the older teenagers were dressing up as Rocky Horror Picture Show characters for a midnight showing down at the Hawk. Nancy and Jonathan were dressed up as Janet and Brad. Argyle had chosen Riff Raff and Robin was Columbia.

They were supposed to be there at 10pm, for a pre-show party, but if Steve didn’t come out soon, they were going to miss it.

All their friends were waiting by the front door, looking up at Eddie trying to get him to come out. Everyone had tried at least once. Even Nancy. And now they were back to Eddie giving it a go.

“You promise not to laugh?” came the quiet plea from behind the door.

Eddie gave the crowd below a thumbs up as he said, “I promise.”

He heard the click of the door unlocking, but the door didn’t open. So Eddie went in.

He licked his lips to wet them as his mouth had gone dry at the sight before him. Laughing was the farthest thing that Eddie wanted to do in that moment.

Steve could have been anyone. The criminologist, Dr Everett, hell he could have even gone as Eddie, the character, not Munson. But no. Standing before him in the middle of the bedroom was Steve Harrington dressed in nothing but sandals and gold booty shorts.

As Rocky Horror himself.

Eddie tried to think about the implications of that because it could go so many ways, not the least of which was signaling to Nancy he wanted to get back with her.

But he secretly hoped that Steve had done it because he wanted to be Eddie’s creation. That he would belong to Eddie.

But all that those thoughts went out the window when he noticed that Steve had his arms wrapped around his middle and was looking away from him.

“Oh, Stevie,” he murmured and opened his arms for him.

Steve went willingly into his embrace. “I thought I could do it. I tried. I promised Robin. But the scars...I just can’t.”

Ah.

Yeah, okay. Eddie didn’t really care about his scars, but most of the largest ones were covered by the corset. Not like Steve’s. They were all out for anyone to gawk at.

Personally, he didn’t think they stood out that much. The other times he had seen Steve shirtless over the summer when they had been out swimming, they didn’t really stand out.

But it wasn’t his opinion that mattered. It was Steve’s.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You have three options. Stay home–”

“No I want to go!”

Eddie rubbed Steve’s back. “Okay, it’s okay. You could go as someone else. It’s funny, but their Eddie doesn’t dress much differently then I do, it would be a quick and easy fix.”

Steve was quiet. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either.

“Or we can cover it up with makeup,” He concluded.

Steve frowned and stepped back. “You can do that?”

He grinned. “Well not me specifically, but yeah, I’ve got a friend who could cover the scars.”

Steve stepped out of Eddie’s arms, a loss Eddie keenly felt, and nodded. “We can try covering up the scars and if that doesn’t work, I can dress up as Eddie.”

Eddie grinned. “You’ve got it, big boy. I’ll be right back.”

*

Eddie dashed down the stairs and quickly explained the problem and that he had a plan, two actually.

Grudgingly they agreed to go to the party without Eddie and Steve. Once they were out the door, Eddie dashed to the nearest phone. He called Wayne first to bring a change of clothes for Steve.

The second phone call more important, and really hoped she answered.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she picked up. “Janice, apple of eye and love of my heart...” he began dramatically.

“Eddster!” she greeted back. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Babe,” Eddie said with a grin, “I’m calling in my favor.”

“Oohh...” she said. “I’m all ears. I was so sure you would be holding that over my head for years.”

“Must needs must, darling,” Eddie said in a fake English accent. Then he told her the plan. “Bring your kit, we have Cinderella to get ready for the ball.”

“Color me intrigued,” she said. “I’m in. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Fly faster, fairy godmother,” Eddie said. “This is an emergency.”

*

Ten minutes later the doorbell rang and Eddie threw open the double doors.

“Hello, Janice!” he greeted warmly. “We’re set up in the kitchen. If you’ll follow me.”

She dutifully fell in step behind him and marched double time to the kitchen.

Objectively Janice knew who’s house this was, Eddie had even said his name when calling in his favor, but it was quite another to be standing in Steve Harrington’s kitchen with him in gold shorts, looking embarrassed.

Steve Harrington who had never been anything but confident his entire life. He was rich, popular, good looking, and if you believed the rumors a regular goofball. But this was not that boy.

His nostrils flared when she paused in front of the door and he glanced behind him as if to look for another exit. He also had ginormous scars on his both his sides and a wicked one on his neck. He was skittish in a way she instantly understood. He moved the way her uncle did having come home from Vietnam.

She moved out of the way of the door and to his left side at first, but again he flinched and she moved to his right. He relaxed, not enough to remove his arms from his sides, but enough that he was looking at her.

She had heard all the rumors about what had gone down during spring break and hadn’t believed any of them, but she was starting think there was more to them then she had thought.

“Janice, you remember Steve from school?” Eddie said. “Steve this Janice former president of the Hellfire Club, makeup artist, and all round drama queen.”

“Oh I do remember you!” Steve said excitedly, smiling for the first time. “You’re the one that told Carol that coral was so not her color and that it was basically orange.”

Eddie and Janice laughed.

“Oh god,” Janice said wiping away literal tears, “I can’t believe you remember that.”

Steve grinned. “I remembered it because that’s what I told her when she bought it.”

Janice’s jaw dropped. “That’s hilarious!”

Eddie hid a smile behind his hand, grateful that they were getting along.

Steve cleared his throat. “So you’re going to make the scars go away?”

She nodded. “There are a couple things we can do,” she said. “It depends on if you plan on getting it wet, how much people are going to see, and if it’s going to be hot, making you sweat.”

Steve looked to Eddie because he didn’t have an answer to any of those questions.

“It’ll be mostly standing in line to see the movie and then after, so short-ish time,” Eddie said tilting his hand back and forth. “As for getting wet, I wasn’t planning on being in the first couple of rows, not with newbies coming. But I don’t know how hot the theater is going to be.”

“So plan for it being hot just to be on the safe side, but doesn’t need to be waterproof, got it.”

She set her rather large case on the counter and opened it up. Steve watched in fascination as more and more drawers pulled out.

“It’s like magic,” he whispered.

Janice whirled around to face him. “And that’s why I will be your fairy godmother for the evening. Let’s get the belle to the ball!”

She got to work painting his hand different colors trying to match his skin tone, finally finding the one that would work.

“That’s lighter than my skin tone, though,” Steve said with a frown.

Janice hummed. “Yup, because once it’s applied to the scar, the tone will even out.”

“Cool.”

She grinned up at him.

About halfway through the process, Eddie went to go answer the door and came back with a backpack filled with clothes.

Twenty minutes after she started, Janice stepped back to admire her work. “You’ve got a mirror or something around here?”

Steve pointed to a nearby room. “That’s a bathroom.”

She nodded and grabbed his hand and hauled him into the room with her. He went, laughing all the way.

Steve looked into the mirror and gasped. “You can’t tell it was ever there at all,” he whispered. His hand hovered over top, not daring to touch it for fear of ruining her work.

“You can touch it,” she said. “That’s the point. It won’t smear or anything like that.”

He looked over at her with a grin. “You’re amazing, thank you.”

They went back to the kitchen where Eddie was waiting.

She finally took in Eddie’s costume. “Looking fantastically freaky, there Eddster.”

Janice reached up and touched his curls. “Holy shit, you didn’t cut it! It’s all pinned up to look short. You can’t even tell.”

Eddie grinned, flicking his head back dramatically. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“I would hire the person that did that to do hair for my shop in a fucking heartbeat,” she breathed.

“Shop?” Steve asked, confused.

“Janice has a shop where they do hair and makeup for plays, movies, and TV shows,” Eddie explained. “They do awesome work.”

“Yeah,” Janice said. “My main hair gal got pregnant and is having a really bad one. They put her on bed rest just four months in.”

Eddie winced in sympathy.

“Do you only take female employees or would a guy hairstylist have a chance?” Steve asked shyly.

Janice looked at Eddie and then back to Steve. “You did his hair?”

Steve nodded.

“I would take a three-headed green slime monster if they did hair that good,” she said.

She looked between the two boys. “Eddie, if he works out, I might have owe you a brand new favor.”

Steve’s eyes lit up as Eddie cackled.

“Hell yeah!!”

She shook her head. “Hey, you think it would be okay if I joined you guys tonight? I’ve got a wig and French maid outfit, unless you already have a Magenta?”

Eddie and Steve shared a glance.

“Argyle would love that!” Eddie grinned. “He’s our Riff Raff and is indeed missing a Magenta.”

Janice cheered. “Hell yeah, baby! I’ll meet you at the Hawk in a half hour if that’s okay with Steve here?”

Steve nodded. “Nancy and Robin would be thrilled to add another girl to the group.”

Janice smiled. “Great! I’ll see you later!”

Eddie laughed as she practically skipped out of the house lugging that huge kit as though it weighed nothing.

***

Part 2

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[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen

TW: noncon, angst, trauma, PTSD, don’t read this if you like hot doctors named Julian (he was probably an actual sweetheart in canon, but we decided to flip that around in this, so read with that in mind)

You really should have foreseen it, before letting yourself hang out alone in the breakroom. But you are tired–exhausted, actually, and you can only blame so much on the work at hand.

Tom fucking Ludlow.

You find yourself grinning like an idiot at your sandwich–which is exactly how Dr. Julian Mercer finds you, of course. You don’t even fucking hear him approach. He just appears at your side like a ghost, and you nearly jump out of your skin as he says in a low voice, “Y/n.”

“Jesus Christ,” you wheeze, clutching your chest. “Julian…”

“Maybe Doctor would be more appropriate.” It probably would, but you’re not sure if he’s asking for this out of the cold indifference his tone suggests–or that other little extra meaning it has for the two of you.

“Okay, Doctor Mercer. Creep around like a fucking ghost much?”

“No. You were just distracted.”

You blow air between your teeth. You really don’t want to fight with this man right now, but it feels like he’s spoiling for something. “What do you want?”

He takes your hands in his, running gentle fingers over marks on your wrists that have now mostly faded. You hate to admit it–but this careful, questing touch sends a thrill across your skin. “The animal,” he growls under his breath. “Clearly no clue as to what he was doing.”

Hoo boy, was he wrong about that.

“Did you have a safeword at least?”

“No…?”

“Fucking amateur.” 

You don’t know how to tell him, that rendering sex absolutely clinical with boundaries and safewords beforehand just doesn’t do it for you. You just…trusted Tom not to hurt you. And he didn’t. 

“Julian…”

“Doctor.”

“Yeah, that. What do you think you’re doing?” You try to pull your hands away, but he holds on, just firm enough to keep you. Despite what Tom likes to taunt, Julian is not little, or weak.

The look in his eyes is that of a man drowning.

“Losing my mind?”

“You are being ridiculous. You have got to let it go.”

“I’m trying, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

This is absurd. Men do not lose their shit over you. They use you, then throw you away at their first convenience. You give a fat sigh that you hope conveys your annoyance. 

“Julian, have you seen the women that walk around this hospital? Better, Have you seen the women in your BDSM club? Have you never thought of trying one of those girls out? I mean, they are into the same stuff.” 

His thumb presses on the dark marks the belt left on your wrist, making a little diffuse ache light your skin. “You are clearly into BDSM, y/n. Just the unsafe way of doing it, I suppose.” 

Okay, now he’s just plain pissing you off. Once again, a man insinuating that you’re too stupid and naive to advocate for yourself. Too weak to take initiative, too gullible to know that you have to. You wrench your hand back from him, and he glares after it like it called him a dirty name. “Are you kidding me?” You say, not hiding the bite of your words, “and setting people on fire is just so safe, right? Whipping someone’s feet is the safest thing you can do in sex, yep, boy howdy, you’re absolutely right, Julian. How stupid of me.” 

Your aim is to hurt him with your words, although now you’re regretting it when he looks back at you with those big, brown, sad orbs. Fuck, you can just never win with this man and his multiple personalities. He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re with him, then?” 

“I’m…” you take a breath and try to step outside of yourself for a minute and view the situation objectively, just like you learned to do in therapy, and what you’re seeing is a misguided man who doesn’t know he can bag any freaky woman he wants become overly attached to you because he was vulnerable with you that one time. “I’m not.” How do you word it without sounding pathetic? “I’m not that great of a catch. I promise you there is a much better person out there for you.” 

“I don’t think so,” he says quietly, intensely, sending a shudder through you that freezes and burns all at once. “Do you love him?” 

“What?” You ask incredulously. “I just met him.”

“Well, then, I still have a chance.” 

Your fist clenches unconsciously, ready for a fight. Maybe a metaphorical fight, but a fight nonetheless. “No,” you tell him, swallowing your nice, “you don’t, Julian.” 

“What if…I promised not to punish you?”

This does make you pause, and you swear, not because you’re actually considering it, but because you are surprised he would even think to compromise his needs, for you. 

It’s a heady feeling, if not entirely misplaced.

“No,” you answer, much too late. “No, no, nope.”

“I can see you’re intrigued.”

“No, I’m…flabbergasted. It wouldn’t be any fun for you.”

He looks you up and down, blatantly checking you out. You swear you will never get used to that look in a man’s eyes, trained on you. “I wouldn’t say that.” Then his attention turns back to your wrists, tracing the marks Tom’s belt left again with fascination. “Just let me…do this to you. God, the things I would do to you.” He inches closer as he says this, until before you know it you are standing nearly chest to chest, and your heart is beating at a mile a minute.

You have to try twice, before you find your voice. “That’s exactly what scares me about you, Julian.”

He dares to touch you, turning your face up to his with his palm on your jaw. “That you might like it, y/n?”

You take a deep breath, and you step back, away from Julian. Away from your sandwich too, unfortunately. But you guess you’re going to have to write it off. Or circle back later. You have no further clever quips to offer Dr. Julian Mercer. For lack of a better word–you flee.

At the nurses’ station a bright and cheery reminder of someone else’s devotion awaits you. A happy bouquet of sunflowers, with a simple card that reads, Dorothy, Thinking about you. Glad you’re not in Kansas anymore -T It is just the boost to morale you need, after your chilling little interlude with Julian.

However, you don’t get to take them home. They disappear while you are working, and you think you know who is to blame for the childish act of revenge. Rather than letting it drop, you decide to prove to Julian that you have boundaries and he can’t just push you around like this. 

You catch him as he’s about to get into his car, and get Deja Vu from the scenario. The parking garage isn’t well lit, empty of other humans, and damp with oppressive LA heat. Maybe it’s not the best place to confront a man, but you never claimed to be a complete genius. And, now that you’re here…

“Julian, do you know where my sunflowers went? From the desk? Tom got them for me.”

He looks down at you with dark eyes. “Fresh flowers are a health code violation. I had to dispose of them.” 

And you thought Tom could make you livid; Julian is here proving that he can spike your anger from a two to a ten in one simple sentence. “And what about the flowers you got me that stayed at the desk? Huh? Those were fine, right?”

He shrugs. “No.” 

“So, what the fuck?” You’re raising your voice, feeling the heat of anger singing through the blood in your body like a vengeful choir. Your fist clenches to actually punch him—God, you want to. 

“I’ll buy you more flowers,” he says, as if that’s going to fix the problem. 

“I don’t want your flowers,” you growl, “I don’t want you, Julian!” 

Before you know what’s happening, he has you gripped up in his hands and pressed against the door of his car, mouth on your own, bullying inside to suck and bite and bruise. You try to push and kick and thrash against him, but his long body is pressed firmly into yours, holding you steady against warm metal. His blunt fingers dig into the flesh of your upper arms and make you gasp, which allows him further entrance into your mouth.

You can’t fucking breathe with him latched onto you like this, and your frantic hands reach to tear at his scrubs, his belt, his skin. He pulls away, blessedly, panting and wild eyed, and you immediately start in on him. “Get the fuck off me, Julian.” You writhe in short, shallow breaths, lungs crushed by his heavy torso and unable to entirely fill. 

“This is what you want,” he says, ignoring your demand. “You want someone to take advantage of you. Make you, force you. And if that’s what you need, that’s what I can give.”

“I don’t want that,” you reply. “I want the opposite of that! Get off me! I will scream.” 

His mouth edges into a terrifying smile. “You think anyone’s going to hear you?” He asks, looking around the empty parking garage. “You think anyone’s going to save you if I decide to take you home for a few days and do terrible things to you?” He grabs your chin, fingers spanning the entire bottom, reminding you of the size difference and making you whimper in pain. He presses his lips against the shell of your ear. “Make you regret having nerve endings…” 

Your whole body is shaking violently with adrenalized fear. Sweet Doctor Julian is a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing, and he’s hungry for your flesh and blood. You should have known. You should have seen this coming. Shouldn’t you be an expert on narcissists and abusers by now? Shouldn’t you have been smarter? Shouldn’t you do the smart thing now and convince him to let you go?

“Please, Julian.” Disgust bubbles in your gut, reacting vehemently to the pathetic, pleading voice that leaves your mouth. “Please don’t.” 

He pulls your chin up a little higher. “You can beg prettier than that.” 

“Please, Doctor.” You swallow the raging hatred you have for yourself. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll be a good girl.” 

He hums and kisses you temple, lips ghosting into your hairline as he inhales your shampoo choice. “You’re lucky I don’t put you on your knees right here and make you choke on my cock for a while, pumpkin.” 

“Please.” You give him your best impression of a beaten dog with wide, owl eyes, hoping you can somehow get out of this without actually getting hurt. All you can think of is Tom; how you wish he was here to beat the fuck out of Julian, how you should have let him beat the fuck out of Julian on your doorstep. 

His hand moves down, pressing softly into the front of your throat, just enough to make it uncomfortable. “It’s refreshing to see something so wild become so tame with fear.” Fear is an understatement. Pure panicking terror is what consumes you. Bred from C-PTSD and Julian’s heavy, big hand on your throat. You’ve been here before, small and terrified under a man with power… And, suddenly, you’re her again, that little girl trembling and cowering and cornered. You don’t know that you’re crying until a little tear tickles down your cheek. 

He kisses that saltwater trail, peeks his tongue out to taste your sad desperation and shivers against you. “You taste delicious.” 

Fucking Hannibal Lector, Psycho, serial killer. How did you not see it? How? 

It occurs to you that Tom saw it, saw straight through the mask, to the beast beneath Julian Mercer’s carefully constructed facade, all along. He’d warned you, but like the stubborn little idiot you are, you didn’t listen. 

Tom. Somehow it’s the thought of him, how he looks at you like you are precious, like you’re not stupid, like you are something worth saving, that breaks your thought pattern, your desire to just freeze and hope this man with his hand on your throat isn’t going to hurt you, hope that the bad thing goes away if you’re still enough, small enough, don’t draw attention to yourself. You think on what Tom would have you do.

You hear Ludlow’s voice, plain as day, cutting through the fear: c’mon, you have just enough room to fuck him up. 

You drive your knee as absolutely hard as you can into Dr. Julian Mercer’s gonads. 

The good doctor crumbles with a groan that sounds like his soul leaving his body. 

You run. On your shaking legs as fast as you can to your car, barely able to unlock the door with your trembling hands trying to manipulate your keys in the lock. You feel like you’re in a horror film. Instead of being the one yelling at the screen, Don’t run up the stairs, stupid!—you are the stupid girl, and you have so much sympathy for the girl being chased by the Big Bad with a knife and having no idea what to do with your hands. 

No. You are not dying today. You are not letting this monster win today. You are not fodder. You are Final Girl material, goddammit. Maybe you never believed it before, but Tom’s voice is still in your head. You can hear him ordering you what to do. Put in your key. Twist. Open. Get in. Lock the door. 

 You manage all this somehow, just before Juian slams against your window, his face a mask of fury. “Open the door, y/n.” 

Maybe still channeling Tom, and maybe acting completely on your own now, you press your middle finger against the window for him before starting your engine and peeling away. He barely manages to stumble back in time to save his toes from getting crushed by your racing tires. 

[honey-crypt]

could i possibly get a fic about sebastian helping adhd!farmer through their rejection dysphoria? i leave the rest up to you, go wild <3

- 🪩

★ like the stream - sebastian x adhd!farmer ★

word count: 1.5k

warnings: rejection sensitivity dysphoria episode

summary: it's the day of the flower dance! you're prepared to ask your friend sam to be your dance partner when you're met face to face with a kind but otherwise hard rejection from the other party. Unable to cope with the rejection because of your RSD, you find yourself spiraling when another friend of yours, Sebastian, finds you alone and distressed in the depths of Cindersap Forest.

a/n: hi hi request #2 for my write-a-thon! hope this is an okay fic, i made sure to do some research on rsd and adhd (beyond my personal knowledge of it) for this fic :D

Today had to be perfect. 

That was what you repeated to yourself, as you made your way towards Cindersap Forest for the Flower Dance. You double, even triple, checked that you had everything ready for today. It may have taken two or ten sticky note reminders, but you knew that everything was in the right place. Your outfit? Check. Your flowers? Check. Your confidence to ask Sam to be your dance partner? Check!

As you got closer and closer, the sound of upbeat classical music grew louder and louder. They should really install a better alternative to this, I don’t know George crosses this, you thought to yourself while crossing the bridge over to the festival. An open green space greeted you with the residents of Pelican Town scattered about. You exchanged pleasantries with your fellow townies, making a beeline to your friend group by a secluded corner of the festival. 

“Hey (Y/N)!” Abigail gave you a small, half salute, “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“I lost track of time,” you confessed, “Nonetheless, I made it!”

Your two other friends, Sam and Sebastian, paused their side conversation at mention of your arrival. Sam offered you a dazzling smile that made your heart flutter, “(Y/N)! Good to see you!” and, much to your disappointment, he gave you a friendly side hug. You forced a smile in return and responded, “Yeah, for sure. I’m just glad I made it before the dance started.”

“Would’ve sucked ass if you missed it,” mused Abigail. Sebastian didn’t respond, staring silently at you. A frown graced your lips, What’s his deal? you questioned. Your chest, however, had a different reaction, tightening up at the sight of Sebastian’s deadpan. He’s probably just having a bad day, you reassured yourself, He’s not mad at you. He’s not mad at you. 

“I’m gonna grab some of Gus’s drinks,” you perked up at Sam’s voice, “You guys got a preference for what?”

“Ooo, get me the Tulip Jubilee,” requested Abigail.

“The Blue Jazz Drop for me,” you eyed Sebastian when he spoke up. Sam looked at you expectantly, “How about you, (Y/N)?”

“Oh, uhhhhh…” you mentally thumbed through your options, “No preference, just grab me something you think I’ll like,” you adjusted your collar with your free hand, “I trust your judgement.”

“Will do!” Sam responded with a double thumbs up before leaving for the food and drinks table. You let out a deep sigh and fiddled with the flower in your hand, a small but homegrown tulip. Abigail quirked an eyebrow up at you, “Something on your mind?”

“Oh! Well,” you cleared your throat, “Just thinking about the dance.”

“Fingers crossed that you don’t have to dance with Clint like last year,” snorted the purple-haired goth. You grimaced at the memory and scanned the crowd for the aforementioned blacksmith, seeing him talk poor Emily’s ear off, “Anyone but him,” you grumbled.

“Which reminds me,” your friend directed her attention to Sebastian, “Dance partners this year?” to which the black-haired boy nodded quietly. You stared at him with narrowed eyes, Why are you so quiet today?

“Back with the drinks!” your blonde friend announced to the group, two drinks in hand and two held tight against his chest. Sam passed out the drinks and informed you, “I got you the Sunflower Tonic.”

You pressed your lips against the cup and took a sip, the sweetness of the drink evident, “This is good,” you let your friends know.

“Ew, mine’s too sour,” sighed Abigail, her lips puckered. She held her drink towards the group, “Any takers?”

“I’ll try it,” answered Sam. He grabbed the drink and sipped it, his face grimacing, “Yikes. Too sour,” before handing it in front of you, “Want a taste?”

You felt flushed at the idea of sipping the drink after Sam and seized the opportunity, accidentally taking a big swing of it. Immediately, you gagged at the taste, “Ugh! My tongue!” and spat out what little liquid was left in your mouth. Sebastian finally took the drink and drank it without any sign of sourness on his face, “Yeah, this is bad,” he stated, “I’ll stick with my drink,” the emo resumed his Blue Jazz Drop. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mayor Lewis’s voice echoed awkwardly through his microphone, “The Flower Dance will begin shortly! Last chance to find yourself a partner!”

You heard the man, this is your last chance! you grasped your flower and waited until Abigail and Sebastian went ahead to pull Sam aside, “Hey Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Yoba, his sunshine demeanor was too much. 

“Would you like to be my partner for the dance?” you held up the tulip. Sam’s sunshine self dimmed into a clouded version, “Oh, (Y/N), but Penny asked me to dance while I was getting the drinks. I’m really sorry.”

The sound of your world cracking rang through your ears, as you stood motionless in front of Sam, “Oh! I, uh…” tears pricked at your eyes, “I gotta go.”

Your surroundings began to blur and any outside noise turned into static, as you made your escape from the Flower Dance and deeper into Cindersap Forest. The bum bum of your heart and the swoosh of your blood pounded against your head. 

I hate him.

He hates me.

No, he just made a promise!

No, he thinks you’re the worst!

It was like being trapped on a carousel, your thoughts and emotions spinning around and around. Soon, you found yourself by a small stream, laying on the ground by it with sprawled out limbs. Tears rushed down your face and you heaved dryly, as your brain failed to comprehend Sam’s words and intent.

Oh, (Y/N), but Penny asked me to dance while I was getting the drinks. I’m really sorry.

You sat up, nearly flinging yourself forward towards the stream, and started to bite at your nails, “He hates me. He hates me. I hate myself. I hate myself. I-”

“(Y/N)?” 

You jerked your head to the left, Sebastian standing a few feet away from you. As he approached you, you hastily wiped your face with your sleeve, tears and snot staining the fabric, “Leave me alone,” you sniffled.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” he asked you, sitting down beside you with his knees to his chest. The tears resumed and coated your cheeks in the salty liquid, “I hate myself, okay?! I fucking hate myself, Sebastian!”

Sebastian tilted his head in confusion, “Why do you hate yourself?”

“Because I’m obviously such an awful person that Sam doesn’t want anything to do with me!” you cried out. Your friend frowned deeply, “(Y/N), you know that Sam usually dances with Penny at the Flower Dance.”

That made your blood steam, “I wanted it to be DIFFERENT, Sebastian! I wanted him to dance with me!” you heaved at Sebastian. He fell silent and fished out something from his suit pocket, a red tangle fidget. Your friend let it out to you and you snatched it without hesitation, fidgeting with it while you sobbed. You tried to get back to reality, but with each passing moment, the idea of returning to the present grew farther and farther away. Everything was hurting, your mind and your body, everything was hurting so much.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurting,” whispered Sebastian. You looked at him with watery eyes, “I can’t control this,” you admitted. He nodded quietly and held out a hand, to which you grasped and squeezed. Sebastian continued, “I know that these kinda things are a lot for you. I know that your mind is telling you a lot of awful stuff right now because of what Sam said, huh?”

“Yeah…” you squeezed his hand again. Sebastian added on, “I didn’t mean to watch, but I accidentally saw the whole situation go down. Sam looked upset when you ran away.”

“Well, he can shove,” you grumbled. Sebastian snorted and retorted, “He’s the one who wanted to check on you, but I told him that you seeing him while you’re in a RSD episode wouldn’t be that helpful.”

You moved closer to Sebastian and laid your head against his shoulders, “I hate my brain.”

“I get it, you’re not alone,” hummed the emo, “Isn’t this stream pretty, though?” he redirected your focus on the stream, the gentle rush of water humming against the swaying trees, “Maybe, just for a second, we can be like the stream.”

You closed your eyes and focused on the sound of the stream, envisioning yourself as one with the water. A sense of peace washed over you and you exhaled, still picturing yourself as the stream. It felt like an hour or so went by before you opened your eyes again, “I’m the stream,” you stated to Sebastian. 

“You’re the stream,” he repeated back, holding you close, “You’re the stream," your heartbeat and breathing returned to normal.

"I'm the stream."

[ameliemaaaee]

The Silent Witness - Oneshot Series

(1) How you Meet the BAU Team.

Chapter Information Summary: Y/N finds herself enravelled in the depths of a puzzling case which can only be solved in conjunction with one infamous FBI unit. Content Warnings: Canon Violence/Gore, Awkward!Reader & Spencer, Platonic Hotel Room Sharing. Word Count: 7,986. Read on AO3

Story Masterlist - (1) -

The London Underground was not your favourite place. Yes, you were grateful for London’s fabulous public transport system, especially on the mornings where bumper-to-bumper traffic would only frustrate you more. However, the constant work-day rush of people in business attire, provided a stark contrast to all the tourists in their flamboyant outfits, both equally surmounting your dissociative annoyance.

Not to mention the germs. There was a study done on that. It proved that, when swabbed, The London Underground was the dirtiest place in the city, with ninety-five different strains of bacteria found. In fact, you happened to be friends with this researcher, who in confidence told you that even a one-hour trip on the Tube is enough to raise the long-term risk of heart attacks. And this was simply due to the air pollution. It made you shiver just thinking about it. It was a shame driving in the city was slower.

You were rushed to say the least, evading the rush hour was top priority when you weren’t on call, however an interesting case had come in and your expertise was required. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be in high demand, despite your age you were renowned in London for your competency as a forensic pathologist.

Your life for so many years had resolved around the dead, those whom you had to pry the clues out of. Work remained your whole life, the ability to gather evidence from the silent witness, and bring justice to many was beyond comforting to you. The feeling of winning a case against someone you had scientifically proven guilty, defeated the solemn, and gruesome nature of your job by ten-fold.

Now, you focused on the rattling train below your feet as you timidly clutched the railing above your head. The shuddering sound of the train drawing to a halt beneath your feet, rocking you back and forth. This was it.

The platform was abnormally busy as you made a beeline for the exit, barely noticing the busker who provided the soundtrack to the mornings of so many, for so cheap. Bounding up the steps you surfaced alongside block-red lettering screaming ‘Charing Cross’, The Embankment was just a short walk from here.

You weren’t too sure of the details of your newest case, quite simply that it was ‘a big one’ and that it was a rather public disposal. Public disposals were common in London, however public disposals in busy Underground stations weren’t. Especially with the Night Tube services. A public disposal site told you that this kill was a threat. Whoever it was wanted their attention, they wanted their case to be public, the wanted London to shudder with fear. But alas, the closed station required more walking.

Brushing shoulders with strangers, much like the rest, your gaze was dead set on where you were going. And as The Embankment station neared you sighed. This was tourist London, The Embankment opened out onto the Thames, and once you reached the Thames, Westminster, and Big Ben was in View, and the famed London Eye. But you didn’t have time to take in the part of the city you never dared to enter, you had work.

As you reached the station the Mounted Police immediately caught your eye. Sat astride their horses were people attempting to control and direct the crowds back to Charing Cross; no wonder it had been so abhorrently busy. Ducking under the police tape you were greeted by an uninterested officer who guiltlessly looked you up-and-down. Plastering a smile on face you removed your identification and shoved it politely into his face.

“Dr. Y/N L/N. Home-Office Pathologist.” The officer remains stoic, thumbing you towards a set of stairs where a familiar face stood, ever-stoic, patiently waiting.

“Where’s the body?” You omit the greeting. Angela knew you too well, and you both were past the ‘good morning’s’ and ‘hello’s’ that seemed the ever-so-polite thing to do.

You were a tight-knit pair, ever since school, and bonding over your preferred use of the Oxford comma, you had both shared a solid friendship. It wasn’t based off greetings or words, nor a physical display of affection. It was based off the reliability and trust you felt for each other. It was a simple, and honest friendship. That allowed you to occasionally let-loose on your days off. But today would not be one of those days, in fact you wouldn’t see one ever again.

“The top of the stairs, it’s a male. He’s probably in his 30’s. He has a series of interesting tattoos.” Angela’s candour filled your ears, her level tone forever reassuring you of the collective, daily, London anxiety, which seemed to radiate throughout the city.

“Interesting how?” You raised a brow in curiosity, a small chuckle escaping your lips as Angela rolled her eyes, pushing her teal-ish hair behind her ears, mixing it with her original black-ish strands.

“Interesting as in, you-need-to-see-this-and-contact-the-appropriate-people. That kind of interesting.” She said it so nonchalantly, ‘call the appropriate people.’ That didn’t sound interesting, that sounded like ‘this-guy-has-tattoos-relating-to-some-form-of-terrorism-plans-and-you-should-bring-in-counterterrorism’. And boy, were you right.

“This is bad.” You deadpanned, you had no adjectives for how bad it was, other than it was very, very bad. The police officer a great distance behind you bit his thumb anxiously as you stood buried in a white HazMat-style SOCO suit, Angela kneeling beside you, silently shaking her head.

“Angela, I don’t even know who to call about this.” You gestured to the male lay ahead of you, his body scrawled with descriptive instructions on ‘blowing up the D.C Capitol Building.’

And that’s how you ended up at a bar, drinking with the FBI’s distinguished Behavioural Analysis Unit.

-

The thrashing of bass pounded against your chest as you sauntered through the doorway, away from the cool night air and into the warmth of the bar. You weren’t expecting there to be any live music, but you were pleasantly surprised by the quality of the music, that soon would be drowned out by cheap liquor.

The rest of the BAU trailed into the establishment behind you, slight grins on their faces. All of you had changed, ditching the work clothes. The FBI’s plane would be grounded until tomorrow evening, so they were officially off-duty, and allowed to have fun.

And by the looks on the group’s faces you all needed this, the tensions had run high during your latest case and there had been weeks’ worth of sleepless nights, that the medical doctor deep down inside you didn’t approve of.

“Let’s find a booth!” Garcia practically yelled down your ear over the music. You nodded pointing to a room that sat off the main stage area, where it would undoubtedly be quieter.

Heaving a sigh of relief you slid into a booth, in between the males you had come to know as Dr. Spencer Reid, and Derek Morgan. The men all chuckled lightly as Agent Hotchner stands.

“First round is on me!” You laugh quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face before giving Hotch your order, double vodka and Diet Coke, your drink of choice.

“You know, I’d never been to London until now.” Derek chuckles, as he leans forward, his elbow resting on the table. His gaze connected with yours.

“It’s a nice city.” Spencer chimes as you shake your head laughing.

“You haven’t even seen it.” You smile, leaning back against the plush backing of the circular booth, your gaze finding Hotch who was carrying a tray of drinks, making a beeline for the table. You hadn’t had a night out in so long, you were practically buzzing at the concept of alcohol.

The band’s melody had faded to a distant hum, your heart synching with the echoing bass that still rumbled the ground beneath your feet.

“I must say, you scrub up nicely Dr. L/N.” You turn your head to Derek who takes in your frame. Derek was an attractive man, you couldn’t lie, and you knew he meant no harm by his comment, but you couldn’t help but feel scrutinised.

You offer him a polite laugh, before turning to Hotch who was dishing out the alcohol. Gratefully you took your drink from his hand, taking a long sip. If you wanted to be able to actually hold a conversation without being too uptight, you would need to be at least tipsy. Plus, the alcohol made you forget about… well, the alcohol that was terrible for your health.

“So, Y/N, I assume this has been an interesting week for you?” You chuckle at Rossi, who raises his glass, before sipping on what appeared to be whiskey.

-

Due to the commotion at the Police stations, and the high-risk of having FBI agents in London they had been assigned to a more discrete location; and lucky for you, that was your lab.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to having FBI agents in your jurisdiction, in fact it was the opposite. You were fascinated by their work, in law-enforcement they were truly celebrated for their research, and work. You just weren’t too chuffed by the idea of new people, of which there were now seven.

They all looked, strangely, just how you would imagine a team of FBI agents looking, all but one. The flamboyant one. She was dressed in a way you could only describe as eccentric, her blonde hair curled at the ends, sections held in place by red-rose clips to match her dress. She seemed friendly, despite the sombre circumstances, a half-smile chopping her features.

The rest seemed to blend in. There was another woman, her slender frame, and long blonde hair somewhat reminiscent of the mean girls at school. The rest were all male. We had, the obvious team leader, he stood tall, clad in a black suit. How would you chase bad guys in that? Next, was the cliché buff guy, who spent too much time at the gym. Finally, the skinny, sweater vest guy, and an Italian?

“You must be Dr. L/N.” The team leader spoke up, making his way towards you, his hand outstretched. You found yourself staring at it for a brief moment, as if the action were strange to you, before you realised, he wanted a handshake. You offered a slight smile as you reluctantly gripped his hand, shaking it.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Aaron Hotchner, but you may call me Hotch.” You nod, keeping your gaze on the floor. You were in a room with a bunch of criminal profilers. That was scary. Could they profile you? Would they? Were they profiling you right now? You weren’t exactly keen on the gazes boring into you.

“This is my team, we have Supervisory Special Agent, David Rossi.” You wave awkwardly as he gestures to the Italian guy, unsure of what social conduct was required to meet criminal profilers. David Rossi smiles at you, offering a brief salute that would have made you chuckle in better circumstances. Perhaps you would be better, in better circumstances.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Jennifer Jareau.” The pretty blonde leans forward hand outstretched, as you smile awkwardly. Her grip was firm, irking you less that Hotchner’s handshake. However, you already felt inferior to these individuals, no number of correct-introductions or doctorates could save you. They hunt criminals for a living. Yes, it may not need a doctorate, in fact, you weren’t sure any of them were doctors. But they certainly weren’t cowardly in a mere social situation, like you.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Derek Morgan.” You react quickly this time, lifting your hand in a quick, but still awkward wave to the incredibly muscular guy in front of you. Derek Morgan seemed like such a fitting name for him, in fact, you weren’t sure there was a name more suited for him in all the 5,163 first names, and 151,671 last names commonly used in the United States of America.

“We also have our Technical Analyst, Special Agent, Penelope Garcia.” The eccentric techie waves her hand cheerily, a wide smile breaking out on her face. She seemed sweet, and you were glad to see a female computer nerd. There certainly wasn’t enough of them in this universe. Her grin was infectious as you attempted to hide yours with the floor.

“Last but not least, we have our resident genius.” Your head snapped up at that. ‘Resident genius’? What rendered this guy a genius? You supposed, he looked smart. But you couldn’t quite decipher if it was just the sweater vest. In fact, he looked more jet-lagged that smart.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Doctor Spencer Reid.” Ah, a doctor.

You smile slightly, glad the introductions were over.

-

“Yeah, I have worked a fair few high-profile cases in my time, but this probably tops them.” You smile at the group, your gaze connecting with JJ and Garcia who both offer you sweet smiles. You can feel Spencer’s gaze on you as he clutches a glass of water in his right hand.

“It certainly tops ours.” JJ smiles, leaning towards you, a chuckle escaping her lips. “I never thought we would see an international case, never mind this.” You smile, bringing your drink to your lips, taking a refreshing sip.

“I- How do you do what you do? I mean- the chopping and the blood and guts and-“ Garcia frantically waves her hands in front of her, very nearly knocking over her martini as she rants.

“Garcia- she’s used to it, just like we are.” You nod in agreement with Hotch, your ears tuning in the set change happening with the band next door.

You scan the remainder of the room you were in, the bar was fairly quiet, most of the younger crows would have moved onto nightclubs by now. You could see various groups of people seated in their booths, most of them appearing as if they were celebrating, which felt fitting for your occasion.

“You know-“ You turn back to Rossi who was pointing a finger at you, a sly smile on his face.

“-I thought this week was going to be a drag when you asked us to surrender out firearms.” You watch as small chuckles erupt from the rest of the team, allowing yourself to join in with them.

-

You watch the team, stare at you expectantly, kicking yourself into gear.

“I have a room for you, a conference room.” You direct your statement towards Hotch who nods his head sharply, gesturing for you to lead the way. And you did. You guided them towards your conference room.

It was a large room with glass windows. On the back wall was a large TV screen designed for presenting, in the corner a safe. It was quite simple by design; a room, a TV, a table, and chairs that surrounded it. You weren’t sure it was FBI approved with its scratchy carpet and simplicity, but it would have to do.

“I hope it’s okay.” You try to say it with confidence, as you stand by the door the agents filing into the room, but your voice comes out as more of a squeak. Typically, this causes you to make unnecessary eye-contact with the Doctor.

“Uhm- You are going to have to surrender your firearms.” This certainly got a reaction from all but Aaron Hotchner, who likely, was aware of this.

“Why?” The doctor spoke up, as the rest of the team curiously gazed at me.

“Fire-arm residue. You are gonna be around bodies that haven’t had post-mortems, and you could contaminate them. So, I take the arms.” You watched as half of the team swallowed harshly, obviously not-to-sure about not having a weapon, which was such an odd reality of Americans.

“You’ll get them back, don’t worry. It’s just anywhere beyond this room would count as an unnecessary contamination. I think your Unit Chief was informed?” Your gaze turned to Hotchner who nodded.

“Guys, the weapons will be retrieved if we are leaving the building.” The team nod, clearly becoming more willing to surrender as they remove their holsters. You reach for a plastic box, holding it out as you walk around the group, being handed the various heavy weapons.

“I don’t carry.” You nod politely at the technical analyst, moving finally towards the male you now knew as Spencer Reid. He placed a revolver into the box, odd choice.

“Okay this is your safe, the code is 62282. Please remember it.” You quickly place the weapons, and the plastic box into the safe, locking the door with a loud beep. Before you walk to the door, watching everyone settle in.

You stand uncomfortably at the door as you watch them lay their belongings down on the table awaiting some sort of response, or a cue to leave.

-

“Yeah, I don’t have a good track record when I’m not carrying a firearm.” Spencer chuckles, pulling his glass back up to his lips.

“Boy wonder here doesn’t do well in close-combat situations.” You watch as Derek reaches over you, ruffling Spencer’s hair, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“Awh, it’s okay. I don’t think close combat would be much use against someone with a bomb.” You offer Spencer a friendly smile, as his gaze connects with yours. He offers you a shy smile as you nod towards his glass.

“No alcohol? Very responsible.” Spencer shakes his head, still grinning.

“Someone’s got to be sober.” You nod, laughing as JJ and Garcia stand, walking towards you.

The pair grab you by the arms, attempting to pull you over Spencer, you chuckle awkwardly as Spencer stands, allowing them to drag you out of the booth. They wrap their arms under yours as you stumble on your heels, feeling the alcohol hit you.

“We are dancing.” Garcia gently taps your nose with her pointer finger as JJ supports you on your feet. She laughs as you feel your face pale slightly.

“I-I don’t dance. Plus, this is a bar, not a nightclub.” Your gaze falls on the rest of the team who seem extremely amused at the girl who couldn’t stand properly after only one drink. You sigh slightly.

“I’m a doctor, I know how bad alcohol is, so I don’t drink often, okay?” You watch as the remaining men laugh at your dramatic statement as JJ slowly releases you from her grasp, satisfied that you would be able to stand alone.

An idea pops into your head.

“People don’t dance in bars over here, but I do know my way around London.” You raise a brow, watching as the team look at you inquisitively.

“You lot hunt serial killers. How about Jack the Ripper? Spencer you could be the tour guide!” You laugh as their faces morph into one of understanding, a look of excitement settling on Spencer’s face.

-

“Alright, we have work to do. We need to start brainstorming.” Hotch’s voice rang out throughout the room as he gestured for you to make your way to the front of the room.

“Okay, so there has been no post-mortem done as of yet, but I can show you pictures from the crime scene yesterday, and the close-ups produced by my lab tech.” You stand in front of the team, all eyes trailed on you. You quickly turned the TV on with the remote, leaning over the table and logging into the laptop.

“So, the unidentified male is assumed to be around 27 years old, he was found in a very public London Underground station, lay on his back. As you can see, he was shirtless with an intricate tattoo scrawled over his body.”

The team nods, as you pull up the picture. The screen filing with the photos of a dead man shot point-blank in the head. You notice the team’s tech analyst wriggle uncomfortably in her seat and you chuckle.

“I’m so sorry, feel free to look away if you need.” You smile at the woman as she gives you a small grin, opening her laptop and beginning what you assumed was some sort of research.

“What Underground station was he found in?” You smile as Rossi speaks up, leaning forward to your laptop, laughing.

“I have a map for you, I figured it would be more use than just giving you a name.” You pull up a map of the London underground system against the landscape, turning to see it on the television screen.

“Okay so, the male was found at The Embankment station which-“

“-The Embankment has a huge, empty substation attached to it, that has actually been abandoned since 1957. It’s called ‘Pages Walk’ and is located behind a blast door in the station.” Dr. Reid cuts you off, as you chuckle. You smile politely at the rest of the team, the male introduced to you as SSA. Morgan held his head in his hands, shaking it slightly.

“Right, you are doctor. I was going to say that it was notoriously ‘Tourist London’, and opens out onto the Thames, with all the tourist attractions, but that works too.” You shrug, offering Spencer a slightly awkward thumb up.

-

You widen your eyes at the sound of your name, making eye contact with the lanky Dr. Reid who was now making his way over to you. Work talk, you could do that. Spencer stood beside you as you watched the team settle for a moment more, before following you out of the door.

“How many times do you reckon I will have to remind you lot of the safe code?” You chuckle to yourself, trying to make simple, light-hearted conversation. He was a doctor, maybe you could level with him?

“I have an eidetic memory.” His reply was so simple, so nonchalant. But it caused you to furrow your brow. He was a resident genius, and you were not going to be capable enough to level with him. You open your mouth as if to speak but decide against it. No need to incite more awkward interactions.

Instead, he decided to incite it.

“How long have you been a pathologist for?” His question was simple, the answer was simple. So why were you panicking? You knew that you felt inferior, but that wasn’t something that bothered you often. Spit. It. Out.

“Uhm, around four years.” You reply, trying to keep your voice level, and even. Anything to illude to your oh-so-confident demeanour.

“You seem young.” It was a statement, phrased like a question, one that needed answering. You weren’t young, you were 29. But by normal standards, you were too young to be a pathologist of five years.

“Yeah, I guess? What are you a doctor of?” You quickly deflect the question, but almost immediately regret it.

“I have, uhm, three PHDs.” You try not to hold your mouth agape, resident genius ringing in your ears. You were only slightly glad of his hesitation. Surely announcing you had three PHDs wasn’t easy. That required admitting that you were a superior being. But then again, with an eidetic memory it was no surprise he had 3 PHDs.

“They are in, uhm, chemistry, mathematics, and engineering.” You nod, humming along in affirmation as if this were a normal thing, and frankly you surprise yourself. Once you got over the initial shock it wasn’t so hard to act like you were in the presence of a regular person.

-

The team stand from their seats fairly quickly, accepting the concept of a drunken Jack the Ripper tour. Despite the lack of alcohol in his system Spencer’s got a massive grin on his face, and practically shaking with excitement.

Dragging them out into the chilly London air you stop suddenly, gasping.

“We should get alcohol, to-go!” You turn to face the team, your eyes wide with a sense of wonder at your marvellous idea. Only being egged on by Garcia, Morgan, and JJ who cheer loudly at your proposition.

“Isn’t that just a liquor store?” Spencer’s brow is furrowed in confusion, trying to work out what alcohol to-go was, and he wasn’t too far off.

“…and a bad idea?” Rossi follows, pointing an accusing finger towards you.

“…and illegal?” Hotch follows Rossi with a chuckle.

“No, it’s actually perfectly legal here, and liquor stores are expensive, we’re going to Tesco.” You clap your hands jumping on the spot excitedly, before making a beeline for the Tube station.

-

Whitechapel was shockingly quiet, for this time of night with only the distant humming of the main roads to remind you that you were in fact in one of Europe’s busiest cities.

You and the rest of the BAU team ambled through the narrow alleyways that once housed one of the world’s most prolific serial killers, Spencer occasionally pointing to various street-corners and naming one of his five canonical victims.

“You know, In the Victorian era the basal population of Whitechapel was swelled by immigrants from all over, particularly Irish and Jewish. This poverty drove many women to prostitution; The victim-pool of Jack the Ripper.” You turn to Spencer who’s walking closely by your side, something he had obscurely insisted on.

“Yeah, In October of 1888 the Metropolitan Police estimated that there were 1,200 prostitutes ‘of very low class living in Whitechapel and about 62 brothels.” You pipe up, a smug grin settling on your face as you gaze at Spencer, eyes narrowed.

“I know my facts doctor.” You slur. Spencer laughs, reaching out for the bottle of sweet beer in your hand, removing it from your grasp, as you gasp, attempting to grab back the bottle that he holds high over his head.

“Hey!” You pout as Spencer tosses the bottle into a nearby bin. You are quickly distracted by the way your trip over your own feet.

“Woah, woah! Confiscating the alcohol was a good move on my part.” Spencer mumbles as he grasps your shoulders, steadying you on the pavement. You both stop, turning to see Derek stood with Garcia, staring right at you and Spencer, a glimmer in his eye.

You look past him to see Hotch, Rossi, and JJ slowly walking towards you both. Hotch and Rossi had drunk nothing since the bar and were both practically sober. They had allowed you, JJ, and Garcia to drink despite their apprehensions, and likely remained sober to ensure you were safe. Derek had managed to leave the bar with his pint of beer, still clutching the empty glass.

You yawn slightly, swaying on your heels as you turn to the team. Furrowing your brows as you lean back against Spencer who stumbles slightly in surprise.

Your mind is foggy, but not foggy enough to ignore the impending hangover that would undoubtedly kick your ass the next morning.

“I should go home now.” You finally feel the fogginess settling in your brain, like a sickly-sweet haze. But alas, you were running out of energy. You missed Hotch’s stern look.

“You’re staying at the hotel with one of us, we can’t let you go home alone.” You roll your eyes slightly at the solemn male.

“No thanks dad! I’m excellent at navigating my way home.” You chuckle, at your own joke, JJ and Garcia joining in a drunken chorus.

“Y/N, you’re drunk, and it’s dangerous out here.” Spencer chimes, in. His arms are still holding tightly on your shoulders as you drunkenly giggle. Your forehead rests on his shoulder as you teeter on your heels.

“Fine.” You take the arm that Spencer offers you, watching as Hotch and Morgan do the same for JJ and Garcia, Rossi walking closely behind you. You were by far the most drunk, and the most likely to faceplant against concrete.

-

“Who wants her? Because I really don’t mind.” Derek points his finger, raising his eyebrows at Y/N as she sits on the floor of the hotel corridor. Her fingers trace the patterns on the carpet, as she hums along to a non-existent song.

The team let out a collective sigh at Derek’s implication.

The world is fairly fuzzy to Y/N, and she has resorted to paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around her, hyper-focusing on anything that would appeal to her senses. She knew that she would regret drinking in the morning.

“Fine! Personally, I feel as if Spencer should do it.” Derek nudges the lanky genius, who simply rolls his eyes, his cheeks dusting a light shade of pink.

“That’s a point, two of us have two beds in our rooms. That’s Spencer and Derek.” Rossi quips, turning to face the two men who now stood, eyes widened.

“For Y/N’s sake, I think we veer away from Morgan as a candidate.” Hotch says, a slight smile on his face as JJ and Garcia burst into a fit of giggles, leaning against one another.

“You’re up Spence-“ JJ smiles, as Hotch and Derek reach out for both her and Garcia, ushering then towards their respective rooms. Spencer watches as Rossi, offers him a humorous salute before he turns, walking down the corridor.

“Okay, Y/N.” Spencer tries to keep his voice down, so he doesn’t disturb other patrons of the hotel. He helps Y/N to her feet, cautiously gripping onto her as she sways into his chest.

“How are you so smart?” She practically whispers as Spencer guides her towards his room, scanning the key card.

“I’m not sure, perhaps it was good genetics?” Spencer quips, pushing her through the hotel room door, watching as she gasps, making a beeline for the empty bed. He can’t help but chuckle as she dramatically flops onto the bed, splaying her arms out wide across the plush surface.

“You know, twin studies of adults have found a heritability of IQ between 57% and 73%, with the most recent studies showing heritability for IQ as high as 80%.” Her words are slurred, but her facts are correct which makes Spencer smile.

“Did you have smart parents?” She props her body up on her elbows, connecting her gaze with Spencer who digs through his suitcases, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Spencer’s head snaps up at the question as he offers her a solemn smile.

“I guess you could say that. What about you, were your parents smart?” She giggles slightly resting her back on the bed as Spencer walks towards her, fiddling with the straps of her heels in an attempt to undo them.

“My dad is really intelligent academically, and my mother was amazing at the arts and music. I got a combination of both I guess.” Y/N smiles to herself, allowing Spencer to take her uncomfortable shoes off, her mind distracted by the thoughts of her parents.

“You know, I never really considered myself smart.” She practically whispers, sitting back up as Spencer removes her first shoe, she reaches forwards, helping him remove her second.

“Why not? You’re a doctor.” She shrugs laughing lightly at Spencer’s straightforwardness.

“I never found school academically difficult in hindsight. I struggled to understand that it wasn’t the work that was difficult, it was all the social-emotional stuff. At that point, to me, school was just difficult.” Spencer nods, offering her a reassuring smile as he passes Y/N a pile of clothes.

“You can have these, or if you’d rather sleep in the dress, it’s up to you.” Y/N smiles, grabbing the sweatpants and shuffling them on underneath her dress, Spencer had turned away and was now fiddling with an Ice bucket.

“Y/N, I’m going to go get ice, I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” She nods, watching him walk out the door as Y/N unzips the dress fully, pulling Spencer’s clothes over herself as best she could in her sluggish state.

The sweatshirt was massive on her, the sleeves covered her hands, but the sweatpants were a different story. Spencer was practically a whole foot taller than she was and that left the bottom of the trousers to bunch up around her ankles.

She quickly rolled the cuffs of the sweatpants up to a reasonable length, before collapsing back onto the surface of the bed. Inhaling the scent of his clothes she groaned, the alcohol was surely leaving her system, but left in its wake, a pounding headache.

So much so that she didn’t notice the sound of the door opening.

“Ah yes, is the hangover setting in?” Y/N whimpers slightly at the unnecessary noise, rolling over in the bed, onto her stomach. Smashing her head against the pillow.

She feels a meek tap on her shoulder, and turns to see Spencer kneeling beside the bed, his hand outstretched, two pills in his palm.

“Take these, so you don’t wake up in the middle of the night.” Y/N groans, rolling back over in the bed, sitting upright. Spencer’s hand steadies her shoulder as she gratefully takes the pills with a glass of water she had clearly placed on the bedside table.

“Okay, good. Now, get some rest.” Spencer pulls up the sheets allowing her to climb under them. Y/N’s eyes stay closed as she listens to Spencer shuffling around the room and entering the bathroom before the room goes silent. And with the silence she slips into sleep.

-

You walk the short distance from the hotel foyer to the entrance of the Underground station. JJ and Garcia trail behind you whist Spencer, ever eager, walks by your side. Spencer is bright and awake, as his gaze takes in what seems to be every little detail of the street, meanwhile you are simply glad you took painkillers.

You were also down a few team members. Turns out that Derek had managed to get a girl’s number from the bar, leaving him unavailable. Meanwhile, Hotch and Rossi preferred a ‘quiet morning.’ You would meet up with them later.

“Wait, this is Aldgate Station?!” Your gaze trails along the bright red lettering marking the entrance of the station. Spencer, JJ, and Garcia laugh at your dramatic halt. Quickly you do a one-eighty, turning and walking away from the station entrance, realising that you had an interesting place in mind.

“Did you know that over 1,000 bodies lie beneath this station, which is built over a plague pit from 1665.” You can’t help but laugh at Spencer’s fact as you turn to face him, walking backwards and trusting the oncoming pedestrian traffic to dodge you.

“Interesting, but the place I have in mind for you may be the sight of even more horror, beginning with the fact that we are walking.” Your gaze fixates on Jennifer who sighs dramatically, but Garcia simply hums, shrugging her shoulders.

You can tell that JJ is hung over, a pair of dark sunglasses are sat on the bridge of her nose, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She seems content however, the pain likely avoided with a healthy dose of paracetamol.

Garcia, on the other hand is awake and bubbly as ever. She also dons her sunglasses, but you wouldn’t know she was hungover. Her flamboyant outfit radiates a happy energy, that seemingly rubs off on you.

The sound of traffic fills your ears as you bustle past various other pedestrians trying to go about their regular lives. Slowly but surely, you guide the team down streets, alleyways, and pedestrian walkways that you begin to recognise.

“You know, sometimes I shock myself with my ability to navigate this city.” You smile to yourself as you see a familiar structure off in the distance.

“There’s nothing of significance here Y/N.” You can’t help but furrow your brow at Spencer’s quip, he was wrong.

“Spencer, how many times in your life have you been wrong?” You watch as Spencer’s cheeks turn pink, him shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, I suggest you add one more to your tally, because if you are patient, you will see that there is in fact something significant in the distance.” This causes Garcia and JJ to laugh. He follows your instructions, and you watch as his eyes widen, before turning back to you, a grin crossing his previously embarrassed features.

-

“Oh my god! It’s a castle in a city. Is that where the Queen lives?” Garcia’s voice interrupts the comfortable silence. Her voice is high pitched, laced with a sense of extreme excitement.

“Originally, it was built by William the Conqueror to be a residence for the royal family, and a fortress. But they soon discovered that it was as good at keeping people in as it was out.” Spencer’s hands flail about wildly and you can’t help but smile at the excitement plastered across his face, your hangover was long forgotten.

“Officially it’s called Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress, The Tower of London.” Spencer finds himself impressed, as you smile brightly, eyes fixated on the tower that was coming closer into view.

You walk along the perimeter of the grounds, towards the visitor centre watching as your three tourists gaze in wonder across the lawn towards the large medieval building.

“Only 22 executions have ever taken place inside the Tower of London. They include the two famed executions of Henry VIII’s wives, Anne Boleyn, and Katherine Howard.” You guide the team towards the visitor centre, watching as all the crowds ahead of you gather.

You walk towards the turnstiles that provide entry to the castle, spotting a beefeater watching over the people entering into the tower grounds.

You slowly walk towards the male, pulling a slip of paper out of your pocket. As you hand him the paper to read, he simply nods, allowing JJ, Spencer, Garcia, and yourself through, politely thanking you all for your service.

“-For our service?” Garcia pipes up as you walk towards the tower gateway, a look of confusion plastered across her joyful features.

“Yeah, uhm, I spoke to a few people.” You state simply, not really wanting to draw out what may create too much of a scene. Garcia certainly struck you as the dramatic type.

“What kind of people?” JJ pulls a strand of hair behind her ear, peering over her sunglasses at you. You can feel Spencer and Garcia’s eyes boring into you with curiosity.

“Well, The Tower of London is owned by Her Majesty the Queen, so-“ Your gaze falls on Spencer who’s face twists into an almost smug look as his brain begins to put the pieces together.

“You asked-“ He begins.

“No, no- well, I mean… She offered?” You chuckle, trying to hide your flustered sate as a look of shock crossed Garcia’s face.

“The-the Queen?!” You can’t help but laugh at her reaction. Both Spencer and JJ join her, eyes widened with shock.

Before you have a moment to think, Garcia walks straight towards you, engulfing you in a surprising hug. You can’t help but tense in surprise.

“The Queen knows we exist?!” She whispers into your ear, allowing Spencer to pry her off you. You simply nod, humming in response.

-

Slowly, you begin to make your way around the walls of the ancient fortress. From the tower above Traitor’s Gate, you had an excellent view across the Thames, of Bloody Tower, and the impressive White Tower behind you, housing the notorious Crown Jewels.

“I always found this part of the castle to be so weird.” You can’t tell if you are talking to yourself or the rest of the team, but Spencer makes his way towards you, his gaze curiously set on you.

You turn towards him, watching as Garcia and JJ excitedly stand on the other side of the wall, inspecting the expansive gardens where twenty-two whole lives had been taken.

“How so?” Spencer says quietly as you fix your gaze back on him.

“So many doomed people made their final journey by boat beneath our feet. They wouldn’t even had known at that point if they were sentenced to death or not.” You sigh, turning your gaze to the ground staring at your feet.

“You know, they had a way of communicating their fate right in front of them without even knowing.” Spencer nods, urging you to continue.

“The jailor would be abord the boat to transport them through the gate and he would carry an axe. If the axe was facing forwards, they were lucky, and if the axe was facing backwards… well-“ You watch Spencer’s brows pinch together as he nods in understanding.

“…People spent the worst days of their lives here.” Spencer murmured as you simply nodded, allowing your gaze to trail onto JJ and Garcia who were taking photos.

“-And the best.” You smile, nodding towards JJ and Garcia as Spencer hums in agreement, a small smile on his face.

“Are those men actually called beefeaters?” You smile at Garcia’s question, turning to Spencer as he interrupts.

“From what I gather, it’s a sort of slang name for what are officially Yeoman Warders of the tower.” Garcia nods as Spencer offers a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, we should do one of their tours!” JJ exclaims, pointing at a group crowding around for a tour due to start in just under 5 minutes.

“If you want- but those guys will slam you if they find out your American.” You smile, dragging the three agents towards the crowd, as confused looks crossed their face.

And boy, were you right.

-

The harsh, night air nipped at your skin, goosebumps crawling across your exposed skin, your dress from the previous night turned out to be a rather weather-inappropriate outfit. After The Tower of London, the heavens opened in a torrential downpour that caused our small group to sprint to a local bookstore café, where the missing team members caught up with you for lunch.

You spent around three hours in the quaint café, both you and Spencer eyeing up the large bookshelves lined with various graphic covers as the rest of the team talked. They truly were a nice group, and you were glad you had the opportunity to work with them. But it hurt to think that you may never see them again.

But alas, they tided you over by regaling tales of sadistic killers, and various – and frankly, hilarious – anecdotes from their time together. You could tell they truly were a family, especially since they didn’t fail to mention the fact their job is so demanding that they practically live in the FBI Academy together.

~

“You know, law enforcement was always a job that interested me. I just wish that I could see a case through, you know; studying the bodies is fairly detached.” You chuckled, placing your glass to your lips, and taking a sip.

“You want to chase Unsubs?” Derek turned to you, a smile on his face.

“I guess so, I always enjoyed travelling for specialty help, I was a bit more involved in solving cases then. I just feel so helpless once all evidence is processed, I must wait and hope that the police can work it out themselves.” You smile, reaching your arm out to fiddle with the napkin in front of you.

~

“Y/N?” The sound of a voice pulls you out of your dissociative reverie, pulling you back into the here and now, where the team all gathered in front of you.

“Thank you for everything Y/N.” You smile at Rossi, gasping as Garcia pulls you into another surprise hug. The end of her blonde hair tickles your nose as you let out a small chuckle.

“I will miss you Garcia- I will miss all of you.” You whisper as Garcia pulls back and you acquaint your gaze with the hardened concrete below your feet. Trying to hide the embarrassment you felt for becoming so attached to the people in front of you in such a short time.

“You don’t fancy a trip to America, do you?” Derek chuckles, nudging your side with his elbow, you lift your hands to cover your mouth as you laugh. Your gaze fixating on Derek as he offers you a wide grin.

“I could do with a holiday-“ You smile shaking your head.

“-but I’m not so sure my boss would like it.” You watch as the team chuckle to themselves, their gazes flicking between each other as they slowly realised, they would be leaving very soon.

-

Hotch stands, deep in thought as the team gather together, Y/N included, on the runway. He couldn’t help but notice how well Y/N functioned with the team, and how quickly they were able to solve an extremely complicated case with her expertise.

A notification snaps him out of his daze, gazing down at his phone he sees a reminder popping up, telling him that the jet leaves in 15 minutes and that they should all be ready to board.

“Guys-“ He breaks the giggles and chatter between his teammates, watching Y/N’s expression falter at the implication of his words. He knew she had bonded well with the team in the short space of time, and he knew that the team would miss her also.

“-you should say your goodbyes, we have to be on the jet in five for take-off in fifteen. I’ll be back in a minute.” Hotch disappears onto the jet as Garcia sucks in a breath, her eyes saddening as they land on Y/N. A soft smile rests on her face.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you all. I had heard so much about you guys-“ Y/N chuckles, her cheeks heating up as she turns her gaze to the ground scuffing her feet on the concrete.

“-you certainly -uhm- lived up to those expectations ten-fold. This wouldn’t have been solved without you guys.” Y/N’s gaze scans over the group, lingering on Spencer, who gives her a soft smile, his cheeks reddening.

Rossi was the first to step forward, offering Y/N a silent pat on her shoulder, before walking towards the jet, and disappearing inside.

JJ and Garcia stood forward together, opening out their arms as they engulfed Y/N in a group hug. The whispers of thanks making the other members of the team smile at the sight. But soon they disappeared into the comfort of the jet.

“Stay safe, okay?” Was the simple sentiment Morgan left Y/N with his gaze switching between her and Spencer suggestively, an expression they both missed.

Finally, Spencer steps forward his eyes stuck on the ground as he fails to meet Y/N’s gaze.

The pair both remain silent, gazes alternating between each other and the ground as they both relish in the awkwardness of not knowing what to say.

“I enjoyed having someone smart to relate to.” He practically whispers as Y/N let’s out an embarrassed chuckle.

“Don’t be mean to your teammates, you’re a bright bunch.” The quip makes Spencer laugh shyly, as he raises his gaze to Y/N who stands in front of him.

“You’re a brilliant mind.” Spencer’s voice is practically a whisper as he takes a small step forward, outstretching his hand to Y/N. She gladly takes it and shakes it with a chuckle.

“Hey Reid, I thought you said it was safer to kiss?!” The pair jump at the sound of a voice coming from the small jet. Turning they see Derek stood at the top of the steps, a smug grin on his face.

Hotch walks past him, making his way towards the now extremely embarrassed, frozen pair of doctors. Spencer quickly offers Y/N a small smile before dropping your hand.

Y/N turns her focus to Hotch. He stops in front of her.

“Dr. L/N, we’re running late, but I just wanted to let you know that I will be in touch over the next couple of weeks, as regards the case.” Y/N nods, immediately going into business mode, she straightens up.

“That’s absolutely no problem, I will forward you any of the paperwork on our end for reference.”

“That would be great. Excellent work doctor. As I said, I’ll be in touch.”

And with that, they were gone.

-

Story Masterlist - (1) -

[augustvandyne]

Five times you and Addison Montgomery almost kiss, and the one time you do, please?

i love addie so much she’s so cute! also, i wasn’t sure if you preferred this to take place during greys or private practice, so i went with greys!

tw: mentions of vomiting

a story for the grandkids

1.

It was in the crossing of early morning, late night.

You’d been at the hospital for over forty-eight hours. And only about ten of that had been small naps.

Being on Addison’s service was kicking your ass, but you wanted to be an OBGYN with your whole heart and soul, and you would give up anything for that. Even a little sleep.

You were currently watching over a baby whose mother had just left her.

This world was messed up, and you hated people for it. Sometimes you thought you were too empathetic for this world, but that’s what made you a great doctor.

Or at least that’s what Addison told you.

You’re drifting to sleep as you feel a tug on your pointer finger. You spent most of the night just watching the tiny humans chest thump with heartbeats.

But now you were getting restless, and there hadn’t been any response from the baby at all until now.

You sat up excitedly at the small on and off pressure being added to your finger.

“Hi, sweet girl,” You run your thumb over her small knuckles. “That’s it. You’re so strong.”

Your eyes are sparkling and your lips are wide with a large smile plastering your face.

Addison watches the interaction from across the NICU, and she thinks it’s the cutest thing she’s ever witnessed. She’s worked with a lot of aspiring interns interested in neonatal work, but she’s never met someone like you.

“Everything okay?” Addison is watching you more than the baby.

“Yes!” You are bouncing in your seat. “She— she’s responsive. I’ll admit, I was falling asleep for a second— but I felt a tug on my finger, and— she’s so strong, Dr. Montgomery.”

“Please, call me Addison,” She smiles at you, grabbing a pen from her lab coat to mark the newfound information on the chart. “And thank you for being honest with me. This is amazing news.”

“If I have to call you Addison, you should call me Y/n,” You try to convince her.

Addison chuckles, “We’ll see.”

You lower your head so your level with the incubator, your eyes closing slightly.

Addison looks up from the chart, her lips tilting up from hearing your small snores.

“Dr. Y/l/n,” Addison clears her throat, and you jump awake.

“Huh?” You rub your eyes, letting go of the babies hand for the first time in hours.

“You should go home. Get some sleep,” Addison nods.

“But— I still have a few more hours—“

“I’m telling you to go home,” Addison places her pen back in the pocket she retrieved it. “You came in early yesterday, therefore, I’m cutting you off for today.”

“Okay,” You chuckle. You stand and come closer to her, moving to stand between the incubator and her. “I’ll see you..”

“Whenever I please,” Addison gives you a breathtaking smile, only now realizing the two of you are very close.

She thinks about it for a split second, her eyes closing in on your lips. But she clenches her jaw and takes a tiny step back.

She’s grateful you’re too tired to remember this tomorrow.

“Go on, Dr. Y/l/n,” Addison nods towards the door to the NICU.

2.

You huff for what had to be the hundredth time in the past hour.

There was nothing you hated more than plastics. It wasn’t the treatments, per se.. actually, that was part of it. You hated seeing them in pain as you dressed their burns and their cries.

But you also hated Mark Sloan. You could feel his stares on you as you worked on what he’d asked. He treated you like an object, and you were over it.

You also hated him because of the way he treated Addison.

Yes, you know, she was definitely in the wrong, but she’s apologized and everyone is over it. At least everyone except Mark.

“Y/l/n. If you huff one more time you’ll be on dry cleaner and coffee duty,” Mark threatens.

Although it wasn’t really a threat to you. It was better than wondering when he was going to pounce on you.

“It’s better than being here,” You mumble, finishing a dressing on a mans hand. He was a champ.

“What? Wanna share with the class?”

“I said it’s better than being here,” You finally snapped. “I will happily get your coffee and dry cleaning.”

“Perfect,” Mark flashed you a smile without even telling you where to go and what to get. You’d just ask Alex.

You somehow managed to stumble into the NICU, in search for Alex, but you didn’t find him.

You only found Addison.

“Oh, thank god. Someone sane,” Addison comes towards you and puts her hands on your shoulders.

“I don’t know about that,” You laugh. “But I do know I might kill Mark Sloan tonight.”

“Ugh, you got Mark? Out of everyone?” Addison grimaces. “I’m sorry. I’ll help you plan.”

“Amazing,” You smiled blissfully— just being in the NICU and near Addison is what you needed to calm yourself.

You lean your forehead on Addison’s shoulder, and you feel Addison’s hand make its way to the back of your head.

When you lift your head, your mouth is awfully to the side of Addison’s face.

She locks eyes with you but moves her head to the side, away from your face. She notices Alex towards the back of the room, flirting with a nurse.

“Karev, show Y/l/n where Dr. Sloan gets his coffee and his dry cleaning.”

3.

Nothing could have prepared you for what went wrong on that table today.

You knew this was a possibility going into neonatal, and fetal, but even that couldn’t have prepared you for the first death of a mother.

You didn’t even know what went wrong, really.

The mother was fine— you were delivering her baby by C-section and then all of the sudden she started crashing.

Addison had to lead you to the side before she tried to save the patient. You just stood there. Painless, numb, frozen.

It was like you couldn’t breathe.

And when Addison called time of death you all but ran out of the operating room and towards an on-call room.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your scrub cap in your hands as you leaned your head back in hopes to get the tears to go away.

“Y/l/n,” Addison crouches down in front of you, her hand finding a comforting spot on your knee.

You try to ignore the burning sensation of her hand through your scrubs.

“I don’t—“ Your voice cracks and you move your hands to your face, crying into the scrub cap.

“Shh,” Addison shushes you, running another comforting hand up and down the side of your thigh. “We had no idea that was going to happen. It’s not your fault.”

“But her poor husband,” Your words are muffled through the cap. “And the baby..”

“I know,” Addison removes her hand from the side of your leg and moves your hand from your face. “It’s okay.”

Addison lifts herself from the floor and to the bed beside you.

She looks at you with sympathy, because she remembers the first mother she lost. It tore her apart just as it was doing to you.

“It will get better,” Addison promises.

“It’s not fair,” You blow out a breath. “She was fine.”

“Stop. You’re getting yourself worked up,” Addison frowns, pulling you into her side.

You melt into her side, your left leg moving on top of her own. You vigorously wipe at your tears, but they just keep coming.

You sob into her shoulder for a few minutes, soaking her dark blue scrubs to a darker blue.

Addison lifts your head to see your face.

It’s mostly dark in the room, only a small lamp sat on the desk in the back corner. You could barely see her face, but she could see yours perfectly.

She wipes the tears from your face and pushes the damp hair away that sticks onto your face.

Your eyelashes stick together as you look down at her lips slightly, and back up towards her eyes.

“You okay?” Addison’s eyes make their way down to your lips.

She leans forward, and she almost thinks she’s going to, but she pulls you in for a hug.

“Yeah,” You sigh.

4.

“It’d be nice if I could breathe right now,” You joked, although it wasn’t really a joke. It felt like the air had been swept from your lungs.

How did you get stuck with your hand on the bomb?, was a very good question.

One you definitely didn’t have the answer to.

All you knew was the second the paramedics hand was out of there, yours was right inside the body.

Your hand was growing tired, but you really didn’t want to die today. You haven’t even really fell in love yet, not really, and that’s something you’d like to experience before dying.

The next few minutes fly by in a blur. Meredith and Cristina come up with a plan to safely take care of the bomb, and the next second your out the door. Praying to any Gods above that you make it out of this alive.

“Breathe, Y/n,” Meredith reminds you.

“I can’t,” You let out a shaky gust of air. “I really c— can’t.”

“Come on, now is not the time to have an asthma attack,” Cristina curses. “I don’t have her extra inhaler, do you?”

“No.. she gave it to..”

“Addison,” The two say together.

“Crap,” You gasp for air.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Burke looks between the two - Meredith and Cristina - as a sheen of sweet forms on his forehead. “One of you are going to have to take over for her and the other needs to take her to Dr. Montgomery now. Before things get out of hand and we all die.”

“You’re right,” Meredith nods. “Okay, I’ve got it. A count of three, Y/n, got it?”

“Yes,” You’re trying to inhale anything at this point, but you can’t seem to grab anything.

You successfully make the trade off with Meredith, and your anxiety skyrockets as you are forced to leave her behind.

“Y/n—“

“I know,” You share a silent understanding with your best friend.

Tell him.

I know.

“Come on, let’s go,” Cristina tugs on your arm and takes you right towards the redhead.

“Oh, y/n,” Addison dives right into your arms, unaware of the fact that you can’t breathe at all. “Thank god you’re alright. You are okay, right? I don’t see any bruises.”

“Dr. Montgomery,” Cristina breaks the moment. “You have her inhaler?”

“Oh!” Addison sees the paleness in your face and begins reaching for your inhaler, finding it in her back pocket. “Here.”

Addison doesn’t care about the blood coating your hand as she holds your hand to help you with your inhaler.

Addison leans her face forward to make sure you’re doing it right, and when you remove your hand her lips are awfully close to your face.

You take a sharp inhale of breath you didn’t have a second ago, and you actually think she’s gonna go through with it for a second.

But you had an audience, and she didn’t want your first kiss to be in front of her ex-husband and your subordinates.

“You’re okay?” Addison checks over you.

“You called me by my name,” Is the first thing you say when you’re fully back.

Addison laughs, “I did.”

5.

You giggle to yourself as you sit at the bar in Joes.

You were all supposed to originally go there so you could drink and do trauma dumps for the week, but everyone got called in for their respective specialties, except you.

A familiar fragrance hits your nose, and you rest back, almost falling out of the stool at the bar.

“Woah there,” Addison catches you quickly before you fall.

“Addie,” You sigh in content, laying your arm across the table, your head resting in the crook of your arm.

“Hm?” Addison presses her lips together. “Meredith told me I might find you here.”

“She did?” You ask with a little too much excitement.

“Yeah,” Addison laughs at you. “What happened? Are you upset? Is that why you’re like this?”

“Nooooo,” You poke her on the nose.

You begin to stand, putting your coat on due to the frigid weather.

“Where are you off to?” Addison stands quickly, following you right out the door.

“The hospital!” You gasp. “To save more babies. I like babies. I want babies. I want them with this one person, but I don’t think they want them with me. Which is okay! I’m.. I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Addison follows you to the grass, holding your hair back as you empty your stomach onto the ground.

She pushes down the jealousy as she rubs your back soothingly.

You lean up fast, looking her in the eyes with the most adorable expression (in her opinion).

You give a wide smile, leaning forward the slightest bit.

She does think about it, but your first kiss shouldn’t be this way. You wouldn’t even be able to remember it in the morning. And your mouth tasted awful.

“Come on,” Addison steers you away from the grass and back into the bar. “Let’s get you a coffee. Maybe some fries. How does that sound?”

You groan in response.

+1

Weddings really just irked you. And you didn’t know what it was about them.

Maybe the fact that you spend so much money for a stupid party you won’t even remember in two years, but Addison seemed to love it.

That’s the only reason you were going - was for Addison.

You’d noticed over the past few weeks how close Addison has come to kissing you. You were really hoping today might be it.

You were a bridesmaid, due to you being one of Cristina’s very best friends.

Although right now you were really regretting even agreeing in the first place.

First off, you hated the dress. Brown? Out of any color? Second, (again on the dress) it didn’t fit your body type well at all. And lastly, you were beginning to think there wouldn’t even be a wedding.

Cristina kept freaking out. All day. And now you could hear someone approaching the door. You had a feeling it was Burke.

Meredith calls for you and when you come to the door it’s not Burke.

It’s Addison.

“Addison,” You slip out of the room. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay with Burke?”

“Everything’s okay for now,” Addison keeps a stoic expression on her face. “But is she almost ready? He’s getting antsy, and he might not go through with it.”

You clench your jaw, shaking your head.

“I’m not even the maid of honor and I’m running around fixing everything?” You whisper-shout.

“Don’t get mad at me,” Addison lifts her brows.

“I’m just— this whole wedding is a disaster. First these stupid dresses, second the bachelorette party? I mean, what the hell kind of party was that?! And now Cristina can’t remember her vows, and there may as well—“

You’re cut off by Addison’s lips smashing onto yours.

“Finally,” You sigh, leaning into her.

Her hands find your hips, grabbing onto them as she pushes you against the wall. Your arms wrap around her neck.

“And for the record,” She says between kisses. “I love this dress on you.”

This was a story for the grandkids.

[ataraxiaspainting]

There’s a Certain Slant of Light.

Yan (Soulmate) Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Something is different. But what could it be?

Warnings: Yandere themes, the reader is unwillingly a Spider and from Meteor City, mentions of religion/religious imagery, implied drugging, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

i’ve been seeing a lot of chrollo being paired with a phantom troupe member reader and i just think that the concept is very interesting! :D

credits for og art piece here!

*~*~*~*

Your sword, while having the ability to stab and slice just about anything, is still by far the most frail weapon at your disposal. It is a slight sadness that fills Chrollo’s mind, then, once he realizes this. The feeling is small, minuscule, just like most of the other emotions Chrollo’s heart cannot beat with, the blood that flows through his veins frozen with the concept of what he wants to be. He feels next to nothing as if he were a walking corpse, a prisoner who has just been released from the deepest depths of hell, not once being able to see twinkling eyes and shining stars. Light is a concept unknown to people like him, and people like you, foreign, as alien as a coup made of peasants storming a palace larger than ten of their villages combined. 

Your two true weapons are your lips calling out his name, and the thin red string that connects your little finger and your fate to his thumb and his future. Despite the thread being wispier than that of paper, it has a will stronger than one forged in diamonds and never had to be a carbon crystal to be so. Chrollo is thankful for it, more so than he is for most things that he would rather leave in the past. It has linked you two together for so long and has been the key for chaining down your animosity towards him whenever he had gone too far. All he had to do was tug, and you would be right back wherever he had placed you. But even diamonds can shatter when a love made in a less-than-fortunate childhood turns more and more into hate.

This entire act is like a balancing beam. He must not be too loud, but also not be too quiet. He must always have cards up his sleeve for any potential mishaps down the line. Inside one hand is the key to your freedom, but inside the other is the key to a false route to such fantasies, the trap of reality. Even Chrollo does not know which is which, for he is a dreamer himself at heart.

“Good morning, sir,” It is a rare sight, you yawning, your posture nowhere near how put together it usually is. “How are you today, sir?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I must have been quite exhausted last night; my apologies, sir.”

“I told you if you ever wanted to take a break here, you are more than welcome to.”

“I’ve always declined such an offer for a reason, sir.”

“Just as I’ve always told you that you may call me just Chrollo for a reason, [First]. I think I haven't heard you say my name without an honorific since we were both still children if my memory serves correctly.”

“...”

The provocation of the past seems to hurt you more than him it seems, from how you flinch at the word children, and from how he smiles at your discomfort. 

“We are not with the rest of the Troupe right now, it is quite alright if you want to relive prior times, wouldn’t you say?” He asks, and with his eyes appearing to look back at his books, he sees yours darting around the room, looking for an escape route.

They move left, to the tables at the back of the sitting room which hold lamps and framed photos and paintings. Then right, to the fireplace and the large but still solitary couch, covered with leather and embroideries. Then up, to the crackless and spotless white ceiling, and then down, to the wooden rosewood planks of the floor.

“I saw a book in your satchel. Crime and Punishment, hmm?”

“Yes. Please do not say how ironic it is, sir.”

“Very well.”

To you, perhaps the room feels deathly still. To him, it feels like the scene right before the climax. Slow, steady, full of tension and dread. Though Chrollo will never let the curtains that cover your very soul close ever again. It would not be hard to get them to open up again, you have known each other for so long after all, but regardless he needs you to stay within the palm of his hand forevermore. Only then will he be able to feel something so warm and soft once more.

Oh, how he wishes that he could open the floor below you and trap you there. But he cannot. At least not yet.

“...Where is my bag?” At your question, Chrollo pulls his thumb towards him, and you move accordingly. “It is not in the room.” You continue, your eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to resist. “Sir?”

Desperation. Then a hand raise and a pause.

“Stolen treasure from the last meeting.” Chrollo begins curtly. “A contact list full of people I have not permitted you to speak to. Keys to a car that is not mine.” He proceeds to say. “Tell me, [First], what is all of this, hmm?”

Something akin to a mix of a horrified chuckle and a choking sound emerges from your throat as if his hands were squeezing and squeezing until you burst. He sets the book he was reading down, and without his hands covering both the front and back of it, you see the title, the synopsis.

“Crime and Punishment, hmm?” He repeats, and for the first time in what must be a few years, he sees you terrified, shaking, and near to tears. “A clever way to code your plan.” Chrollo crosses his legs. “By the way, it is an hour or so past sunset by now.” He hears a small gasp from you. “You missed your flight a long time ago, sweet thing.”

“...I… I…”

“You were planning on leaving us, weren’t you?” When you don’t answer, instead looking straight towards the door, he raises his thumb again. “I know you never wanted to join the Troupe, per se, but still… this hurts.” He pulls and pulls, and being forced to be a puppet for the umpteenth time since the soulmate string has appeared in Chrollo’s vision, you are placed where he wants you to be. 

Close to him.