#I’ve been going to the same place different doctors for a year now with my first visit in like March of last year

[belle-of-a-time]

I think I told yall that my Dr’s office was very confused when I called to check in about the wheelchair and hip brace I requested they ask my insurance about, I have an appointment in an hour to talk about it again and if they lose the paperwork again I will be losing It.

[peachesofteal]

First Sight

Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. 🖤

Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3

Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.

“And you are?” 

“I’m her… I’m the baby’s father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him. 

“Last name?” 

“Riley.”

“Sorry, Mr. Riley. She’s been my patient for nearly seven months, and I’ve never seen or heard of you.” Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter. 

“I’ve been overseas.” The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. “I came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She can’t be alone when she wakes up. She’ll be scared. She won’t… she has P-.” 

“I am aware of her history.” The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago. 

“Look. I’m on her list. So you can let me back there or-“ She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses. 

“I’ve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. It’s just going to be a few minutes.” She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.

You’re somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but they’re not moving across the screen. You’re not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.

It makes Simon nervous.

Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.

He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasn’t tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, who’s memories burn too bright.

He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesn’t make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.

“Sass?” He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the baby’s room. “Glacial green,” you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. It’s a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is ‘soothing’ or ‘calming’. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. “Sass.” He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.

“I’m here.”

“I know.” You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. “Tired?” He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.

“Mmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.” He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table. 

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers. 

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull. 

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything. 

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head. 

His girl. His. 

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass. 

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak. 

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye. 

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him. 

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.” 

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know. 

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know. 

“Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. You’re trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. “Simon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.” He tries, but he can’t. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, he’s not sure anymore. “SIMON GET UP.” His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-

He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.

“Hey.” Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.

“Hey.”

“Nightmare?” He nods.

“Go back to sleep.” You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.

“I’ve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.” You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and I’m powerless to stop it? That’ll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. “You promised.” You needle, and the slight push is all that’s needed to relent.

“I keep… dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.” You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.

“Dying how?” He swallows.

“Someone’s holdin’ a gun to your head and you’re begging me to save you, but I can’t. I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out.”

“Sounds pretty scary.” There are a lot of things, that he hasn’t found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.

The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his family’s house. His mom’s blood. Tommy and Beth’s. Joseph’s. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-

“Simon.” He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. “Hey, Si. Simon, it’s alright.” You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. “You’re here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.”  

“With you.”

“With me. And the baby. We’re here, together. We’re safe.” He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. “Shit.” You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as he’s able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you gasp in surprise.

“Sass? What is it?”

“I… I think I peed myself.”  

“Hey!” No. How did you find him so fast? “Simon, wait.” When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. It’s just enough for you to catch him. “Look. I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up.” You’re breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like you’re trying to cage him in. “But I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldn’t have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-“ He cuts you off swiftly.

“You can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.” You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open. 

“What?”

“You will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.” 

You’re guarded now, expression wary, but there’s still something hopeful in your eyes, something that’s calling him home to you.

He has to get away. Now. 

You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like you’re going to touch him. 

“Simon.” You whisper. 

He steps back. 

Your face falls. 

He’s tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks you’ve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.

Almost everything.

His phone rings when he’s buckling his seatbelt.

“So, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?” Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before he’s unbuckling and running towards the door. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.

“I’m sorry, I-“ you wave him off, reaching for his arm.

“Come on, you gotta boost me up.”

His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. You’ve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad.” You’re chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. “Simon. If something happens…” his blood freezes.

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“We’ve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It can’t get worse. It can’t. 

“Well, if there are complications and we have to choose…” He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like he’s been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything he’s imagined before, but worse. This time, it’s not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-

No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again. 

“There is no choice, Sass.” His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. “We… I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice… for me.”

“Okay.” You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before it’s hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.

“Okay.” He echoes, taking your hand in his.

You almost died. You almost died, and he wasn’t there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he can’t stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family. 

The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain. 

His family. You could have been lost, like his family.

He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.

“I need her gone.” Price looks up at him, perplexed.

“Who?”

“Sass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.”

“What are you on about?”

“I can’t… I can’t have her here. She’s fuckin’ with my head.” His chest feels tight, like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. It’s terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.

“Ghost, calm down.”

“I can’t!” It’s practically a shout. He’s losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. He’s not a loose cannon, not anymore, but it’s been a long time since he’s raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.

“I’m fuckin’ her.” He paces in front of Price’s desk. “And it’s… She’s messing me up. Can’t think clearly.”

“You’re what now?”

“I’ve never… I’ve never asked you for anything-”

“Simon-“

“and I know this is unfair. She’s great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.”

“I can’t just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.” He grits his teeth.

“Price…  she….” His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but there’s no oxygen in this room. “It’s not… I can’t. It’s not safe.” 

“Simon, sit down.” It’s an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Now. Start from the beginning.”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

“You said I would be able to try.” You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. She’s wearing a very serious expression, and you’re wearing your ‘don’t fuck with me face’, the one he’s seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.

“Just breathe.” He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.

“If the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.” She doesn’t handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw. 

“Fine.”  The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.

“They’ll be some paperwork to sign, and then we’ll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?”

“I’ve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.” you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.

“Mr. Riley, you’ll need to change, we can… hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. We’ll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?” He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not gonna pass out in there, right?”

“Me?”

“Well, they are going to pull my guts out.” What?  You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. “But seriously. Don’t faint. I don’t think they have gurneys big enough for you.”

“I’ve seen plenty of guts, Sass.”

“Yeah…but not mine.”

Price announces his presence with a knock. “Heli’s almost here.” Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. “Ghost.” He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. “I did this for you against my better judgement.” Price says, like he doesn’t already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. “You should say goodbye, Simon.” 

His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks. 

“I can’t.”

“So, when you get in the room, you’ll notice she’s lying on a table, and there’s a drape that’s a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.” The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through what’s happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- “Now, she can’t feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.” He nods. Of course you’re nervous. You’re strapped to a table where they’re about to cut a hole in your abdomen. “She’s asked for you a few times, I promised I’d deliver.” She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. “Here he is!” She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.

“Simon.” You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.

“Hi sweet girl. You alright?” You nod.

“I think I’m a little high.”

“She had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.” Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.

“That’s alright.” He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and there’s a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-

You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.

“You ready?” He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. You’re looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.

He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.

“Yeah, Sass. I’m ready.”

He’s pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away. 

“Shit! Fuck. Sorry.” You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work. 

“You’re alright, Sass. I’m finished.” You’re standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but he’s surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder. 

“Get that cleaned up.” It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Okay a little bit of pressure and then you’re going to feel a lot of relief.” The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.

“Simon.” Your voice wavers.

“I’m right here. I got you.” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-

A baby cries.

“Congratulations mom and dad!” Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad. 

“Can I see him?” your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.

“Breath sounds are good.” A voice says, and then there’s a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His. 

“Oh. Oh.” You’re in shock, he thinks. He’s not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the baby’s cheek. “Hi, Theo.” You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simon’s hand up towards Theo’s back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theo’s cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.

When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.

His tears.

“I don’t see cabbage. What about romaine?” 

“No. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.” You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage. 

“I don’t see any cabbage, Sass.” A woman who’s inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously. 

“It’s a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.” 

“It’s not.” 

“Ask someone.” Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. It’s not quite midnight yet, something else could be open. 

The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat. 

“Excuse me?” He turns, eyes narrowed. 

“Who is that?” your voice rings through the speaker. “Is that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her. 

“The cabbage is up here.” She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face. 

“Thanks.” He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. “I got it.” 

“Yes! Oh my god thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.” 

The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesn’t say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like you’re trying to hold your breath, too. Like you’re listening for him. 

“Simon-“

“I still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.” The line goes dead.

“Okay, sit here.” The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He can’t look away from what she’s holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. “Skin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.” She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.

“Skin to skin?”

“Yes. You’ll need to take off your shirt.” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. You should be doing this. You’re his mother. He’s… he’s not you. Theo won’t want him, he’ll want you. He- “Mr. Riley? You don’t have to, but while we wait for her to get back, it’s a good opportunity for it.”

“What do I do?” The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.

“Once you take off your shirt, I’ll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.”

“I don’t think…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to hold him if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But it’s important. Theo needs this. He needs… his dad. 

He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.

“You’re going to support his head just like this-“ she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that he’s laying flush against his chest. “and his body will just rest right here in this space… and there you go.” Simon doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, he can hardly think. He doesn’t even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.

The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. “I’m going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but there’s a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?” She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.

“Okay.” When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theo’s eyes aren’t open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theo’s hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simon’s giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much he’s afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.

It terrifies him, but he knows its name.  

He knows it’s love.

Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his son’s forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.

“Hey, Theo. I’m your dad."

The next fic in this series is here.

[dira333]

Hurting together - Aizawa x Reader

mentions of Chronic pain, requested by @alienaiver I hope this is in any way what you've imagined.

“Nervous?” Shouta asks after a full 120 seconds of your leg bouncing without stopping.

“Huh?! Oh, oh, I’m sorry!” You scramble to a halt, arm resting on your leg to keep it in place. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to stop now. But if you wanna talk about it, I heard that helps.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t wanna … I don’t wanna annoy anyone,” you mutter, eyes flickering from left to right.

“Do you wanna hear my story then?” He asks, not because it’s something he likes sharing, but you’re cute and what’s the alternative? Staring at the wall until he gets called in.

“Oh, if you… if you don’t mind?”

He huffs out a breath. “Well, apparently it’s not healthy to break a bone every single week.”

“Oh!” Your eyes grow huge. “Every single week? Wait, is it the same bone.”

“No,” he snorts softly, “At least then I’d have a better story. I’m a pro Hero, I just happen to get into fights.”

“And what’s your Hero Name? Fragile Bone?”

It takes him a second to recognize the joke, snorting loudly when he does. You’re snappy, now that the anxiety fades.

“No, it’s uh… Eraser Head.” He waits a second for you to recognize him, the star-struckness to hit. But it doesn’t. Instead, you cock your head to the side and eye him thoroughly. 

“Interesting,” you say, “I remember an Interview you were forced to give a few years back. Uh, I think there was a streaker at the Sports Festival?”

He laughs. “Good Memory. Yeah, that was one of our students. He didn’t have his Quirk under Control back then.”

“And you’ve got a broken bone now? Or is this just a check-up?”

“Bloodwork.”

“Yikes,” you pull a face, “me too. It’s the worst.”

“It is,” he agrees, dares to ask before he can lose his courage again. “Want me to hold your hand through the process?”

And it’s smooth, smoother than he’s ever been able to - maybe the absence of his friends does benefit his ability to flirt - and he might even get his hopes up for a second there - until your face falls.

“That’s really tempting, you know, but I… uh… my hands are hurting. That’s why I’m here, you know, to figure out why they’re hurting like this. So hand-holding is kinda a no-go.”

“Oh, I understand,” the dejection must be audible in his voice because you reach out for him, though you don’t take hold.

“But if you want,” you offer, voice a little breathless, “you could… uh… put your hand on my shoulder? It might look weird, but-”

“I’ve seen weirder things,” he offers and your smile lights up the room.

-

“Oh, I didn’t know you were coming in together,” Doc Oc greets him and for a moment he is paralyzed, frozen between two different emotions. Surprise, because Doc OC’s obviously familiar with you and he’s got the worst memory when it comes to names. Embarrassment, because it’s usually not the best thing if a Doctor remembers you by name, let alone this one.

“Ah,” you smile, “We met in the waiting room. Bloodwork, you now. It’s easier if it’s done together.”

“That I can agree with. Now, who wants to go first?”

-x-

“Now, I believe you owe me something,” Recovery Girl announces one afternoon, a big smile cutting into her wrinkly face. “What’s her name?”

“Huh?” Shouta had been busy reading through this week's assignment, deciphering the texts. Denki’s Handwriting almost requires a PHD in decoding.

“Doc Oc and I have been friends for quite some time. One would call us even… very close… if you know what I mean. He said you brought in lovely company.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess…” He can’t help but blush at her tone. Too much information.

“Well, are you going to ask her out? You cannot count this as your first date, surely? A fancy Dinner is a must.”

“A fancy Dinner is a must for whom?” Hizashi’s leaning around the door and Shouta groans. Of all people to overhear this.

“Shouta’s girlfriend.”

“Shouta has a girlfriend? Shouta, my man, why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you love me anymore? Your best friend?”

He crawls further into his sleeping bag, closing his eyes. Those assignments can wait, if he can fall in to a coma first, he-

-x-

“So?” Rumi leans against your Desk. “Did he call you?”

“Not yet,” you’re chewing on your lower lip, “But he’s probably busy.”

“Busy my ass,” she snorts angrily. “You’re a catch. If he doesn’t get a groove on you’re gone. He should know that.”

You level your friend - and boss - with a glare. “I’ve been single for a year.”

“Which he doesn’t know,” she sings. “But on another note, have you’ve gotten the results from your bloodwork? You know we only need that so we can get started on your hands-free Desktop.”

“Why do you sound more excited about this than I am?”

“Because you’re afraid of change and I am not. Just think, your hands will finally get to rest!”

“Yay,” you wave them around half-heartedly when your phone pings.

Rumi’s already grabbing it from your desk, always faster than you. “Oh, it’s your guy.” She hands it back. “Not looking.”

“Thank you for respecting my privacy,” you joke and open the short text only to gasp.

“He’s asking me out.”

“Great, so he’s not an idiot. Confirm.”

“No, no, he’s asking me out for a date tonight. You know how bad my legs have been today, I can’t show up with a cane.

“Why not?”

“Because,” you drag out, “the last time I did that there was no second date.”

“And you think he’s that shallow?”

“I just don’t want to jinx it.”

“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Tell him you can’t tonight because you’re working late. Ask him if he’s able to reschedule for tomorrow or Friday.”

You hesitate, but do as you’re told.

“And now,” she grabs your bag as soon as you put your phone down, “you get your cute ass home and rest. I want you as fit as you can be tomorrow so you can enjoy that date.”

“But work-”

“Work is like my ex - it will always wait for you.”

-x-

“Fuck,” Shouta groans, head on his arms. The pain is strong today.

“You… uh… you good?” He hears a familiar voice from the door. Shit, he forgot about training with Hitoshi.

“Fantastic,” he grinds through his teeth though he does not dare to lift his head. Lunch was decent, but he doesn’t want to taste it again.

“Do you need Recovery Girl?”

“No, I’m going to be fine. Can you get me my painkillers from my bag? I would, but moving-”

“Sure, sure.” He can hear rustling and then a pill is dropped into his outstretched palm.

Slowly, carefully, he drags his arm back to pop it into his mouth, swallows it dry. He’s got loads of practice.

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Uh, if you say so.”

-

He’s got a black eye.

He’s got a black eye and a date in about thirty minutes and the painkillers are making him particularly loopy today.

Hitoshi wouldn’t have been able to hit him in the face if his reaction time hadn’t been so slow. He’s lucky no bone is broken.

Something tells him that it would be better to reschedule, but wouldn’t that make him look disinterested when he’s not?

-

“Mew.” 

Shouta turns to the sound, surprised to see a black cat looking up at him. There’s a hedge there, and he bends down to pet the animal. 

“You’re loud, huh?” He comments on the purring, taking a seat on the ground when his knees turn a little wobbly. He really is getting older. 

The cat disappears into the hedge and he holds out a hand, making little sounds to lure her back out.

Just as he can spot the green eyes blinking back at him, a banknote is dropped into his hand.

“Here,” a voice says, “It’s cold out.”

Shouta freezes, only to look up into your face.

“Uh,” he makes, suddenly envious of Kaminari when he cooks his brain. 

“I didn’t mean-” you say just as he exclaims loudly: “There’s a cat.”

“Where?” You ask, peering into the hedge. “I love cats.”

-x-

“This was nice,” you tell him after Dinner, the episode with the Cat now something you can laugh about. “Would you like to do it again sometimes?”

“Yes,” he nods slowly, “I’m sorry if I was a little loopy today. I took… uh, I forgot to take a nap.”

“Ah,” you smile, “You’re getting old too? If I don’t get my usual lunch nap I’m not so nice to be around.”

Shouta laughs. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. You’re very nice to be around.”

“You think so?” You ask, heart skipping a beat when he nods.

“How are your hands?” He looks down at them, “Can I hold them? Or do they still hurt?”

“If you don’t squeeze them I should be fine,” you say, praying that it’s the truth.

It is a little uncomfortable, if you were to tell the truth, but he’s gentle and your heart blooms at the implications.

If only you could put this moment in a jar, keep it for all the days where it’s hard to get up.

 -

“So?” Rumi leans over your desk, grinning wide. “Gimme the scoop.”

“We went out, it was amazing, I don’t know when I’m going to see him again.”

“That’s not the scoop, that’s a short summary. I want every detail. Also, what does it mean you don’t know when you-”

The ringtone of your phone cuts her off. You take a peak only to gasp.

“It’s him. He’s calling.”

“Well, pick up. I’ll come back as soon as you’re finished. And I want all the details.”

-

It’s hard to find time for another date.

Shouta works two fulltime jobs and you’re overwhelmed with just one.

But he calls or texts every day, sending you pics of cats whenever he’s out on patrol.

It’s nice, but it could be nicer.

When he asks what you’re doing and you’re in bed, pain holding you down, you cannot tell him the truth. Because he doesn’t know the truth. And telling him over the phone seems insensitive.

Sometimes he sounds pretty loopy when he calls and you wonder if he’s getting enough sleep. But when you ask him about it he evades the question so masterfully, that you only remember it hours after the call.

“I think I have to come clean,” you tell Rumi one day during lunch, your hands in thick compression gloves to combat the pain. “This season is hitting me hard and I cannot postpone our next date again just because I cannot go anywhere without a cane.”

“I’m sure it’s going to go well. From what you’ve told me about him he seems very nice.”

“Yeah,” you sigh,”so nice I don’t want to lose him.”

-x-

Of all the moments for a migraine to hit, this has to be the worst. 

Okay, maybe the second worst, because he’s not currently fighting someone.

But he’s been pressing his temple against the fridge doors of this Konbini for half an hour now, clearly unsettling the other shoppers, and his painkillers are far, far away in his car’s glove compartment.

Every time he thinks he’s got it now, turning away from the coldness has his lunch rise up in his throat.

“Shouta?” A familiar voice asks and the ice seeps into his veins. It’s you.

“No, I’m not Shouta. You must mistake me for someone else.”

“You’re wearing a nametag. Backward, but you’re wearing it.”

He sighs. “Can you just pretend you’re not seeing me?”

“I could, but why?”

“This is embarrassing.”

“I mistook you for a homeless man, I think we’ve already reached top embarrassment.”

“I’m having a Migraine.”

“See,” he can hear the encouragement in your voice, knows exactly how your mouth curls at the words even if he cannot see it. “That’s very low on the embarrassment list. Do you need a painkiller?”

“Yeah, but they’re in my car.”

“What are you using.”

“I doubt you have that. You can only get it via prescription.”

Shouta names it, hears you chuckle.

“Oh, you bet I got that. One pill is enough, right?”

“Right.” He can hear rustling before a pill is pressed into his hands. He swallows it dry. 

“It will take me a minute to come to my senses.”

“No worry at all. I can stay here with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Oh, but I want to. By the way… the Bloodwork… was that about your Migraine?”

“Yeah,” he swallows around the lump in his throat. “And other stuff.”

“Mhm.” Some more rustling.

“How did you get those pills by the way? You don’t work in a pharmacy, right?”

“Oh, no, I don’t deal drugs if that’s what you’re asking.” You laugh, but it tapes off awkwardly. “I… I suffer from chronic pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

You laugh again, but you don’t sound amused. “Yeah, me too.”

Silence settles between them. Slowly, the pain in his head eases into something manageable and he peels himself away from the cool glass to look at you.

You’re staring at the ground, a cane in your hands. 

“I’m going to be pretty loopy for the rest of the day,” he tells you, lump in his throat, “But do you wanna grab a coffee after this?”

The surprise in your eyes tells you what he’d already assumed. You’re not used to people accepting your condition as something that just is. 

“Might ask you some questions as soon as my head works properly again,” he adds like a threat, “but for now I’d just like to look at you. You’re really pretty.”

“You’re really loopy,” you giggle.

“Mhm, it’s going to get even worse, sugardrop.” His hand finds your elbow, careful to avoid your hands and you knock your head lightly against his shoulder.

You’re probably a weird-looking couple to the outside world, but he’s never cared much about that anyway.

[sadesluvr]

Hi, if you're fine with it could you write doctor!William and patient!fem!reader and William fucks the reader in her hospital bed after lying to her about something. What it is, up to you. Happy holidays!

A/N: Thanks for the respectful ask Anon! Happy new year!!🎉 The irony of this was that the day before I got this req I’d literally read a fic for another fandom that was similar to the concept lmao. I’m sorry it’s taken a while, thanks for being patient! :)

WARNING: Reader is a little naive, or has amnesia (You chose). Below the cut will contain dub-con, manipulation and abuse of power. Minors DNI, and read at your own discretion. 

“Dr Afton…Am I going to be okay?”

“Of course, sweetheart. You’re under my care after all…”

You’d come to Dr Afton a few weeks ago, concerned with the fact that you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. You’d tried essential oils, music, even pills - all to no avail. Now, not only could you not sleep, but you were even more tired than before, becoming no stranger to headaches and irritability.

William had almost cum in his pants when you’d come back to him, eyes heavy and on the brink of tears; desperate and pleading for him to ‘fix’ you. In that moment, he almost felt bad that he’d given you stimulants, the same given to people who suffered from narcolepsy.

Today you were lying flat on the sterile medical beds, face up as your legs were spread in stirrups. Dr Afton had requested you to take off your underwear, and your pussy was exposed to the cool of the room. You were a little embarrassed, but luckily a sheet was draped over the bottom half, so you couldn’t see the man’s face.

“What is it?” you asked slowly, hearing as the man clicked his flashlight off. He sighed and hummed, and you’d come to know that it wasn’t one of promise.

“Forgive me for asking, sweetheart, but…How many sexual partners have you had?” he said, clearing his throat.

You swallowed.

“Um…One?” you said unsurely, biting your lip. “It was a while ago…On prom night,”

“Hm,” William said, and the corners of his lips twitched into a smirk. He didn’t know how you’d made it through three years of college without sex, but he was certainly glad. “I think I’ve found the source of your problem…”

“Really?” you squealed, and William adjusted his glasses in anticipation. Even though he’d locked the door, there was still a risk. If a nurse was to try and wander in, it would certainly ring alarm bells. He’d have to make this quick.

“Uh-huh,” he sang, and you were pleased to hear the glee in his voice. Dr Afton took his job so seriously! “Sweetheart, the source of your insomnia isn’t from the head - well, not directly - but your hormones. Most specifically, your endocrine system,”

“Oh,” you said. You remembered that stuff from high school. But how did that have anything to do with sleeping?

William sighed.

“The secret to a good night's rest is simply through achieving orgasm. You haven’t had sex in four years - and I assume you don’t masturbate - and your hormones are all messed up because of it. Upon reaching orgasm, we release oxytocin - the happy hormone - which in turn makes us relaxed, and then sleepy. Not to mention the physical movement that comes with sex,”

You were in shock. How could it have been so simple? How were you going to start having these, let alone every night so that you could sleep?

“Dr Afton, I –”

“No worrying about it, darling,” he hummed, beginning to shush you. “I’ve got just the thing…”

He was oh-so quiet as he zipped down his pants, his already hard cock jutting out of the hole. Taking off his gloves, he gave himself a few languid strokes before placing a hand on your knee, peeking over the cloth to get a glimpse at you. You were staring up at him with curious eyes, squirming slightly under his cold hands. It was different without his gloves.

“I’m just going to run a few tests, okay?” he smiled, blue eyes wide and sparkling. “It may hurt, and it might feel a little uncomfortable, but it’s going to help, okay? Call my name if you want something, alright?”

You nodded.

“W-What is your name?” you said, suddenly shy. Calling a doctor by their first name felt strangely intimate. 

“William,” he said, nodding at you before he disappeared back under the sheet, placing his hands on your thighs to signal for you to spread them apart. As you did, he lined his cock up with your entrance, taking a moment to rub his nub; pink and leaking with precum, along your folds. He let out a low groan as he felt you tremble.

“Just one of my tools, baby,” he assured you. “Don’t worry, it’s sterile, of course,”

You shut your eyes and scrunched your nose at the feeling. Whatever William was using was warm, slightly sticky and thick, yet it was making you feel good. You felt your thighs begin to quiver in anticipation, a hot, pulsing sensation rushing to your privates, in turn making it easier for William’s tool to glide across your pussy.

He hummed at the feeling of you growing wetter. Slyly, he placed his thumb onto your clit, beginning to rub it in circles as he pushed his head into you without warning, making you gasp. He hissed as he sank deeper into you, hands gripping the styrofoam of the chair, his body looming over you slightly. He could see the top of your face, eyebrows furrowed to the ceiling at the strange sensation, your lips slightly parted and wet. He longed to be able to kiss them; to hold you a little closer as he took all of you, but time was of the essence.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he smiled. “Almost there��”

He grumbled, choking back a moan as he bottomed into you, glancing down to admire your skin-on-skin contact. You were so fucking tight, and wet, that he was surprised he hadn’t broken you - much more he cum right on the stop.

“W-William…” you moaned, covering your mouth at the whorish sound. “It’s — The tool…It’s big…”

“Does it feel good?” was all he said, and he smirked as you nodded, a small whine escaping your mouth as you did. The man chuckled and adjusted his glasses. “This is gonna put you to sleep baby, I promise,”

He withdrew his hips before slamming them back into you, your head lolling against the rest. The sudden pressure was alarming, but it felt amazing, and as if a miracle had taken place you could feel your body relaxing already. Your breasts moved with the contact under the plastic garment, and you reached up to cup them, in turn making you feel even better. William grinned, watching in awe as your pussy took him completely, keeping up with the frantic movements from his greedy thrusts. He wished you were a virgin, that he could’ve popped your cherry right there and then, hugging and comforting you at the fact that you’d bled. Still, you only having one man (boy was the far more accurate term) was far better than two, and he could tell that you moaned and gripped him that this was what you were missing in your life. Desperate to bring you to your peak, he rubbed your clit eagerly, the feeling of his throbbing cock sliding in and out of you effortlessly bringing you to a point of overstimulation. Your raw nipples rubbed against the material of your gown, creating a friction that both pleasured you and made the nubs harden further, practically displaying themselves for William. A thumb on your clit turned into an index finger in your pussy, gently moving against the man’s own base. William’s grunts, the filling, yet rhythmic sensation and the build up of tears in your eyes at your sheer emotion was building up to too much.

It was bittersweet agony when you came. You didn’t know for how long, but you knew you blacked out, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as your chest heaved and legs quivered. For a moment, William was nothing, just a figment of your imagination, but a wet, sticky sensation filling your cunt and dripping down your thighs brought you back to life.

Your limbs felt lifeless, eyes heavy, and a warm feeling spread across your body. Dr Afton had been right all along.

“I hope you feel better, sweetheart,” he said, words nothing but a jumble in your brain as you came down from your high. “Do note that this is only a temporary fix – I’ll need to see you in three days for an immediate checkup. From there, we’ll need to work out a year-long schedule. It’s imperative I monitor your progress.”

[strangersteddierthings]

Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

Whew! I don’t think I’ve written this much in such a short amount of time ever in my life. The boys deserve a soft ending, I think. Enjoy!

-

It goes like this. While Eddie's been lost in his own mind, his body was living. Sort of.

Top secret government assisted living, kinda living. For a secret government hospital one would think the place would be fancier or something but it's just a regular looking hospital.

Eddie's in therapy, both for his body and mind.

He learns that the voice he heard when Eleven helped pull him from the depths of his mind was Mike Wheeler of all people, and he sounds different because he's nineteen and in college. Mike mocks him on graduating before Eddie. He regrets it when Eddie gets him into a headlock.

-

He gets to meet Eleven, outside of his mind. And he starts calling her El. Part of him can't stop thinking about Eleven as the entity he thought was going to lead him to the great beyond.

She is just a person. Sorta.

Dustin had told him there was a girl with superpowers and Eddie is glad she's real. Not that he thought Dustin would lie about this (actually, he might have thought Dustin was lying just to give him some weird version of a pep talk. Everything said before going through Watergate was suspect if he's honest).

-

When he's finally well enough to be able to leave, Doctor Owens tells him their plan.

They're gonna convince Wayne to fly to Tennessee. Eddie, El, and Mike Wheeler are gonna be flown there, too. There's a place for them to stay, to meet up with his uncle in private.

They'll stay there a month. Doctor Owens knows a doctor who can do Eddie's final evaluations before he can really go home.

That's the real kicker.

Hawkins fucking sucks. Small town, narrow views, non-conformity gets you called a Freak in the same way his Dad used to call him a fag. Like he said, fucking sucks.

But it's also the sanctuary he escaped to when he was eleven years old. It's the place where his uncle built a home for him.

So, back to Hawkins first. He can always go somewhere else later. Maybe a coastal city. See the ocean.

-

Eddie hasn't been afraid of a reaction from his uncle since that day in the hospital parking lot after he caught Eddie making out with another guy. He's got that same fear inside now, though, knowing that when El opens that door, he'll see the family he feels like he abandoned. It's not fair to himself to think that, his therapist would say, but he's allowed to have crazy thoughts right now. He's come back from being (not)dead and gets to see Wayne again for the first time. Knowing his feelings are justified doesn't make them fade, though, so he's not surprised his voice shakes when the door finally opens. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne takes less than two seconds to reach Eddie, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. “I love you so much, you little bastard. Don’t you ever, ever do this to me again.”

It's all Eddie can do to remain upright and hug him back, clinging to his shirt like he's eleven years old again.

-

Wayne gives him an overview of what he's missed after the Upside Down came into their world (he heard that part from El and Mike, against the better wishes of Doctor Owens). Learns that Wayne and Steve live in Steve's childhood home because his parents just gifted it to him, apparently. That Wayne is only part time at the plant now due to an accident he had, and how that sparked his current living conditions.

Learns that Steve and Wayne became close because, unbelievably, Steve Harrington goes to his grave in the cemetery and cleans off graffiti on the regular.

Eddie feels a little hot under the collar because his brain reminds him of a fact he’d heard once; that the author of Frankenstein lost her virginity on her mother’s grave and a little voice in the back of his head whispers that it'd be hot for him to do the same thing with Steve on his own grave.

He has to scamper to the bathroom to scold himself in the mirror because he cannot be having these kinds of thoughts about Steve while talking to his uncle!

-

Wayne asks him, the night before their flight, “what’s something you want to do, once everything is settled and life starts to feel normal again?”

“I wanna go on a vacation. Like, a real, bona fide, family vacation.”

“Where you wanna go?”

“Think I’d like to see the ocean.”

Wayne smiles softly. “Alright. When you feel ready for it, we’ll go.”

-

“Just give him a chance, Eddie,” Wayne says randomly, as they wait to board their flight to Indianapolis.

“Give him a chance? As if I’d waste it,” Eddie feels breathless at just the thought. It's certainly not helping that stupid crush he's been harboring for years, knowing how Steve’s been treating his uncle. It was one thing to watch Steve defend Jeff that one time in high school; it's an entirely different ball game knowing he's watched over his uncle with care and devotion for years. “He took care of you when I couldn’t. He cares. I don’t think there’s a chance I wouldn’t give him.”

“How long have you had a thing for Steve?”

Eddie's brain screeches to a halt because he was didn't think anything he'd just said would give him away. He can't even think of a reply good enough to throw his uncle off his trail. “That’s not- why would you think- when have I ever!?”

“You think I wouldn’t know this about you?” Wayne chuckles.

No. No, Eddie thinks, of course you could take one look at me and know. His uncle had been able to know everything about him so effortlessly. But Eddie doesn't have to answer, so he won't. “So, we’ll be living with Steve Harrington? Will he… be okay with me being there?”

“Yeah. Steve and I had each other when we needed it. Now I need you, so Steve won’t mind at all," Wayne sounds so sure, so convinced, that Eddie is too.

Eddie smiles, pulling a strand of his hair to hide his face behind as he imagines getting to eat at the same dinner table as Steve fucking Harrington. He doesn't even mind that Wayne gives him a look at says 'you are being so obvious right now' because he is. He knows he is. He's allowed to be. Wayne's not going to mock him for his crush.

-

On the drive from Indianapolis to Hawkins, Wayne tells him the lie he told Steve. Apparently, Steve thinks Eddie's dad is coming to stay for a while. The mere thought of that sets Eddie on edge, even though he knows Wyatt Munson's still in prison. Will be for a long time, with the list of shit they got him for.

They roll into Hawkins shortly after, and while Eddie may have not been in Hawkins the last five years, and he's willing to admit that things might have changed things up since they did have to rebuild a lot of the town, he's certain that Steve's house is on the other side of it. “This isn’t the way to the Harrington house."

“Steve won’t be there. He comes here when he’s overwhelmed," Wayne says. It's still pretty jarring to hear Wayne talk about Steve like this. Like he knows him. Which, he does, obviously, because they've gotten to know each other.

Still mind blowing to think about.

“The cemetery?” is what comes out of his mouth, though.

Wayne knows what's he's really meaning to ask, though, because he shrugs and says, “we both come talk to you. Steve always starts with the bad news, you know. I think you should start with good news. Just this once." The car is slowing down, and Wayne is pointing out the front windshield, to a figure crouched down near a lone headstone. "Ah. See, there he is.”

Steve. He's too far away for Eddie to be sure sure but if anyone is still wearing bright polo shirts tucked into light wash jeans this far after leaving high school, it'd be Steve Harrington. Eddie's not even sure the car is fully stopped when he all but falls out of it.

He doesn't run to greet Steve, because that's a bit dramatic, but he's not too proud to admit he might be power walking. He slows down when he gets closer, coming to a full stop just close enough to hear Steve talking to his grave. Talking to him.

"Bad news, Eds. I'm too much of a coward to meet your old man. Afraid of what he'll sound like. Because I want him to sound like you so fucking bad it hurts. So instead of being home, I'm hiding here."

"Well, I've some bad news for you, too, Stevie. I got my voice from my mom," Eddie says, and almost instantly cringes because Wayne literally just told him to start with good news and he didn't. Eddie doesn't have much time to soak in his embarrassment, though, because Steve whips around so fast that Eddie's dizzy from the movement.

Steve looks older but it's in the way people who have seen more than their fair share of Hell look older, and less about actual aging. His eyes are wide and stunned. Eddie watches as his jaw moves but no words come out. He looks like he's seen a ghost which... ok, that's fair.

"Umm," Eddie says, a little worried he's broken him when Steve doesn't even seem to be blinking as he stares at Eddie. "Good news, Steve. I, uh, I lived. Kinda. El kinda pulled me back to the surface of my mind, or whatever, and Owens did a good job at patchin' up the goods here," he gestures to his whole body with a sweeping motion of his hand and wishes that a gate to the Upside Down would open beneath his feet and suck him back to Hell because could he be any more embarrassing?

"A-are you," he watches as Steve swallows and takes a deep breath. He's still not sure Steve has blinked yet. "real?"

"Yeah," Eddie nods, taking a few steps closer, "yeah, I'm real. I'm here and alive and real."

Steve launches himself forward then, meeting him halfway. It's so goddamn surreal be witness to how tenderly Steve actually reaches out to him, though, such a contrast to the flurry of movement he'd been just a second ago. Eddie stays still as Steve lifts shaking hands to cup his face with, pushing against his cheeks as if to test whether or not Eddie is solid. Those hands slide down, along his neck, across his shoulders, down his arms where Steve seems to need to pause and collect himself again, hands wrapped loosely around his arms just below his elbows while Steve shuts his eyes and a low, broken sound pulls itself from his throat before his eyes open again, wet with tears, and he releases Eddie just long enough to throw his arms around his neck and pull him into a hug almost as crushing as the one he shared with his uncle.

It's overwhelming in this moment. To see how much he means to Steve and not fully understand how he came to mean anything to him at all.

Doesn't stop him from wrapping his own arms around Steve's waist, though.

-

It goes like this.

He gets his own room at Harrington's house. Wayne has his own room, too. How strange it is, to not have his uncle sleeping the day away on the couch because the trailer had one room and he'd given it to Eddie.

They adjust to living together so seamlessly. Like they were always meant to be family.

They have dinner together. Real homecooked meals. Which isn't a novelty for Wayne and Steve anymore, but Eddie's memory ends five years ago, when his dinners consisted of microwavable meals or left over snacks from lunch. Wayne cooks on the days when Steve works, and Eddie helps. Gets to be taught how to cook.

For a while, Eddie is afraid to leave the house. Even knowing that Jason Carver bit the dust the same day he was supposed to also doesn’t help. He only goes places with Wayne and Steve, and even then, the double takes people send his way are enough to make him want to shrink into himself.

However, no one says anything to him. He's vaguely aware that everyone here lived through some sort of miniature apocalypse and maybe that's the kind of thing that has to happen to make a small town in Indiana change.

-

He and Steve dance around each other. He can feel it. There is something here, between them, that neither fully acknowledges.

He tries to talk to Wayne about it, but he won't give him much to go on.

"I won't be the one to say anything about what Steve thinks of you. That's gotta come from Steve. I will say this. He's waiting for you to bring it up first."

"Why does it have to be me?"

"He's had five years to gather his thoughts and emotions," Wayne levels him with a Look, "you gotta have the time to figure yourself out, too."

Well, fuck.

-

Steve waits until it's almost summer break for the kids (they’re not really kids anymore, though, but Eddie’s adjusting to that still) to ask if he's ready to face them. "It'll be a lot to handle," Steve says as he sits next to Eddie on their couch (their couch. He can't believe that's a truth in his life right now). "Eleven and Mike haven't told anyone yet, but they want to. It wasn't just Wayne and I that grieved for you."

"I know," Eddie says, "I know. I'm good. I'm alive and here and I want them to know about it."

Steve nods slowly, not fully focused on Eddie. Eddie's come to know that means he's thinking, so Eddie waits for him to speak. "Would you prefer to meet with everyone... one at a time?"

"What's the other option?"

"Well, I always host a barbeque when they all come back. Could tell everyone all at once. Like ripping off a Band-Aid."

Eddie crooks a smile because he's a bit mischievous and his mind instantly plays a scene where he walks into a backyard full of all the people he's come to care for, and who care for him, and he's trying to best to be casual about it in this fantasy. "Yeah. Let's do the barbeque thing."

-

"Bad news, Stevie," Eddie whispers as he leans against the wall next his closed door, trying not to hyperventilate. "I don't know if I can do this."

Steve reaches out and takes one of Eddie's hands in his own, linking their fingers like it's a casual thing they do all the time when it's most certainly not. "Good news, Eds. You don't have to. We didn't tell anyone you're here. You can stay in your room until they're gone, and we'll figure out another way to tell them."

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and thinks he might be crushing all the bones in Steve's hand with how hard he's clenching it. "What if they're mad at me?"

Steve understands the real question Eddie is asking, the one he doesn't know how to phrase. "You were dead, Eds, and no one out in that yard is going to be 'mad' about any time they'd spent grieving over you. There's gonna be a lot of tears, man, like a lot. Maybe even some shouting. None of it done in anger."

"How're you sure?"

Steve lifts his unoccupied hand and cups Eddie's check. Steve’s eyes are watery and his voice is a bit choked, but he says, "because I was there. I saw them through their grief. Everyone in the backyard either loves you already, or they will."

It's so fucking intimate, how close they are, how tenderly Steve touches him. Wayne had said he'd need to take the first step, so he blames Wayne when he blurts out, "what about everyone in this room? They love me, too?"

Steve's eyes go wide in surprise before his whole face lights up in a way Eddie has never seen before. It makes Steve look younger, less haunted, and then Steve whispers, "of course I love you," like there is no other answer Steve could have given.

Eddie grabs a handful as Steve's polo shirt and pulls him close enough to kiss.

Butterflies and fireworks erupt within Eddie. Kissing Steve is so much better than he's ever let himself imagine. They're still holding hands and Steve's still got his other hand resting so softly on his cheek and Steve's lips are kinda chapped but fuck does the briefest touch of their lips together make Eddie lose all his breath.

It's not deep, or all consuming. There's not even an exchange of tongue. Steve kisses him softly, gently, pulls back to pepper little kisses all over Eddie's face that has him blushing more than he's ever done in his life, and Steve places one, two, three more kisses to his lips before pulling back to look at Eddie like he's the answer to every prayer Steve's ever had. It makes his knees weak.

"I think," Eddie pauses to lick his lips, "I think I'll be brave enough to do it if you're holding my hand."

"Just try and pry yourself away, Munson," Steve teases. "Whenever you're ready."

-

Steve was right about the tears and shouting. He was also right that no one is mad at him.

Dustin hugs him so hard they fall over in the yard and Eddie finds himself part of a dog pile that starts with crying that turns into laughter that leads back into crying, everyone grabbing at him and him grabbing back.

It's emotional. It's overwhelming. It's the best fucking day of Eddie Munson's life.

-

Doctor Owens reaches out towards the end of summer to let him know they're issuing him a new social security card. Eddie asks if he's allowed to change him name. Owens says yes.

-

"Bad news first, Eddie," Eddie says to himself as he kneels in front of his own headstone. "You've become so boring and normal, no one vandalizes your grave anymore. Good news, though. Means I can do it myself."

Before him is his headstone, a thick red line painted through his death date. Another more carefully applied line is struck through his middle name. Above it he's painted in block letters 'Wayne'.

"Eddie, come on! This road trip's gonna start without you," Steve calls from where he's leaning against the side of Wayne's pickup.

Eddie is satisfied with his work, so he abandons the paint and returns to the pickup. He slides across the bench seat, one leg pretzeled under himself to be out of the way of the gear shift. Steve follows in after, shutting the door and reaching for Eddie's hand automatically.

He's got Wayne to his left, Steve to his right, and the first family vacation he's ever taken in his life ahead of him.

Good news, Eddie Wayne Munson. Maybe everyday going forward can be the best fucking day of your life.

[caitlinclark]

candaceparker: 🎶Dear Summer

“I know you gon miss me…” 🎶

I’m retiring.

I promised I’d never cheat the game & that I’d leave it in a better place than I came into it. The competitor in me always wants 1 more, but it’s time. My HEART & body knew, but I needed to give my mind time to accept it.

I always wanted to walk off the court with no parade or tour, just privately with the ones I love. What now was to be my last game, I walked off the court with my daughter. I ended the journey just as I started it, with her.

This offseason hasn’t been fun on a foot that isn’t cooperating. It’s no fun playing in pain (10 surgeries in my career) it’s no fun knowing what you could do, if only…it’s no fun hearing “she isn’t the same” when I know why, it’s no fun accepting the fact you need surgery AGAIN.

I fell in love with a little orange ball at 13 years old and BECAUSE of it my world goes ‘round. The highs are unmatched & the lows taught me lessons. On & off the court I’m proud I’ve always been true & stayed true to ME, even when it wasn’t popular.

I’m grateful that for 16 years I PLAYED A GAME for a living & DESPITE all the injuries, I hooped. I’m grateful for family, friends, teammates, coaches, doctors, trainers & fans who made this journey so special.

In the mean time, know IM A BUSINESS, man, not a businessman. This is the beginning…I’m attacking business, private equity, ownership (I will own both a NBA & WNBA team), broadcasting, production, boardrooms, beach volleyball, dominoes (sorry babe it’s going to get more real) with the same intensity & focus I did basketball.

My mission in life, like Pat Summitt always said, is to “chase people and passions and you will never fail.” Being a wife & mom still remains priority #1 & I’ve learned that time flies, so I plan to enjoy my family to the fullest!

Today’s players: ENJOY IT.

No matter how you prepare for it, you won’t be ready for the gap it leaves in your soul. Forgive me as I mourn a bit, but I’ll be back loving the game differently in a while.

🎶 ”I’m done for now so one for now

Possibly forever, we had fun together

But like all good things, we must come to an end

Please show the same love to my friends, dear Summer” 🎶

[panlight]

hi!! i’m so sorry to keep sending you asks (if you get sick of it please just let me know and i’ll shut up i promise!! 💕💕)

so this is re: the cullens being in high school, as per the ask you answered a couple days ago! i also always thought it was super weird, and i’ve been thinking for a while now that a MUCH better cover story would for them all (even carlisle and esme) to be grad school housemates (i say this as someone who has now spent two years in grad school and is about to be there for another five at least lmaoooo)

here’s why i think it would work:

1. the age weirdness wouldn’t be as obvious bc people of all ages go to grad school (i started when i was 22 and had classmates in their 40s)

2. related to age, the visible/physical age also wouldn’t matter as much since some of my classmates (me included 😭😭) looked like we could still pass as high schoolers while others gave off huge “kids and a mortgage vibes” even if they were just like a year older

3. the whole looking “off” and tired thing is just like. the grad school Look™️. the shadows under the eyes and general gaunt-ish appearance honestly wouldn’t stand out that much and if somebody said something about them looking “off” or whatever, they could just be like “late night studying” and the other person would be like “lmao so true bestie”

4. if they pretended they were all renting space in the same big house (and carlisle and esme just acted a little less parental), the whole “dating each other” thing wouldn’t be that weird at all. i feel like it’s not that uncommon for couples who get along to rent different floors or sections of a house, and if they didn’t pretend to be one big weird family situation and instead just acted like they all met each other at school, i don’t think people would even bat an eye

5. people go to grad school forever. like. for so long (i vaguely knew of someone who was in the eighth or ninth year of her phd). esp if they picked something like a big state school where the “kids” could go to undergrad first, they could realistically do four years of undergrad, maybe a two or three year masters, and then a phd of indeterminate length (usually at least five). that would allow them to stay in the same place for at least 11 years

and this is not an official point, but i will note that for carlisle to still do his whole doctor thing, i think it would be perfectly reasonable for him to have already “graduated” or whatever, but continue to stay with his “friends” for financial reasons, or just bc the living situation worked for everyone

anyway, i’m so sorry this was so long, and honestly i bet someone has already said this somewhere before, but it just struck me when reading the “why tf are the cullens in high school” post that grad school would be such a great cover story for them

haha anyway thanks for putting up with my ramblings and thank you for all the lovely work you do on the blog!! 🥰🥰

I've definitely seen "just put them in college!" before (and I have made that argument myself) but I don't know if I've seen the grad school cover story specifically before!

It would allow Esme and/or Carlisle to be the 'peers' of their children rather than some sort of guardian or parental figures. They could, as you said, all be renting a house together and Esme could be studying architecture or getting a PhD in art history or whatever while the kids study who knows what. Maybe there's a medical school as well and Carlisle can go back (it still makes zero sense that Edward and Rosalie go "to keep him current' like how is that supposed to work? They come home and just recite from perfect vampire memory everything that happened in calls? Wouldn't Carlisle be keeping current by like, idk, actually being a doctor, reading journals, going to conferences, and continuing education?).

A group of friends renting a house together as a bunch of couples makes way more sense than two parents barely visibly older than their foster/adopted kids who all date each other.

And, honestly, it's probably a better use of their time to get actual advanced degrees rather than stopping at undergrad? I know because of secrecy how they use their knowledge and skills is somewhat fraught but like, publish papers under a false name or let someone else take the credit or something and you can still contribute to the world of academia.

[radioactivewisdom]

I’m not here to promote anything. I’m not a Jehovah’s Witness looking to sign more folks on. I’m not scouting signatures for my political party. I’m not a feminist who’s only looking to increase numbers and hashtags. I’m not holding a sign up sheet and handing out pamphlets. I’m simply sharing my thoughts because for years now, all I’ve heard is some versions of “if only women were taught the truth, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Look what happens when you do…

Whether it’s the realities of marriage, the loss of identity to motherhood, unequal responsibilities of domestic duties, or the prevalence of sexual diseases, women are always claiming that they had “no idea.” Not too long ago there was a “radical” post about contracting several UTI’s for years on end because of sleeping with a man who had an unwashed ass and p***s. Of course it was medical misogyny’s fault because the doctors hadn’t warned her that having sex with people who don’t shower is bad. I share the truth but because I don’t sugarcoat my words to appease egos, they refuse to listen. Or, lash out at other women instead.

It’s the same old song and dance over and over again. Women grumbling about how terrible and dangerous relationships with men are. How you can never know, even if married for fifty years, that they’ll one day snap. That there’s zero way to predict the outcome and not even mothers can control their sons. So then you give the only reasonable solution, stop engaging. Suddenly, you’re the problem. How dare you suggest that their desire for romance and family go unfulfilled. Plus, it’s actually YOUR responsibility to make sure their wishes are fulfilled in the first place, this is a sisterhood after all.

I share my perspective that is rooted in reality, not fantasies of how you believe the world should be. I don’t care that you think sex with men should be something that it’s not. HPV and the cancers that result from them aren’t pretty, so neither are my words when describing them. These same women are the embodiment of what they claim to be tired of. “No, don’t talk about it like that!” “Women aren’t going to listen to you when you say it that way!” Okay, then enjoy make believe and embrace the life you’ve crafted.

The world continues on because everyone is out to create their own version of it, which boils down to “I get to do whatever I want without anything bad happening to me.” Sensory pleasure and social validation is their “meaning.” They react so negatively when their delusions are pointed out because it shatters their very reason for being. Genuinely no different than any other form of addiction and the denial that comes with it. You’re not five years old anymore, analysis has to go deeper than cops and robbers. Adult women want Disneyfied explanations that distort objective reality, then claim they’ve been misled.

I thought men were the ones who couldn’t handle the truth. Women need to finally decide. Are men incompetent babies who can’t even wash themselves properly, or are they manipulative masterminds who are able to con you for years on end? It can’t be both. The truth is available to you, if you don’t want it, fine. Live your life! There’s no need to hide behind cowardice and ignorance once things don’t work out for you. You weren’t tricked and you didn’t lose just because the game ended. Winning was clearly never an option in the first place.

[hayleylatour]

Finding Peace 🕊️

content warnings- none really, cocky Noah, talks of sex but none as of right now.

Summary- Mia is a 24 year old new bookstore owner who got pregnant by a one night stand with Bad Omens front man Noah Sebastian. Deciding to stay friends and raise their daughter together. What hardships and challenges will they face?

Parings- Baby daddy! Noah Sebastian x OC Mia

Chapter five ~ Mia’s pov

~ 3 days later~

Noah never had to call the guys, with the tour canceled they were able to come home. Jolly called the next morning to tell us they were coming home and to ask how I was and how the baby was. Noah and I decided to take the opportunity of the guys being out to lunch to set up the reveal. We were telling them that we’re having a girl, Ophelia. Noah was hanging a pink banner above the fireplace pink balloons scattered around the living room. the white cake sitting on the kitchen island. they should be here soon and are going to walk into a pink wonderland

“I think it’s enough angel, they’re going to get the surprise. Theres a giant pink banner that says it’s a girl” Noah says stepping down from the ladder.

“Everything has to be perfect. We’re telling them her name tonight too right? Or should we wait till shes born?” I Fidget with the hem of my shirt. Running my hand along my belly tapping my fingers as I go. Ophelia kicks in response. Shes already so loved, she has a whole family that cares about her so much and she doesn’t even know it. I’ve stayed in Noah’s room since the accident. He is still on edge that something is wrong with her, even though my doctor assured him she’s fine and is right on track for a 20 week pregnancy.

“Whatever you decide, I’m sure that they will love her name. It may keep them from calling her a little bean” Noah says pulling me to a hug.

When the guys arrive the excitement is clear on their faces. A choir of voices can be heard throughout the house. This is what family feels like.

“So Mia, do you guys have a name picked out?” Jolly asks sitting down next to me on the couch. I’ve been thinking all night if we tell them her name now or wait till her birth.

“We do but I think we’re going to wait to tell everyone for just a little bit. One surprise at a time.” I laugh as jolly nods. I make eye contact with Noah from the kitchen. Smiling he grabs my cup and makes his way to the living room.

~10 weeks later~

Everything hurts or is starting to hurt. My clothes no longer fit, living in oversized shirts and sweatpants is completely horrible and it doesn’t make me feel any better, as sweet as Noah is to me it continues to piss me off. He doesn’t quite understand that I can do things for myself. He doesn’t understand that his daughter is kicking me in the ribs and bladder at the same time. I can’t look in the mirror without seeing a different person. None of my clothes fit so I look like a slob most of the time. And god dammit I’m frustrated, sexually speaking but emotionally speaking too.

“Noah I really need you to stop fussing over me. I am fine please let me be.” I sigh pulling the glass of water from him and setting it on the counter. He huffs. “I’m grown I can get up and make myself a glass of water and my own lunch. I can walk upstairs without you right behind me, I’m not a child I need you to stop babying me! Christ Noah I’m pregnant I’m not dying!” Tears welling in my eyes.

“Alright what is your fucking problem lately? You’re really starting to piss me off!” Noah says pulling at his roots.

“You wanna know what my fucking problem is? Huh! My problem is I’m so frustrated and tired. My feet are swollen my hips are killing me. I’ve got a foot in my ribs and your daughter is head butting my damn bladder! I can’t see my feet anymore! I’ve got stretch marks in place i didn’t know I could get them! I’m horny beyond belief, and I can’t just ask you to fuck me because god know that you can’t find this attractive anymore! None of my clothes fit right and maternity clothes look like they were made for old people! God Noah I’m not trying to be a bitch but i don’t feel like myself anymore! I cant look in the mirror anymore. I mean fuck man!” I say tears now streaming down my face Noah’s features soften

“I’d still have sex with you, i just didn’t wanna hurt her or you. I find you incredibly attractive. Angel I will have sex with you. Will that make you be nicer to me, you need me to make that attitude change with some dick?” He says stepping into my space as his hand cup my face sliding one hand into my hard. His lips so close I can taste to mint on his breath. Whimpering I close the space enveloping his lips. His tongue swipes across my bottom lip and I immediately grant him access. I don’t fight him for dominance, at this point id gladly give it up for him.

Pulling away he smirks “that’s all it took for you to be slightly nicer. Huh? I’ll have sex with you angel all you have to do is ask baby. I still find you sexy as hell Mia.” He says before lowering his lips to mine once more.

“Upstairs, please Noah” I whisper as I step away pulling him to the staircase. Laughing he scoops me up bridal style taking the steps two at a time before kicking the door shut and laying me on the bed.

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader : Resting Or Baking?

Every year since you and Jack got together, you would be the ones to host for the holidays. Either back in your hometown, in your first apartment together in Atlanta, back in Miami, to now in your house in Louisville Kentucky.

You would always help out your mother in law, Maggie, with the cooking and setting up, but this year is different. Being as you're pregnant with your second child, your husband requested, no, demanded that you don't do any heavy lifting this year.

He wanted you to be as relaxed as possible, and to sleep in with him since he had just gotten home from doing Jingle-Ball and other media work. But he knows you, and he knows you couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. He knows you wouldn’t leave everything for his mom and your best friend to do.

So it’s no surprise when he walks into the kitchen to find you and your daughter baking up a storm.

“Now what did I say? No cooking this year.” Your husband says standing looking at you with raised eyebrows and his hands on his waist.

You smile, “Technically I’m not cooking.” you dab the batter with your finger to taste “I’m baking.”

He rolls his eyes “Potato, potatoes, same thing to me babe.”

“Mia wanted to bake that cake I made for her birthday, and I found this new recipe that I’m sure will be a hit with everyone.” You tell him.

“Oh so this is your doing Mia?” Jack looks at your daughter and she looks confused. “I thought we had a deal, mommy had to rest today.”

Mia nods “Yes but we wanted cake. Nino Urby loves this cake so we makes it for hims and Nina too.”

You smile and wink at her “Plus we’re almost done, just have to put this in the oven and that’s it.”

He nods “That’s it, no more working tonight ok. We just have to head to moms, eat and open presents, that’s all you’re doing tonight.”

He heads to the refrigerator to get something to drink but he whips his head so fast to look at you “You made 3 of those already?”

You shrug “Those had to be done early, so the cake can absorb all the milks. It had to sit there for four to five hours max.”

Jack groans “I know you love helping and making all these foods and desserts, but baby I wouldn’t be on your ass if the doctor didn’t say you had to have bed rest.”

“Daddy said a naughty word.” Mia chimes in from her spot.

Jacks groans “I’ll pay up in a little Princess, I’m just trying to get my point across to your stubborn momma.”

You nod and smile, “Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t have let me do a thing even if the doctor didn’t say anything. But I promise I’m good. Mia helped a lot.”

“Okay so what’s next? I know that the batch you just put into the oven will have to have some kind of toppings. So tell me and I’ll help.”

“You know me so well. It needs to cool down and then cut them into squares, and place lechera and fruit on top.”

He nods “I’ll do that, meanwhile why don’t you and Mia sit down and try doing that gingerbread house.”

Mia gasps, “Oh my gingerbread house, yes please momma can we makes it?”

“Yes bug, go take it to the table while I tell daddy how to decorate the treats.”

You watch Mia run to the table and start opening the box. You turn to face your husband, “I know you’re worried but I promise I’m fine.”

You grab his hand and place it on your belly, “We’re both fine.”

“I know you are, but I rather you just sit back and relax. You’ve been up and down non stop and I know I’ve been away, and it’s not easy with a toddler, a toddler who’s on her terrible twos.”

“You’ve been working so it’s totally understandable bubs. But I promise after Christmas I’ll try, key word, try to relax.”

He shakes his head, “You have no choice mama, I’m taking some time off and I’ll be here helping with the little princess over there. Plus the little guy is ready to come out, I need to be here and on time whenever he does come.”

You nod and try to reach his lips for a kiss, but because of your belly you can’t. “Come down here.” you tell him pouting.

That has Jack chuckling but does as you ask and gives you a kiss.

“Ughh, this not working guys.”

You both turn around to see your daughter struggling with her gingerbread house.

She goes to stick two pieces together, which stay on “YAAAY, I dids it.” But as soon as she says that, the pieces fall off. “Ughh you dumb butt.”

“Alize Mia Harlow.” Jack warns.

She looks up at him “Huh?”

“You said a naughty word.”

She furrows her eyebrows, “But tio Clay-Clay says it’s not really a naughty word.”

“Well I guess I have to have a quick talk with your uncle. But that is a naughty word, so you know the deal.”

She rolls her eyes, “Fine and I sorry.” She gets up from the table and makes her way to the living room but comes back just as quick and hands Jack a dollar.

“Thank you, no more naughty words young lady.”

Whenever an adult is around her and they say a bad word, they have to put a dollar in her swear jar. But whenever Mia is caught saying one, she needs to pay Jack a dollar from her swear jar.

Granted, she hardly even says bad words but when she does it’s usually when she can’t get her way. She’s stubborn and has no patience, just like her mother.

“Hey.” Jack says to break you out from your thoughts.

“Hmm, yes?”

“I have one of your presents that I need you to open.”

“Bubs, why not until later when we’re with everyone.”

“I can’t hide it, it came at the last minute.”

You nod “Okay.”

He grabs Mia, and he leads you towards the entrance of the house.

“Babe, why are we going outside?”

“You’ll see.”

When you go outside, you’re met with your brother in law and see a huge box in the middle of the driveway.

You turn to look at your husband. “Jackman, am I about to cry?”

He shrugs. “You know how you said you’ve always wanted to be a mom and have lots of kids?”

You nod, “Six kids, three boys and three girls.”

“But you also said you didn’t want to be driving a minivan. Because you claim you won’t look hot, which I questioned because the only person you have to worry about looking hot for is me, and you’re always looking sexy.”

“Just get to the point Jack, I’m hungry.” Clay interrupts him.

“Remind me why I asked you for help and not Urban or mom.?” Jack says glaring at his brother.

“Anyways, go open your gift mamas.”

You smile and go to pull at the big red ribbon, at the pull the entire box starts opening up and there in the middle is your brand new car.

You cry happy tears and go up to your husband to hug him “Thank you mi amor. I love you.” You give him a few pecks.

“Ewww no kissing.” Mia says, pretending to gag.

You, Jack and Clay laugh. “So what did you end up cooking?” Clay asks.

You both turn to look at him in confusion. “What? Mom said there was no way you’d sit down and do nothing. So what did you make?”

You smile “Dessert.”

“Is it ready?”

You nod “Half of it, yeah.”

That has him running to the house.

“CLAYBORN IF YOU TOUCH THEM I WILL BEAT YOUR ASS.” Jack yells.

“Daddy.” Mia says smiling.

“I know, but go make sure your uncle doesn’t eat the cakes you and mama made.”

Mia gasps and runs inside the house “TIO NO TOQUES, DON’T EAT MY CAKES.”

Jack is now staring at you “Why are you crying?”

You shrug “I’m just so happy, I’m blessed to have you in my life. I’m not talking about the gifts, that’s a bonus.” You joke.

“I’m talking about the love we have for each other, our daughter and this little one who’s most likely to get here soon. You make me the happiest woman alive. I love you and our life together.”

He pulls you in, “Y/N, none of this would be possible if it weren’t for you. You’re the glue of our little family. You, not me, you, because when I’m away, you’re here with our daughter giving her the childhood she deserves. You love me and you show it to me every single day. I wouldn’t be the man I am today, or the father that I am, if it weren’t for you. You make this so worth it and I’m forever grateful that you’re my wife and the mother of our children.”

He kisses you, “You’re my greatest gift.”

You two stay outside for a little more just kissing each other and telling each other how much you love one another.

“Mommy, daddy, tio Clay-Clay dropped something.”

You pull back “Let’s go check on your brother and my pastelitos.”

“If he dropped or ate any of them I’m fighting him, I love your desserts.”

“I know there’s a second meaning to that in there. But yes, I’ll let you fight him.”

“Momma hurry, he’s making a mess with my gingerbread house.”

You and Jack laugh and head inside to the kitchen. Luckily none of the cakes were touched or harmed. You couldn’t say the same for Mia’s gingerbread house though.

That’s how you spend your evening, helping your daughter build her gingerbread house until it was time to head to your in-laws house to spend Christmas night.

******

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[angryshortstacks]

Some Hugo x Wallace headcanons because I just finished Under the Whispering Door (spoilers obviously)

Hugo’s pet names for Wallace are honey or hun, sweetheart, love, and very occasionally babe but in like a jokey way

Wallace calls him dear, darling and love (Wallace is British in my head and this is critical to this point)

After Wallace’s resurrection he was just overwhelming emotion. When Hugo woke him up the first morning Wallace just curled into the pillow and said “oh god. I forgot how much I missed sleep.” When Hugo sets him down at the breakfast table and placed a hot scone in front of him (one’s he’s been smelling but never eating for weeks) he picks it up tentatively and takes a small bite. it tastes so good the butter melts on his tongue. it’s like that scene from spirited away where he’s just eating and crying. Hugo rubs his back and encourages him “it’s okay hon. Eat some more you’ll feel better,” and Wallace just shovels it in between sobs. Needless to say they impulsively decide to close the store for the day so Wallace can acclimate himself a little more.

On a more long term level he has trouble getting used to being alive again. He forgets to eat and doesn’t sleep well. And when Hugo does manage to get him to bed at a reasonable hour he has nightmares about having another heart attack and dying in the bed next to Hugo. And so he gets up and wanders the tea plants or sits with Nelson by the fire until Hugo eventually wakes up and stumbles out of bed all squinty and sleepy to bring him back to bed. Nelson keeps asking him why he’s not sleeping but Wallace shrugs it off or dodges the question. Eventually Hugo confronts him about it when Wallace is still up on the back porch at 4:00 am. Hugo, “Wallace seriously. Why don’t you ever want to sleep.” “I sleep” “not nearly enough” Hugo smoothes down Wallace’s hair “talk to me. I won’t be upset.” Wallace is quiet for a moment and then he says “I keep having nightmares about dying.” Hugo, “honey you went to the doctor your heart is fine-”. “I know it’s silly. I know but… I can’t help it. I just I’ve been given this second chance and I- I don’t want to squander it.” Hugo sits in his lap and leans his forehead against his “your not going to squander it. This is different. Your different.” Wallace nuzzles his head “I just didn’t consider it would be hard.” “Hey,” Hugo kisses his cheek then his temple “there’s no rush. It’s the same as it was before. We have nothing but time now.” Wallace drops his head against his shoulder, “you can’t be my boyfriend and my therapist.” Hugo chuckles “how about I just be your boyfriend who gives really good advice?” Hugo stands and takes his hands “you look tired. Cmon It’s bedtime.” And he pulls him up to stand and they go inside and Hugo spoons him to sleep.

Wallace price is the little spoon. I will take no criticism.

Hugo can lift Wallace up despite their height differences. He has thrown Wallace over his shoulder before when he wouldn’t come to bed.

Wallace has crows feet around his eyes when he smiles and Hugo always kisses them.

Wallace love to kiss the back of Hugo’s hand

one year after Nelson and Apollo cross, Wallace gets Hugo a dog for his birthday. He had mei take Hugo into town and when they arrived back home Wallace was sitting on the front porch with a dog between his legs wagging her tail. Hugo stopped dead in his tracks “Wallace why do you have a dog?” and Wallace just grinned “because she’s yours.” Hugo just burst into tears and sat on the porch for hours petting her and saying “she’s perfect. I love her.” He and Wallace decide to name her peppermint (pepper for short). She’s a rescue, some kind of terrier mix, and she’s a little skittish at first but within a couple months she greets every customer at the door with a grin and a wagging tail. She sleeps at the foot of their bed and when Hugo is anxious she pressed her head into his lap.

[elisysd]

Difficult - Gracie Abrams

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

To name this feeling Would take a hundred thousand years, some kind of grieving But over what I never had, so I've been speaking To my therapist, I call her every weekend

It was raining in Monaco when Lyanna logged on to Zoom with her Macbook and Sophia's face appeared on the screen. Lyanna could see that she was at her office, which was quite rare.

“Hey, gorgeous! So how is Monaco?”

“Gloomy.” Answered Lyanna trying to show her the downpour that was taking place at that moment.

“Nice. It reminds you of London, that way.”

“Believe it or not, but I was kind of used to the sun.”

“Who are you and what did you do to Lyanna Michel? I’ve never thought that I would hear you saying that. You hate when it’s hot outside.”

“Yeah well, people change.”

“Love changed you, in your case. Speaking of, where is lover boy?”

“With his physio. He has to make some physical tests to evaluate his condition and build a plan to get him back in shape for the new season.”

“I’m glad to hear that he is okay. Now maybe, you are going to come back home in London?”

A long silence followed. Lyanna had been thinking for a few weeks. She didn't really miss London, she didn't miss her flat either, she was working very well from Monaco and then she had Charles. When she thought about London and her potential return, a lump formed in her stomach and it made her feel sad.

“About that… I’m thinking of moving out.” She confessed.

“What? Where? Do you mean moving out of the flat or of London?”

“Well both… I haven’t thought this through but… I was thinking of getting something closer to Charles. Like Nice? I have to find a real estate agent. Monaco is way too expensive for me.”

“Or you could just straight up move in with Charles instead of getting something for yourself. You are basically living together, already.”

“It’s different. I’m here because Charles needed someone to help him. It did not feel like moving – moving you see what I mean? I still want my independence and Charles will be away most of the year. I don’t see myself living here on my own. I would feel like an intruder. And moving with someone is a big step. As much as I love Charles, I’m not ready for that. But anyway, what is the oh so secret project you wanted to talk to me about?”

Suddenly, Sophia's face lit up and Lyanna could see the excitement on her face. Lyanna knew that look well; it was the same one she had worn when she had told her that her name was being seriously considered for the Oscar nominations.

“I got a call at the end of last week from Michael Mann’s team. He is working on his next movie and they would really like to have you on board. I did not tell you sooner because I wanted to see by myself what the project would look like and if it’s something that could interest you. But Lyanna, this movie can be the one to give you the Oscar. I’m sure of it. It’s such a big project with an intention to be shown at the Venice’s Mostra. That’s how big it is.”

“Wow.. okay. Michael Mann is a legend. What is the movie about? Do you know if other people have been casted or contacted?”

“Adam Driver and Penelope Cruz have signed up for it from what I’ve been told. They are searching for their last lead actress. Lead actress Lya. Up for consideration for the Oscars. Can you imagine?”

“You still have not told me about the kind of movie.” Pointed out Lyanna.

“It’s a biopic about Enzo Ferrari.”

Across town, in a private gym, Andrea and a Ferrari doctor were putting Charles through a series of tests to see how he was doing. Overall, they were satisfied with the Monegasque, who not only showed good physical health, but also an excellent mental state. He was ready to face the new season and give it his all. It was as if his accident and forced rest had mentally rebooted him. All Charles wanted to do was get back into an F1 car as quickly as possible. In fact, Ferrari was planning to do so, to test him on track and also because it would make good photos to feed the Scuderia's official accounts.

“Yeah, I talked to Silvia about that. The PR team planned a whole program to show people that I’m alive and well.”

“What have they in store for you?” asked Andrea.

“An interview in my flat, in Monaco. They also want to shoot a video like a day in my life like kind of thing. And me at the factory. And I’m going to go the FIA prize giving ceremony. She did not ask me to go, I’m forced. And here I thought that I would have had a few weeks off before Christmas… And you know the best thing? They want to include Lya. They still have not given up on the idea. I mean, I want her by my side at the FIA ceremony that’s for sure. But during the video shoot? Not sure about that.”

“And no stupid Christmas challenge with Carlos?”

“Don’t get me started on that. They want us to have a competition of who is going to make the best gingerbread house.”

“You know how they are.” Tried to resonate Andrea with him.

“I don’t mind doing that. But I don’t want them to use my relationship. Especially when I can feel that it’s purely in a marketing way. I have to talk to Lya about it and see what she wants to do. If she is down for it why not, but I doubt it. But the worst thing is that I know that even if we both say no, they are still going to do it so we might as well try to do what they want and have a little bit of control over it.”

When Charles returned to the flat in the late afternoon, it was almost dark. The living room was dimly lit and he found Lyanna, with a cup of tea in her hands, staring out of the window. Charles wondered what she could see: it was pouring rain and there wasn't much visibility.

“Hey, love. What are you staring out?”

She let out a long sigh and shrugged her shoulders, which worried Charles. She didn't look too good. He knew she'd had a telephone appointment with Sophia earlier in the day and wondered if that was the reason for her distant behaviour. He put his sports bag down in the entrance hall and walked over to her, holding her by the waist. If she usually let herself go naturally against him, this time he felt her stiffen. 

“Everything’s okay?” insisted Charles.

She freed herself from his arms and went into the kitchen to empty her cup and rinse it. Charles had the impression that she was trying to avoid him and he hated that feeling, reminding him of moments in their relationship that he would like to leave in the past.

“Lyanna?” he tried to get her attention as he followed her.

“I’m not in the mood for talking, Charles.” She finally decided to speak to him.

“Did I do something wrong? If it's because I left the toilet seat up again, I'm sorry, I'm trying to be careful.”

“Not everything revolves around you, Charles.” she replied sharply.

“So… I did something wrong.”

“For fuck’s sake, I told you I didn’t want to talk about it, so please drop it!”

Charles felt unsettled, it had been a while since he'd had an argument and he had to admit that he didn't miss it at all. He could see that something was tormenting Lyanna, he wasn't blind. The only logical conclusion he could come to, if it wasn't his fault, was the video call with Sophia.

“Did something happen with your work?”

The fact that Lyanna stopped dead in her tracks as she headed for the bedroom made him realise that he had been right. The young woman turned back and sat down on the sofa, where Charles joined her.

“A biopic about Ferrari is about to be shot and they want me onboard as a lead. It’s a huge project and probably Oscar worthy.” She said bluntly.

“What? Lyanna, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you! If you need help to prepare, I can find archives and…”

“I said no.”

“What do you mean you said no?” asked Charles, confused.

“They don’t want me. They want Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend.” She explained with tears in her eyes.

“Come on Lya, you know it’s not true…”

The young woman stood up abruptly, startling Charles.

“Don’t be stupid Charles! I think it’s pretty convenient to be called for this movie not so long after we made our relationship public!”

“Or they think you are talented and deserve to be part of it, Lya.”

“Do you know how humiliated I felt? Do you have the slightest idea? No of course you don’t. My career is what matters the most to me. I worked my ass off to be where I am today, to feel deserving of it. And it’s still feels like it’s a big dream and that I will wake up at any minute. When I understood why they wanted me, it was like all my work, my blood, sweat and tears, all of that was for nothing. I didn’t feel like Lyanna Michel, the actress. I felt like Lyanna Michel, Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend and actress. And it hurt. So bad. I felt robbed.”

“I’m so sorry, Lya… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have anything to say. It is what it is. But I can’t accept to make a movie like this. I would wake up every day wondering if I stole someone’s place. And I would end up hating you because of that, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“I still think you should take time to think this through, maybe talk with the people involved.”

“There is nothing to talk about. My decision is final and I’m asking you to respect it. I should not even have said something, it was stupid you don’t understand. You can’t understand.”

“I understand! Truly, I do! But it’s something that we could have sorted out together, instead you preferred to do things on your own. I don’t to be an obstacle to your career, Lya. I want to see you succeed.”

“It’s my career Charles. I can do whatever the hell I want! I don’t interfere in yours so please don’t interfere in mine!”

“How do I interfere? Tell me? I don’t because you never talk to me.”

“What is the point? You know who could understand me? Arthur. He knows what it feels like to be associated to you and how painful it can get.”

It was a low blow for Charles.

“Don’t bring Arthur into it, please.” He told her with a serious tone.

“Why shouldn’t I? Have you ever wondered how he could feel? To always be in your shadow, to be compared to you? I never thought that it would be something that I would one day experience but here we are.”

“You are being dramatic. Really. It’s just a movie, Lya? Why are we fighting?”

“It’s deeper than just a movie. It’s about my place in your life. It’s about balance. How would you feel if tomorrow you would get a sponsorship with a brand because you were my boyfriend?”

“I would be proud!”

“Let me doubt that.”

“Listen… I’m tired and I’m stressed out. And obviously we are both stubborn about it and fighting is pointless. I’m going to go to bed.”

Seeing the young woman heading for the guest room rather than their bedroom, Charles questioned her.

“I don’t feel like being near you, right now.”

This hurt Charles; it felt like his heart was being torn in two. He spent an absolutely horrible night, tossing and turning all the time. And when he got up the next morning with the firm intention of having a frank and calm discussion with his girlfriend in order to find a solution, he had the impression that it was no longer his heart that had been torn in two, but his soul. She was gone.

========

author's note: It's always one step forward and three steps back between this two. I'm curious, where do you think Lyanna went? Is he gone for good? Is she just out for a walk? Who knows (me I know) Let me know your thoughts and theories, I can't wait to hear them. As usual, a like, a reblog, a comment help giving visibility to the story and it supports the author! taglist:

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[joes-sha-la-la-la-girl]

As most of you know I have been struggling with my health recently. This is my experience of HSD. Each person with the condition is affected differently and no two people are exactly the same with it. Just as a pre-warning I will be attaching photos at the end of injuries I have had but there is no blood. They are just dislocations and subluxations I’ve had. I also talk about some of the injuries as well. I am not writing this for sympathy but more as an explanation as to why I sort of disappear every so often. 

Hypermobility Spectrum Disorders or HSD is a range of conditions that affect joint hypermobility. Often people are referred to as ‘bendy’, ‘flexible’ or ‘double jointed’. It is fairly common in children and young people but only 20% of people never lose the flexibility in their joints. More information about this condition is on The Ehlers-Danlos Society website.

This is my personal experience with the condition. Some people with HSD will experience these problems and others won’t.

When I was nine I had my first dislocation when my brother accidentally stood on my hand. I was taken to hospital by my parents and they sorted it pretty quickly with no alarms raised. However, when I was fourteen it got progressively worse. I kept having subluxations in my pinky finger on my right hand. A subluxation is an incomplete or partial dislocation of a joint. When I kept going to hospital they told me that it was a result of the injury when I was nine and they taught me how to manipulate it back into place. This happened almost everyday for two years at least.

The next year I dislocated my right thumb. Due to a medical error they missed the dislocation and the fracture on the x-ray and left it a week before noticing their mistake. I went back in to have it relocated a week after the injury. This is when I found out that I am immune to local anaesthetics so I had no pain relief when they did this. Due to a very observant doctor after my thumb dislocated inside of a plaster cast I was diagnosed with Joint Hypermobility Syndrome (the previous name for HSD). 

After this I started having more subluxations and dislocations including in my ankle, both knees, my hip, my shoulder and my first and middle finger on my right hand. 

Earlier this year I went to A&E with a swollen finger and they suspected rheumatoid arthritis. However, when I went to rheumatology I found that I was dislocating my finger in my sleep. That’s when my diagnosis name was changed to HSD. I scored a 6/9 on the Beighton Score. It is a system to measure joint flexibility. 0-3 is normal and 4-9 is when there is potentially a problem. I can hyperextend most of my joints and often I don’t notice when I am doing so.

I have now been receiving occupational therapy and I am on the waiting list for hypermobile physiotherapy. 

My main symptoms include:

Fatigue but unable to sleep

Pain and stiffness in joints

Frequent strains and sprains

Frequent dislocations and subluxations

Poor balance

Bladder and bowel problems

I also suffer from scoliosis which I have had no treatment for and cluster headaches.

HSD is incurable and the only things I can do to help is have pain relief, hot baths, hot water bottles and hand warmers and use heat rub creams. 

This condition affects my life quite severely. I haven’t got the worst symptoms someone can have but I am struggling to do daily tasks and even get out of bed some mornings. I use multiple types of joint supports as well as pen grips and back supports in my chair.

I am open to talking about this and will answer any questions about it.

[chronicillnessfromateensmind]

i don’t know how to describe what the past few weeks of my life have been like. i don’t know if it’s physically possible to put into words just how much i’ve been dealing with.

i’ve been in a terrible flare since the weekend before my birthday. and i feel betrayed.

i feel betrayed by the american medical system, by the lack of compassion i’ve witnessed first hand. and while i’m no stranger to the judgment and gaslighting that’s in the medical community, seeing as i fought for two years for my pain and voice to be taken seriously before i got my amps diagnosis. i fought and fought, went to doctor after doctor, pleaded and begged, and only until something horrific happened to me did they take what i had to say seriously. and i don’t know if it’s the humanity in me or the hope that resides deep inside of me that thought this time would be different, that the doctors would take me seriously, that they would put in the effort or at least give me options on where to go or what to do to help me. but once again i was proven wrong.

i feel betrayed because i know that i can’t live a healthy lifestyle right now, i physically can’t do the things people my age can. and it’s frustrating and devastating because i know somethings not right with me, and i’m pretty sure i know what it is just through my own personal research and communities i’ve found during all of this, but everytime i go to my primary doctor she writes me off. in fact i was in such severe pain i screamed my head off the night prior, was convinced one of my collar bones had gone out of place, and was terrified. but when i showed up the the pediatrician she didn’t even look me in my eye, gave me the fastest work up ever before dismissing my concerns, and telling me and my mom that i should visit a pain clinic place that is a deep rooted sense of trauma for me. for they prescribed me so many medications that messed with my head and gave me horrific side effects. she also told my mom i should see a psychiatrist. basically saying idk what the deal with you is you’re probably just crazy.

the problems i’m dealing with, subluxations, joint pain, rashes, welts on my skin, gi issues, and a lot more i don’t feel the energy to share right now, aren’t symptoms a psychiatrist can help. i’m not crazy. i’m not insane. i’m not making this up. you can watch my collar bone move back into place after it subluxated. you can see the welt on my skin appear after i rub it. you can see the blood pooling happening in my feet and hands everytime i sit down or stand up. i’m exhausted and while my flare is calming down, i’m drained. and it’s disappointing that no doctor cares.

following the visits with my pediatrician, i was in such pain from the car ride and the movement that i was in hysterics that night. the pain in my collar bones and shoulder and neck were unbearable. it felt like my spine wasn’t being held properly together, it felt unstable, if felt terrible. i almost collapsed in the kitchen as i was in so much pain as i screamed and begged for any kind of relief. the next morning we went to the emergency room just to make sure everything was in the right place. and thankfully it was, but the er wasn’t really helpful other than that. they gave me some meds that made me sleepy and that helped distract my mind from the pain, but that was it.

we also reached out again to the cardiologist that’s been helping me with pots. and while the medication he gave me has extremely helped significantly lessen my pots symptoms, he was no help either. in fact we called multiple times over the course of multiple days and received no reply. only to find out, he was planning on sending me to that same pain clinic that i still am severely traumatized by. even though we specifically have mentioned that we cannot go back to that place.

me and my family have been left alone to figure out how to deal with the daily struggles i have experienced without any medical help. we got a shower stool so i don’t faint in the shower, we got a cane so on my rough days when my hips pop in and out i can still somewhat walk around, heating pads and pain patches to try to relieve the pain the best we can, tylenol and advil around the clock.

my body and mind are exhausted from being in a constant state of fight or flight from the pain. this flare was extremely rough. but i survived.

when you’re in so much pain that your body goes into a state of shock, you can only focus on pain. all you can feel is pain, all you can sense is pain, all you can breath is pain. it feels like you’re trapped in an eternal loop of never ending pain. the days seem longer, the hours seem to go on forever, the minutes feel like months. it’s almost impossible for your mind to comprehend that the pain will lessen at some point eventually. this time, it took over 3 weeks for it to lessen. but it did. and i survived.

i’m not alone in the betrayal of the medical community ignorance. my family has been betrayed as they are forced to witness me deal with all of these issues and receive no useful information or help. thousands of others with the same disorders and conditions i have, have been treated exactly as i have. i know this. i know not to get my expectations up when i see someone ina white coat. but i just wish one doctor could care a little about me. because all they see is the chart. they see my medical history, my files. but they don’t see me.

they don’t see how creative i am. they don’t see how compassionate i am. they don’t see how unique and intelligent i am. they don’t see my artwork. they don’t see my stories. they don’t see my voice. they don’t see me.

i wish they would though. because my symptoms and my pain has been limiting my ability to do the things i love. it’s pulled me out of school, which i love. it’s limited my writing abilities, which is my passion. it’s limited my ability to shop, which is my favorite thing to do.

even though i’m dealing with way more than most 17 year olds are, i know one day i’ll be able to say wow i did that. and i got through it. my story is chaotic and unpredictable to say the least. but it’s not over, i won’t let these disorders write my story for me. i will. this chapter is just darker than others will be.

if you take anything from me, don’t write off a person because they look “healthy”. or what society has painted the idea of what healthy on the outside looks like anyways. you never know what someone is dealing with. your words matter. they hold power. they can heal, but they can also damage. please be compassionate to one another.

[dasher85]

Elucidation

Alhaitham x reader | y/n | you

Slow burn

Part 2

[ When Alhaitham is pressured by the arranged marriage he refuses to deny his feelings any longer. ]

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

[ It starts with a simple gesture ]

You're finally discharged from the hospital rooms after another two weeks. Not to mention the five additional visits from your ex-research partner because technically the research has already ended by that time.

He didn't say much during the visits and he would just sit there to read a book as well. It was rather weird but you'd still let him, because you're still a good person. Not that you're in a critical condition so it's obvious that someone doesn't need to watch over you too.

That one time he brought you a novel book, the 2nd part of the one you were reading on repeat. You had no idea how he thought of getting it for you because you never spoke about it but it seems he's quite observant. 

So, even now you're skeptical of his sudden act towards you.

'If that's his way of saying an apology… I'll accept that I guess' you thought with a small smile while still packing your stuff inside a bag.

The next start of another week, three days after you were discharged from hospital, you finally attended class wearing the same green uniform. Nothing new, and nothing much to say.

Some students who knew you were happy to see you back and some nodded with a smile on their face. Just normal good natured gestures on welcoming you back to class.

You were about to sit by your assigned seat and suddenly you noticed a pair of eyes glancing at you. Naturally, you glanced back and received a nod from the guy who was seated by the left side of your table. He usually doesn't bother with almost anything but unlike today he seems to notice you coming to class.

[ Two years later ]

After graduation, you've been assigned to do research papers somewhere near Aaru village. This time, you're really going to the desert but without anyone to assist you.

'Great. I hate this job' you thought as you read the descriptions and requirements for the new research. The thought of actually quitting this job becomes stronger day by day but you're still here apparently.

"I should've been a merchant, a doctor or a writer. Why did my parents want me to be a researcher so badly?" You voiced out your complaint forgetting that someone was actually reading nearby the table area.

"Is it at one of the ancient ruins I've suggested before?"

A man's voice asked from the left side of the library table.

You mentally facepalmed yourself for saying things out loud. If anything you're only disturbing other readers at the library as well.

"Yes, it's number 23"

You replied, that list was still clear in your memory even after two years of not reading the paper.

"When will you be going?"

He was literally the same person who was seated by the left side of your table even before graduation. The same guy who doesn't talk much but still annoys you most of the time. These days you'll most usually see him in the library, reading too many books. His books change every a day or two you could clearly tell from the different titles on the book cover.

The place he chooses to sit by is the place where most students avoid just because they know he was the Scribe. On the contrary, you liked that students avoided him, it makes things a lot easier to have a seat at the library. It was as if he had reserved seats for at least 10 people without even trying. 

You didn't tell him that it was all too convenient to have him around. Perhaps it's rather called taking advantages without harming the other person.

"Hmm… maybe next week. I'll need to prepare mentally and physically"

Until now, you don't really see him as a friend because maybe you didn't know much about him apart from his name and the slight things that were too obvious. For example, he loves reading, spending time all by himself, has a few friends and prefers action over talking.

Was he a good person? You're still deciding on that though. Who knows maybe everything was just a cover all along. As they say, never judge a book by its cover.

"Alright" he nods and continues on reading. 

As expected, that's just how he randomly drops the conversation. By now you're used to it and decided to continue with drafting your research.

"See ya" he gave a quick nod without waiting for your reply every time he leaves the library earlier than you. Not that you're bothered to look away from your papers anyways. Still you just gave a nod indicating that you noticed him.

[ Another two years ]

"You're getting married?"

Out of nowhere, he calmly questions you while you were busying yourself with a few sentences in mind as you were working on a research report. In that instant your ideas flew away from your trains of thoughts.

A frown appears on your face and you quickly jot down the ideas before it completely disappears from your brain.

"I was using my brain just now." You complained right after writing the sentence on paper, indirectly admitting that he has somehow disturbed you.

"And yes, I am." Finally you raise your head away from the papers to look at the person who would occasionally accompany you to your research sites without actually confirming that he was joining along.

"You never met the guy before?"

"I thought you knew the nature of an arranged marriage?" You lightly laughed at the thought of him suddenly curious about these trivial things.

You didn't bother much and continued with the research report but you seem to hear a sigh escaping his usually undisturbed self.

"Why? What about that? You're worried that I won't be going on researching the sites you've planned to visit after my marriage?" 

Perhaps even a little, you're finally considering him as a friend. A decent friend that is because he was willing to go along with you whenever you have research regarding the ancient ruins. Especially the sites that interest him.

And just like right now, you could comfortably say things openly to him.

"Come to think of it…" he briefly paused seemingly trying to figure out his next words, "...I find it rather unpleasant"

"Unpleasant?" You returned your gaze towards him, now feeling a little curious about your friend’s opinion. What would the new Acting Grand Sage think about this particular matter?

He nods, "Unpleasant."

"How so?"

"Don't you want to decide on your own? Is it not enough to take the job you never wanted?" 

You never once see him speak in such a way that makes you believe he actually has feelings and is capable of showing it. 

A chuckle escapes your lips, genuinely feeling entertained to see that side of him instead of getting serious about the matter he just mentioned.

"Well… I know. I just don't think anyone would be that interested to know about me… willingly..." You paused to think.

"It's complicated, I don't want to use my brain when it comes to marriage. I’ll just trust my luck and believe my heart. If my parents thinks the guy is good enough, it’s fine-"

"So if he's not? What are you going to do?"

He yet again throws you questions that just makes you want to think more instead of going along with the flow. As he said before, 'use your brain'.

"I wouldn't know until I try, right?" Your eyes focused on him.

"Besides, divorce is an option" you tried to surpass a laughter after seeing the frown on his face, in complete disapproval of your answer.

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

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

[slxt4chriss]

So high school? Pt. 2

Summary: In current time, y/n is performing at her biggest show yet. But so is her past lover Matt sturniolo.

Warnings: SMUT, p in v, angst, use of Y/n, swearing, drinking, smoking, talk about running away and getting married, Multiple POV’s, mentions of the word kill, THIS WARNING GOES FOR ALL PARTS!! Also pretend the triplets are back on tour.

Word count: 744

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“I told my friends I hate you, but I love you just the same.”

Current day 2024 Toronto Canada:

Five minutes. Five minutes until another performance of the biggest tour I’ve been created starts. I’ve done about 100 times in the past, so why am I nervous now? Well maybe because my ex lover and thought to be soulmate is also on tour, in the same stadium just in a different venue.

Tonight’s performance is special because my newest member of the crew Gracie Abrams is singing with me tonight. Her newest album has a special feature that I’m bringing her out for! All of my albums are about Matt. I mean if you listen to them you can hear it, but nobody knows I’ve dated him so they thinks it’s a different ex. About halfway through my show durning the longest album, my mic stops working. Great. With the technology problem it had also started raining but I loved there rain and it looked like i could control lightning so that’s a plus.

Matt’s pov:

The music was blasting through the stadium walls, her voice was beautiful. I didn’t know who it was and frankly I didn’t care I was just mesmerized by her voice. Her songs were all about heartbreak though. She sounded a lot like y/n. Maybe it was. That would be crazy, she’s a doctor or something, at least that’s what she wanted to be. I think.

5 months before the breakup, 12th grade year:

He thrusts into her at a relentless pace, her voice cracking with the pleasure he induced into her. “Matt oh my,” she moaned quietly as her parents were in the room down the hall.”fuck y/n I’m so close” he whimpered into her neck. A few sloppy thrusts, and two mind shattering orgasms later, they lied in each others arms sloppy kisses placed onto each others body’s. Warm I love you’s and other sweet nothings spilled from their mouths.

“y/n?” Matt questioned his fingers tracing meaningless circles on her thigh. “Matt.” She whispered back her voice harsh and rough. “Promise me when we’re older we’ll get married and run away together?” His words were warm and inviting. Promising. “I promise” she spoke opening her eyes to look at the flustered boy in front of her. God did she love him.

Current day 2024 Toronto Canada Matt’s POV:

‘Imgonnagetyouback’ that’s a song I knew. I know who sings that because Chris sent it to me saying it sounded like the promise we had made after our first time tangled in her baby pink flower sheets, her purple and pink painted walls dark and dim while we entwined together in the dirtiest dance. I had told Chris about our promise, he promised to keep a secret from nick.

Nick never liked our relationship, he said if I ended things his and y/n’s relationship would end. We had been together for more than four years and really had grown to love each other more than anything. She proposed the idea to me after I had snuck through her window. I had thought about it many times late at night after I knew she was asleep I would go through my gallery and touch myself to the photos of her. Embarrassing really.

Y/n’s POV:

‘Imgonnagetyouback’ was my favorite song from my latest album. It was about the broken promise’s from my past. The adrenaline rush of nights with him, and how I always knew the love would fade. I always believed that after a love had faded you had to hate them. But with Matt it was different.

I still love him. But the love fades little by little day by day. The excitement of seeing him again one day disappeared years ago. The nights before the breakup we were fighting more than usual. He had kissed Sarah a while ago, I had thought nothing of it. It was a game.

Three days before I ended it I found out he had hooked up with Sarah a month before. He claimed he was drunk, it ment nothing. I was devastated. Then I cheated back, because I grew up in a household where you get revenge even on the coldest things. And a day before the breakup he told me that he wish he had never cheated. I thought he was lying. I was lying. I had never told him I cheated. And he never found out. We kept it like that. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A/n: this is short I think 😭 I wrote it in two hours, so if there’s any mistakes please dm me and tell me. ILY 🫶 part three out soon!!

@hoeforchrizz @chris-hallelujah

-Stay kind stay hot xoxo gossip girl 💋

©Slxt4chriss