#i want to soak my body in lidocaine

[palanaeum]

Ok I took ibuprofen I'm normal now

[msbarrybeeson]

Don’t | Donnie X Reader

A/N: This was so lovely to write. In my opinion, Donnie would be the most challenging of the four brothers. I think there are specifics to his behavior and personality, so trying to accurately replicate it does take some time. Apologies for any out-of-characterness from Donnie. Remember that constructive criticism is always appreciated, especially for characters, and enjoy! 

Requested: @sunnyselks 

Summary: You were wounded from protecting Donnie. When you were waving off his demands to treat you, he had to take it into his own hands to tend to you.

Genre: Hurt-Comfort

Reader: Second POV. Gender-neutral pronouns if any.

Pairing: Rise!Donnie X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, needles, cuts. Argument over each other’s safety.

Word Count: ~1060

~

“Don, I’m fine.”

“Oh, sure, tell me that while your clothes are soaked in blood!” Donnie yelled. “Take off your shirt, (Name), or I’m not letting you leave the grounds of this room.”

“Donnie,” you stressed, clutching the wound on your arm. 

“(Name), don’t.”

You turned away from him, about to leave his room despite his warning. “It’s a minor injury, I’m perfectly fi—.”

Suddenly, small chips leeched onto your arm, catching you off-guard. They unfolded into wrist binds, where you realized this was his way of forcing you to stay put.

“Don!” you grunted, as the binds pulled you toward facing a wall. “Are you serious!?”

“As Galileo is about his heliocentric model.” Donnie took a binder clip from one of his desk drawers. “You leave me no choice, (Name).” As soon as the turtle lifted your shirt up from behind, chills ran over your skin from the cold air hitting the other cut on your back. He wrapped the hem over your collar, then proceeded to clip it.

“I could’ve done this myself or gone to a hospital,” you muttered.

Donnie scoffed. “And let them force you to pay expensive bills as your last resort when you have me? I thought you knew better than that.” He cleaned the blood around your wound with a wet paper towel before applying an alcohol wipe to disinfect.

“You know full well you can’t stitch your own back either. You wouldn’t want to risk inquiring your parental guardians for help in the end and being forced to give a whole explanation.”

“...”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see Donnie picking up a needle. The thought of it puncturing you made you shudder. There were vaccinations and blood tests, but they never changed your tension with needles.

You wanted to get this over with— the suspense was only making you more vulnerable.

“Are you going to inject the needle, Donnie—?” Your nails immediately dug into your palm as pain struck. "Argh..!" You winced badly.

“Don’t move,” he paused, “if that wasn’t obvious enough.”

“Easier said than done when I'm not used to having my skin pricked—!” You seethed, “Urgh.. couldn’t you have numbed it?”

“What, with lidocaine?” Donnie replied monotonously. “No, because you wouldn’t learn and would try to save me again—,” he pricked the needle the fourth time, “even though you are a human who could’ve gotten killed— God—why in the name of logic did you do that, (Name)!?”

“I did it to protect you!” you argued.

“Don’t you dare ignore the fact that you could’ve gotten killed!”

“I am capable of my own safety.”

“Scoffs. Think common sense, (Name). You’re a human,” he reminded, the anger in his voice showing. “I’m a mutant turtle; I have the biological features to defend myself!”

“You’re a soft-shelled turtle.”

Donnie stopped moving the needle. "Really, assuming that my soft-shell automatically makes me vulnerable? Are you trying to tell me I’m unable to protect myself because of that, (Name)?”

He frowned. “I have my technology— my intelligence to accommodate, so don’t put yourself in danger whenever the hell possible and let me handle myself. End of discussion.”

You wanted to slam your fists. As he was about to add another stitch, your body shook.

“They destroyed your battle shell!” Anguish scratching your voice. “Just because you're a mutant or because you have your military-grade tech, doesn't mean you won't get murdered, crushed!

God, don’t take it the wrong way. I’m not trying to assume or belittle neither you nor your tech. All I'm concerned about is keeping you alive!”

“...”

“You weakened your voice. “If me getting injured means you’d be okay, then that’s enough for me.”

Donnie’s breath hitched.

..You knew your turtle wasn’t great at apologizing, but his silence told you everything. He didn’t make a snarky or sarcastic remark.. instead, he listened.

“..I’m sorry.”

“I know. But don’t put yourself down.. I never once thought you're supposed to be perfectly strong or invulnerable. That applies to everyone all the same. Flaws happen, whether we're fine with it or not.”

You turned your head to look at Donnie. Something was still bothering him.

“But I’ll try not to scare you again if that makes you feel better.” The tension left his face, and he proceeded to finish the last few stitches.

It was all calm and quiet until he dragged his cold finger lightly over the stitched-up wound. You shuddered.

“You keep flinching so much.”

“You’re one to talk, you’re sensitive to touch as much as I am, if not so much more.”

“No, no, not that. I find it interesting, because.. I don’t see you reacting so violently when April stitched up the other cut on your back. You know, from falling off the table.” As Donnie applied a cotton pad and tape to cover your wound, he looked up to meet your eyes.  

But you quickly faced away to the other direction.

Donnie leaned the same way, one of his brows raised.

And you avoided eye-contact yet again.

.

.

.

Ah.

“You’re flustered.”

“What?” The red rushing to your ears.

“Flustered,” he repeated. “Its definition being ‘agitated, confused, ruffled—.’”

“No, I meant: how am I flustered?”

Donnie dragged his finger along your skin again. You felt your face heat up.

“You’re flustered from having your back exposed to me.”

“I’m not.” You sensed his ego returning.

“Tell that to my lie-detector and we’ll see how that goes.”

“You have a polygraph?”

“Of course not,” Donnie actually scoffed. “We all know polygraphs are never accurate enough to be trusted.” He unclipped your shirt and released the binds on your wrists.

You groaned, rubbing your aching hands. “You had me binded to a wall, and lifted my shirt to stitch my cut— so of course— I would feel exposed.. and flustered.” You sat in your turtle's desk chair.

“Yes, exactly, I did that to treat you." He crossed his arms. "And I find that hypocritical, considering you exposed yourself and your whereabouts on the Internet."

You gave him a look, before holding your knees to your chest. There was a change in expression as you whispered, "..Thanks."

Donnie stood awkwardly, rubbing his arm once he heard you and finding sincerity on your face. The soft-shelled turtle stepped closer to you and slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

"Hey, I thought you don't like this intimate stuff," you joked.

Now Donnie himself became flustered. “Don’t, (Name).”

[killorbekillian]

How's the finger? We need updates haha

it’s okay, i only took a little bit off the top

if you want deets… knife slipped while i was dicing sweet potatoes. i cut the tip of my thumb and cut off the corner of the nail on my middle finger. don’t know how deep but it’s not like i was going to lose the finger.

the doctor at the urgent care did basically nothing. he asked me to take off the bandages so he could look at it and i was kind of struggling bc the gauze was stuck to the wound, so he asked if i needed scissors and i was like sure bc it had been wrapped in gauze, bandage, tape. so he left and got scissors and came back and handed them to me. and they were like the medical scissors that are angled, ya know? after briefly struggling he asks if i want him to do it and i’m like yeah, obviously, you’re the doctor. except i don’t say that out loud. i do say, again, that the gauze is stuck, but he basically pulls it off. not like rips it but there’s nothing to do really unless we could have tried soaking it in water for a while or something. then he puts new gauze on in the meantime and tells me to keep it elevated and it begins to hurt worse than when i initially cut it. the medical assistant (who was nice) comes back with a little medicine cup of lidocaine liquid and i now cannot get the new gauze off my finger. go figure. try running it under the sink, doesn’t help. really don’t want to rip it off again so i just put the whole thing in the lidocaine until it comes off eventually. this does help the pain. doc comes back and wipes it with iodine and redresses it, this time with a nonstick pad thank god, says not to change the dressing til monday. also prescribed me some antibiotics. i had just done two rounds of antibiotics for a chest cold the last month or so, i don’t think i’m going to have any bacteria left in my body.

[artificialqueens]

🧡 Cured Me Like A Petal (Bosco x Daya) - Hannah 

summary: Daya plays nurse after Bosco gets sunburnt

  a/n: one last fic for the pride bingo! i used the prompt hurt/comfort and my own awful sunburn as inspiration lol, hope you enjoy!! <3

ao3 link | title from this song

"Fuck me!"

Daya pokes her head around the doorway of the bedroom, "You called?" 

"Real funny," Bosco raises an eyebrow, "But seriously, look at my back,"

While their day at the nearby cascades Daya found on one of her hikes was a success, Bosco wasn't too happy with the souvenir they brought home. Their upper back and shoulders were one shade away from being as red as a lobster, a stark contrast to their usual pale complexion. Daya let in a sharp inhale at the sight, she's had her fair share of bad sunburns but she can't imagine how much more painful it must be for someone with lighter skin like her girlfriend. 

"I knew I should've reapplied sunscreen when we got out of the water," They muttered to themselves as they pulled out a soft black tube top out of the closet, unsure of if it was theirs or Daya’s to begin with - not that it mattered to either of them. The blonde almost cried at the pain when they took off their sports bra to change into the tube top, and Daya’s heart broke seeing them like that, trying to keep a tough face while barely holding back whimpers. 

She padded to the bathroom and collected their very little collection of sunburn treatments from the cabinet under the sink, bringing it back into the bedroom. "I come bearing healing agents," The brunette announced as she dumped the items on the bed next to her girlfriend sitting on its edge. 

"Time to put that one semester of nursing classes to good use, huh?" Bosco teases with a smirk.

A smug look crosses Daya’s face, "You won't be laughing when your sunburn heals in record time because of me and my first aid skills," 

"Alright Nurse Betty, work your magic then," They handed the brunette a claw clip for her to keep their hair off their back as Daya sat behind them on the bed.

Taking her time to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to cause Bosco any more pain than they were already in, she starts with a Lidocaine spray and lets that soak in before putting the spray bottle down to grab the tube of aloe vera lotion. 

"I'm gonna rub on some lotion now, it'll probably hurt like a bitch but I'll be as delicate as possible, okay?"

Bosco hums with a nod, bracing themselves for the pain. Their breath hitched as soon as Daya’s hands made contact with their back, the cooling sensation of the aloe felt nice on the radiating heat of the burn, but even the careful touch of their girlfriend’s hands felt agonizing.

"I'm sorry baby, I know it hurts but you're doing so good,” She kept talking to the blonde in the hopes that it’ll soothe and distract from the hurt, “I'm almost done I promise, just breathe through it. And-" Daya drags out the vowel as she carefully rubs in the last of the lotion over Bosco's shoulders, "Done! Great job baby, you're such a trooper,"

As she made her way around the bed so that they could be face-to-face, Daya could see the relief in the blonde's body language as they let out shaky breaths, getting the rise and fall of their lungs to return to a normal pace. Bosco winces as they push themself up from the bed, and instantly presses against Daya’s front, hugging her middle and nestling their head in the crook of the brunette’s neck. 

"Thank you," They sighed, their voice muffled against Daya's skin as they felt the latter's arms gently wrap around their waist.

"Of course, angel" She cooed, running her fingers along the lower half of Bosco’s spine. 

The brunette felt a giggle against her neck, "That tickles," Bosco smiled, prying her head off of Daya’s shoulder so their eyes can meet, "Also, it's funny how you call me angel when we both know I'm anything but,"

"Hey, I'm trying to be sweet, quit hijacking my pet names," Daya whined with an exaggerated pout.

"Okay, okay," The blonde surrenders apologetically, "You're right, I'm an angel,"

Daya's pout quickly turns to a proud grin, "Yes you are," She hums as she leans forward, stealing chaste kisses, both of them unable to stop smiling inbetween. They separate in a fit of giggles like a pair of schoolgirls, walking hand-in-hand through the apartment to the living room.

“Y’know what I could really go for right now?” The blonde suggested leaning against the back of the couch.

And in perfect unison, the couple spoke at the same time as if they had just read the other’s mind, “Ice cream!”

“Oh, that place down the street got a drive thru this year, we can go there and then drive around for a bit if sitting in the car won’t hurt your back too much,” The brunette proposed.

“I’ll be fine Daya, besides, I have a lovely nurse on call if I need anything,” Bosco assured, pairing a wink with the end of their sentence and placing a peck to their girlfriend’s cheek as they passed by to head to the door. “Now let’s go, there’s ice cream to be had,”

Even if their sunburn hurt like a bitch, Bosco was grateful to have such a concerned and doting girlfriend to make them feel better. Just having her love and care makes their pain fade away that much faster.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Don’t Call Me That Pt. 3

Word count: 15k+ LMAOOOO

TW: Sex, ptsd, abandonment

A/N: I KNOW I DELAYED MY PUBLICATION!! So i’m very thankful for all your support and patience!!! I will be posting outfit pics after this, heheh. You guys are honestly the best. I love your enthusiasm. Keep it coming!! 

Masterlist

Ao3

The deep heat that penetrated your skin and into your muscles was a relief as you rubbed Tiger Balm onto your shoulders and the back of your stiff neck. The mentol of the ointment smelled strong, yet it made you feel relaxed.

Your muscles were feeling tense for a while, largely contributed to the fact that you patrol much more often now that you were done with highschool and was waiting for when University lectures started. Perhaps you could go for a spa or massage. Bruce would definitely pay for your indulgence.

Even though it had been over a year, you were still the relatively new Robin. Such a drastic change in lifestyle wasn’t easy to get used to. The training, the patrols, the constant vigilance, constant analysis. You still felt like it was your first week.

Standing in front of your window, you tried to look for the full moon. But the night was too cloudy, and you sensed a storm was coming soon based on the way the trees outside swayed brutally in the wind. It was three in the morning, and you had returned from patrol.

Jason waited for you like usual outside his room in the Cave, but this time, he didn’t follow you up to your room. It must have been a rough day for him. Dick had told you that Jason went a little bit too hard at the Cave gym that evening, almost injuring himself if Dick hadn’t stepped in to help.

So there you were left alone with your own thoughts that night. You were so used to having Jason in the room with you, that now you felt a bit lonely without him.

You frowned. You thought you had heard footsteps in the distance, but now they were gone. Shrugging to yourself, you concluded that must have been Dick returning to his room for the night.

The door slammed open and you jumped in surprise.

But before you could turn around in response, you felt a pair of arms around your waist, pulling you close to a hard, warm body.

Jason sobbed silently into your back, his forehead resting on your right shoulder. You didn’t ask him why, you didn’t say any words of comfort. Instead, you put your hands over his and squeezed tightly, as tight as how your chest felt.

After fifteen minutes, he finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, “It’s just- it’s been haunting me more these past few days.”

“What has?”

“The nightmares,” he gave a watery reply, “Or- I just can’t stop thinking about it. Even during the day.”

You pursed your lip. “Is it the same one?”

“It always is,” he whispered solemnly, “All the time.”

***

Again, your hair was soaking.

During any other nights of stakeouts in the pouring Gotham rain, you would have complained or wished you brought a shower cap with you. But that night, you were silent.

On the rooftop of a warehouse in the loading bay of Dixon Docks, you and Batman were crouching low near the edges of the roof, using the cement wall that rose to your hips when you were standing as a shield from the two other armed guards on the roof of the building across from yours.

The informant had told Batman that a load of weapons were coming in that night, but he didn’t know what time. So there you were, waiting in the cold wet weather, slowly going into your second hour already.

Anxious and bored, you clipped open your cape and dropped it to the ground for you to sit on. It was drenched and that made it even heavier than it already was.

“Bruce,” you spoke up.

“Batman when we’re in uniform,” he corrected you.

“Right,” you said, “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, water droplets running down from the sharp tip of his cowled nose.

“Have you ever thought of- of killing Joker?”

The sound of water against concrete provided much cover for your voice, and you weren’t sure if Bruce had answered or not.

“All the time,” he finally did.

“But…?” you prompted.

“But that would be the start of something much worse,” he said solemnly, gazing in the distance.

You waited for him to explain, but he never did.

“What does that mean?” you probed, “I’m not saying all of them, Bruce. Just him.”

“Batman.”

“What?”

“It’s Batman when we’re out.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “Okay. Batman. Just Joker. Just for what he did. All the things he did.”

He answered you with silence.

“Look, I know your rationale, and I understand it, I really do. A lot of these people, they didn’t ask for this. They didn’t ask to be desperate enough to have to choose to be a criminal. Hell, even Pyg can’t help it. He’s got.. Schizophrenia or something, right? But Joker… He’s got no excuse. The man is plain evil. And he’s better off dead.”

“We don’t know enough about Joker to rule it out as plain evil,” Batman tried to rationalize with you, “And we don’t get to choose who lives and who dies. That’s not our job. That’s not anyone’s job.”

The rain came down hard, and it sounded like white noise as you registered what Batman told you. He was still defending Joker.

“What if I told you I wanted to kill him?” you whispered, so low that if it were anyone else, they wouldn’t be able to catch your words.

“Then I’ll stop you.”

“No,” you tried to keep your voice from breaking, “You wouldn’t. Not if- not if you knew. Not if you truly knew what he did to Jason.”

You saw him clench his jaw, but he left you with no reply.

“I want him dead, Bruce,” you grit, “I want to rip him apart and scrape every single cell in his body against every surface of this planet, Bruce. I want him to feel everything that he did.”

“Robin, for the last time-”

Oh, no. Don’t you dare.

“When we’re on patrol, it’s Bat-”

“I don’t give a fuck!” you yelled, standing up on your feet in anger, forgetting where you were at that moment.

“Robin, down!”

You felt it first before you heard it.

A sharp pain that vibrated through your bones. You felt the pain power through you from your back, just a few inches below your shoulder, and then you fell forward. You tried to break the fall with both your arms, but your right arm couldn’t move, so you fell almost flat on your face into the ground.

And then you heard it, the loud BANG of a gun, Batman yelling something in the distance and then disappearing, more gun shots, and then footsteps rushing towards you.

“Robin,” he said with urgency in his voice, “Are you okay?”

“Can’t- breathe- pain- ow-” you gasped, trying hard to manage with shallow breaths, because every time you inhaled, the pain became more intense.

“We need to get you back. Can you move?”

“I- I think so-” you tried to move your legs, wincing when you moved your upper body. Batman lifted you up by gripping onto your left arm, pulling you to your feet.

“I’ll carry you to the Batmobile,” he stated, “You can’t grapple like this.”

You nodded, shame and guilt burning into you as he lifted you up in a fireman’s carry.

***

“Alfred!” Bruce’s voice boomed loudly in your ear as he carried you out the vehicle, echoing back at you in the Cave.

He rushed you to one side of the cave, where there always was a bed and a very complete first aid kit- that shouldn’t even be called first aid anymore. It was where Alfred would perform emergency medical interventions straight after patrol, and then only after that, the said patient would be moved to the infirmary upstairs in the manor for recuperation.

You were hanging upside down over Bruce’s shoulder, ass jutting out in the air. Honestly, the embarrassment would have been the most painful thing about the whole ordeal if you were used to getting shot like Dick or Bruce was.

From the countless times you saw them injured, you always thought getting shot was no big deal. They handled it well, and then even a week later, they would be back in uniform.

That was miscalculation on your side. It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt, they just got used to the pain.

Because the bullet shoved into your shoulder blade right now hurt like a mother fucker. You knew it didn’t even hit your lung, but you couldn’t breathe because of the pain. You felt lightheaded, and your current position was not helping.

Out of the corner of your eye, though, you saw Jason stand up from his box, rushing to you.

“What the fuck happened?” he demanded.

Bruce put you down gently on the bed, the change in position making you cry out and groan as you sat upright.

��What the hell happened, Bruce?!” Jason yelled.

For the first time ever since getting to know Bruce Wayne, you saw him stunned as he looked at Jason.

“Well?!” he pushed.

Bruce took off his cowl, and set it aside. “She got shot.”

“How?” Jason hissed, “Where?”

“Shoulder blade- I don’t think it’s fatal. You can calm down.”

“Calm- calm down?” Jason’s nose flared in anger. “This happened on your watch, Bruce! Need I remind you what happened the last time something went wrong with a Robin on your watch?!”

Bruce didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he clenched his jaw tight, eyes looking down.

“It- it was my fault,” you panted, “I took off my cape. I practically asked them to shoot at me. Was being stupid.”

“What’s the cape got to do with anything?”

“It- yours- yours wasn’t bulletproof?” you asked out of curiosity. Anything to distract you from the pain.

“No,” Jason grit.

“Oh my- what happened?” Alfred finally arrived, immediately opening the first aid kit that was the size of a goddamn cabin suitcase.

“BW to right scapula,” Bruce turned from Jason to assist Alfred, “.22 calibre.”

Alfred sighed in relief. “Very well. We are well stocked on Lidocaine, so this won’t hurt.”

“Okay,” you squeaked

Using a special pair of scissors, Alfred cut through the back of your uniform to expose the injured area.

“Why were you being stupid?” Jason walked over to stand in front of you.

“I just- we- we got into an argument,” you avoided eye contact and played with your thumbs.

“What about?”

“No- argh!” you felt a burn in your back. “A little warning next time, Alfred. It’s my first bullet wound, you know.”

“My apologies, Miss.”

Jason raised his eyebrows at you, waiting for an answer.

You locked eyes with Bruce for a moment, who was hovering behind Jason.

“Nothing. It was stupid. Something about my cape and how it was too cold,” you lied.

Jason stared deep into your eyes intensely.

He definitely was not convinced.

“I will be injecting the anesthesia now. It will hurt for a moment or so.”

“Okay, Alfred.”

“Take deep breath… Hold.”

“Hnng,” you whimpered as you felt another sharp pain.

Jason let out a heavy breath, and muttered, “Jesus.”

“We shall wait for a few minutes for the anesthesia to start its effects before I attempt to extract the bullet.”

“Sit next to me, Jay,” you smiled, patting the space next to you.

“I’m fine where I am,” he huffed, crossing his arms. Then, his eyes softened, “If it makes you feel better, I’ve survived worse. You’ll… Get through this.”

“Is that an attempt to comfort me?” you laughed.

“Maybe,” he frowned.

“Well, I’m all good. Anesthesia is kicking in. I don’t feel it much anymore,” you told him.

“Good,” he gave you a stiff nod, “You shouldn’t have to feel any sort of pain. No one should.”

His eyes fluttered away from yours as your heart sank.

Bruce pursed his lips in hesitation before he attempted to say anything. “Jason…”

“Only she gets to call me that,” his snapped at Bruce.

You felt a little bad, but at the same time you couldn’t help but a feel a little happy the way you were the special one.

“Okay, son. I’m sorry,” Bruce said softly, “For… For everything.”

“I don’t care about that anymore,” Jason choked.

“I should have been better,” Bruce continued, “God, I should have done more.”

“I said I don’t care anymore,” Jason grit, “But I swear, Bruce, I will murder you if you let another one of us slip through your fingers again.”

“I assure you, you wouldn’t have to. I would… myself...” Bruce sighed, “But duly noted. I’m sorry.”

This time, the apology was directed to you.

“No,” you shook your head, “It was my fault. I kept… I kept accidentally saying your name, and I was emotional… I’m just a newbie, Bruce. It’s not your fault. I acted rashly.”

“You did,” Bruce agreed, “Which is why I’m taking away your patrol privileges. Only twice a week now until I think you’re ready again for more responsibility.”

“Twice a week?” you groaned, “I mean I understand, but even when I was starting out it was three times!”

“Yes, you have been demoted,” Bruce smirked. He fucking smirked, “For calling me by name in the field three times, and sabotaging a mission. Now there are dozens of illegal and untraceable weapons in Gotham’s black market. Or do you not think this is an adequate disciplinary action?”

“It’s adequate,” you grumbled.

“No more taking off capes during patrol,” he added, “Even during storms.”

“Well, maybe you could make it lighter or waterproof then,” you retorted.

“I will see to it,” he nodded, “That is all. Let me know the damage, Alfred.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I used to get way worse,” Jason muttered when Bruce walked away.

“Ah, yes,” Alfred chimed in, getting started on extracting the bullet lodged in your back. “I remember many arguments. And broken china.”

“You broke things?” you chuckled at Jason.

“Yeah,” the corner of his lips twitched upwards, though it was tough to tell whether he was actually smiling, or it was because of the scar that twisted his lips upwards.

“Actually,” Alfred interrupted, “Master Bruce would also break things. When you’re gone, that is.”

“Did he?” Jason blinked in surprise.

“Oh, yes,” Alfred hummed, “You created much ruckus in the household, Master.”

You didn’t miss how Alfred too avoided his name.

“Bruce has always been nice to me,” you defended.

“Maybe because you never caused trouble,” Jason said, “Not the way I did.”

You now felt Alfred digging into your back. It was an odd sensation, but at least you didn’t feel pain.

“He still very much loves you despite it all,” Alfred said quietly.

Jason didn’t reply to that, and now an uncomfortable silence hung over the three of you.

“Hey, at least now we all got matching scars, huh?” you grinned, trying to break the tension. “I’m pretty sure each and every one of us has a gunshot wound. Or two. Or three. Or-”

“I have more than just gunshot wounds,” Jason stated.

“Yes, yes, torture and all that,” you waved your hand in dismissal, earning a small chuckle from Jason. “But really, though. It’s like a right of passage for us vigilantes, huh? It’s like I’m finally official now. Do you have one, Alfred?”

“More than one,” he informed you.

“Wokay, buddy, it’s not a competition,” you rolled your eyes, “Talk about a cut throat.”

“You’re really irritating,” Jason commented.

“But you love me anyway,” you grinned. “Do you love me, Alfred?”

“I suppose I have no choice but to say yes, Miss,” Alfred retorted.

“Aww, don’t be like that.”

“It’s finished,” Alfred announced. “Bullet has been extracted, and your wound sutured.”

“That was fast.”

“The bullet is in one piece,” he said, “Would you like me to make a necklace from it? That’s what Master Dick did with his first.”

“Hell yeah!” you looked at Jason, “What did you do with yours?”

“I dug it out and threw it back at my dad,” he monotoned.

“Wait… what?” your smile fell. You knew his dad was a criminal who went to prison, but you didn’t know anything about their relationship.

A rustle of plastic. Alfred kept himself busy.

“Just get some rest,” Jason sighed. He reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Don’t strain yourself.”

His hand lingered there on your cheek, going downwards to tilt your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I don’t like the idea of you getting shot at,” he whispered.

“You and I both,” you snickered.

“I’m serious,” he frowned, “Be more careful. You’re too much of an idiot.”

“Okay, I will,” you smiled. It was nice to see that he cared. That he showed he cared.

“You get the bed all to yourself tonight. You’ll want the space,” he informed you, dropping his hand.

“I don’t mind if you-”

“Sleep facing down, keep a glass of water close,” he interrupted, walking away to his cube. “Goodnight.”

He closed his door.

You waited for a second, thinking of what Jason had said earlier.

“I take it his relationship with his dad was not good?” you asked Alfred.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Jesus,” you let out a breath, “He’s been through so much, hasn’t he? Guy can’t catch a break.”

“Indeed,” Alfred agreed. “It would be nice for him to be at peace. Perhaps, for once in his life.”

***

“There’s a stack of pancakes, amazingly greasy bacon, berries, cream, butter, maple syrup, waffles- and you’re eating cereal?” you judged.

“Why, my naive sister, don’t you know?” Dick replied, “I need to stick with my reputation, for I am the known cereal killer.”

“That joke has lost its charm after the first thousand times it’s been said, tweeted, and shared online,” you brandished your fork at him.

Dick was over at the manor that Saturday morning, two days after your injury. He had arrived the night before to visit and congratulate you on your first gunshot wound. As expected, he had tried to hug you. But Jason was there, and when Dick rushed towards you, he had stuck out his leg and tripped him over.

“She’s still in pain, you idiot,” Jason had snorted before descending back downstairs to hide away in his box.

Dick on the other hand, had looked up at you from the floor- despite how he obviously should have dodged or maneuvered- with tears in his eyes. “That was the longest thing he had ever said to me.”

Rolling your eyes, you had helped Dick back up.

“I started it!” Dick shouted at you, “No one believes me! I updated my facebook status all those years ago, some reporter reported it, and then suddenly everyone was tweeting it as if they made it up themselves.”

“I’m sorry, Dick, but that’s just not true,” you shook your head. Dick had been trying to convince you he was the trend setter for a lot of things in the past.

“I’m so disappointed in your lack of faith in me. I swear, man, I-”

Dick broke off and looked behind you.

Turning around, you saw Jason standing there with a hand in his hair. “Room for one more?”

“Of course,” Bruce said first, “I’ll have Alfred get you-”

“No, I’m on it,” Dick scrambled to his feet and dashed to the kitchen.

Jason pulled up a chair next to you. His movements were stiff. He was obviously nervous to be joining everyone for breakfast.

“Here,” Dick passed a plate and utensils to him.

“Thanks,” Jason muttered.

“No problem,” he grinned wide, like a kid getting his head pat after winning a trophy.

Jason stacked pancakes and bacon and everything else on his plate.

“What?” he grunted at you.

“Yo- you- you planning to finish all that?” you gaped.

“This?” he looked at his plate, “Yes. And then I’m gonna go for seconds.”

“Okay,” you laughed disbelievingly.

You, Dick, and Bruce made very brief eye contact with each other, and then smiled into your respective plates and continued to eat.

“Uh, Bruce?” Jason spoke up.

“Yes?”

“Can I… Can I move back into my old room?” he asked.

Bruce blinked once. “Yes. Of course. When would you like to move in?”

“As soon as we finish here, I can get my stuff from downstairs,” he informed Bruce.

“The room hasn’t been… cleaned,” Bruce said, “I can ask Alfred to prepare it for you. I left it… the way you left it.”

You only went into Jason’s old room once, out of curiosity. It was the first month you were there. After Alfred found out, he had strongly advised you to keep out because Bruce wanted to preserve it the way Jason had left it, all those years ago.

Out of respect, you stayed out of Jason’s old room and never went back in again after that.

“Then it’s fine,” Jason insisted, “I’ll change the sheets myself.”

“It’s probably dusty,” Bruce pointed out.

“I’ve had worse,” Jason shrugged.

“Indeed,” the older man nodded, “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

Silence again. But after ten minutes, Bruce asked, “Does this mean you will be sleeping in your own room instead of…”

Bruce glanced at you.

That was surprising, coming from Bruce. He usually would never ask about things that weren't his business. The fact that he did must have meant that he was either really curious, or he strongly opposed it.

“Bruce,” you hushed.

“Why?” Jason smirked now, though there was no humor in his eyes, his mouth twisting upwards into a distorted smile. “You worried about your little princess sleeping with the mentally fucked up son?”

“No,” Bruce stated, “I just realised that I never got around to having the talk with either of you. I was wondering if I should.”

“Bruce!” you gasped, cheeks heating up. “Come on!”

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” Jason grit, stabbing his pancake with his fork almost too violently, “Joker fucked me up in more ways than one.”

Silence. Longer than it should have been.

“What do you mean by that?”

Dick was the one to break it, his soft warm voice attempting to coax and comfort.

You glanced at Bruce. On the surface, it seemed that he was showing no reaction, but you saw the way he gripped his knife, his knuckles white.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jason scowled.

Bruce rose from his chair, more robotic than usual. “Just… tell me if you need anything. I’ll be at the computers.”

He left with an odd expression on his face.

***

“Tired of walking up the stairs to come see me?” you teased, leaning against the door to Jason’s room.

He was wiping his bedside table with a piece of wet cloth when he glared at you.

“I came in here once,” you told him, looking at the books aligned neatly on the shelves, the photos he had arranged on his desk. His laptop opened but not switched on, with a stack of papers next to it weighed down by Bruce’s fountain pen he probably stole. “Then never again when I found out that Bruce was kind of anal about people coming in here.”

You remembered that the bed was made, and that the sheets were blue. Now they were maroon.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Oh, forgive Bruce. He was suffering the whole time, too,” he mocked.

“Dickhead,” you retorted, “No. I just noticed that you must have had your laptop on the last time I was in here. I was wondering what you were doing when Alfred came in and told me to get out.”

“Hmm,” he frowned, looking towards his desk, “I don’t remember what I was doing on it. Maybe my essay?”

A smile crept on your lips. You walked over to the desk. “Switch it on,” you grinned.

He narrowed his eyes and came over. It took a minute for the laptop to show the homescreen. The icon was a picture of him from when you assumed to be two years ago , with Dick next to him. Both grinning at the camera.

His smile was different back then. So were his eyes.

“Huh,” you observed, “It was on sleep this whole time? Charging? The battery’s gotta be destroyed by now.”

Jason quickly typed in his password, and then logged in.

The screen showed exactly what Jason had been up to on his laptop two years ago. He slammed it shut, but not before you got a glimpse of the screen.

Porn. Jason was watching porn.

A kinky video too, now that you were thinking about it.

You laughed out loud. His eyes were wide in horror, and- holy shit. He was blushing! His ears went red, and a tint of pink appeared on his cheeks.

“Shut up,” he scowled, looking away embarrassed.

That made you double up and laugh even louder.

“I was sixteen, come on,” he groaned, “Every sixteen year old was horny.”

“No- it’s - it’s not that,” you gasped for air, tears in your eyes, “All this while- all this while, I’ve been so fucking curious. And now I know- it was- it was on PornHub. Jason! Your laptop was on PornHub for two whole years!”

You continued your fit of giggles, before- “Ah! Ow, ow,” you suddenly winced. The injury on your back was pulsating pain while you laughed hard.

“Are you okay?” Jason rushed to your side, panic in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Tell me!”

“I’m fine, Jesus, calm down,” you straightened up and took deep breaths, “It hurt when I laughed, that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t strain yourself,” he worried.

“I’m okay, Jason,” you rolled your eyes, “It’s no big deal.”

His eyes searched your face for any hints of pain, and then he sighed. “I… Came back up here so I can be closer to you… Just- just in case.”

“Just in case of what?” you frowned.

“If anything happened to you,” he muttered, looking away again.

“What’s going to happen to me up here?” you asked, “It’s perfectly safe.”

“I don’t know… What if you.. Fal in the shower or something,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

“Fall in the- Jason, I’m not a grandma!” you chuckled, “I’m Robin. Trained vigilante. I can handle myself in my own home.”

“I was a trained vigilante too, and look where that got me,” he grit.

You didn’t know how to answer that.

“Look,” he sighed, “I just. You got shot. If you had moved a couple of inches to the right, the bullet would have hit your spine. I kept on thinking about that, that’s all.”

“I get it,” you nodded. He was thinking about you dying.

You couldn’t blame him. Death and pain seemed to follow him everywhere. It was probably the only thing on his mind.

“But you don’t have to worry, okay?” you added, “I’ll be careful. Promise. Plus, now that Bruce is limiting my patrols, I get to spend more time with you at night! And I won’t be so tired in the morning. What do you say, you wanna go out later? Maybe somewhere aside from the park?”

“I, uh, I’m actually following Alfred to the grocery store later,” he said, “He says I should pick out ingredients since I eat the most in the house. It’d be easier for him to plan my meals if I were there for him to ask as well.”

“Oh!” your eyes widen in surprise. “That’s great, then.”

You grinned widely. Now that he’s going out with Alfred, it was also one step closer to him going out alone.

“Yeah,I guess,” he shrugged, “I’m just gonna clear out a few more shit from here.”

“You mean delete your browsing history?” you teased.

“What for?” he snickered, “Not like you’re coming anywhere close to my computer.”

“And even if I did, I wouldn’t judge. Much,” you winked. “I need to change my bandages. See ya.”

You found yourself worrying less and less about Jason lately, and he found himself worrying about you more and more.

Despite being more independent now, he had started to get clingy.

At first, you would have thought that Jason Todd and ‘clingy’ were two things that would never coexist together. On the contrary, ever since your injury, he wouldn’t leave your side unless it was to go out with Alfred.

You stayed home for the next two weeks for recuperation, and it was basically two weeks of Jason. You woke up, he was there next to you. You ate, he was there finishing your food. You watched TV, he was there fighting for the remote control.

But when you finally did heal and got to go out for patrol- that was the worst.

“He has been anxious the whole night,” Alfred had whispered to you once you came back. Jason had approached you with a serious look on his face, examined you up and down, nodded, and then went back upstairs.

“Hurry up, I’m sleepy,” he had grumbled, leaving you in shock.

You would have been annoyed if it wasn’t for the fact that it was Jason and he showed that he cared enough about you to be worried. So you were actually quite pleased.

So with all the clinginess and worries and occasional outings with either you or Alfred, you weren’t ready for when he suddenly disappeared while you were sending out some emails to the Gotham University staff.

“Uh, have you seen Jason?” you walked up to Bruce who was down at the Cave computers.

“No,” he frowned, “He doesn’t come down here much after he moved upstairs unless he’s waiting for you. Has Alfred not seen him?”

“I haven’t asked, but he wasn’t in his room, or mine, or the gym, or the kitchen either,” you bit your lip anxiously, “I texted him but he hasn’t replied. I’ll go find Alfred and ask.”

“Let me know.”

You found Alfred in the study, taking and dusting books to give to Jason.

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” he answered your question, “The last time I saw him was during breakfast. I have been up here since.”

“Shit, I can’t find him,” you started to panic.

“I’m sure he is fine,” Alfred tried to reassure you, “He’s been much better lately. He knows how to take care of himself.”

“I’ll call him or something,” you worried, going down to wait in the living room.

He never picked up, so you waited there anxiously for the next two hours, barely paying attention to whatever documentary that was playing.

Then at around five, he came waltzing in from the front door, fucking whistling a low tune.

“Jason!” you stood up.

“Hey,” he greeted you casually. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s- what’s wrong?” you repeated, “You just disappeared. For hours. You didn’t answer my texts or calls. Where were you?”

“Out,” he told you.

“O-out?” you asked, “Like, alone?”

“Yeah?” he frowned, “What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing, I just- I was just wondering where you were,” you breathed and sat back down, “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere interesting,” he shrugged, taking a seat next to you on the sofa, “The park at first. Then the grocery store. Then I parked somewhere and walked around Central Gotham.”

“You drove?” your eyes widen.

“Yeah, your car,” he grinned, “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t,” you smiled, “How was it? Your day out?”

“Fine,” he simply said, “No big deal.”

He said that and tried to look modest, but you could see from his expression that he was pretty proud of himself. You had learned how to read his emotions better, and that was definitely a genuine, non-sarcastic, non-mocking smile he had on.

“No big deal, huh?” you chuckled.

“Yeah,” he smirked at you. “Why? Were you worried?”

“No way,” you rolled your eyes, “Why would I be?”

He narrowed his eyes and took out his phone. “Nineteen missed calls. Six text messages. ‘Jason, where are you?’ ‘Jason, I’m serious.’ ‘Why aren’t you picking up your phone? Are you in trouble?’ ‘Please call me back, I’m worried.’ ‘Don’t be an asshole and pick up you massive prick.’ And last but not least- I think this one is the best, by the way. Just ‘Dickhead.’”

“Well, why didn’t you pick up? Or text me back?” you demanded.

“Had it on silent. Didn’t want any distractions,” he pocketed his phone, “Wasn’t worried, huh?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, “I thought you… Left or something.”

“Left?” he frowned.

“Yeah, I thought you packed your bags and left us,” you looked away.

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

You simply shrugged.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you heard him softly say, “Not anytime soon, anyway.”

“Good,” you huffed, “Because I’d be super pissed off.”

“And I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, huh?” he nudged you lightly, “Or I’d lose sponge bath privileges.”

“God, that was one time, and it was because you stank!” you groaned, “Never again.”

“Never?”

“Ever.”

You looked into his eyes then, twinkling playfully at you.

“What if I got sick?” he smirked, “Or shot? And I couldn’t get to the shower? And I started to stink so bad you wouldn’t want to stay next to me?”

“Then Alfred can give you your sponge bath,” you rolled your eyes.

“But what if I want it to be you?” he breathed, his voice a mere whisper.

“Then,” you leaned in closer, “I’d make you beg for it.”

He chuckled and left it at that.

***

The soft sheets wrapped around your almost bare legs, gently caressing your smooth skin. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness already, since you’ve been laying in bed for about half an hour, staring at the ceiling.

“Has Gotham always been so bright?” Jason grumbled from next to you.

“What do you mean?”

“The city. It was so bright,” he complained.

“No, Gotham is gloomy, Jason. It’s a whole Gotham thing. Gloomy, rainy, cloudy, shithole,” you went on, “Streets are sticky for some reason. And then there’s always that weird smell going on. You ever notice that smell?”

“Seemed bright to me,” he ignored your question.

“That’s,” you turned on your side to face him. You could see the silhouette of his side profile looking upwards. The bump at his crooked nose bridge, the dip of his deep set eyes, even the length of his thick eyelashes. “Because you have been cooped up in the house for too long.”

“I’ve been out with you,” he mumbled, turning to face you as well. “To the park. The grocery store. It’s just the city. Seemed brighter.”

“Maybe because you’re looking at it from a new point of view?” you guessed, “Changed person and all, yada yada.”

“Maybe,” he snorted, “Doubt it. But whatever. It’s not important.”

From the new position, you were now closer to him. You could feel the slight brushes of his skin against yours whenever he took a breath.

“You don’t always have to dismiss something,” you told him softly, “Just because you can’t find the answer, doesn’t mean it’s not important.”

“Who the hell cares if Gotham is brighter or not?” he argued, “It doesn’t affect anyone. Not even me.”

“The questions you ask say a lot about the type of person you are,” you reasoned.

“And?” he breathed, “What type of person am I?”

You bit your lip when you saw his eyes flutter to your lips for just a second. “Perceptive. Introspective. Kind of an asshole, but that’s okay.”

He let out a breathy laugh that fanned warm breath across your face. Taking a deep breath, you sighed as you looked back at him, for no reason at all. You looked down at his lips for just a second and noticed it was ever so slightly parted. Relaxed.

“If you kiss me, I’ll bite your tongue off,” he stated.

You blinked. And then burst into a fit of giggles. “What makes you think I was going to kiss you?”

“You had that look in your eye,” he smirked, “The one that says that you wanted to kiss me. Don’t. I’m not joking. I’ll bite your tongue off.”

“You’re such a scary man, Jason,” you smiled at him endearingly.

“Really? I thought I had charm.”

“Charming people don’t say that they’re going to bite someone’s tongue off,” you laughed, “Dick would never do that.”

“Dick,” he snorted, “What does he know?”

“He knows not to say something like that to someone,” you grinned.

“But you kind of like it when I threaten you,” he pointed out.

“What? Since when?”

“Sweetheart, I technically choked you,” he reminded you, “I keep on saying that I’ll kill you over the smallest things. It’s either you’re dumb or kinky. I think I know which you’d rather be.”

“I’m not dumb, but the kinky one here is definitely you,” you insisted, “I saw the title of that video, Jason. Girl gets-”

“Stop,” he interjected you, “Don’t even. Ever.”

“My point exactly,” you grinned proudly at your win. “You’re the one with the kinky porn videos. You’re the one with the boner almost every night.”

“Can you blame me,” he groaned, “I’m a sexually frustrated eighteen year old who can’t bring himself to come. Give me a break.”

“You’re dragging me down with you,” you whined, “You think I’m not hormonal, too? I’m at the peak of my hormonal mess and my monthly cycles don’t help either.”

He let out a long sigh. “You can kick me out any time you want, you know. I won’t threaten you. Much.”

“I don’t mind you sleeping here,” you told him honestly, “I mean, it’s got its pros and cons. Cons like getting me all hot and bothered is the same category as you taking up all the space and stealing the covers.”

“And the pros?”

“You get to sleep peacefully,” you shrugged.

“But there’s nothing in it for you.”

I get to sleep next to you. I get to feel your arms around me.

You didn’t say that out loud. You were open with him, but not that open.

Instead, you turned around to face your back towards him. “I like cuddles. I used to cuddle with Dick when I was the one who had nightmares. So just shut up and cuddle me.”

The bed shifted, and you heard rustling, then Jason’s arm snaked around your waist and pulled you closer, flushed against his front.

“Jesus- Jason!” you whined.

“I told you, I can’t help it!” he defended himself.

You squirmed against him, unintentionally grinding your ass against his crotch, boner poking directly into your flesh.

“Hnng. Fuck. Stop moving so much, you’re making it worse.”

The sound he made and the ‘fuck’ he dropped sent shooting heat directly to your core.

Fucking hormones.

“You fucking stop sounding like that,” you shot back at him.

“What? Sounding like what?”

“All moany and breathy and- and swearing and shit.”

“What? Breathy?” he breathed.

“Yes, like you ran a fucking mile,” you said. “You’re panting like crazy, Jason.”

“So are you.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am- fuck you,” you groaned, pushing back against him in reflex.

His grip on your waist tightened, but he chuckled. “If only.”

“Shut up,” you panted. “Ugh. This is literally peak horny teen phase.”

“Dry humping? Definitely. Just- just stop for a sec, Jesus.”

Your heavy breaths filled the dark and silent room. But only for a few seconds.

“Okay- I’m sorry- I can’t,” you sat up.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom to… Relieve myself,” you winced at how bad that sounded.

“Like, to pee? Or..?”

“To fucking come, Jesus Christ,” you pressed the top of your nose bridge. “You may be able to hold it in, but I can’t.”

“Stay,” he instructed, catching your wrist.

“I said I can’t hold it in, you piece o-”

“Then don’t. Make yourself come. But do it here.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it back, looking at him perplexed. “Like… The other day?”

He considered it for a second. “No. Not like the other day.”

“Then what?”

Propping himself up on his elbows, he gave you a mischievous grin. “I’ll drag the chair to face the bed and watch you.”

You immediately felt yourself blush, though the heat also went to your belly. “W-what? No way. That’s too embarrassing.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen,” he shrugged.

“You haven’t seen my… That,” you winced.

“That?” he smirked.

“Yes, that,” you repeated, “You haven’t seen it, and it’s embarrassing if you watched.”

“Sure, I haven’t seen yours,” he went on, “But a pussy is still a pussy, sweetheart. Not that I wouldn’t think yours is special- I’m sure it is.”

You pursed your lips, thoughts running quickly through your mind. On one hand, it was the first time you would bare yourself to someone else and you were nervous and shy about it. On the other hand, the thought of Jason watching you get yourself off was hot as fuck.

“Fine,” you conceded, horniness taking over your shyness, “But on one condition.”

“And what’s that?” he whispered, sitting up and leaning in closer to you.

“You gotta take out your dick and show it to me too,” you grinned.

“That,” he got off the bed and walked across the room to pull a chair from your desk, “I can do.”

He switched on the lamp on your desk, illuminating the room dimly with warm light and positioned the chair to face the foot of your bed and sat down, grinning so unbelievably wide for his standards that you were sure his cheeks would start to hurt soon.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled down his sweatpants to his knees, revealing his cock with a small slap on his pubic bone- erect, thick, long, hard, and judging from the way the light from the little light of the desk lamp reflected on it, wet at the tip with precum.

Your jaw dropped at the sight of him smirking away, leaning comfortably back into your chair, legs now slightly parted. Shirtless Jason was something you had trouble getting used to, your imagination running wild whenever you saw him in that state.

But your view of him right now? You made sure to burn it into your mind because that would be your permanent spank bank material.

How you wished you could ask if you could take a picture.

“I know I’m a sight, sweetheart,” he chuckled, “But you’re the one who said that you couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

He was right. Since Jason took off his pants, you were already dizzy with heat that spread from your core.

“Jesus, Jason,” you breathed, hand cupping your own cunt and grinding it to relieve some pressure. “You’re insanely- just- Jesus.

He smiled at you softly, his hands both on each respective arm rest, not touching himself at all. “You don’t have to take off anything if you don’t want to. You can just do it under the sheets if you want.”

“Hell no, you changed my mind,” you shook your head, proceeding to take off your sleeping shorts, “Now I’m just horny as fuck, I don’t care anymore.”

You threw your shorts to the floor and leaned back onto some propped pillows. Spreading your legs slowly, you welcomed the cold air that brushed softly against your folds.

“Holy shit,” you heard him gasp.

And then out of nowhere, you started to get nervous again. Your hands went between your legs and hid your pussy from his view.

Jason must have noticed your change in body language, because he sat up straight and tried to reassure you again. “I know it’s your first time showing yourself to someone- hell, it’s mine too. But you don’t have to worry. You’ve already seen me at my worst. I have way more reason to be embarrassed than you do. And right now you’re showing your best to me. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and what do you know? You felt yourself easing back into the mood again.

“O-okay,” you nodded, and then slowly spread your legs wider, removing your hands from obstructing his view.

You noticed him lean forward, his heavy breaths audible to you in the silence of the room. With much more confidence than before, you started to slowly circle your clit, breathing out a small moan.

“Fuck,” you heard him breathe.

You were wet, wetter than you thought you would be, and Jason cursing while watching you touch yourself did wonders to your body.

Increasing the pace to one you were most used to, you let out another moan, louder than before.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he gasped, “I can see how wet you are from here.”

“It’s your fault,” you whined, “You made me like this.”

“Well, you made me like this,” he groaned, gesturing to his raging erection. It was twitching against his lower stomach, leaving a trail of wetness on his skin as it oozed precum.

“Jason,” you purred, slipping a finger inside of you while you rubbed on your clit.

“Fucking- hnng-”

Glancing back at him, you saw the way he gripped the arm rest, knuckles white, muscles taut. He looked like he was being tortured.

You let out a laugh.

“What?” he angrily bit at you.

“You look like you’re in pain,” you giggled, fingers still working at your cunt.

“I am,” he grit, “My cock wants to be touched so bad, it hurts. You make my cock hurt, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” your eyes fluttered close at the sudden spark. You really did like it when he talked dirty to you.

“I swear I’ve never been so hard in my life,” he groaned, “You make me so hard, baby.”

Baby.

He had never called you that before, but you didn’t want it to be the first and last time.

It wasn’t like his ‘sweetheart’, where he would call you that even in front of Alfred or Dick or Bruce. It wasn’t an innocent nickname or term of endearment that he threw around just for the sake of it.

It was the way it just naturally came to him as the word rolled off his tongue, the way his voice husky and laced with lust made it sound dirty, a secret that just both of you shared.

It was the way he breathed it out, the way he almost stuttered when he pronounced the consonants, the way it was a mix of a small whine and a groan.

It was enough to drive you to the edge of your climax.

“Jason,” you let out a breathy whisper so soft you didn’t know if he heard it.

“You want to come don’t you, baby?” he coaxed you, “I’m not going to come, so you better come for me in my place, sweetheart.”

“Jason.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Come for me hard. Come on, baby. Come for me.”

The finger that you had fucking your own cunt was dripping wet as you fucked yourself harder, as you rubbed yourself faster, as you watched the way Jason bit his lip hard enough to draw blood while he watched you with hooded eyes, cock twitching and begging for attention that he wouldn’t give.

His eyes locked with your own.

“Come for me, baby.”

And you did. Your breaths stuttering, your mouth opened in a silent scream, your toes curling at the white hot sensations that spread from them to the rest of your body as your pussy clenched and fluttered over your single finger.

“Holy fuck-”

“Fuck,” you panted, a wave of fatigue crashed over you as you came down from your high.

You looked over at Jason, and to your surprise, he had his head in his hands, his elbows on his knee. Silent, but obviously filled with tension.

“Jason, are you okay?” you voiced your concern.

“Yeah- just- give me a minute,” he answered with a strained voice.

Watching Jason with worry, you saw the way his hands were also fisting and tugging slightly at his hair.

“Jason-”

He got up and pulled up his pants, and then walked to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get a glass of ice cold water to stick my dick in,” he snapped, “Fucking hell, sweetheart. You’re going to fucking kill me.”

***

There were a number of scenarios that you felt were so ridiculous, you didn't think it would actually happen in real life- until it did.

One of them was the fact that you got adopted by billionaire Bruce Wayne, whom you later found out was the Batman himself- accurately confirming the online conspiracy theories you had laughed at on Reddit at four in the morning- and then you becoming Robin. It was so utterly ridiculous, that even then you were questioning whether or not it was all a dream and you were going to wake up in your bed that had springs poking into your back and sheets that were definitely infested with dust mites.

Another scenario was the current president becoming president in the first place- which was a shock to everyone else as much as it was to you at the time.

Which brought you to the current scenario you never thought would happen. In fact, it was so random that the thought itself never even crossed your mind.

Jason Todd sitting across the dining table from you with a murderous glare in his eyes, holding a plate of red velvet cake, wearing a bright pink glittery party hat that only slightly ruffled his gelled hair, a sequined pink tank top that oddly suited his physique and bright pink eyeshadow that brought out the blue in his eyes. His stare was directed to both you, and Alex who was sitting next to you.

How did you get there?

It wasn’t a party party, but more like you inviting your three friends over to the Manor in celebration of your birthday. Natalie had chosen a theme which she demanded everyone follow.

You were just finished setting the table with Dick when you heard a voice from behind you.

“Am I invited?”

Turning around, you saw Jason with his arms crossed and an eyebrow cocked up.

“Well, yes,” you blinked, “Of course. I just didn’t think you’d want to be downstairs with strangers around. I’m sorry, I should have asked anyway. I didn’t want to put you on the spot.”

“It’s fine,” he rolled his eyes, “How many people are coming anyway?”

“Just my three friends.”

“I can handle three people.”

“But can you handle pink?” Dick interrupted, grinning mischievously.

“What?”

“We have a theme, Jason,” you laughed, “You have to wear pink.”

Dick himself was sporting a tight baby pink t-shirt that had the words MY ASS IS TIGHTER THAN THIS SHIRT in black, bold, capital letters. He paired it with fuschia pink shorts that did in fact make his ass look tighter than the t-shirt.

“I don’t have anything pink,” he frowned.

You looked at Dick just as Dick looked at you.

“Fuck, I know that look,” Jason started to shake his his head, “No. No way.”

“I was in between outfits, so I brought them both,” Dick started to chat excitedly, “Let me go and grab it.”

“I don’t want to wear anything you think is nice, Grayson!” Jason yelled at him when he rushed to his room.

“Oh, his style isn’t that bad,” you defended Dick.

“Sweetheart, you weren’t around to see that God awful Nightwing suit with the frills,” Jason shot back at you.

“Hey, I was just discovering myself then,” Dick came back, “Here.”

He threw something at Jason.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No way in hell.”

“Jason, you have to!” you whined and pouted at him, “Please? It’s my birthday.”

“Fucking- fine!”

And that was how you convinced Jason to put on Dick’s pink sequined tank top. The party hat and eyeshadow came next. You learned something pivotal that night.

Jason couldn’t resist it when you pouted and batted your eyelashes at him.

The doorbell rang, saving you from the argument Dick and Jason were having.

“I think the pink eyeshadow brings out the blue in your eyes-”

“Your eyes are blue, too, dumbfuck!” Jason was yelling, “Why aren’t you wearing any?”

“I’m already too pink! You’re wearing black pants- you can handle a little more.”

“I swear to God, I’m gonna-”

“We need to take a picture-”

“I will fucking murder-”

“Hey guys!” you opened the door to reveal your three pink and sparkly friends.

“Babe, you look so amazing!” Natalie squealed, “See, I knew pink was your color!”

“Pink is everyone’s color, Nat,” Sarah interjected, “But I agree, you do look good in that.”

“You guys didn’t compliment me that much when you saw me,” Alex grumbled, nudging you aside to enter without waiting for an invitation.

“Because she slays, and you don’t, Alex!” Natalie followed suit.

“I worked hard on this outfit!” Alex argued back.

You closed the door behind Sarah as your friends made their way into your home towards the living room. They have been there countless times, already familiar with your family.

“Hello there, Dick,” you heard Natalie purr.

Sarah, Alex and you rolled your eyes.

“Nice to see you again, kid,” Dick chuckled.

“Oh come on, Dick!” Natalie whined, “Stop calling me that. I’m not a-”

“Good evening Mr. Wayne,” Alex cleared his throat at Bruce’s arrival, going in for a handshake.

“It’s Bruce, lad,” Bruce smiled warmly.

You didn’t have any inappropriate thoughts for your adoptive father, but he looked good in pink.

“Thanks for having us, Bruce,” Sarah shook his hand as well.

“Yes, Bruce, thank you for- oh, hello there.”

Jason had just walked in from the kitchen, pouting and blushing over how he looked, but was caught unaware at Natalie’s greeting.

“And who are you?” she grinned, throwing a knowing look at you.

“Ah, this is my cousin’s son,” Bruce said, “He’s been staying with us for a while.”

“Jason,” Jason fucking smiled charmingly at Natalie.

Expecting the worst, you were impressed by how relaxed and at ease he looked. Shaking your head to yourself, you thought about how truly skilled and trained Jason was to be able to blend in when he tried.

“Oh,” Alex gave a sound of recognition, “So you’re Jason.”

You were also expecting Jason to throw punches the moment his name left Alex’s lips, but he only narrowed his eyes at Alex. “You.”

“Am I missing something?” Sarah asked.

Alex was grinning, and you recognized that grin. It was the grin he made whenever he was up to no good.

Oh, god.

And surely enough, he threw his arms around your shoulders and brought you closer to his side.

“You’re the one I sent that selfie to,” Alex chuckled, “You should thank me. She would never have sent you a picture of herself half naked otherwise.”

“I don’t need a picture of her half naked when I’ve seen everything in real life.”

In the distance, you heard Dick spat out a drink you didn’t realise he had.

“Okay, I think dinner is ready,” you quickly interjected, prying yourself from Alex’s grip, paying close attention to the way Jason clenched his jaw.

You settled to sit down at the dining table, Sarah taking a seat next to you, Natalie taking a seat next to Dick. The other seat beside you was empty- until Alex rushed to sit down, beating Jason by a beat, who ended up sitting across from you in between Natalie and Bruce.

“What are you doing?” you hissed at Alex.

“You’ll thank me later,” he whispered back with a wink, leaning in a little closer than he usually did.

Sarah had gotten into a conversation with Bruce regarding New York, Natalie was flirting with Dick who seemed to enjoy the attention, which left you, Jason and Alex.

“So, Jason,” Alex spoke up.

Again, you winced internally when he said Jason’s name, but Jason merely looked up from his food and raised an eyebrow. Was this it? Did he not care for it anymore?

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Oh,” Alex blinked, “I thought you were older.”

“The scars make me look older,” Jason’s mouth twisted into a grin, “Want to know how I got ‘em?”

“Jason,” you warned.

“I don’t want to pry,” Alex said.

“I was in a gang,” Jason smirked, “I got caught by a rival gang one time, and they shoved a knife in my mouth. That’s how I got this one.”

He pointed to the scar on his lips that twisted his smirk upwards even more. You frowned to yourself, asking the silent question. Was that what Joker did to him?

“How about the one on your nose?” Alex asked excitedly.

“Alex!” you smacked his arm.

“It’s fine,” Jason shrugged, “Someone hit me with a crowbar, broke my nose too.”

“The one near your eye?”

“Slammed my face against a wall.”

“Stop it,” you whispered.

“Cheek?”

“Huh, I don’t remember. I have so many. I think it was-”

“Stop it,” you said louder, glaring at Jason.

You didn’t want to hear how he got his injuries, you didn’t like the way he took it so easy.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Jason’s eyes turned soft, “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

You felt Alex’s stare on you, probably trying to read your emotions. He was always good at that.

“Anyway,” Alex changed the subject, “You got a girlfriend?”

You groaned internally. You didn’t know why Alex thought you would thank him later.

“No.”

“Badass guy like you, I’m sure you have a few lining up,” he coaxed.

“Hmm. Maybe just the one,” Jason smirked, looking at you.

“Oh, God,” you groaned out loud this time, feeling your ears burn with embarrassment.

“What, her?” Alex scoffed, “Nah. She doesn’t usually go for guys like you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Alex.”

“Then what kind of guy does she usually go for?” Jason grit, clenching his fists around his knife a little bit too tight.

Alex snaked his arm around your waist and looked at Jason straight in the eyes before answering, “Guys like me. We used to date.”

You were going to fucking murder your best friend- if Jason didn’t murder him first.

Ever since finding Jason in that cell, you had seen many sides to him. The white hot rage that borderline insanity in his eyes for the first few weeks, the empty glassy look he had whenever he stared into space, the panic when you brought him out the first time, the lust he showed only a few nights ago, the laugh and comfort and ease that was slowly brought out which he showed not only with you anymore, but with Alfred and Dick too.

So this was the first time you got to see another expression on him.

Calm, cold and focused anger. A look that sent shivers down your spine, much scarier than when he lashed out at you and choked you a year ago when he was still unstable.

Shit.

You looked over at Alex, thinking that he would start cowering as well and finally put an end to whatever he was planning.

But Alex, the stupid dumbfuck, was still smirking at Jason with a challenging look on his face.

You were going to say something to correct him, but Alfred brought out the cake.

And that’s how you found yourself in that unbelievably dumb scenario.

The rest of the night, Jason was relatively quiet, only answering questions coming from anyone except Alex. Not like Alex was trying to talk to Jason anymore. No, he opted for a more physical approach that even raised eyebrows from Sarah and Natalie.

He started touching you, squeezing next to you on the sofa, leaning in closely to your ear to whisper unintelligible words.

And whenever you pushed him away and tried to scold him, he simply answered with a “You’ll thank me later.” or “Trust me.”

Finally the night came to an end, and with lots of tears from you, Sarah and Natalie- as it was going to be the last time you saw each other for a while. It wasn’t really a separation issue, it was just symbolic.

The four of you had been friends since elementary, and now you were finally going your own way.

You felt Jason and Dick watch your teary goodbyes from afar.

It was Alex’s turn to say his goodbye, but instead of opening his mouth, he just went in for a bone crushing hug. The two of you stayed that way for a minute, and then Alex released you.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said again, and then leaned in unexpectedly to give you a light kiss right at the corner of your mouth.

In the background, you heard Dick chuckle.

You felt yourself flush. He stepped back, winked at you, and then left.

***

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you smiled at your reflection while combing your hair at the dresser. Jason was sitting on your bed behind you- cleaned and changed. “I’m going to miss them a lot.”

“Yeah.”

You frowned. Jason had been grouchy all night.

At first you thought it was the choice of outfit for him, but he seemed to not mind it in the end. And then you reckoned it was the fact that he had to be around strangers the whole night, but even now he was sour with just the both of you in your room.

Alex must have gotten to him real bad. You were definitely going to give him a piece of your mind later.

You set down your comb and walked to stand in front of him. “You okay there, buddy?”

His frown was deep when he looked up at you, and his lips were in a pout. “No.”

“What’s wrong?” you coaxed.

Suddenly, he stood up, towering above you. “You told me that there was nothing going on between you and Alex.”

“There isn’t,” you reassured, “He was just messing with you. He likes to do that when... “

“When?”

“When he thinks I like someone,” you carefully said, “He tries to make them jealous. It’s not the first time he’s done this.”

“The two of you used to go out?”

“In middle school, Jason!” you sighed exasperatedly, “For like two months before we realised we were better off as friends. He still brings it up to mess with people.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m still frustrated.”

“Why?”

“Because it worked,” he stated. “Because I get jealous whenever he touched you. Because I wanted to murder him when he kissed you.”

“It wasn’t even on the mouth,” you rolled your eyes, “It was just for show.”

“Well, it fucking worked, didn’t it,” he growled, his hands flying to your hips. “That smug little bastard. Am I really not the type of guy you’d go for?”

“I haven’t met anyone like you, Jason,” you smiled, resting your hands on his chest.

His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer to you, a breath away from touching his lips to yours. “Are you going to bite my tongue off if I kiss you?”

“I’m not a fucking savage like-”

And then he did it, finally, after months of sexual tension, he finally kissed you. Soft and gentle at first as if testing the waters. And then as both of you got the hang of it, his kiss turned into one that was heavy and hard and desperate, as though you were going to run away from him if he didn’t make you stay with his mouth.

He pushed you against the wall, his hands roaming all over you, gripping and squeezing and massaging, while he forced his tongue inside your mouth to explore.

“I want you,” he gasped, going down to your neck to leave love bites, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You wanted him too, more than just his body, more than what you had, but you stopped yourself. Because you weren’t supposed to.

“Jason,” you panted, “St-stop.”

And just like that, he did. He wrenched his hands away from you as if he was shocked by electricity and looked down at you with worry in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t… You don’t want me,” you said solemnly, “Not in the way I want you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just… I’m just the first person you opened yourself up to after a traumatizing event,” you explained, “It’s natural for you to develop a dependency, and I don’t blame you for it, but-”

“You think that’s what this is?” he hissed, “Dependency?”

“It’s like when a patient falls in love with their therapist. It happens and it’s normal and-”

“Fuck you,” he seethed. “You think I can’t tell the difference between wanting you and- and needing you?”

You pursed your lips and simply looked at him, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t fucking need you,” he sneered, “And I’ll fucking prove it.”

In a blink, he left the room.

“What? Wait- Jason!” you followed after him.

He was in his room, throwing his things into a duffel bag.

Your heart sank at the realisation.

“What are you doing?” you whispered.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

“Why?”

“You think I’m so fucking helpless?” he aggressively shoved his clothes into the bag, “You think that I can’t fucking be like a normal person? Well, I’ll just show you how fucking independent I can be.”

“You don’t have to do this, Jason,” you tried, “It’s not about trying to prove your point! This is about your mental health and wellbeing and-”

“STOP FUCKING DOING THAT!” he yelled, causing you to jump. “Stop fucking babying me. I’m not a patient and you’re definitely not my therapist. You’re just a stupid girl who thinks she knows me better than I know myself!”

“Jason, I-”

“How can I be normal again when you’re scared of being normal with me!” he continued, “You didn’t even tell me that you had people coming over to celebrate your birthday because you were worried that I couldn’t handle it! Did you think I was going to strangle anyone who said my name tonight? Did you think I was going to suddenly flip a switch and break down because they were strangers?”

“That’s because I actually care for-”

“I know!” he shouted, before taking a deep breath. “I know you do. And I know you mean well. But this was bound to happen sooner or later. I need to get back on my own fucking feet without you offering your fucking hand whenever I fall down.”

“But, you’re not-”

A warm but firm hand on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks. You turned to see Bruce looking at Jason with his eyebrows knitted together, his lips downturned- he was the Bruce underneath the mask.

Jason stood up straight and looked at him in defiance.

A moment’s silence. And then-

“Do what you need to do. But don’t forget that you are always welcomed here. Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything.”

You gaped silently at Bruce.

Jason nodded at him, giving a small smile.

“Bruce, you can’t just let him leave! This is irrational, and spontaneous, and uncalculated-”

“He’s his own man,” Bruce stated, “He knows what he needs. And I trust him enough to know he will be okay. You should too.”

And with that, Bruce left.

You couldn’t do anything but silently watch Jason resume his packing, and when he was done, you watched him carry his bag to the Manor door.

“I’ll see you again. Whenever.”

And you were left there alone, on the night you turned eighteen, heartbroken over a man who deserved more than what the world gave him.

***

“He hasn’t slept for more than four hours ever since… Ever since he escaped,” you told Dick who had just arrived.

It had been two months after Jason left. He never contacted you once, and if he did contact Bruce, you wouldn’t have known about it.

“And you? How are you doing?” Dick sat down on the sofa next to you.

“The usual,” you shrugged, “Tired. I’d worry more about Bruce.”

“It’s not like it’s the first time Joker’s escaped from Arkham,” Dick stated, “Bruce knows what he needs to do.”

“But it’s the first time he’s escaped with zero evidence,” you explained, “No evidence, no witnesses, nothing. Even Harley doesn’t know what happened. And we have no idea where he is now. I think that’s what’s bothering Bruce the most.”

“Well, it’s only been two weeks since the escape,” Dick sighed, “He’s bound to appear sooner or later.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here? To help?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, “Hey, have you seen the news lately? About that guy who’s running around beating up criminals?”

“The vigilante wannabe?” you snorted, “Sure. He’s a joke. Zero class whatsoever.”

“Do you think it could be..?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I’ve thought about it, but no. He’s just another thug.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Jason wouldn’t rub me off the wrong way like this Red Hood does,” you crinkled your nose, “There’s just something I don’t like about this guy. I think it’s the way he thinks he’s so good. Challenging us like that.”

“Challenging us?”

“Dick, he’s got a blood red bat-symbol on his chest!” you threw your arms up, “It’s insulting- and obviously a mockery.”

“He’s clearing the streets though,” Dick gave you an amused expression, “He’s doing good.”

“He’s an asshole who uses guns to threaten people.”

“He hasn’t actually killed anyone.”

“Yet,” you grumbled, “When you’re that armed, you probably mean business. People are afraid of him. They don’t respect him. Not the way Batman earned his respect.”

“What does Bruce think of him?”

“Nothing. I’m telling you, Dick, he’s just another thug. Besides, Bruce has bigger problems to worry about. Like a lunatic clown that kidnapped his son and tortured him for years being on the loose.”

***

Another two months passed since Joker broke out of Arkham, and Bruce was still obsessing over him.

You couldn’t blame Bruce, obviously. The way he spoke about Joker had never been the same ever since Jason came back. You suspected that he pieced together what that sick bastard had done to Jason, not that Bruce ever said anything about it.

The last time it had rained that heavily while you were on patrol, you had gotten shot. Since then, the bullet wound scar on your back tingled slightly every time you were out in the rain. You knew it was all in your head.

Separated from Batman, you were patrolling downtown, looking down at the alleyways from the rooftops of run down shopping lots. Bruce had made your cape lighter and waterproof after your accident and complaints, so at least you weren’t completely drenched.

But it was still cold.

It was a slow night- as slow as any rainy night would be. A shiver ran down your spine violently. Anyone who was out that night were either crazy, or desperate. The wind was howling, the rain left thunderous pelts as it hit the ground.

And then you heard it, a loud BANG of a gun being fired.

Your head snapped to the direction of the sound, and you grappled- only a few blocks over before you saw the source.

It was the man they called Red Hood, big and bulky, wearing all black except for a leather vest that had a red hood attached to it, pulled up. The red bat symbol on his chest looked as if it was glowing angrily at the whimpering man on the floor.

“Get out of here before I shoot your other knee, you fucking sick pervert,” you heard him growl.

The man scrambled up and limped away.

You saw it as an opportunity to finally confront the asshole, so you dropped down to the alley, right behind him.

That close, you could see how big he was. Broad shoulders, massive biceps, tight fucking ass-

“And who gave you permission to wear that symbol on your chest?” you sneered.

You had expected him to jump in surprise at your voice, but he didn’t. He just stayed there, his back towards you, his smoking gun in his right hand.

You frowned angrily. You made sure to be quiet, and with the rain, it was almost impossible for a stupid thug like him to hear you.

“I’m talking to you, asshole!” you yelled heatedly. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

He slowly turned to face you, revealing an odd red metal mask that covered his whole face except his forehead.

“They call me Red Hood,” he answered, voice muffled. “Haven’t you been reading the news?”

You clenched your jaw at his teasing, arrogant tone.

“That symbol is reserved only for people who deserve it,” you scowled.

“Is that why you don’t wear the symbol, then?”

“I- you-” you gaped furiously, “I’ll fucking rip it off you.”

He chuckled. “If you wanted me to see me shirtless, you could have just asked, sweetheart.”

You were going to throw another round of insults at him, until you recognized his words.

No. No fucking way.

Dick was right?!

“Jason?” you whispered.

He pulled down his hood, and took off his mask to reveal a grinning Jason. “Miss me?”

“But- you- no- but-” you stuttered, “You’re huge! What the fuck?”

“Let’s get out of the rain, and I can show you how huge I really am,” he winked at you.

You felt your face burn despite the cold. So he was extra flirtatious now, too?

“Where?” you asked.

“My safe house.”

“I need to tell Batman.”

“So tell him.”

You pressed onto the gadget in your ear. “Batman. I found Red Hood. He’s… Him. I’m going with him. Is that okay?”

“Affirmative. I’ll see you back at the Cave.”

You looked at Jason. “Lead the way.”

***

“This isn’t your safehouse, this is Batman’s!” you gasped when you walked down the small staircase that led you underground.

“Yep,” Jason replied, taking off his glove to key in a passcode and scan his thumbprint. “I found out he added my print to all his safehouses in Gotham.”

“So he knew where you were the whole time?”

“Yeah. He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you grumbled, walking into the familiar looking space.

All of Bruce’s safehouses looked the same. The small emergency ones, at least. It was a small room with nothing but a bed, a first aid station, a toilet with a shower, and a small armoury. He had bigger ones for bigger emergencies, but this was more like a safe stop for when he needed to quickly recover.

“This was the only favor I accepted from him,” he suddenly said defensively, “I’ve been getting by without his help for everything else. Even my weapons are my own.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

You took off your mask and clipped off your cape, but your vision was suddenly gone. Jason had threw a towel on top of your head.

“Dry yourself off, you’ll get everything wet,” he grunted.

You scruffled your wet hair with the towel and then proceeded to take off your boots and gloves.

“So when were you planning on coming back?” you sat on his bed and watched him take off his weapons and the vest.

“I don’t know,” he simply shrugged.

“So you just didn’t really have a plan?”

“I did. And I went through with it. Now I’m not sure.”

“Not sure about- Jesus, do you really have to do that here?” you asked.

Jason was peeling off his skin tight black undershirt. “My safehouse, my rules.”

“But you have a bathroom, don’t you?” you desperately asked. He was unbuckling his belt, and you forced yourself to look away.

“Yeah.”

“So go change there. I’ll wait here.”

“Are you blushing?”

“No, just go!”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him moving closer to you to stand right in front of you. You felt his grip on your chin, forcing you to turn your head up towards him. There, you met his eyes, intense and bright- brighter than they were before.

“Is it distracting for you?” he smirked, “I worked hard, you know.”

You gulped at the sudden closeness. It had been months since you last spoke to him, and the unexpectedly close contact didn’t help with your nervousness.

He bent down and took your hand in his free one, bringing it up to place it flat against his bare chest, his hot skin burning into yours.

“Can’t you feel the difference?” he muttered, bringing your hand down his chest to his stomach, now sporting a fucking defined eight pack. You refused to look anywhere else but his eyes. “No? Well, how about here, then.”

He pushed your hand down to his crotch, and you definitely could feel how hard he was already.

“Jason!” you gasped, widening your eyes.

He let out a chuckle before crashing his lips against yours, his weight causing you to fall backwards onto the bed. Climbing over you, he started licking at your lips, gently prodding his tongue into your mouth. All the while, your hand didn’t leave his crotch, even though he had released you from his grip.

And you felt him get harder and larger by the second.

“Jason,” you moaned, heat tingling at your core.

You had missed him. Missed his laughs, his glares and insults, his arms around you at night, even his boner poking you annoyingly in the ass.

“Baby.”

And there it was, his baby.

You started to palm his length through his pants, earning a gasp from him that you swallowed.

“Have I proven myself to you?” he panted, going to nibble your earlobe. “I don’t need you. I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad.”

“Okay, holy shit, fine!” you conceded, your hands travelling up his body to caress him, to feel him. “I… I want you to. I’ve wanted you for so long, but…”

“But you didn’t want to take advantage of my emotional instability,” he scoffed. “I know. And I appreciate it. But how about right now?”

“Right now I just really want you to fuck me,” you breathed.

“Fucking hell,” he chuckled, “Okay, sweetheart.”

He started kissing you again, nipping at your lips while he tried to take off your uniform- but failed.

“Why the fuck is this more complicated than mine was?” he complained.

“Because I’m the new and improved Robin,” you winked at him, helping him find all the hidden zips and clasps and buttons. Soon enough, you were in your underwear.

“Fuck, you look better without some fucking guy’s arm around you,” he started kissing your chest, squeezing your breasts through your bra.

“Are you still not over that?” you laughed.

“I get pissed every time I think of it,” he grumbled. His hands went to your back and unhooked your bra, which he pulled away. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

And then he attacked your nipples. Biting and sucking on one side with his mouth, and squeezing and twisting and tugging the other with his fingers.

“Jason, please,” you whined, raising your hips to meet his for any kind of friction. You could feel his heavy length on your inner thigh.

“So impatient,” he chuckled, a hand snaking down your body and underneath the band of your underwear. “It took me so long before I could even come, baby. Remember?”

“Hnngh,” you groaned when he started to run his finger up and down your wet folds, “And you still haven’t?”

He paused and looked at you with a grin.

“Oh my god, you have?” you exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he smiled, giving you another peck on the lips. “It was about a month ago. Slow night. Excess energy. I was lying in bed.”

He slid off your panties with little trouble, and now you were completely exposed to him. You thought you would have gotten shy at one point, but you were so excited to have him there, to have him do things to you, that you didn’t care.

“And I was thinking of you,” he whispered in your ear, his warm breath tickling, “I was thinking about what you were up to. Whether you went out for patrol, because it was raining that night.”

He started circling on your clit slowly with a consistent pressure, causing you to squirm in his arms.

“And I never told you this, but one of the reasons why I waited for you to come back after patrol is because I fucking love seeing you in your uniform,” he continued, “Sweaty, disheveled, flushed with adrenaline, blood pumping. And wet when it rains.”

He stopped working on your clit, but then gently inserted a finger into your hole, making you groan as he went in knuckle deep and then started to slide it out and in and out and in.

“And I just imagined you in your room taking off your uniform. Piece by fucking piece, I could see it in my head, you sighing and frowning because you’re so tired, and just want to shower. And then my cock started to get hard, because I’m thinking of you naked with water running down your skin.”

He curled his finger upwards, pressing against that spot inside you that made you breathless.

“And before I know it, my pants are off and I’m fisting my cock,” he went on, his voice husky, “For the first time, I was actually touching myself and I wanted to come. And all I could think about was you, baby. I thought about how you looked like when you presented your pussy to me that night. I thought about how wet you would be if you were touching yourself at the same time I was.”

With his thumb, he circled on your clit while he fucked your pussy with his finger. It was a little uncoordinated, but it felt amazing all the same.

“And that just opened a lot of doors for me,” he chuckled, “Not that I never thought about it before then, but I was really focused on how you would look like underneath me while I fucked you. I thought about how you would look like with your lips around my cock. I thought about how you would taste.”

He increased his pace, and your eyes were closed then, rolling to the back of your head.

“And then I just knew it, baby. I had to come. Then and there. So I did.”

Fuck, you were on the edge already.

“I fucking came all over myself, moaning your name.”

“Jason.”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come.”

And you did. You felt your pussy clench around his fingers, your breath stuttering as he made you come.

“Holy shit,” you laughed, “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?”

“Let’s just hope I’m as good at fucking as I am at fingering you,” he grinned, taking off his pants finally to reveal his hard and leaking cock.

“Fuck, Jason, I want you inside me. Right fucking now,” you whined, spreading your legs for him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he tapped your clit with his dick, “We gotta take it slow. It’s- it’s my first time too so I’m not sure- I just- fuck, just let me know if it hurts, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, I’m gonna-”

“Ow!”

“What’s wrong?” he panicked, “I haven’t even put it in yet!”

“Yeah, I know, I was just joking,” you giggled.

“Sunnova- fuck you,” he growled, “It’s not funny. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry, Jason,” you reassured, “Just take it slow. I’ll let you know if it hurts.”

He nodded, and fuck, you could see him gulp in nervousness. It was fucking adorable.

“I’m going to put it in now.”

You nodded, bracing yourself.

Feeling the tip of his dick press into your entrance, you moaned in pleasure at the slight stretch. It felt rubbery, and you didn’t even notice when he put the condom on.

He pushed in slowly, checking to see if he was hurting you.

“Ah!” you gasped out loud, “Wait, just stay there for a bit.”

“Shit, okay, I’m sorry,” he replied.

“It’s fine, it just stings a bit,” you breathed in deeply. “Need to get used to it. Your cock is huge.”

“And your pussy is tight,” he groaned, “Fuck, I could just come right now.”

You waited for a few more seconds, and then nodded at him. He pushed in a bit again, and you could see how hard he was holding back.

“Pause, pause,” you gasped, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he leaned forward, burying his face in your neck, “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

“And your cock is massive, Jason, Jesus,” you laughed, “Okay, you can put the rest in now.”

And finally, Jason bottomed out, leaving you feeling full and stretched, and fuck. It still hurt a bit, but for some reason, it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You wanted him to move.

“You can move now, but slowly please,” you requested.

You felt him nod against your neck, and then he started moving his hips extremely slow, sliding his cock almost all the way out until just the tip, and then pushing it back in.

Jason’s cock filled you up in a way that your walls were already clenching around him. He was already hitting every fucking spot inside of you, which was what made it feel so good in the first place despite the stretch.

“Baby,” he choked. You never heard him like that before. He almost sounded like he was in pain.

“You can go a little faster now, Jay,” you told him.

“I- I can’t,” he said.

“Why not?” you breathed.

“Shut up,” he groaned, continuing the slow and steady pace that already had you nearly spilling over again.

“Jason, fuck,” you moaned. “Please. Faster.”

“No.”

“Jason,” you almost sobbed, “Please.”

“If I go any faster, I’m gonna come,” he growled in your ear.

“Then come, Jason, please,” you cried, “Please fuck me faster and come with me, please.”

“Fucking- fine!” he gave up, and then increased his pace, knocking the breath out of you.

You didn’t feel it approaching like all your previous orgasms. There wasn’t a build of heat that shot sparks to your toes.

No. It came in suddenly, like an attack of sensations that made you writhe and scream while being fucked steadily for the first time by Jason Todd.

“Fuck, baby,” Jason groaned into your neck, burying his face in your skin while he moved his hips, “Fuck. Fuck. Baby.”

And with a long moan of your name, you felt his dick twitch inside of you, his breath stuttering, a hand that was supporting his weight went to grip your hips tightly.

“Fuck,” he sighed, and he collapsed on top of you, cock still inside.

“Jason, you’re heavy,” you giggled, trying to push him off.

“Lemme get myself outta you.”

“Ah!” you moaned when he slid himself out slowly, still sensitive.

“Fuck, sweetheart, don’t go making those sounds or you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“I can’t help it,” you sighed, watching him tie the condom and tossing it. “Your cock feels good.”

“Don’t,” he groaned, landing on the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his face close to yours. “Don’t say anything dirty.”

“Okay,” you giggled, snuggling in close to him. “Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you come back now? Please?”

He hesitated before he answered. “I don’t know if Bruce would take me back.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned.

“You guys never found Joker, did you?”

You stiffened. “What did you do?” you whispered.

“I gave him what he deserved,” Jason answered, “And more.”

You stared at him in shock. “You broke him out of Arkham. That’s why there was zero evidence.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “It wasn’t easy, but I did. And I made him pay for everything.”

You reached out your hand to caress his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” he smiled at you, “They all say that revenge wouldn’t make you feel better. That you’d still feel empty inside. But not for me. It- it gave me closure. It healed me because… Because I know that he can’t get his hands on you and do to you what he did to me.”

After you got over the shock, you genuinely felt happy for him. You would have killed the fucker yourself eventually, but Jason deserved to do it. He deserved to end the life of the person who made his a living hell.

“Bruce doesn’t have to know,” you said quietly.

“He will eventually,” Jason sighed. “It’s Bruce. I’d be surprised if he hasn’t figured it out already.”

“He wouldn’t blame you, Jason,” you told him, “Not- not if he knew. Not if he knew what Joker did to you.”

“He would throw me out,” Jason denied.

“He loves you,” you said, “He loves you, and he will forgive you. Maybe he’d get angry at first, and even then I think he’d be directing his anger towards himself rather than you. He’s changed, Jay. More than you know.”

Jason frowned, mulling over your words. “Fine. I’ll give it a try. But if he kicks me out, I get to say I told you so.”

“He won’t,” you smiled, “I won’t let him. If he does, I’ll go with you.”

Jason blinked at you, surprise etched on his face. “You would do that?”

“Of course. How could I not? I don’t know how obvious it is, but I kinda like you.”

He laughed out loud, “I like you, too.”

“So come back, okay?”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes, “Besides, now that I’m functioning sexually, it’d be pretty hard to stay away from you.”

“I knew you were a perv,” you laughed, “You have to show me that video. Girl gets-”

“Don’t even. Ever.”

“Jason Kinky Todd has a nice ring to it.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Your Good Time | Explicit | 3070 words

Louis nodded along with what the guy was saying, apparently his arousal taking over his brain to mouth filter as he said, “Who would want to hide a fit bloke like you? That guys an idiot.” Louis scoffed, dramatizing the word ‘idiot’, giving the guy a sly smirk. The guy leaned an arm against the bar, turned his body to Louis and fixed him with a curious look before he held out a hand.

“M’Harry.”

Louis and Harry meet in a bar when Harry's date is an ass. Inspired by Temporary Fix by One Direction.

2) I Push You To The Limits | Explicit | 3846 words

Louis is a brat who likes seeing his boyfriend get jealous and possessive over him.

3) Overkill | Explicit | 4354 words

Louis was never going to get over how fucking attractive Harry was. How glorious his big, tall, curvy body was. The feeling of Harry behind him, hot and heavy, trapped on the tube after they’d been somewhere during rush hour. His thick hands, full of pretty rings sometimes, handing Louis a cup of coffee, then getting one for himself.

4) Too Nervous to be Lovers | Mature | 6445 words

Louis doesn't want to spend quarantine with Harry, his straight roommate, who doesn't even acknowledge his existence.

5) Fratboy In Love | Mature | 6830 words

Harry Styles was a frat boy who loved to sleep around and flirt with boys and girls. Louis was a good uni student who loved to stay in and study and wasn't much of a partier.

Insert his best friend Niall who talks him into going. Louis gets drunk and ends up sleeping with harry. The next day he leaves before Harry wakes and tries to avoid him at all costs. Thinking Harry wouldn't care since Louis was just another conquest. But what if Harry did care. And actually have a crush on Louis. Read and find out

6) My Sunflower | Mature | 7057 words

Louis would rather be sunbathing at the beach with his friends, not slaving his spring break away in his father’s flower shop.

7) Waiting | Explicit | 8023 words

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

8) Shine Light Upon Your Ground | Explicit | 8506 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/H, which the reader can picture as Harry or Henry Cavill.

Louis sighs again and fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, twisting the charms around and petting the fake diamonds.

“How much for a night?” A deep voice suddenly asks him. The man who approaches him is already pulling out his wallet and flicking through a bundle of bills. Louis, who had been sitting at the bar completely innocent and minding his own business, lets out an offended, strangled sound.

“Excuse me?” He demands, straightening up in his seat. The hem of his dress creeps further up his thigh but he pays it no mind.

9) Glistening Under The Sun (You're My Honey Soaked Love) | Mature | 8996 words

“Oh Petal,” he picks her up nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek as she nibbles on the lavender, “How lucky are we? I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, the only thing we have to be sad about is that soon I won’t be able to hold you like this,”

10) Connected To The Heart | Explicit | 9059 words

Note: This is an coda scene for this fic.

“Your stage cue is way too close for you to be wearing that look you’re wearing,” Louis informs him. He can’t stop himself from looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, the silk of Harry’s dress shirt brushing against the backs of his knuckles.

“Twenty minutes,” Harry agrees. His breath is minty from the gum he was chewing earlier, fresh and warm. “Twenty minutes can be a long time, baby.”

This time, Louis has to force himself to roll his eyes. “Not nearly long enough for the way you always want to fuck me.”

11) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

12) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest.

"Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself.

Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

13) Pull The Trigger | Explicit | 12007 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #16 on this list.

Louis has never been alright with killing. Will that change when he learns what it's like to be the one holding the gun?

14) Open All Night | Explicit | 12537 words

It’s six in the morning when Harry finally makes it back home.

Harry's a bartender, Louis' got a nice ass and a shit taste in men. They make it work.

15) Among Other Things | Explicit | 16073 words

“Harry, it’s 7:45, oh my god, my class starts at 8:15,” and Louis wants to cry. Harry’s busy under the bed trying to find the tiny silver key but Louis knows that fate just hates him and he needs to find a way to get up. “Harry, I—fuck,” Louis whines. Harry stands up in a rush.

“I can’t seem to find them. It. The key.”

Or, Louis’ the teacher of Harry Styles’ daughter. Their paths shouldn’t cross like this. This meaning Louis showing up to school handcuffed to a headboard.

16) A Bullet And It's Gun | Explicit | 18156 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #13 on this list. 

Louis’ parents arrange his marriage with Harry. He’s fully ready to accept that he’s going to be a sad and lonely person for the rest of his life. But then Harry starts proving himself as more than just an asocial man with money.

17) By Such Slight Ligaments | Explicit | 26764 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

A late night visit to a patient sets off a series of events that will turn Louis' world upside down.

... Here there be monsters.

18) At Your Fingertips | Explicit | 27384 words

He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

19) Forgot My Roots Now Watch Me Bloom | Explicit | 28334 words

Lonely transit worker Louis pulls his longtime crush, Peter, from the path of an oncoming train. At the hospital, doctors report that he's in a coma, and a misplaced comment from Louis causes Peter's family to assume that he is his fiancée. When Louis doesn't correct them, they take him into their home and confidence. Things get even more complicated when he finds himself falling for Peter's brother, Harry. Loosely based on the movie "While You Were Sleeping".

20) Push You Out, Pull You Back In | Explicit | 31544 words

Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

21) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

22) Lidocaine And Palm Trees | Explicit | 44653 words

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

23) Sleeping On Our Problems | Explicit | 67369 words

Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

24) Truth Would Be | Explicit | 91869 words

“You want me? I’m not a… a thing to be owned!” Louis stuttered, still very angry and confused.

“Hmmm…” The alpha tapped his lips as if he was contemplating something. “Last time I checked, the debt was paid off and the only thing I had asked in return was… you. So technically I do own you.”

“You are crazy…” Louis muttered as he began to back towards the door. Harry’s impossibly green eyes turned a shade darker, but his tone was still teasing and light when he said, “Maybe I am…”

The I-paid-off-all-your-debt-so-you-are-mine AU in which Omega Louis wants to be left alone by Alpha Harry but it's super complicated when he starts to not hate the alpha all that much.

25) Collision | Not Rated | 224594 words

Note: This fic was finished in 2018, but two new epilogue chapters have been added.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[adhdeancas]

@hell-is-where-the-party-is you convinced me. 

This is: Dean tries to give himself top surgery in a motel bathroom. 

TW: gore, performing surgery on yourself, dysphoria, mild suicidal ideation

Disclaimer: DO NOT DO THIS. THIS IS A HORRIBLE IDEA DO NOT DO THIS. (I am not a doctor so I don’t even know how bad of an idea this is, I used my imagination and some research.) 

For the record, Dean knows this is a bad idea. He does.

"Okay, okay shit. You can do this. Fuck." he mutters, shaking his hands out and hoping some of the nerves will go with them. They don't, which is just his fucking luck. He shoves his jeans to the floor with his socks and hesitates. Okay, boxers stayed on. He can afford to ruin a pair of boxers. Better that than be totally exposed when he does this.

His first top layer comes off easy, the second less so, but he takes it off too. Then he pulls off his sports bra, wincing a little at the tenderness. When you wear a sports bra all day every day, no matter how comfortable it was when you first put it on, it cuts into you like your own personally molded armpit knife after a while. And then he is shirtless, and he is actually doing this.

"You can do this, Dean." he doesn't even wanna look down. "A little bit of pain, and then you never have to do it again. Flat chest. How it should be." he lets himself imagine it, just for a second. Opening his eyes and leaning in to look in that dusty mirror and lifting up his shirt to see smooth, flat skin looking back sat him. Fuck, it's a dream. "Okay, damnit."

Dean crawls into the tub and braces his back against the grimy wall. He'd done all the boring-ass research he could, the musty medical textbooks suddenly seeming a whole lot more interesting with a goal in mind, sanitized all the surfaces even though there were decades of motel living caked under the alcohol coating. A swig of whiskey for luck, a belt in his mouth so he doesn't bite his tongue (or scream, he can't wake Sammy up), and he starts.

"Lidocaine spread to all affected areas," he chants to himself quietly. His voice is too fucking high. "All affected areas," he corrects with an artificially lowered tone, squeezing his eyes shut. He can do this. Hell, he's helped his dad hunt, he's seen dead bodies and he's done his share of patching up his dad's injuries. He can do this. He waits until he can't feel the poke of his knife against his skin, then takes a breath. "A few minutes of pain and then- and then- you're fucking free."

Dean plunges the knife into his skin. It hurts immediately, the lidocaine not enough, blinding fuckin pain, but he tears across with his knife before he can think about it, a jagged line on his left. The blood pours down his stomach and soaked into his boxers, and Dean is crying like a little girl. He can hear his own sobs through the belt, but he keeps going, because he started this. A similar line on the other side, and more blood. Dean isn't one to get woozy at the sight of blood, but seeing so much come out of him makes him feel like he is going to die in this dingy motel bathroom. He digs the knife in and saws, feels himself biting into the cheap leather of the belt. Better to die having tried to live.

What medical textbooks can't tell you is how the fat grips onto the skin, onto the muscle, and tearing it away isn't like sawing it off a piece of raw chicken, because every pull tears at your core like you're ripping your chest to ribbons. His chest fights to stay on him, and he fights to cut it off.

"Dean?"

Dean swears and blinks the tears out of his eyes so he can see. He's not done. He's not close to done. "If you gotta pee, do it somewhere else!" he shouts, voice muffled from the belt hanging from his lips.

"Dean, are you okay?"

Sammy sounds so small. Dean swears. He can't die in this filthy-ass tub. He can't do that to Sam. He can't leave him with their dad and the memory of finding his big brother in the tub with one tit lying in the drain. "Great, fucking, go-" he tries to take the next chunk off while he's still talking, to distract himself from it. It doesn't work. He faints. It's only for a few seconds, but a few seconds are all Sam needs to get worried enough that Dean can hear his stupid small little feet running on the thin carpeting.

"Dean!"

Dean doesn't know what Sam expects him to do. He doesn’t know what he thinks is happening in here. "Sam, I'm fine, please don't-" his voice is too weak to reach across the three feet to the door, let alone beyond.

He knows he's only got a few seconds before he blacks out again. He can see it building on the corners of his vision, black spots turning to clouds. So he rips at his flesh viciously, like it's something that's not him, because it's not, and because he can't live with it anymore. It's a tumor and it's clinging underneath his skin and his tears aren't because of the knife but because of the desperate need to get it out.

"Dean," Sammy gasps. He's jimmied the lock because of course he has, and he's standing there with his spindly pre-teen body, eyes big as the moon. "What did you-"

"What does it look like, Sammy," Dean mutters weakly. The black threatens to overtake him, but he tries to stay above it for Sammy. He winks out once or twice, but he tries.

"Dean, we gotta- we gotta get you to a hospital." Sam breathes, worry seeping through his every gesture. He tugs the knife out of Dean's hand, which lets go too easily, and he prop's his big brother's head up. "Dean, look at me. Look at me. You're gonna be okay, okay? We're gonna go to the hospital and they're gonna fix you up-"

"No, Sammy, please, we don't have the money, and Dad doesn't have the- the time, we'll get CPS called on us, no Sammy, no hospitals,"

"Dean, you've lost blood. You, you're cut up pretty bad." Sam's voice shakes. He tries to take in the damage.

"What if they… what if they try to put it back?" Dean whispers, his voice creeping into the high register he hates as his throat closes up in fear and tears. "Sam, please, I can't,"

Sam's crying too now. The kid's fucking terrified. "Okay."

"Just- gimme, gimme the knife." Dean hates to say it. He doesn't want the slick knife back in his hand or the roiling pain back with every saw.

Sam doesn't give him the knife. "You're in too much pain."

"Well no shit, I cut my fucking chest open!" He tries to sit up to take the knife from him and gasps so hard the belt falls from his mouth.

"Dean, this isn't working. You'll never get through it," Sam's voice takes on that hard tone that a 12 year old just shouldn't have, the one that reminds Dean he's more capable than he or his dad give him credit for. He's problem solving. He lays the knife down on the tile and pushes himself to his feet. "I promise no hospitals, but you have to let me sew you up."

Dean shakes his head. It makes him dizzy. "No, I'm not done."

"This won't work, Dean! Fuck!" Sam covers his face with his hands. Now that he's cussing, Dean knows he's serious. "Bobby. We'll get Bobby to help. He's dug bullets out of Dad before."

Dean bites his lip. A bullet in a shoulder is a lot different than fat out of a chest, but to be fair, Dean's had even less experience. And to be honest, no more pain sounds pretty good right now. "Promise?"

"We'll start driving tomorrow."

John's still a state over on a hunt, and he's alone, which means he'll spend at least three extra days there getting drunk off his ass. It could work. "Okay."

Sam lets out a relieved breath. "Okay good."

"Then hand me the bottle on the counter."

Sam picks up the white pill bottle, any prescription long since rubbed off. "What is it?"

Dean grins a nervous lopsided grin. "Percocet?" Pretty easy to get on the road, if you knew who to go to. And hunters always did.

Sam just shakes his head and throws it at him. He leaves and comes back while Dean dry-swallows the pills, holding floss and their stitching needle. Dean silently thanks any sorry Greater Power out there that he doesn't have to sew himself up with the fishhook he'd snagged for the occasion. "Hold still." he commands, and it's dumb the way he's so young and so demanding at the same time. Dean would make a joke but he for once doesn't feel like being a smartass, so he just leans against the tub and focuses on the feel of the plastic at his back, tacky with his sweat.

Sam helps Dean shower after that, letting him lean on his shoulder as he stands next to him full clothed and lets the water wash the blood down the drain. It's only when he's putting Dean in bed that Dean actually talks again. "Hey bitch," he mutters, flapping his hand. Sam returns to his side, still eyeing the stiches to make sure he doesn't rip them out. So far, they've held. "You'd make a pretty good nurse."

Sam rolls his eyes and squeezes Dean's hand. He knows that's his way of saying thank you. "Shut up and get some sleep, jerk."

"Yes, ma'am."

It's the only time Sam can remember in his whole childhood that Dean lets him drive Baby without even trying to argue that he can make it to Bobby's himself.

[dreamonhunters]

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO LET GO

trigger warnings // medical procedures, blood & injury, alcohol mentions

my first @badthingshappenbingo​ fic!! hurt/comfort georgenap for the masses...you’re welcome

read it here on ao3 !

“You’re getting blood on my carpet,” George complains, but Sapnap doesn’t respond.

By now, this is standard procedure. Sapnap runs until there’s a bullet in his shoulder or a knife in his gut and by dusk he’s on George’s doorstep. There’s one reason for this. George is the man who can piece him back together and let him leave the next day pretending they never spoke. Rinse and repeat. It’s a fucked up little system they have, but it's enough.

(Besides, it’s not like Sapnap trusts anybody else with George’s level of medical proficiency to come within ten feet of him with a needle and thread.)

“‘m not,” Sapnap mutters, and George ignores him.

Crimson liquid runs down his face in rivulets from a jagged gash on his cheek, thin t-shirt clinging to the contours of his body. A fine sheen of sweat coats his skin. Sapnap can try to play it off as nothing all he likes, and George will gaze right through him.

“Come on,” he sighs, inspecting the sorry state of the man before him. Sapnap grumbles something under his breath. Probably cursing his name, knowing Sapnap, because there’s nothing he despises more than being turned into a charity case.

Maybe this is how things would’ve ended for George. Escaped in the nick of time, Dream always tells him, as George wraps thick bandages around his best friend’s bullet wounds. Right before he got in too deep, past the point of no return. You can only run from dead bodies and stolen identities for so long before they return to haunt you. Not like the skeletons in George’s closet don’t keep him up for endless nights, tossing and turning and staring at a ceiling he swears is painted with blood.

When he was eighteen and starting his first year at med school, George hadn’t expected much. A degree, a stable job at some local medical centre, maybe even a nice family to come home to every night. His idle daydreams quickly morph into blood covering his hands and desperately working to stitch up a gaping wound that’s bleeding far too fast.

Maybe those first three years of medical school were his greatest downfall. Too many people know his name now, too many to ever let him disappear off the radar without a word. Instead he lives in purgatory forever, eternally guilty by association.

He doesn’t charge Sapnap. It’s not like the man has much to begin with. Taking money from the guy seems needlessly cruel. Dream pays him enough to get by, even if it means living the shittest downtown apartment money can buy and living on microwaveable meals from the discount aisle.

They don't talk much about their pasts. George will never ask how Sapnap ended up like this, and in turn Sapnap will never tell. There’s no sense in trying to intrude where he isn’t welcome. A silent offer will always stand, of an ear to listen should Sapnap ever want it. He doesn’t. That’s fine.

Blood pools at Sapnap’s feet, seeping into the cream coloured carpet. That’ll be a bastard to clean, George notes idly. One arm loops around Sapnap’s waist, shoulder under his armpit, and George guides him to the bathroom. Bloodstained tiles are far easier to deal with, he decides.

A pained grunt escapes Sapnap as he collapses onto the toilet seat, but not before he’s caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror and examined the damage through narrowed eyes. If he's still conscious at this point, George knows he’ll be fine, and it’s a simple matter of stitching him back together again. They’ve been here a thousand times before.

George moves on autopilot. An extensive medical kit is tucked into the back corner of his bathroom cabinet, an assortment of bottles and jars and boxes hiding it from plain view. George retrieves the plastic box with practised ease, rounded edges pressing into the delicate skin of his palms.

“What happened?” George asks, tiredness flooding his voice. Holds his hand out expectantly to Sapnap, waiting until he can feel the cold metallic bite of a switchblade resting there. The blade cuts through the cheap polyester of Sapnap’s shirt, the bloodied fabric falling to the ground beside him. The man inhales sharply at the sudden coldness, the fine hairs on his arms standing up straight.

“Nothin’,” Sapnap mutters, chocolate-coloured gaze fixed firmly on the tiles. Blood runs into the grout, staining it a murky red-brown.

George waits.

“Just some stupid fuckin’ gang kids.”

“You don’t have to fight everyone you ever meet,” George says matter-of-factly, inspecting the extent of Sapnap’s injuries. The worst of it seems to be a deep laceration in his torso, thank God. Everything else is superficial, by the looks of it.

“I don’t,” the man grumbles, a blatant lie. Otherwise he wouldn't be here  bleeding out on George’s bathroom floor every other week. Sometimes George considers having him schedule a regular appointment. “They woulda' killed me.”

Getting into an argument with Sapnap is futile, especially when he’s in such a foul mood. The man packs a solid punch, one that George has been on the receiving end of a good few times over the years. And so the Brit works in silence, wiping away dried blood with a soft cloth soaked in isopropyl alcohol. He’s used to the sting on antiseptics and the occasional hiss escaping whenever George runs over a deeper cut.

“Ow, fuck off,” Sapnap finally snaps, when George presses down a little too hard beside one of his wounds.

“I need to stitch this up,” George continues on, entirely ignoring Sapnap’s complaints. It’s far too deep to simply bandage up and forget about, as much as he's certain Sapnap would love him to.

George rocks back onto his haunches, digging through his medical kit once again. He’s prepared for a damn apocalypse, Sapnap had once commented. That’s probably true, George considers, when he glances down at the heavy box in front of him. It's practically brimming with thick bandages and foil packets of pills. Dream has powerful contacts, ones who can get George all the medical-grade supplies he could ever desire. Of course the man will take advantage of anything he can get his hands on.

It would appear he’s better prepared for an apocalypse where nobody gets seriously injured.

“I don’t have any lidocaine,” George mutters, more to himself than Sapnap. It’s not like he doesn’t know what that means - a whiskey-soaked rag between his teeth to bite down on when the pain gets too much, the burn of alcohol a pitiful distraction from the flaring agony in his side.

Sapnap groans, glaring daggers down at his friend. “You better be fuckin’ joking. How the fuck do you run out of lidocaine?” he snaps. George knows it’s the pain overwhelming his senses, turning him nasty - Sapnap can be quite the sweetheart when he wants to be. After all, nobody is forcing George to help him.

George doesn’t bother trying to respond. No response will be satisfactory, and quite honestly George can sympathise with him. There’s no joy in stitching somebody up while they writhe in agony beneath his hands, biting back their screams with a sodden cloth. Instead he pushes to his feet, brushing off his jeans, and offers Sapnap a weak smile.

“I’ll be back,” he promises, despite how pointless it is. Sapnap grunts unintelligibly in response.

George has never been a heavy drinker, despite the few bottles that line the back of a kitchen cabinet. Only a small collection of cheap spirits, but the lack of any mixers says a lot about their use.

He buys budget vodka, the type that tastes like a toxic cocktail of drain cleaner and nail polish remover. Dream likes it, shockingly. Only when it’s past midnight, after a job gone horrifically wrong, and the pair are sat under the flickering yellow light of his kitchen at an empty dining table. Dream spills his guts between swigs of poison while George nods sympathetically. His friend can drink it straight from the bottle without so much as a wince.

At least it saves on painkillers.

It’s also a natural antiseptic, if you’re desperate enough. George would know. He’s tried every last alternative to traditional medical supplies. The bottle clinks against others as he carefully manoeuvres it out of the cupboard, placing it on the floor beside him. Sapnap won’t want it - says he despises the taste of vodka, reminds him of a childhood he’s spent half his life running from.

A half empty bottle of whiskey stands in the right corner of his cabinet, obscured by the vodka moments ago. A thin layer of dust coats the glass. The honeyed liquid swishes as he pulls it out, the vodka replacing it. Sapnap’s personal preference. At least cheap whiskey doesn’t taste so foul.

He closes the cabinet with a soft click and gets to his feet.

Sapnap hasn’t moved, the blue light from his phone screen washing out his lightly tanned complexion. He stares blankly down at the device, not bothering to acknowledge George’s arrival. The pair don't speak until George snags a cloth from the box and uncaps the whiskey.

“You’re twenty this year,” George states, pouring whiskey on the fabric. It comes out too fast, soaking his hands and dripping all over the tiles.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you wanna get your shit together by then?” he presses, handing Sapnap the dripping cloth. The man chooses not to answer.

George doesn’t press any further, instead busying himself with preparations. A pair of latex gloves cover his hands, fine suturing needles and a small pair of scissors are laid out on a sheet of thin plastic. His fingers are quick and nimble and he handles his tools with a  mesmerising ease.

“There’s more to life than this,” George comments after a short silence. Sapnap sits up straight as George approaches, stuffing the rag into his mouth and biting down hard. Metal pierces through skin, Sapnap howls through the fabric, and from there everything becomes a blur.

Throughout his fleeting time at medical school George’s professors had praised him for neat work. Dream pays him for the exact same thing. He loses himself in his work, hyperfocusing on the task at hand until it’s perfect. In those moments the external world simply does not exist and there is nothing but the flutter of his pulse and the uneven breathing of his patient beneath him.

Normally, Sapnap barely makes a sound when George stitches him up. Doesn’t even flinch. Makes George’s work a thousand times easier. There’s always a few colourful curses, of course, but that’s just part of the job.

This time is far different. Sapnap writhes beneath him, making it exceptionally difficult to tug together his raw, bloodstained flesh. George mutters to himself under his breath, reminding himself how to deal with this. It’s fine - he’s had jumpy patients before, and this is no different. Sapnap’s groans are stifled by the rag in his mouth, the alcohol burn offering little distraction from the white hot pain lancing through his torso.

Even though he cleaned the wound hardly twenty minutes ago, fresh blood makes the skin slippery. George’s work is messy, far from his usual standard of neat stitching, barely traceable unless you specifically search for the little metallic thread fusing skin back together. Sapnap is trembling. Tears run down the man’s face, dripping off his chin and onto George’s bloody hands.

Oh, the guilt. It’s not easy being the only medic in the city who didn’t buy their degree from some shady underground dealer in the backroom of a seedy downtown club. He doesn’t even have a degree. No, he has three years of medical training, approximately double what any other “field medic” he's seen around has. And yet he’s nowhere near even half qualified, thrown in over his head to save the lives of teenagers who can’t keep themselves out of trouble longer than a week and men who know nothing but a life of illegal warfare.

He may be helping Sapnap, sure. But the tear tracks that stain his face make it hard to believe that the work he does is any good. All it does is allow Sapnap to go another day. To get himself stabbed in a different place on a different day at a different time, and George is perfectly complicit in pretending he’s some saving grace for broken teens who want to play at being big boys.

George isn’t saving anyone.

Flashes of silver catch in the cool artificial lighting, buried neatly in tanned flesh. George rocks back onto his haunches, examines his work, and nods. His eyes are slightly red, wet with tears that were never his to cry.

“Let me bandage it,” he says quickly, before Sapnap has time to think of a snarky remark. It’s more protection than to stem any bleeding. Tomorrow morning, before the sun has even broken the horizon, Sapnap will be right back on the same streets that leave him a bloodied, broken mess at George’s feet. It’s like some kind of sick addiction.

“You’re so fuckin’ fussy,” Sapnap chides, but there’s no heat in his voice. Just exhaustion, plain and simple, with which George can sympathise. He doesn’t question the puffiness of George’s eyes. Doesn’t intrude where he knows he’s not welcome. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not chancing it,” George replies firmly. He’s already pulling a roll of gauzy bandages from the box, medical tape in his other hand. “You’ll pull them out, or sleep weird, or do something. I know what you’re like. Sapnap.”

Sapnap huffs irritably but he doesn’t argue any further. His back hits the cool tiled wall, and he retrieves his phone from beside him. He swipes his sleeve across his face roughly the moment George looks away. Thinks George won’t notice.

George is simply going through the motions. Shaking fingers wrap flimsy bandages around Sapnap’s torso, microporous tape holding the material in lace. It’s a distraction from his rapidly spiralling thoughts, to busy his hands with work he understands rather than leave himself alone with thoughts he doesn’t want to comprehend.

“Can I stay?” Sapnap asks, as George snips the last of the tape and smoothes it down against tanned skin. The sun is setting outside, orange and pink streaking the sky through the distorted bathroom window. Rarely does Sapnap ask the question - he waits for an invitation he can begrudgingly accept, muttering something about not needing charity handouts. George tends to tune that part out.

It takes George a moment to process the question, and even longer to take in the look in Sapnap’s eyes. It isn’t fear. Sapnap isn’t capable of fear, or so he likes to claim. Maybe something akin to anxiety. He’s seen that look before, reflected back at him in a grimy little mirror. George leans back, mismatched eyes meeting deep brown, and he nods silently. He isn’t quite sure he can form words without his entire life story spilling out, every anxiety and late night terror pouring from his lips and staining the already bloodied tiles. He’s trembling.

George packs his things away without a word, clearly finished. There is nothing more to say, and Sapnap does not push to make meaningless small talk.

Sapnap gets to his feet, a quiet hiss of pain escaping him as he jostles sore injuries. George doesn’t bother to acknowledge the man’s exit. He knows where to go - there’s a spare room at the end of the hallway to the left of George’s own bedroom. It’s one of those rooms that’s rarely ever empty, considering the volume of patients and friends that pass through George’s household on a near daily basis. Drawers are filled with random articles of clothing, varied in size, left by the room’s previous inhabitants and sometimes collected from charity shops by George. He likes to be prepared.

Two hours pass. George moves to the kitchen. Rummages through his freezer for the most appetising pre-packaged meal he owns. Maybe he’ll treat himself to heating it up in the oven, rather than blast it through the microwave for twenty minutes and try to ignore the vaguely plastic taste that ruins the whole idea of lasagna. He does have a guest, after all, and he uses the excuse of a stressful day to validate his feelings.

He doesn’t hear from Sapnap until he’s seated at the dining table, chin resting in one palm. His oven buzzes in the background, dim yellow light barely visible behind the blackened grease baked on to the glass door.

“Hey,” Sapnap’s voice cuts through his reverie, startling George. He jumps, turns, shoots the man an apologetic smile.

“Hey.”

Sapnap is wearing different clothes now - a soft. pale blue t-shirt, two sizes too big, and a pair of sweatpants George doesn’t remember buying. The blood is gone, the cut on his cheek nothing more than a scabby memory, and George can pretend that the outline of bandages beneath the thin fabric is something much more innocent.

“Are you hungry?” George asks, as though he hadn’t had the foresight to cook two meals.

“Yeah, yeah… You sure ya' don’t mind me staying?”

There’s concern in Sapnap’s eyes. His voice holds an unfamiliar weight, a genuineness that George sees far too little of. The pity Sapnap offers him makes George’s stomach twist, nauseatingly bitter and somehow filled with strange gratitude.

“It’s fine,” he answers, tongue thick in his mouth. “It’s carbonara. I hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah. Thanks, George.”

It will be. Sapnap isn’t picky - he’ll eat just about anything George places in front of him. Hell, it’ll probably be the best meal he eats all week. He takes a seat across from George, leans back in his chair so the front legs swing off the ground, and hums. Always hums the same little tune, one George never recognises.

“You’re twenty this year,” George repeats. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of that fact, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yeah,” Sapnap replies. “What about it?”

George lets out a soft sigh through his nose, fingers intertwined on the table. “Don't you want out?”

Sapnap frowns. “Uh, whaddya mean? Out?”

“Out of this. Do something with your life.”

It’s what George craves. Release, complete release, from his life of bullet wounds and bloodshed and constantly glancing over his shoulder. A life that slipped through his fingers before he quite realised what was happening, and now it’s nothing more than a fever dream. Maybe he can live vicariously through Sapnap, instead. That would be enough.

“I dunno,” Sapnap replies, the slightest hint of confusion lacing his tone. “Never really thought about it.”

“You should,” George says. There’s an edge to his voice, one of exhaustion and desperation. “While you still have time. I can help you.”

“I dropped outta' high school. Not like I can go anywhere without a diploma,” he points out bitterly.

George shakes his head, pushing away from the table to check on the floor. His chair scrapes harshly against the scratched wooden floor. “I can help you get your equivalency. There are options, Sapnap, and I know people with money.”

Sapnap scoffs, wordlessly. There’s no response to that, clearly, and George pities him. The man thinks there’s nothing more for him, no hope of a normal future. Whatever that means.

“Aren’t you tired?”

This is the most George has ever pushed. He toes a fine line between courtesy and concern, always too apprehensive to risk crossing it. Sapnap doesn’t say anything more than he needs to, and yet George finds himself craving more. To know the man, properly, to understand him.

“Yeah.”

The words are heavy and bitter, like a lead weight on Sapnap’s shoulders. Silently, George understands, but he cannot voice his thoughts. There are no words to describe that kind of burden.

“I can help you,” George repeats, voice hushed. It’s almost reverent, like the words he speaks are sacred and holy. He pleads for his freedom through Sapnap, a redemption that will never be his own. “I know people who can get you out. Please, Sapnap.”

Sapnap is silent. The hum of his oven fills the silence with white noise.

A heavy sigh. “I’ll think about it,” he relents.

They eat in silence. George cannot push Sapnap any further, not without striking a chord within himself that will regurgitate too many painful memories. Sapnap doesn’t have anything to say. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. A little tense, maybe, but hardly unbearable. Sapnap is standing before George has finished rinsing the little plastic containers their food came in.

“I'll think about it,” he repeats. There’s sadness in his eyes.

“Thank you,” George smiles, genuine.

Sapnap leaves without another word, and George hears the faint click of a door closing. That’s the last he hears of Sapnap for the rest of the evening.

He doesn’t sleep well that night. George’s mind races, but not with the same anxiety that normally occupies his sleepless nights. No, this is a new worry - how to save Sapnap from getting himself in too deep. There are a thousand different scenarios he can play out on his mind, different faces and voices occupying the early hours of the morning.

Why he’s so invested in the man is an entirely different scenario he can unpack at another time. Or never, if he’s being really honest with himself. He’s simply doing what's right, George tells himself, looking out for another person in a vulnerable position. That is as deep as it runs.

George is lying, and when he finally drifts into a dreamless sleep, his last thought is of himself, at the same age as Sapnap, with blood across his face and a knife in his hands. Waiting for a salvation that never came.

[bisexualdaemon]

Taking Me Back

a/n: In which a drunk boy confesses his sins

Oh, hello! Yes, I’m coming to you live to say that this was supposed to be a blurb but turned out to be a 3.5k oneshot that will most likely actually have a second part because recovery is a thing that doesn’t get enough attention. I had this idea driving back home from out of town and listening to “Taking Me Back” by LANY. Highly suggest a listen. I was originally just going to write straight angst, but the more I wrote Shawn the softer I got...so without further ado, here it is. 

warnings: 3.5k of angsty sad boy...you might hate me later idk

Soft pellets of rain splash against the floor-to-ceiling windows as his warm hands trace slow, circular patterns on the bare skin of your back. It’s soothing, incongruent to the feeling of his fingers bruising your hips as you rode him a few hours ago. The sheet sits low, draped across both your hips. He leans down to kiss your shoulder blade, sending a chill all the way down your spine. Peppered kisses warm your blood, making a home between your thighs again.

“If you don’t intend to finish what you’re starting, then stop right now,” you say only half sternly, your cheek smushed to the back of your hand resting against the mattress.

“Honey, have I ever been a quitter?” he smirks, disappearing beneath the sheet.

You let out a loud squeak when his massive hands flip your hips over, pressing your back into the sheets again. He spreads your knees wide to make room for him between your legs and your squeak turns into a deep moan. Your fingers fist into his floppy curls and tug, bringing his eyes to yours, mouth open and chest heaving.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he breathes. He says it again above you, inside you, over and over until your toes curl and you scream it back to him.

You woke up to heavy sheets of rain pounding against the windows. His fingers, his heavy body, his warmth weren’t there. He hadn’t been there for months. Restless sleep and a cold bed had been your companions since then. That day you woke up to 400 text messages and one TMZ report.

Bleary eyed with shaking fingers, you had clicked on the link. Seen the photos. His fingers interwoven with hers. His eyes on the camera. That knowing smirk. He’d wanted them to see. Wanted you to see. He had left for meetings in LA just two days before, a kiss on the forehead and a promise to call.

You’d lost count of how many texts from him you’d deleted without reading. Changed his name to LYING BASTARD after he’d left messages you didn’t listen to. What possible reason could he have given? There couldn’t be an explanation for this. Just because you’d never gone public with your relationship, just because you hadn’t wanted to open up your life to public scrutiny and fandom opinion, didn’t mean that it had meant nothing to you. The handful of your friends who had known were tight-lipped, dead silent to anyone who would have paid them money for information. What you had had with Shawn had been private and you both liked it that way...hadn’t he? Apparently not. It hadn’t been hard for him to throw it away with one clasped hand and a conveniently placed cactus.

The dreams still came almost every night, haunting you with happiness. Looking over at the clock, you groaned. 2:30 AM it blinked green against the darkness. You shifted and stared at the ceiling, counting thunderclaps, begging sleep to take you again. Take you back to a different time, a different dream. Your eyes began to drift.

Boom, boom.

Thunder rang louder than before. The storm was moving closer. But when had the lightning struck?

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

It wasn’t thunder. You wrenched the comforter off of you and scrambled to your feet. Someone was banging on the door. What had been a low and rumbling pattern of knocks at first was now frantic pounding. What in the world? Reaching for a thin cotton robe, you rushed to the front door.

“I’m coming!” you shouted, darting across the living room, “who is–”

You stopped short.

“Baby, please,” he sobbed. Shawn. Surprise mixed with hot rage and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The concoction was numbing, like liquid lidocaine traveling in your bloodstream from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. You didn’t remember getting to the door or gripping the knob, but it swung open anyway.

Shawn Mendes fell into your apartment face first. He tripped over the threshold and into your stiff arms. He must have been leaning on the door frame.

“Oh god, I didn’t think you’d answer,” he slurred, smelling somewhere between a wet dog and straight tequila. You caught at his shoulders and pushed him up against the entryway wall.

“Shawn, what the fuck are you doing here?” you practically spat at him. Venum pooled in your mouth. It was acrid, all-consuming. It took a minute for the red rage clouding your vision to recede, allowing his face to come into sharp relief.

His cheeks were blotchy, stained with tears. His eyes glassy and unfocused. He was drunk. Drunker than you’d ever seen him. He was also soaking wet. His waterlogged clothes dripped fat drops that splashed on your hardwood floor forming a puddle under his expensive shoes.

“Did you walk here?”

He nodded his head. Well, it was more of a lull to the side if you were being honest.

“How?”

“With my feet,” he slurred again. He lurched off the wall and tried to take a step forward. Instead he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around you and soaking your robe through to the tank top underneath.

“I see you haven’t lost the sarcasm,” the poison you had tasted earlier was quickly replaced with concern. You slithered out from his embrace and let him lean against your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll get you a towel.”

You deposited him on your sofa and he immediately slumped sideways, laying his cheek against the cool leather. Grabbing some fresh towels from the hall closet, you took a second and leaned against the wall before going back to the living room, hidden from Shawn’s line of sight. Not that he’d see me anyway he’s so smashed. What is he doing here? Why here? Why me? Where is his precious famous girlfriend? Why isn’t she picking his drunk ass up off the couch?

The anger flared again but it had lost its bite. He was obviously in some kind of pain, but you weren’t going to get anything out of him like this. You sighed heavily, heading to the kitchen for water and some ibuprofen before returning to the couch.

“Shawn?” You crouched down next to him, reaching out to push a curl back off of his face. He was snoring, a bit of drool coming from the corner of his perfect lips. He was so peaceful.

Snap out of it.

“Shawn, you have to get out of these wet clothes.”

He stirred, opening just one eye to look at you. It took him a minute to reorient.

“How long was I asleep?” He swiped at his mouth and sat up slowly.

“About three minutes. Now get up and strip.” You stood above him expectantly, fighting the urge to tap your toe at him. He fumbled with the buttons on his dark blue silk Oxford shirt. The fabric stuck to every defined muscle in his torso, every cut of his biceps. You counted to thirty before he got one undone.

“You’re going to get hypothermia if you keep that up,” you thrust the towel at him, “how about you dry your hair instead and let me handle the hard stuff?”

He mussed his hair with the towel while you crouched down in front of him, making quick work of his buttons. When the shirt finally hung open, you pushed it back and off his shoulders, revealing what seemed like miles of lightly tanned skin. Dammit. How can he still be so fucking beautiful? You had tried to hate him, tried to block him from your memory, but he always came back. The memories and the feelings and the pain always came back.

You tossed his soaked shirt across the room near the door to the washer. His body sagged forward. His curls were dry, big and frizzed from root to tip, but at least he wasn’t catching a chill. He needed to get horizontal quickly or he was probably going to toss his cookies right here on your white leather couch.

“Shawn,” you tapped at his face to refocus him again, “drink this and take these.” You held out the water and ibuprofen. He took them with no argument. Definitely too drunk. Sober, he would have spouted some bullshit about over-the-counter drugs being bad for your health or toxic for your muscles or something he’d heard From Jocelyne or Cez. You were thankful that you didn’t have to listen to that nonsense tonight. He would thank you in the morning when the headache was dull instead of blinding.

“Now, stand up and strip off the rest of it,” you ordered.

“Naked, eh?” His eyebrow raised at the same time as the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes.

“Throw it over there with your shirt. I think I still have a pair of your boxers hanging around somewhere,” you grumbled, turning your back on him and marching toward the bedroom. The truth was that you knew you had a pair of his boxers because you’d washed them recently after wearing them to bed when you missed him. The dreams always felt more vivid on those nights but you wore them anyway. For the same reason I just invited his drunk ass inside tonight. Because I’m a fucking masochist. You grabbed the boxers, navy and white stripes with little anchors on them, and returned to your living room.

He stood in the center of the room, between the couch and his wet laundry, in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips. His skin was dry finally, flushed where he’d scrubbed at it, glowing in the low city lights trickling through the windows. He was a little dazed and a lot sleepy, inspecting his hands and fingers where they had pruned in the rain. It was like one of your dreams, a memory of what had been. Everything had been such a mess for the months he’d been gone. A gaping hole in your chest had opened and as much as you’d tried to mend, to get over him, he’d left a wound that wouldn’t heal. When he burst through the door, beneath all the anger, it felt like breathing for the first time. Feeling for the first time. He belonged here and you belonged with him.

Then why did he leave?

“Shawn,” his head snapped up, eyes wide, “why are you here?” He grimaced, hearing the pain in your voice. He seemed to be sobering, the bright rosy color in his cheeks was returning to a muted pink. Reaching up to scrub at his damp curls, he cleared his throat.

“I….” his voice was hoarse, “I’m not sure.” You walked over to his pile of wet clothes and tossed them in the washer, keeping silent while he watched you, waiting for a reaction. Or an explosion. The only sounds in the room were the machine filling with water and your padded footsteps back to a safe distance from him. The rain had stopped.

“Well, you’re naked in my living room so you better start fucking figuring it out!” You threw the anchor printed boxers squarely at his chest as the rage came simmering back.

“I missed you, okay?!” He threw his arms wide, sputtering, “I, I was out drinking with the boys and got too drunk and was thinking about how happy I used to be and that happiness was all because of you…” He was looking at you but looking through you at the same time, like he could see all of those memories you’d been dreaming of, like maybe he’d dreamt them too. You shook your head. It didn’t make any sense. He was happy with her. He left you for her. He’s supposed to be with her.

“Don’t lie, I saw the fucking photos, Shawn. Don’t act like I don’t know that smile as well I know my own. You looked pretty fucking pleased with yourself,” you hissed. Images flashed across the back of your eyelids like a slide projector with every swift blink away from his face: her long dark hair fluttering behind her as they walked back to his hotel; his curls fluffed out in weird directions like her fingers had run through them in the car; that fucking bag strapped to his back like the perfect boyfriend. It was the last photo that always sent a wave of nausea, the one of him hanging over the balcony half naked. Whether they’d fucked or not was a moot point, that’s what they wanted people to think. What he wanted me to think.

“You could have picked up the goddamn phone and broken up with me like a civilized person,” you scolded, still unable to look at him.

“IT WASN’T REAL!” He bent over with the force of his confession.

Your head shot up. What?

“What??” A weightless feeling came over you. Looking down, you had to check that your feet were still on the ground. It didn’t make sense. You must have heard him wrong.

“I-I don’t understand,” you stuttered, “I saw it, all of it.”

“Didn’t you read my texts?” He sounded like he was under three feet of water. Your ears were ringing. “I called so many times...I just thought you needed time to get over me not telling you before the pictures leaked but you never called back. None of your friends would answer my messages...” You covered your ears and closed your eyes to block out the sensory overload even though he was still talking. No, no, no. He got caught cheating and he’s trying to backtrack.

But you had heard the rumors, the gossip rags had all printed it. The doubt, the convenience of the timing...but you’d blocked it out because it was too easy to believe and too painful to hope.

Two hands gripped your upper arms and your eyes flew open.

He was right in front of you. Less than three inches. His eyes were so dark, still dilated from the alcohol coursing through his system. He’d put on the boxers you’d thrown at him and ditched the towel. It was everything you had to not pitch forward into his warm chest.

“It was Andrew’s idea.” He hooked a finger underneath your chin and made sure you were looking at him. “There was a meeting, her people, my people, they ambushed me. Said it would be a good idea to promote the single, push my image, deal with the old rumors. I told him I didn’t give a fuck about that old shit but they just kept coming and coming and coming, something about helping her with her album and placating executives who kept asking questions, so I said yes but I fucking told them I had to have notice before they dropped the pictures so I could tell you…” He swiped his thumbs across your cheeks, smearing the wet tears that had fallen while he talked.

“They didn’t wait,” he sighed, “Andrew sold them without telling me. I tried to tell you. All those calls, all those texts, I promise I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

“But I fucking was, Shawn,” you stepped back and took a deep breath. “You had opportunities to call right after the meeting, before they took the pictures, but you waited. Why? Why did you wait for other people to break my fucking heart?”

“I was an idiot!” he raked his fingers through his knotted, dried curls. “I thought somehow that if I was able to control everything that no one could get hurt. I would tell you, we would keep doing us and I would have things I had to do in front of cameras but it wouldn’t mean anything. We would work on a plan to go public together after it was done. A few months at the most.”

“A few months?! What were we gonna do for months in hiding?! How many times were you going to hurt me, fulfilling some bullshit contractual obligation that you didn’t even discuss with me first?” You stumbled back to your room and he followed. You had to sit down or you were going to be sick. He followed behind, his giant feet sticking to the hardwoods with every step.

At first, the truth had felt like another dream, had made you weightless, but the more you thought about it, maybe this was worse. The idea of seeing him holding someone else’s hand for cameras while he came home to you at night was like a slap in the face.

“I wasn’t going to let them release the pictures before I talked to you first, before I knew it was okay,” he knelt down in front of you, taking your hands between his, “I never wanted to hurt you. Andrew did it anyway. When you wouldn’t return my calls, I just went along with it, all of it, like a zombie shell.” He looked past you, seeing the months you’d been apart. He was haunted too.

“The fans started to notice. Half of them thought it was fake from the beginning, but after awhile they all saw the dark circles, the exhaustion of keeping up the facade. I started losing weight. It was all there for the world to see. I thought about you everyday. I think about you everyday.” He pressed his forehead into your entwined hands. His shoulders shook. It took you a minute to realize that he was crying.

You took your hands from him, dragging your fingers through his curls, full and frizzed out from root to tip. You let him cry for the both of you, for the lost time, for the unfairness of the business he loved so much, for the deception, for all of it. Slowly, his breath evened against the skin of your exposed legs. He needed to sleep. So did you.

“Shawn…” you started, pulling his head up between your hands.

“I fired Andrew.”

You stilled completely, “you what?”

“I fired Andrew.” He said it a second time but it still wasn’t computing. Andrew was family. Andrew was untouchable. Andrew was the one person in Shawn’s life not related by blood that you thought might make it into the family burial plot.

“But, why?” you said, unable to think of anything else eloquent or comforting.

“The last eight months have been some of the worst in my career, in my life,” he took a moment, closing his eyes, calculating what he was about to say. “Last week, I went to him and said I wanted to end the sham relationship, to take control of my life back. He said it wasn’t possible, that we only had a few more months left. But he’d said that before. We only had a few months left before he extended the deal to cover an album release, the holidays, promotional singles...

“I talked to a lawyer. I had to pay a considerable amount of money to get out of all of it, but I’m done. Done with the PR bullshit, done with AGA. The label is still supporting me while I look for new management, but I’m taking a break. I’ve been writing at home, making voice memos, but I gotta figure out what my life looks like when I’m in control because I haven’t been in control for years. Maybe not ever.”

He took a breath and released it, his shoulders visibly relaxing. That was it, the whole truth. Everything made a lot more sense. It didn’t hurt any less, but the broken pain in his eyes when he’d fallen in the door an hour ago was clear. He was independent for the first time in his adult life...and he was terrified.

He yawned. His body was more leaning than kneeling at this point, and your legs were going numb. You moved to stand and he looked up at you, wondering what to do now that he’d cut his heart out and laid it at your feet.

“Come on,” you gestured to the bed, “get on your side.”

You took off your robe and crawled underneath the covers, still rumpled from your earlier dream. There was about three feet between you and Shawn in the king-size bed and you could tell he was trying to keep his distance, turning his back to you and isolating himself to one side. It was a struggle to keep from snorting. You scooted over and curled your arms around his chest. He was massive, but not so massive that you couldn’t be his big spoon.

The night had been such a rollercoaster, so much emotion from the earlier dream to everything that had happened since he pounded on the door, drunk and soaked through. There was so much you wanted to ask, so much you needed to yell at him for, but now that it was quiet, not that he was pressed against you in an embrace like he’d never left, those things felt so far away. You were going to have to think hard when the sun came up. What if I wake up and this was all a dream? You squeezed him one more time to make sure he was still there, tangling your legs with his under the sheets.

“This isn’t forgiveness,” you whispered, relishing the heat that radiated from his back into your chest. He hummed an assent, knowing there was still so much to say and so much to atone for. But for now, just right now, you both slept.

It was the best night of sleep you’d had in months.

taglist: @justanotherfangurl272​  @siennarossi​ @trustfundshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @harryandmolly​ @thatindiannerdygirl​ @mendesromano​ @fromthicctosticc​ @esoltis280​ @softmendesss​ @sinplisticshawn​ @nedthegay​ @september-lace​ @itrocksmysocks​ @disaster-rose​ @mendesoft​ @luvluvxx​ @i-play-video-games​ @ihearthemcallingforyou​ @gentleshawn​ @kitykatnumber​ @enchantingbrowneyedgirl​ @ijustreallylikeshawnokay​ @shhhawnmendes​ @shawnsblue​ @imaginashawnns​ @night-girls-world​ @cherrysruin​ @mariahocker​ @jessybellsworld​ @myangelarcade​ @valedictorian65​

let me know if you want to be added/taken off...I know shawnblr is a different world since the last time I posted anything ❤️

[lamalefix]

Hey the anon who asked for angst here! I want what you did wirh Eddie in your story with Buck now. Like stopping functioning and things like that... But  i'm a sucker for happy endings! Maybe even bittersweet and uncertain. So to answer you, yes yes yes. I know what I'm asking fpr. I want you to hurt my feelings. do your worst!! and thank you!!

Hey there angsty anon! (now that's your name) 

You asked for this, so... here we go, this is going to be a multichapter thing, but somehow i was inspired? So please read it carefully.

thank you for your words, I hope you find this of your taste

Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV),Evan "Buck" Buckley Tags: Medical Procedures, Blood, Major Character InjuryDeveloping Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Episode: s04e13 Suspicion

Can’t have you disappear [1/3] (also on ao3)

When deployed, soldiers need to complete a range of physically demanding tasks. And they train for those tasks. It occurs that you have to move under fire, carry equipment, transfer ammunition and… well, the worst of all evacuate casualties. A casualty drag is excruciatingly challenging and involves dragging a fellow soldier from a hazardous environment to a safe location as quick as possible.

That’s what comes to Buck’s mind after a few seconds. He’s on the ground. Asphalt tastes weird in his mouth, copper-like, strong and salty.

He blinks and takes in, drinks in, the body, the pair of eyes that look lost, not so far away.

There’s the voice of someone barking orders in the radio, the same person that’s holding him down. And when Buck blinks again, he clearly sees that person, that body, not so far away.

Eddie. That’s Eddie. That’s Eddie in the middle of the road, a pool of blood under his face. Hand outstretching slightly, fingers trembling. Eyes fixed on something. On him maybe? Or maybe lost.

Asphalt doesn’t have that weird, coppery and salty taste. But… blood has.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

Do something.

He blinks again ad remembers his preparation as a Navy SEALS before the other one as a firefighter. Close down, bottle up, no emotion. Nothing.

He needs to move. Do something.

When he first started casualty drags simulation during training, he dragged dummies all covered in gears that could even weigh 132 kg total, crawling as fast as he could.

And at some point, he moves.

.

He doesn’t even notice when he does, with an impossible ache, urgency, he just moves. It’s like muscle memory, it’s like some other part of him kicks in and takes his place. It’s like the gear rolls backwards and clicks in that very spot, the right one and he reacts as he knew, as he was before. A Evan Buckley that was so long forgotten in his new almost-happy life over here. The Evan Buckley who at some point decided that being a Navy Seal was a good idea, that maybe was even good at suppressing emotions and being like a robot.

It’s fun that at some point you need to do what you resent the most, uh?

But, well.

He needs to do something.

That’s how he grovels and takes Eddie, dragging him while crawling back between the ambulance and the firetruck. Muscle memory, soldier training, casualty evacuation.

Fast.

He needs to be fast. Faster maybe. The fastest he can.

That captain, whose name he doesn’t remember, barks something and he growls a guttural, raw sounds that escapes his throat and sounds like an echo from another distant memory. But that gear runs backwards again, and clicks back in.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

Do something.

And so, he focuses on the wound.

Not on the blood that soaks Eddie’s uniform and spatters on his own white shirt, that wedges in the bed of his fingernails, that moistens his palms.

He needs to focus on the wound.

He tears Eddie’s uniform shirt, and assesses the breathing, uneven, labored, almost strangled, there’s a sound like a hiss.

Sucking chest wounds happen when an injury causes a hole to open in the chest, usually are caused by stabbing, gunshots or other injuries that penetrate the chest.

It’s about the size of a coin, the blood looks like boiling, at every hissing breath, as it’s being sucked back in the chest at every inhale and sputtered out at every exhale. And the blood doesn’t even look like blood anymore, around the wound, it’s more like foam, bright red, maybe pinkish.

When he moved, when he dragged Eddie in a safer place, between the truck and the ambulance, Eddie made a weird sound, like a protest, that ended up with coughing blood.

But he needs to move, he needs to move, he needs to do something.

And it’s became a silent mantra.

No emotion, get your shit together.

He would stop, a part of him would stop and talk, because he talks a lot, a whole lot, and that’s maybe what he does best, but now there’s Eddie bleeding out, so he has to focus and do something.

So he repeats the drill. Sucking chest wounds care. He knows how it works. He just needs to act.

Sterilize your hands. No time for soap and water, but he has a sanitizer gel in his pocket (thanks covid-19?), he doesn’t have time to put on gloves, he couldn’t even find ‘em if he wanted now. He has to focus.

Maybe he mutters something, a silent prayer, Eddie is someone who prays so he should do that for him, or maybe he just says sorry, sorry, sorry when he points his hand hard over the wound. You’d usually ask someone else to keep a hand over the wound while preparing a dressing, maybe even the patient, but Eddie lies there, still, not even moving his chest to breath, eyes open.

That’s when Buck moves his hand to cup his cheek. That’s when he finds his voice back.

“Eddie? Eddie, stay with me? Please, please, please. Stay with me” it’s all he manages to say. “We need to get you back home to Chris, y’know?”.

And that’s when Eddie coughs again, and blinks, and his eyes roll back for a moment, a weird staggering sound that comes from his mouth.

“Hey, hey, no. Okay, no weird sounds. Just stay awake for me” he murmurs, and moves to get something from Eddie’s medic bag. Because God, he has that bag with him! There should be a fucking Halo Chest Seal, there better be one.

But he needs to focus, he needs to.

The best way to do this is to spill the contents of the bag on the ground, maybe not the right choice, but the only one if you are working with only a hand, while the other is still applying pressure on the wound.

The gear rolls back in place. And he repeats the drill from where he left off.

Find a chest seal or a sterile, medical tape or plastic to seal up the wound.

“Eddie breathe, please. Breathe out” he asks, and Eddie, ever the good soldier, breathes out, a broken, painful breath.

Someone is barking orders around them, but Buck has to move. Buck has to do something.

Do something. Faster. Faster. The fastest you can. Even faster than that.

That’s his mantra. He doesn’t have that much time. Eddie doesn’t have that much time.

The Halo Chest Seal is one of the very first chest seals made commercially. It’s no-frills, and works very simply. It’s essentially a sterile piece of plastic with an adhesive backing.

He cleans the wound, wiping off the blood with a gauze he found in the bag before spilling its content on the ground, so that the adhesive can stick and he murmurs something that sounds to his hears like a prayer, but then again is maybe something he is asking Eddie. Stay awake. Stay with me.

When he applies the right pressure Eddie groans softly.

Then he needs to move him on one side, he needs  to be fast. Faster. Because Eddie lost a lot of blood, and even if he just coughed up blood only once, once too many.

He tears the remnants of the shirt off, and uses another gauze to wipe again the blood and the dirt, from the entry hole on his back, and this time Eddie groans louder.

And maybe in his head he plays a weird conversation with him, maybe a reassuring one. I know it hurts. But you are safe now. We are going to save you.

The captain of 133, Matha? Metha? Whatever barks something again and that makes the other gear, the one on which he usually moves slip in the place and take over.

But Eddie does a thing, a odd sound with his mouth. Shortness of breath, eyes lost and glassy. The seal is trapping air that’s escaping from the lungs. No. Not the right time to develop a pneumothorax. Not while there’s a fucking shooter on a roof. Not while their aid isn’t here yet.

A needle, he needs a needle. A fourteen, or maybe a sixteen gauge needle, an eight centimeter needle is more successful than a five centimeter one, but increase a risk of injury to underlying structures. He maneuvers him back supine, and when Eddie does that sound again, Buck just moves faster.

Do something.

Do something.

Faster.

Faster.

The preferred insertion site is the second intercostal space, in the mid-clavicular line, not even a inch above his wound, so he will have to insert the needle anywhere in that same hemithorax to decompress the developing pneumothorax. He just uses his antiseptic gel to prepare the area. And he should really find lidocaine to provide anesthesia, but there’s no time, Eddie has no time. And even if it will hurt like hell, periosteum and parietal pleura are highly pain-sensitive, he can’t waste time.

He pierces the skin over the rib below the target interspace, a couple of inches below his wound, and then directs the needle cephalad over the rib until the pleura does that little pop, that’s hard to hear when your heart beats like Buck’s now, but there’s the sudden decrease in resistance.

It’s when Eddie breathes better and doesn’t do that ominous, strangled sound again, that he inserts the chest tube. And while he does that, there’s the whistle of the ambulance siren that fills the air.

.

He shouldn’t hop on the ambulance, but that’s what he does, when the paramedics start to move Eddie. They are all under held targets, but they need to move, and bring Eddie to the nearest hospital.

His legs tremble when he sits near Eddie, his hand in his, his fingers trembling.

He outstretched his hand as if to come to Buck, to comfort him somehow, as he always does, with his touchy-feely show of affection. But what communicates the most, of Eddie, are his eyes. Expressive, soft, caring. Every single thing Eddie tells, comes before in his eyes, and seeing that the only thing he could do at that point was to look, glance at Buck maybe, it was his own personal way to comfort him.

And out of muscle memory, now, Buck 4.0 kicks in, and just lowers his gaze. Emotions showering over him, intense like a hurricane, but he can't, he can't break. No emotion, not now. Maybe it's time for Buck 5.0. The only thing he can do is focus on that hand, clammy and still, fingers cold and his. And he sturts humming voiceless prayers, an invocation to whoever is God and Holy to not take Eddie away.

Not from him, not for himself. He wouldn’t ask anything like that, not of Eddie, because he is very serious with Ana, but for Chris. 

That’s how prayers work, right? 

Something that’s not for you, asking for something that’s for someone else. And what’s more important than a child’s sake? 

They saved a kid today, they earned this. Right?

[sopwithwhump]

The River

More Agents of SHIELD whump... this time Fitz gets into a car accident and falls into a river!

“Well, since you’re going to be here for a while, someone needs to get groceries,” Agent Dalton said after completing his tour of a small SHIELD facility in Oregon. Agents Coulson, May, Simmons, Fitz, and Johnson were all there for an assignment. It was disguised as a ranger station that was restricted to the public, and sat in the trees, just a mile down a dirt road from the highway.

           “Sure, Agent Dalton,” Jemma Simmons replied, “who’s going to do it?” The rest of Coulson’s team, who had settled in to the couches in the common area they were in, went silent.

           Agent Dalton chuckled. “Well, we usually make the visitors do the shopping…”

           “Sounds good. Fitz, make a grocery list with Dalton and then go out to the nearest supermarket,” Melinda May commanded.

           “But… but… but…” replied Fitz.

           “Sorry, Fitz, May has spoken,” said Coulson. Fitz sighed and stood up, following Dalton to the kitchen counter where he got out a piece of paper and a pen and handed it to Fitz.

           “By the way, I hope you all enjoy your time here at SHIELD’s Douglas Fir Station!” Dalton cheerfully exclaimed. Fitz then consulted with him on the grocery list, and five minutes later he was in a car, pulling out on to the highway.

           “Why do they always make me run the errands? I might not be a field agent or a medic or whatever, but why me? It’s always, ‘oh, hey, Fitz! Go do a Safeway run will ya? You aren’t needed right now. Oh, and don’t forget the coffee, Fitz. The good stuff. If you come back with Maxwell House you’re going back and buying all of us some sweets to make up for it.’ Seriously!” Grumbled Fitz to himself.

           Twenty-five minutes later, he parked the car at the small Kroger store in the nearby town and sighed as he pulled out the list, got a cart and went inside. An hour later, he came out with a full cart and started stuffing the SUV with all the groceries. It was around 6pm. The gang would probably want dinner soon if they haven’t made it already.

           Fitz drove out of the small town and turned back on to the highway. $$$When I get back, I’m going to settle in and have a relaxing evening. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. After radioing the SHIELD station that he was coming back, he continued on the lonely road, humming to himself.

           Suddenly, out of nowhere, a large pickup truck was heading straight for him. Fitz panicked and swerved to try and avoid a head-on collision, but he ended up moving too fast. Before he had time to process, the car went tumbling off the road.

           He was smashed against the car door multiple times as broken glass rained down on him. When the rolling was over, he found himself upside-down on his side, still strapped in, hurting in many places. His vision was getting dark around him, he was hyperventilating, and he felt like he was thrown into a bin of broken bottles. He whimpered as he tried to reach for his seatbelt. Once he hit the release, however, he fell out of the broken side window, being cut by the glass in the process, and felt the shocking cold of the river that ran along the highway. He paddled frantically to the surface as the current dragged him violently downstream.

           He gasped and coughed forcefully as he came above the water and attempted to float the best he could. It felt as if his body was being frozen, and his blood was being replaced with liquid nitrogen. Desperately lunging forward, he attempted to grab on to a log floating nearby, but ended up just diving under the water. When he came back up, he found himself being pulled by a side current. He tried desperately to escape it but was too weak. Luckily, that current made him get hung up in a shallow part of the river, so he slowly crawled onto the shore and coughed up the water he swallowed. He looked at his arm and cringed when he saw that it was cut up and bleeding from the broken glass. He started to shiver.

           The evening was coming, and the chill of an Oregon night in the early fall blew in. Fitz didn’t move. He was just cold and in pain.

           After laying there for a few minutes, feeling his shivering intensify, he heard the sound of a car. He looked at his bleeding arm once again and realized that he was still wearing his SHIELD-issued watch, which was waterproof. Maybe they had found him through its tracking device.

           “Fitz! Fitz? Where are you? If you can here me, call out!” He heard Simmons shout. He tried his best to call back to her, but he felt so weak from being dunked in the water and losing blood that it came out as more of a whimper. “I’m right here…” he cried, “Simmons… I can hear you…”

           “I think heard something. Over there,” said Skye. Leo laid there trying to get his dizziness under control and attempted to cry out again.

           “Simmons! I’m right here!” He shouted a little louder. As he heard the footsteps come closer, he noticed the terrible shivering running through his achy, weak body. “Simmons… help me…” Leo groaned as he felt the weak feeling overcome him.

           “Fitz! Oh, Fitz, you’re going to be alright. I’m here now,” he heard Jemma say as her voice got nice and close. She gently turned him face up, which caused Leo to wince. He looked up at her with his eyes half open. Her hands were warm and she had a relieved, kind look on her face. He suddenly felt very grateful for being rescued and started to cry, releasing the tension from his traumatic experience in the river now that he was safe.

           “Oh, you poor thing,” said Jemma, gently shushing him, “you’re okay. I’m going to patch you up and take care of you.” Fitz tried to respond but it came out as overwhelmed blubbering.

           “Coulson? I need your help carrying the stretcher. It’s a two-man job,” said Simmons. She carefully rolled Fitz onto the stretcher and began to examine him with a flashlight.

           “He’s really scratched up, not to mention cold and wet. Let’s get the poor guy back to HQ,” She said to Coulson. Fitz then felt himself lift off the ground as he was carried back to the SHIELD vehicle. Once he was there Simmons and Coulson lifted him onto a wheeled stretcher that was then rolled into the back of the van.

           “Dalton, I need you to get him back to the station quickly. Coulson, come here. Get out a blanket. Pass me some of that antiseptic and some gauze. He’s bleeding all over,” ordered Jemma. She then turned to Fitz and gently covered him with the soft blanket.

“There, that’s nice and warm, isn’t it? I’m just going to take care of your arm now, it’s all scratched up.” Fitz winced as she applied an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to the large gash on his arm. He clenched his teeth as she attempted to clean it out. It stung horribly.

“Stop… stop… it hurts…” Fitz whimpered, trying to pull his injured arm away.

“I know it hurts, but I need to clean it out. Hold still. Dalton, where are we at?”

“We’ll be there in under ten minutes,” replied Agent Dalton.

“Alright. Coulson, I need you to check his pulse while I take care of Fitz’s arm.” Coulson nodded and gently took Leo’s other wrist and felt for a pulse. Fitz felt comforted as he saw the caring smile of Coulson above him. He was still shivering but he knew that he was now safe.

“We’re here! I’ll direct you guys to the infirmary,” said Agent Dalton as he parked the van at the Douglas Fir Station. Fitz was quickly brought inside and transferred from the stretcher to a hospital bed. The room was chilly and clinical feeling, but it did have wood panelled walls and rather cozy lighting, except for the bright medical lamp above him. He was still shivering like crazy.

“Coulson, I need you to get Fitz some dry sweatpants and a t shirt. I’ll get the blankets,” Simmons said.

“Simmons? I’m still really cold…” said Fitz weakly.

“I know, sweetie, just hold on. We’ll get you out of those wet clothes in just a moment. What happened?”

“The car rolled off the road… into the river…” Fitz suddenly gasped.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?” Asked Simmons.

“The groceries… I lost the groceries…” he whimpered, “and I destroyed the car! Oh, Simmons, I’m so sorry…”

Simmons couldn’t help but laugh. “Fitz…” she said in a kind voice, “that doesn’t matter! What matters at the moment is getting you warm and tending to your injuries. Here, put this thermometer under your tongue.” When the thermometer beeped, the result showed that Fitz was mildly hypothermic, just as she had expected. Coulson came back with Fitz’s clothes and a young agent in a buttoned-up SHIELD lab coat.

“Here’s the clothes, Simmons. This is Agent Wright, he’s the one with the highest level of medical training here at Douglas Fir. He’ll assist you,” said Coulson.

“Nice to meet you, Agent Wright. I’m Agent Simmons,” she said to him. Fitz watched as they shook hands, then quickly got down to business. The two of them carefully helped him out of his still soaking wet clothes, towel dried him, and helped him into the dry outfit. It felt wonderful. Jemma covered him with several warm blankets. The weight and warmth calmed him down further, and he could hear the beep slow down on the EKG.

“Now, just lay back, Fitz. I’m here to assist Simmons. I’m just going to stitch up that cut on your arm,” said Agent Wright in a calm voice, “Simmons, will you hand me a lidocaine syringe, 200 milligrams… two percent?” Fitz closed his eyes and put his trust in the medics.

“Fitz… you’re really tense,” he heard Jemma say as Agent Wright took his arm and started cleaning the area around the wound, “just relax, okay? Just breathe. You’re not letting yourself breathe.” Leo nodded and tried to relax, taking slow, deep breaths.

“Now, this will sting upon injection,” Wright explained calmly, “but after you won’t feel a thing, alright, buddy?” Fitz nodded. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He found himself clenching his teeth again in anticipation of the needle. This prompted Jemma to remind him to breathe.

“Mind if I put my hand on your chest? To feel your breathing?” She asked. Fitz just nodded, opening his eyes a little to see her wearing her headlamp and lab coat. Her hand was warm and comforting to Fitz, and he felt himself relax when she laid it on him. She guided his breathing as Wright proceeded to inject the anesthetic, which did sting quite a bit, but quickly went away.

Fitz opened his eyes and tried to sit up and see what Wright was doing across the room, but Jemma gently laid him back down. “He’s just getting the sutures ready. You’re alright, Fitz, you’re doing great.”

Fitz barely felt a thing as the wound on his arm was stitched up. Jemma finished taking care of some scratches Fitz had and monitored his condition. Fitz could feel himself get stronger and more alert as his temperature rose. When he gathered enough strength to sit upright, Jemma gave him some warm chicken broth in a mug.

“Your temperature is pretty much at a normal level,” said Jemma, reading from the thermometer she used on Fitz, now three hours after he was brought in, “but that doesn’t mean you’re going to do anything crazy yet, even if you’re feeling well. I’m putting you on R&R for the rest of the night.”

“Simmons, it’s only 9pm! I don’t want to go to bed at 9pm! I’m feeling better!” Leo protested, sitting on the edge of his bed.

           “Oh, no, I was not saying you had to go to bed. Just… take it easy. Watch a movie,” clarified Jemma.

           “I wanted to do that before I went out to get the groceries…” grumbled Fitz, “but fine… I’ll watch a movie…”

           “Oh, Fitz, are you still feeling bad about the groceries?” Jemma asked, sitting down beside him.

           He looked at her in the eyes. “A little…” he said awkwardly.

           “Fitz… this is not your fault. Don’t dwell on it. What matters is that we found you. You know what? I’ll make sure you never have to do a grocery run alone ever again.”

           “You promise?” Fitz asked with a chuckle.

           “I swear it on my really expensive lab equipment.”

           “You’re so weird, Simmons. Let’s go watch a film. Sorry the microwave popcorn is in the river now,” he said as he stood up and headed for the door.

           Jemma laughed. “I’m sure there’s something in the pantry we can snack on.”

[x-avavarts-x]

A knight for The Light

A final fantasy fanfiction for my oc and her family.

Characters: Cor Leonis, Laura lucis caelum (my oc), Loqi Tummelt

Warning:

 My national language is not English. I apologize for spelling and grammar mistakes.

Sorry, my network is so weak and I can't insert photos and my story's poster.

Summary:

When your flesh and blood are mixed with pain and you are nurtured with it, you dedicate your whole being to those who were trying to improve your suffering by touching their love. What's wrong with you? It does hurt to lose these loved ones, even thinking about it bothers you. At that time .. you grab everything to stop the destiny .. like a bird stuck in a cage and trying for freedom, you knock yourself on the door and the wall to find a way ... and if you find it. Nothing can stop you, even if it is a God!

Part:14

The sky was still dark and the silence was broken by the voice of footsteps of the soldiers who were running backward could be easily heard. Concerned, he stood on the sloping surface of his ship staring at the soldiers running toward the crystal. He didn't know how inactive that device was, he opened his sword from his back and wanted to go after them, but suddenly an object passed by his ear and fell into his ship. He turned his head and faced Laura and Cor, while they were all hugging, lying on the ground of airship, and none of them were moving. This sudden presence of two big men was terrifying for the 8-year-old princess. She screamed and ran to Loqi to defend her.

"Loqi !!"

Loqi's reaction was just to closing the airship's door fast so that no one outside would see them. He put his hand on Solara's head to calm her down:

"Don't be afraid, Sola, they are my friends!"

Hearing that those two strange people are "Loqi's friends" calmed Solara down. That's why she allowed Loqi to go to them. And she stared at them with his innocent eyes. Loqi stood anxiously over his beloved couple:

"what has happened?? Did you succeed ??"

Cor sat down and separated Laura from himself:

"Bring first aid!"

"No need!!"

Laura said in a serious tone, rubbing her hand with blood on her face to clean it. Loqi's eyes widened in surprise:

"My gods ... what happened ??"

Cor was worried, and his tone was sad:

"it's my fault!"

"Is not!!"

It was Laura who spoke with opposition and seriousness. She looked at him seriously and continued:

" I'm fine and this is just a wound, Cor! Please forget it!"

"Just tell me what happened!"

Laura's gaze was fixed on Loqi, who had entered their discussion. There was a seriousness in her words, but her voice was calm:

"Ardyn was there. He forced Cor to attack me!"

Loqi's gaze was fixed anxiously on Cor. Now she understood why her face was full of black spots:

" Damn .. did he pour poison on you?"

Laura answered as she looked at the cloth to clear Cor's face:

"Before I had to kill him, the crystal opened and saved us!"

Loqi's open gaze turned to cor. He stared at his cold face a little, it was clear that he was not in a normal mood and Loqi understood him. He slowly put his hand on Cor's shoulder and then went to get first aid.

Unlike Laura, who was relieved and serious about the horror she went through, Cor was not, his body was weak and her soul has broken again! He was killing his beloved Laura, a woman who was now his wife and had fulfilled Cor's dream! He would be remembered every time he looked at that wound forever.

The caress of Laura's hand isolated her more than before. He lowered his head so that Laura would not see his face, but Cor, Laura's heart ached. She sat on her knees and leaned over. She leaned on one of her hands and put his other hand under Cor's chin. At Laura's insistence, Cor raised his head and stared at Laura's bloodied and worried face. Did the woman who he attacked her want to cure his mental pain this time as well?

This was a task for Laura because she was now Cor to her husband. She smiled and took the crystal drop of tears that had been sitting in his left eye with her finger:

"Both of us are healthy. The important thing is that nothing could separate us. We even avoided death!"

"I couldn't even resist the darkness .. Gilgamesh said the truth..."

Laura's lips sealed the silence on his lips. Maybe she used to invite him to silence with her index finger. But now she loved to kiss his husband constantly. She tilted her head a little:

"You have no problem Cor! You resisted! You didn't let your soul be conquered! This is important!!"

" I didn't think you had such a broken soul, Cor!"

It was the voice of Loqi, who was standing a short distance away from them. Seriousness and frowning returned to Cor's face. He got up and took the first aid kit from Loqi and sat down next to Laura:

"But I'm a human! If one does not show his feelings, it does not mean that he is a stone!"

Loqi was answered Cor, with the same seriousness that Cor had taken!

"Oh, you can't be scared at all!"

The sentence in which Loqi had cowardly frightened increased the seriousness of Cor. His frown deepened and he looked at Loqi again:

"I'm not afraid!"

A grin settled on Loqi's lips. He sat in a chair in front of Cor and stepped on his feet!

"Oh, I believed. You are the owner of the heart of a lion!"

Cor breaths deepened, in an uneasy position, Loqi had his mindset on the game! And Laura understood that very well. She turned his head toward the little girl standing in that corner. Couldn't a monarch know a monarch !! She was the granddaughter of Alderkept, and she seemed to be somewhat frightened. Maybe she also knew the Lucian royal and felt that something bad was happening now! She looked at her husband again. She took her hand and addressed both Cor and Loqi:

"never mind. Hey, Cor! You don't want to clean my wound?"

Cor's blue eyes stared at Laura, but before He could think of anything, Laura pointed to Solara with an imperceptible look! A deep breath came out of Cor's chest, he understood what Laura meant, so he didn't continue! From the first aid kit, he took some alcohol-soaked cotton with pliers and applied it to Laura's wound! Alcohol severely burned Laura's wound, so much so that her body collapsed and her frown cleared! Cor's heart could not bear to see Laura's pain, so he pushed his head forward and at the same time insufflated her wounds so that Laura could feel less burning!

"Why Crystal did not heal your wound!"

The question that Cor asked Laura was also surprising for Loqi! Laura, who was trying not to scream in pain, calmly replied:

"The Crystal was stone! It is ruthless and as soon as he brings you back, its heart is very burnt! It is normal for my wound not to heal!"

"What did you want the crystal power for?"

And this time it was the turn of Cor to wait for Laura's answer to Loqi, just out of curiosity! Laura answered without hesitation:

"Every king has power depending on the amount of crystal control! With the power of infinite power, I definitely needed the crystal to destroy it, because I can still cover you with more magic! Despite the crystal, I can control the ruler of yore and the gods accompany me because I was chosen by the crystal. That's all! Oh ... give me your sword?"

Loqi was surprised by Laura's sudden request! He got up from the chair and slowly came to her:

"What do you want it for!"

Loqi's answer was Cor this time. Laura's wound needed stitches. So he asked Lara to put her head on his feet. Laura did the same. She lay down and put his head on her husband's feet and closed her eyes:

"Laura wants to give you the title of her own Glaive! You will be the first Glaive of her!"

"Me? A Glaive?"

Loqi's surprise was in his words. Laura's gaze was fixed on him and she smiled:

" Don't you want to be with me?"

Loqi hurriedly replied:

"Why not! But I've heard that the Glaives are chosen based on a certain custom!"

Laura answered Loqi and of course, closed her eyes:

"If your heart and faith are not pure to me, my magic will not be reflected in you!"

"Why are you doing this?"

" Because I don't want those who help me to be harmed. Of course, if you still want to fight with me!"

Cor's look stared at Loqi. After a pause, he removed the lid of the syringe and injected some lidocaine under Laura's skin, saying:

"Laura's creation protects you. And you're under her protection forever, as long as you're loyal to him. Betrayal destroys magic!"

Loqi's gaze was fixed on the ground. He turned his head slightly to the opposite side  so he could think, but his hand was pulled by Solara! The little girl looked at him innocently and waited for him to speak with a faint smile. Solara, who was still embarrassed by the presence of the two men, placed herself next to Loqi and whispered in his ear:

"Luna used to say that they are good people! it's true!?"

Loqi's smile faded. He lifted Solara and he didn't fall on his lap. He kissed her cheek and whispered softly:

"Yeah, that lady saved Loqi!"

" So you trust her?"

Loqi nodded and then looked at Laura. He had clenched his fists and was whispering Cor, but not in a way that Loqi didn't notice:

" You hit this needle in my skin as if you were my enemy. Slowly pls. It's so painfull!"

" do you be baby again?"

Laura's answer was more greedy than before. Her voice rose a little:

"Baby? You are a Baby not me! I hope you catch a cold! I hope you have a fever and I sit in front of you and eat forbidden things! I hope you go under the truck ... drain its oil !!"

Loqi had never seen Laura like that before. Apparently, she was cursing Cor! But what a curse !! He laughed silently, just as Cor laugh !!

"So you come back soon!"

It was Laura who was talking to Loqi, Lara was still talking to Loqi but Cor was standing in the ground under the airship waiting for Laura. Loqi took a deep breath, looked at Solara standing next to him, and turned his face to Laura again:

"I have to put her beside of Aranea, I'll be back after did it!"

A kind smile sat on Laura's lips, she sat down on Solara's front and extended her hand to her:

"Get acquainted with the beautiful maiden because I was happy for you, Princess Solara!"

An embarrassed smile painted Solara's red and cute face. Embarrassed, she respected Princess Laura:

"Thank you, Mis, Laura, you are very kind. I wish the opportunity to be with you was not limited and I enjoyed being with you more!"

Laura's smile turned into a short laugh. She kissed Solara's cheek and stood up:

"I'll see you soon, young lady!"

She took a step back and jumped off the edge of the airship. With Poin Warp to Rashid's ground right in the center of the camp. She stood and stared at the wandering boat. It was a difficult day. And she came back from the crystal with a souvenir ... a big wound on his face! The wound on his face, but Laura did not regret having it because she was able to save the cause of the wound. Once again a dark face of Cor appeared before her eyes! She closed her eyelids and took a deep breath. She had dreamed of before ... but the reality was even scarier. She frowned to forget, but the result of her frown was a tear that shone in the setting sun. The breeze blew through Laura's free and free hair to calm her mind. The pleasure of this caress was equal to the disappearance of the princess's frown. She raised her head slightly to feel the dying light. The incident in gralea made Laura want to mourn her loved ones. She took a deep breath again, her soul trembling with tears in Laura's throat. Her father ... Dario .. had been revived in front of her eyes to let him know how much space they had left .. If Cor was killed, Laura would not be alive. Her tears glistened on her cheeks and Laura had no will to destroy them.

Cor was looking at his wife, he knew that when Laura handed herself over to wind, it meant would prefer to be alone. Be alone so that she can regain her lost strength. Laura didn't care about her body, it was Laura's soul that needed to be rebuilt. He took a deep breath because he couldn't help Laura, these thoughts were wrong because his own presence motivated Laura to continue living. He lowered his head and wanted to go to Monica to find out what had happened during his absence for several days.

But he stood up when he heard the sound of a bird! He raised his head and stared at the eagle that was screaming at Laura.

That eagle landed directly on Laura's shoulder. Laura's unbelievable eyes stared at the golden eyes of Ventus, her lovely Amiciti's winged eagle! Happiness sat on his face, and his tears were now dripping with sadness. He was happy that Ventus was alive and sad about Darius' absence! She took Ventus in his arms and hugged him.

"Are you healthy Veny!!? Are you tired !? are you hungry?!

Poor Ventus shouted again and tried to make Laura realize that Laura was not pushing her so hard! Fly away and save himself from Laura's nostalgic hug. Laura's hands were released from Ventus so she wouldn't bother the bird anymore! She raised her head and stared into the eyes of Ventus, who was flying overhead and nearby.

Cor's gaze was fixed on both of them. The reaction from Ventus and Laura was a little unusual. Ventus was flying and Laura was standing motionless in front of him:

"Marshal!"

Monica's voice made Cor stare at her! She hurried to Cor with a smile and stood in front of him! She paid her respects to the military and spoke:

"Sir! I'm glad you're back safe. Welcome!"

In response to Monica, Cor just nodded and turned to Laura again, but, surprisingly, there was no news of Laura or Ventus! He hurried to the edge of the precipice, but it was as if Laura hadn't stood there from the beginning. He looked around with a frown and whispered softly:

"Laura !!"

[becoming-hx3]

Your birth story as I remember it 24 hours later (I’m sure I’ll have more to add to this after talking to your mom again):

All I asked wanted you to do was come just a hair early and not on any holidays. You did your part!

On Wednesday, I decided, with encouragement from your mom, to take a small round of castor oil. I pooped a bit but that was about it. I kept thinking you’d gotten lower and I’d had some lightning pain, but no real contractions, even with pumping. I’d woken up at 1 &2AM to move around but again, no contractions. Around 3AM, my water broke while I was asleep. I thought there was no way I’d peed my pants, so I rolled out of bed, careful to keep my legs closed, and was greeted with soaking shorts and dripping in the bathroom. I’d had my bloody show and water break at the same time. I was so excited thinking you’d come on Thursday. I problem solved how to keep from leaking everywhere, insert depends for the win, and decided to go back to bed after starting a load of laundry and telling your mom she was going to be a mom super soon.

I woke up around 7, still nothing happening. I had occasional cramps but that was it. I originally had a 9:30 39 week appointment scheduled which I called to cancel. I had 12 hours to try to get things going naturally. I took a mile walk, did spinning babies, pumped, lunged, side stepped......you name it, I did it. I also baked some rainbow cookies because of course, you couldn’t come into the world without fresh baked goods. The birth photographer came to take some pictures later in the day as we got ready to finally go into the hospital. The Justins and Collie also came to sit with the dogs and help us while we were at the hospital as you’ve come during a pandemic and your mom isn’t allowed to leave the hospital upon my admission.

We arrived to the hospital at 3:20. I got checked in and was 2 cm dilated, 90% effaced, and at a -1 station. My contractions were not strong at all and were about 15-20 minutes apart. Ashley was my nurse at the time and got me through triage. Unfortunately she wasn’t able to get my IV started prior. I got poked 4 times before Mandy the charge nurse in L&D got one in the back of my arm. The nurses were awesome and really wanted the IV to be in a place that was easy to labor as I wanted to have an unmedicated birth. Around 5:30, we got started on low dose pitocin. Jenna, our midwife, decided to increase the dosage a little bit every half hour, which I’m grateful for. Most doctors do it every 15 minutes which I cannot imagine. Jenna had me eat dinner and try to rest before Things got really intense. At about 7, things were ramping up and I was feeling it. You, on the other hand, we’re not feeling the monitors. The nurse, Lauryn, spent all night tracing us. I wanted to try to labor in different positions but of course everything I’d read had been all about people with back pain and all I had was front pain. I labored for a while on the toilet which was nice. Around midnight I was starting to spiral. I decided to ask her to check me again just to see where I was. It had been hours and the contractions were getting intense. I just wasn’t sure what else to do. I was 4cm, 100% effaced, and at. +1 station. She was pleased with the progress. I decided to keep laboring, but I ended up asking for something that wasn’t an epidural so I could get a bit of rest. I thought I had a long way to go, and truthfully, I needed the break. They gave me some narcotic medication and I was able to rest for a bit in bed on my side. While sleeping things got even more intense. I woke up to these freight train level contractions and not being able to find a comfortable spot. I kept switching which side to lay on, much to Lauryns frustration, though she handled me moving and the attitude with grace. I’d just whine while she tried to hunt you down while also apologizing and saying I knew she was just doing her job. At one point, she needed me to lay on my back since we hadn’t been on the monitor for 20 minutes. I was NOT pleased. I told her I didn’t care about the monitors and it didn’t matter. (These are the words of a woman in transition...but we didn’t know that.) Your mom kept telling me I had to do it for you so I obliged. The contractions were insane. I kept feeling like my whole body was pushing while also trying not to push. Lauryn kept telling me about how much my cervix would swell if I pushed without being ready and she kept telling me to breathe with them and to just not push. I tried my best. Your mom tried to keep me encouraged. She really was the best birth partner.

At 3AM, I’d had it. I could no longer describe anything and just could not bear having more contractions and not pushing. Your mom came through with essentially presenting an epidural as an option if we had a long road ahead. She reminded me that I had a code word and I could use it. She found language for me when I had none. She asked Lauryn to get someone in to check me. Lauryn was calling on the walkie about whether Jenna would allow someone else to check her patients and I jumped in saying, “I’ll wait for Jenna.” Essentially I was not letting this lady touch me. She hadn’t done anything wrong but I wanted Jenna. Jenna came floating in and I could finally see a bit. She was asking questions about how I felt and if I felt pushy without contractions and if I felt pressure. All I could tell her was that my butt hurt and I felt like I needed to push because the baby was coming. I felt like your head had been coming in and out for some time but as a first time mom, I had no idea. She asked me if I’d like to be checked so we could discuss pain management if need be, but when I said that you were coming she said, “Okay then, let’s have a baby.” She was so positive. She gloved to check me saying that I’d feel pressure and then quickly realized your head was coming out. All the birthing supplies arrived. She told me to push when I felt like it. Everything was so calm. The lights stayed low. It was so surreal. The ring of fire is no joke. I was suddenly terrified to push you out. I even asked if the contractions would just push you out....everyone laughed, but Jenna said that it was normal to be afraid and it was the hardest part but I was going to feel so much relief. I pushed. It hurt and burned and just scared the shit out of me. I waited until I felt like I should push again. I fussed at your mom for touching my leg, I couldn’t stand the pressure. I had one knee upright and the other bent to the side. Lauryn was still trying to monitor your damn heartbeat holding the monitor at the very bottom of my belly....she did start taking off all of the other monitors and things. I pushed a little more. Just baby pushes while I waited for the burning to stop. I was encouraged to lean into it and that they could see your hair. I pushed a little harder and literally all of you came out at 3:26. Your mom got to catch you and put your cheesy butt on me. I just cried. I couldn’t believe I’d made you, grew you, and birthed you. I was just in love.

I spent the next hour or so holding you and trying to convince you to nurse....you didn’t really go for it until a little later. While we waited for your cord to stop pulsing we did skin to skin. It was magical. Your mom cut the cord and I birthed the placenta. It came out mushy and strange. Jenna gave us a tour of it and then I got some stitches. I had a 1st degree tear. The lidocaine is god awful. It was literally the only time I screamed the entire labor. Jenna stitched me up and had to do another stitch after what she said was the last one. I was not pleased. lol. I was terrified of tearing but Jenna assured me I’d done everything right and I did a good job. Evidently I still needed reassurance even though i was holding you.

Needless to say I did everything I wanted to do in terms of an vaginal birth without an epidural. I am so grateful for the care providers I chose and the ones who showed up to make it happen. We’re so lucky to have you! Here’s to the rest of our lives, kiddo. Your momma loves you.

[supergirlspurgatory]

Prompt: Alex takes care of Lena after she rescues her from L-Corp (the sneak peek)

Oh geez, I haven’t taken a prompt in ages. But it would be really good to do a warm-up, especially considering ya girl is planning to work on the next chapter of ‘The Cape’ for sure and possibly the next chapter of Thanksgiving Date for Hire this weekend. 

_________

Alex stands in the expansive hallway of an apartment building that is way out of her pay grade, even considering the pay raise she had gotten when she was promoted to DEO Director.

She raises her hand to knock on the door.

Then she drops it.

Should she be here?

Is she even close enough friends with Lena, that it’s not going to be weird for her to check on her?

Maybe not.

But, Kara is halfway around the world dealing with her Russian counterpart.

And even if she and Lena aren’t super close, someone tried to kill her sort of friend today, again. Not to mention, she knows Lena well enough to know that even though she promised she would have the cut that she got on her arm during the scuffle checked out, that she most definitely did not, and is probably just treating it with a bottle of top-shelf scotch.

Which is really appealing.

Not to mention, before Kara ‘up, up, and awayed’ she made Alex promise that she would check on Lena.

How the hell did she end up getting talking into babysitting her little sister’s girl crush?

Alex takes a deep breath and bites the bullet. She raps on the door three quick times.

She counts to ten.

No one answers.

She doesn’t hear any movement on the other side of the door.

She raises her fist and raps on the door 3 more times, a little harder this time.

She stands silently for about 10 more seconds. Just when she’s about to pull out her phone and try to decide if she’s going to try and track Lena, she hears some movement. Someone tripping maybe. Definitely, someone tripping as she can her Lena whisper-shout a soft ‘Fuck!’.

She waits another couple of seconds.

‘Lena!’ She shouts through the door. ‘I know you’re in there. I heard you cuss.’

‘Fine. I’m coming.’ She hears Lena yell through the door and moments later the door swings half open.

She is hiding the left side of her body behind the door.

So Alex was right. Lena definitely had not had the cut checked out.

‘Alex!’ Lena says as she slips on the fakest smile Alex has ever seen. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Oh, not a lot.’ Alex says, ‘Just thought I’d drop by and say hey.’

‘Kara made you promise to come check on me, huh?’

‘Uhmmmm.’ Alex thinks about trying to deny it. But before she continues Lena speaks up.

‘So that’s a yes.’ Lena says.

‘Yup.’

‘Well. You checked on me. I’m here. I’m fine. You don’t have to stick around.’ Lena says, moving to push the door shut.

Alex almost lets her.

But instead, she thrusts her hand out, using her DEO muscle to stop Lena from shutting the door.

‘Nope, I’m not going.’ Alex says. And then she lifts the bag slung over her shoulder. ‘Plus, I brought my medical kit to check out your arm.’

‘Oh that. I already had it checked out. It’s fine. You can seriously go.’ Lena tries again, but when she gives the door a gentle shove, it is proved fruitless as Alex is still holding it open with her hand.

‘No, you didn’t.’ Alex says.

‘How do you know that?’ Lena asks. 

‘You’re hiding your arm behind the door.’ Lena looks down at Alex’s explanation.

‘Oh. I guess you’re right.’ Lena says it with a little laugh, and that’s when Alex notices. Lena is definitely a little drunk.

‘Alright superstar,’ Alex starts. ‘Are you going to let me in or what?’

‘Fine,’ Lena relents and swings the door open. 

And oh, that's a lot of blood soaking through the sleeve of Lena’s sweater on her bicep. 

‘So you didn’t do anything about your arm at all, I see.’ Alex says, trying to be casual.

‘I don’t know what to tell you Alex. I’ve kind of had a stressful day.’ Lena starts. ‘You know, my brother trying to kill me, again, finding out my best friend is an alien, finding out that I accidentally split said best friend in half with a rock that I was dicking around with from her home planet, finding out that my best friend’s other half has been lowkey stalking me, I’ve been a little busy thinking about all of that, wasn’t really too worried about the blood.’

Alex looks over Lena’s shoulder and sees a bottle of Scotch on the counter, mostly empty.

‘Lena was that bottle new today.’ She asks gesturing at it.

‘Oh no.’ Lena responds. ‘I’m not that productive. It was half full.’

That’s better, not much better, but better none the less, Alex thinks. 

‘Alright kiddo, let's see that arm.’ Alex says leading Lena over to her counter and sitting her down. ‘Take the sweater off.’

 And Lena does.

And oh, Alex was not expecting that.

Lena is just wearing a bra under it.

This is fine.

Alex is just a lesbian, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be professional.

And her cheeks definitely are not flaming red.

She sets her medical kit on the counter and opens it up. She pulls out some gauze pads, a suture kit, a vial of lidocaine, and a syringe. 

‘Nope.’ Lena all but shouts.

Alex looks up and sees Lena jumping off of the stool and making her way across the room.

‘What’s wrong superstar?’ Alex asks, and then looks down at her set up, and sees the syringe and needle. ‘Oh, you don’t do needles, huh?’

‘No, I most certainly do not.’ Lena says. ‘Anyway you can do this without that?’

‘Depends, you think you can handle being stabbed like 29 times?’ Alex replied.

‘Oh.’ Is all Lena says.

Alex tries to think of something to distract Lean with. And that’s when she comes up with it. She pulls out her phone and starts to swipe through her videos.

‘You know what the chubby bunny challenge is?’ She asks.

Lena looks at her with confusion.

‘It’s when you stuff marshmallows in your mouth and say chubby bunny with each new mallow.’ Alex explains. ‘I have a video of Kara doing it.’

Lena’s face lights up.

‘Gimme.’ Lena says and makes grabby hands at Alex’s phone as she comes back across the room and settles back on the stool she had vacated.

Alex queues up the video and hands it over.

As Lena watches the video, Alex makes quick work of the lidocaine and the suture kit.

As she stitches Lena up, she glances up to make sure she’s still distracted by the video. Apparently, she wasn’t paying much attention to what Lena was doing, because the video was over, and Lena was paging through the other video’s she had saved of her sister.

‘Is she bench pressing a Humvee in this video?’ Lena asks Alex with wide eyes.

‘Oh, yeah, keep watching it. She ends up balancing it on her pointer finger at the end.’ Lena’s eyes get wide and she looks back down at the phone.

Alex finishes up the stitches and wraps Lena’s arm with a bandage.

‘Do you have an Apple TV?’ Alex asks and Lena nods, ‘I could show you other Kara videos if you want.’

‘Yes, please.’ Lena says and leads her to the living room where there is a giant tv and a sectional couch that may as well be a king sized bed with how deep it is.

They settle into the cushions and Alex starts to play one video after another. Explaining the goofy antics that Kara had gotten them into. There are the videos of Kara demolishing one food challenge after another on the cross country road trip they took last summer. A series of videos that feature Alex throwing herself off of great heights, everything from bridges to buildings, and Kara catching her every time. There are at least 6 different videos of Kara pretending to a food critic as she samples weird ice cream flavors. Lena laughs delightedly at every video.

Before Alex knows it, her lap is full of Lena’s head and she is carding her fingers through the younger girl’s hair.

That’s when it hits Alex, it’s kind of nice to play big sister to someone who isn’t nearly invincible.

After playing 4 different videos showcasing Kara, at DisneyWorld, fawning over princesses, Alex looks down and sure enough, Lena has fallen asleep.

Alex grabs the remote that Lena had left on the couch next to them and switches the tv to Netflix, settling in on a documentary about conspiracy theories. 

A few hours later, when Alex feels her self nodding off, she is shaken awake by her phone vibrating on her chest. She picks it up and see’s that it’s Kara.

‘Hey, Sis, what’s up?’ Alex asks answering the call.

‘I just got home. Wanted to see if you checked in on Lena.’

‘Sure did. I’m still over here.’ Alex tells her.

‘Oh good. Is she okay?’ Kara asks.

‘She is now. Passed out cold after watching approximately 72 different videos featuring you.’ Alex tells her.

‘Oh cool. Um, did you talk about the Supergirl thing at all?’ Kara asks.

‘Not really. I mean she said something about it. But she was pretty drunk when I got here. And upset. I stitched up her arm and distracted her.’ Alex tells her. ‘I think you should come over here. Be here when she wakes up.’

‘Okay, I’ll be there shortly.’ And Kara and hangs up the phone.

Alex looks down at the screen. ‘Rude.’ She whispers at it, in reference to Kara hanging up, but before she even gets her phone set back down, she sees movement on the balcony. Apparently, by shortly Kara meant, .03 seconds.

Her little sister lets herself in, and when the door opens, Lena rouses from her sleep. She sits up and see’s Kara walking into the living room.

‘You came home.’ Lena says in a sleep-ridden slur. And like she did with Alex’s phone a couple hours ealier, she makes grabby hands for Kara. Who of course obliges and is at Lena’s side in mere moments. 

‘Of course, I did. Was worried about you.’ Kara says as she suddenly has her arms full of Luthor.

With that, Alex decides maybe it’s time to take her leave, and moves to stand up.

But, before she can get even a step away, she is being pulled back down to the couch by Lena who has wrapped her hand around Alex’s wrist.

‘Don’t go.’ Lena says in a haze. ‘Want to have the best Lex here in the moring too.’

Alex decided there is no saying no to that, and settles back on the couch. Next to Kara, who has Lena craddled in her lap. 

She would leave, but Lena’s moved her hand from Alex’s wrist and has laced their fingers together.

Her back is going to hate her for this in the morning.

_____

Listen, I feel like the prompt was supposed to be AgentCorp, and yes, I lowkey ship it, and will read it, I am not capable of writing it, because SuperCorp owns my ass.

 Also, this is soft as hell and I just want a sister like Alex. Or to be a sister like Alex. I don’t really care one way or the other.

[babblingblondegenius]

Happy Mancrush Monday

Sorry I missed the last two Mondays, but I’m back with the final installment for season 2 of Mancrush Monday, Olicity Edition, featuring episodes 2x14 to 2x23.  For those who don’t know, these posts are gifs of Oliver with captions that focus on fashion (if he’s wearing anything ;)) and the Olicity moments.  All the thanks in the world to @xspeedytrashx for suggesting my silly posts be a series. :)

The banter and fun (and most of the shirtlessness) of the previous season 2 episodes came to an abrupt halt when the TPTB decided to slow their roll on Olicity.  In order to do that, Olicity scenes were limited because the natural chemistry can’t be denied when they are in close proximity to each other. 

A sparring session leads to everyone talking about the scars they have.  We learn that out of all of Oliver’s scars, none were caused by a grenade and  Felicity’s only scar came from having her wisdom teeth removed.  Oliver is wearing pants in this scene, like we care lol.  

Comfortably chic in his coat and jeans, Oliver’s panties got in a twist when he saw Felicity working out in stretchy, thus skintight, yoga pants and cute top.  

Oliver comes across as brusque and borderline judgmental in this scene.  But if you look closely, the arched eyebrow and the fact he literally couldn’t take his eyes off of her give away that the emotion coursing through him wasn’t anger. ;)

In the Arrow suit, hood down, Oliver was going to stay in the bunker to help but Felicity sassed him right into that awkward and awful Lance family dinner.  TBH, it’s what he deserved.  #sorrynotsorry

Uh-oh he’s got angry face.  Only one person who can help with that and he can find her in his phone without even looking.  We’ll have a better look at his navy peacoat in the next gif.  For now, just admire the chiseled jawline. 

Cloaked in his navy blue peacoat and broodiness, Oliver takes a moment to tell wifey that he plans to face a Mirakuru-enhanced Slade all by himself without any backup.  Obviously, Felicity (like the rest of us) realize that is a dumb idea.

Again on the phone with wifey.  Oliver’s outgoing call history:  Felicity, Felicity, Felicity, Felicity, Felicity, Thea, Felicity, Felicity, Felicity, Felicity, Felicity............ This is the look I prefer to see when Oliver works with the police. Cause dayum.

Oliver’s first instinct is always to protect Felicity.  It’s reflexive and as natural as breathing to him.  He’s looking heroically badass in his leather jacket and jeans as he flips them over the railing (very fortuitous that Felicity wasn’t wearing one of her trademark skirts or dresses -- Slade would have gotten an eyeful) :P

Damn, our OTP looks hawt in their all black, breaking and entering, we’re gonna blow up a building, outfits.  Oliver’s gorgeous face is incredulous when Felicity tells him she didn’t think he would go along with her plan.  As if that boy wouldn’t do anything she asked and he can’t believe she doesn’t know that lol.

Oliver’s spidey (arrow-y?) senses were tingling that bae was in trouble.  It makes me laugh that Oliver came right at the guard, no stealth, no sneaking up on him,  and dude still didn’t see that punch coming.  How fast was Oliver moving for that to happen?  In their matching black leather jackets and gloves, Olicity could’ve blown up the building with their fiery intensity and explosive chemistry.

He may look like a regular (albeit very attractive) human in his business suit but it takes a superhero to stab themselves with a large dose of Lidocaine in their busted knee so they can go about their day.  Felicity, who we know has a fear of needles (all pointy things really), watches in horror and then disgust. Same, girl.

Oliver dressed in a somber black suit and tie to attend his mother’s funeral, but instead went to be alone with his dark thoughts in his other secret lair.  Leave it to our broody boy to have a secondary secret lair.  TBH, it’s actually pretty smart since the primary lair isn’t that secret. :/   But there is nowhere on earth where he could go Felicity can’t find him and there is never a time when she won’t try to encourage him to find another way.  

Our stubborn sacrificial lamb remains set on his suicide mission to stop Slade.  Felicity reluctantly lets go of his hand but she isn’t going to let him go too far.

When encouragement doesn’t work, there’s always a tranq dart. 

Felicity and Diggle save Oliver so he can fight another day and another way.  I know this isn’t technically an Olicity scene but Oliver deciding not to go it alone and who he chooses to have by his side in the end is monumental.  This is one of my all-time favorite lines from the show and my mantra to the Arrow writers.

Things go sideways (literally) and Felicity is injured.  Rather than have the strong and able-bodied member of OTA carry her to safety, Oliver and his busted knee hand his bow to Dig and hoists Felicity into his arms.  I love the aesthetics of this but logically it wasn’t the smartest move.  Here we see Oliver’s decision-making process and internal dialogue lol.  

I’m reaallly nostalgic right now for the old Arrow suit and the mask.  The city is burning but these two are on fire as they walk together in battle.

Even at his lowest points, when he doesn’t believe in himself and he isn’t sure of anything, he hangs on for dear life to every word that Felicity Smoak speaks.  Her words break through the walls of self-doubt and fear to the hero within.

Many fans have stated that they believe Oliver realized he was in love with Felicity when they hugged after her epic ‘you are not done fighting’ speech.  Me personally, I think Oliver was aware of his feelings long before then but did his level best to suppress them, ignore them, beat them down with a stick and self-loathing into the darkness.  But this amazing woman’s kindness, generosity, compassion, wit, and trust brought him and his feelings into the light where he was struggling to hold them back.  

This is such an underrated Olicity scene, imho.  Felicity worries that Blood has set a trap for her boys.  She tells Oliver and Dig she is gonna be really pissed if they don’t come back.  The man who was more than willing to die for the past few weeks not only gives her a smile but also a reassuring shoulder squeeze because now he wants to come back and more importantly, believes he will.

There’s something about Oliver being in the suit while returning to the darkened foyer of his childhood home with Felicity.  Maybe it’s that his past, present, and future are all colliding at once.  I remember I got goosebumps the first time I saw it because everything about this scene--the music, lighting, camera angles, close ups- told me something big was going to happen.  I had no idea how big lol.

Exhibit A of one of the close-ups.  He takes a moment to just soak her in.  She has inspired him to want to live.  To embrace his humanity and have a life filled with love.  But the city needs saving and he still holds wellsprings of guilt within his heart.  This is always Oliver’s struggle within himself.  

Eyes shining with emotion, expression earnest, Oliver lets go of his internal struggle over his feelings as those three little words slip through his lips.  

I adore this kiss.  I’m fine that they didn’t use it because honestly after that sincerely whispered ‘I love you’ they really didn’t need it to sell the “ruse.”  With the hood down and mask off but still in the suit, this was Oliver’s dual identity coming together for one brief moment because all of him loves Felicity Smoak. 

Talk about unthinkable...that these two wouldn’t end up together.  Even though Oliver wasn’t quite ready to follow-up on the admission of his feelings to Felicity in the light of day, his heart eyes and adoring expression give him away.  

I said on Discord during the re-watch yesterday that I really didn’t like this scene when it first aired because I wanted them to kiss but over the years, I have come to appreciate the aesthetics. <3

In the last gif, Felicity says ‘let’s go home’ and Oliver nods with that soft smile he only has for her.  I made a header about Olicity and the concept of home when Oliver returned from prison in 7x08. I think it was just as true then as it is now. <3

Thank you to all the fandom’s awesome gifmakers!  :)  SA interview gif credit to giphy.com.  2x14 scars gif credit to RolePlayGateway.com.  2x14 sass gif credit to FanForum.com.  2x14 Oliver staring gif credit to lyricalarrow.tumblr.com.  2x16 gif credit unknown.  2x22 hug gif credit to fangirlish.com.

[macgyvermedical]

I'm writing a thing, and I was wondering how one might apply liquid Lidocaine to the area around a wound, in preparation of stitching it closed? I'm so glad you're still running your blog; your archives have helped me many times before, and I really do appreciate that you're still up and running after all the baloney tumblr is going through.

I really like running this blog, and none of the tumblr-alternatives really did what I wanted them to do. Glad my blog’s been helpful for you!

As for the answer to your question:

The issue with lidocaine and other “-caine” local anesthetics is that they don’t absorb very far into tissue. Taking a lidocaine solution and putting it in the wound might numb the very surface of the wound itself, but it doesn’t soak in far enough to prevent pain from suturing. For that it needs to be injected in a very specific way- a process called infiltration.

To “infiltrate” an area with a local anesthetic, a provider inserts a needle into the area to be numbed, injects a small amount of lidocaine, moves the needle, and injects again, repeating until there is a large enough numbed area to do what needs done. (video)

Now, while diffusing through tissue is not lidocaine’s thing, it *does* get quickly taken up by blood vessels and carried away, and because of that it’s numbing effect wears off pretty quickly. Repeatedly injecting lidocaine to maintain its effect can be a problem, though, because high blood levels of lidocaine can become toxic. To remedy this, lidocaine is usually mixed with epinephrine (of EpiPen fame) prior to administration. Epinephrine causes the blood vessels around the area of infiltration to narrow, which slows how much lidocaine escapes into them. Thus, the effect lasts significantly longer than lidocaine alone, and smaller doses of lidocaine are required overall.

There are a wide variety of “-caine” anesthetic-containing products available over the counter. For example, lidocaine is used in many sunburn sprays and pain relief creams, and benzocaine in many sore throat/mouth pain liquids and sprays.

These cannot be used in the same way outlined above.

For one thing, they all have other ingredients- alcohols, flavors/scents, sweeteners, aloe, gels and propellants, other drugs, etc… that could be toxic if injected. They also contain wildly different doses of lidocaine- the kind used for infiltration anesthesia is usually about 0.5% lidocaine, while some creams, patches, and sprays can be up to 5%. If you’ll remember, lidocaine can be toxic if enough of it makes it into the blood stream.

The other over the counter “-caine” anesthetic, benzocaine, also comes with the added risk of a syndrome called methemoglobinemia. In methemoglobinemia, benzocaine causes a potentially life-threatening defect in the oxygen-transport protein hemoglobin that makes the blood unable to deliver oxygen to body tissues. Some people are more likely to experience this than others.

All of these reasons are why, usually, you’ll see a warning label similar to “DO NOT USE OVER BROKEN OR DAMAGED SKIN” on these types of products. If the lidocaine or benzocaine preparations are only used topically- on the intact skin or mucous membranes- there’s a really low chance of these complications.

So what can you do without potentially harming someone?

Well, you can just sew them up without numbing it. It wouldn’t be super pleasant, but if it was a small wound and they were really, really determined to not do this in a clinical setting, that might be the option. There are also other ways to close wounds that aren’t (as) painful. 

There is some evidence to suggest that combining vibration with cold near an injection site can overwhelm nerves that would carry pain signals (also that podcast is super fascinating if you’re interested in pain at all), causing a decrease in pain for needle-related procedures.

Good luck!

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