#nurses could share it or ??? tell him he has a visitor which obviously he's not Meant to or ...

[parameddic]

That, uh...

"TK." Captain Vega was on the ground still, waiting for TK to clear the dumpster wall so she could follow. TK jumped the rest of the distance into the blood and the garbage, beside the man he'd been spending nights with whenever they were both free and both in need for company. Nikolai was unconscious, wounds wrapped up in a way that made TK think amateur, his frame somehow seeming small in the thin fabric of his coat. A coat TK didn't recognise. He'd grown used to a certain style, certain way about Nikolai that he'd come to expect and here he was bleeding in a dumpster, discarded for dead.

They'd got a call about someone groaning down here, in this alley. The caller had thought it was probably the wind.

"Talk to me, TK. What are we dealing with?"

"Aaadult male, mid 30s, Cap. Multiple stab wounds. Looks like someone tried to wrap him up, probably kept him alive." TK knew what sort of deals went down, to end up here. He knew the sort of people who were left for dead in dumpsters, he'd lived very close to them at one point of his life, he'd wanted - needed... but that wasn't the guy he'd been sleeping with. Right? He'd seen the scars. Knew he had a habit of collecting injuries (a black eye) at 'work'. Had he just been very stupid? "Pulse is thready."

"Alright, let's get him out of there. Nancy, get the backboard. We can't work on him in the garbage."

"Hello?" was he conscious at all? TK checked his pupils, "Nikolai, can you hear me?"

"'Nikolai'?" The backboard appeared over the lip and TK had to move out of the way as Nancy lowered it down, so they could use it to lift Nikolai out of this thing. "You know him?"

"Barely." That had kind of been the idea. "I met him at a bar."

"Allergies?" Captain Vega. They hoisted Nikolai out of the dumpster, a smooth maneouvre around their conversation.

TK started a line, hands quick and practiced, the thought of who is this guy firmly set aside for the time being: he was a patient, TK's patient, and they needed to work on him or he would die. "It never really came up."

They got him on the gurney next, never not moving. "What, you didn't stop to ask his blood type before you got it on?"

"Nancy," Tommy warned her, but she only afforded her the single word of warning, "These wounds don't look deep. He's lost a lot of blood but I don't think they got anything important. TK," (he was already moving in the right direction, for the phone they kept up the front of the ambulance), "call the hospital, let them know they should prep an OR."

"Uh, Cap?" Nancy had been trying to find ID, health insurance info, someone to call - the sorts of things they looked for when the patient was relatively stable in the back of an ambulance, as Nikolai was now, but she held up the slim leather wallet that had been in the dumpster with him. Empty. TK didn't recognise it, either. It might not even have belonged to him. Either way, someone didn't want him easily identified, and had had the forethought to take his ID.

TK knew how this guy moaned, he did not know who he was. The stark distinction made him sort of... cold.

"He's Nikolai," Captain Vega took TK's word for it decisively, "And he's hurt, and right now he's our patient. Let's go."

@hvndredstories

[mandelene]

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

You’ve got it! 💕  Thanks for the ask!

Someone asked me to write asthmatic Matthew in the ER a while ago, and I didn’t do it, but here it is now. 😂 I hope it's not total trash.

Sweet Normalcy

Word Count: 1555

Chest pain, the dull aching kind that flares up every time he inhales, that’s all he feels. Keeping his eyes open takes a great deal of effort, but the constant hissing flow of nebulized albuterol being delivered through the mask on his face makes it hard to get any sleep. Maintaining a train of thought for longer than fifteen seconds is also a sudden challenge. When he rolls his head to the right and looks up at the monitor behind him, he sees his heart rate is in the 140s and his oxygen saturation is at ninety-five percent on albuterol and oxygen. That’s not normal for him. None of this is normal. He can’t remember the last time things got this out of control.

“Matthew? Any better, love?” Dad asks him from the chair to his left. He’s been sitting there for hours now, continuously keeping vigilant watch.

It’s a busy night in the emergency department, and it feels a bit like he’s in a bad fever dream. The doctor checking in on him introduced herself earlier, but he can’t recall her name. An alarm goes off every few minutes from someone’s monitor, and it takes him longer than it should to recognize that it’s his monitor making that noise and alerting his nurse to keep coming over to assess him due to his seesawing oxygen saturation and heart rate.

Matthew’s not even sure what time it is anymore. He barely remembers anything. Every hour or so, he will doze off into a fitful half-sleep for twenty minutes or so before waking again and feeling disoriented. A nurse could tell him he’s been here for a week, and he’d believe them.

“Matthew? I asked if you’re feeling any better?” Dad asks again, leaning forward in his seat to grab his clammy left hand and squeeze it gently.

“A little,” Matthew lies, for his father’s sake. He wonders where Alfred and Papa are. They were here earlier, he’s pretty sure.

“I can tell when you’re not being truthful,” Dad sighs, squeezing his hand harder. “You’re not improving. You need to be admitted. This is ridiculous. You should have been admitted hours ago.”

Matthew hates seeing him stressed like this, but he also knows there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment. He feels himself slipping into momentary sleep again, and his eyes flutter shut. He wants to go home. Wants to be in his bed…Is it morning yet?

“Sixteen-year-old with a history of asthma…Patient accompanied by his father. Patient began oral corticosteroid treatment two days ago at home after experiencing wheezing, chest tightness, and coughing that was not fully improving with usual rescue medications…”

They’re talking about him—Matthew realizes that much, at least. He opens his glazed eyes and sees a new doctor approaching him. His ID badge says he’s a critical care doctor. Matthew’s not sure what the difference is between him and the other doctor he saw earlier, but he honestly can’t be bothered to care. He wants to sleep. Desperately. And he wants the chest pain to stop.

“Matthew, buddy?” the doctor says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to breathe anymore. His chest hurts too much, and speaking would require taking another agonizing breath.

"Mmmrgh" is all he can manage.

“He’s been less and less responsive,” Dad supplies from the other side of the room, and Matthew can hear the nervousness in his voice, which is unsettling. Dad rarely ever shows how anxious he is when someone’s sick. “I can’t get him to talk to me in full sentences anymore—just phrases.”

The doctor carefully sits him up, and Matthew feels his whole body shake. He rests his elbows against the stretcher to brace himself. A cold stethoscope touches his back, and he shivers.

“He’s still not moving air. He needs to be brought upstairs to intensive care to be monitored. We’ll continue IV steroid treatment and continuous albuterol. If he’s still like this, we can consider non-invasive ventilation and take it from there. Our main priority is to protect his airway.” 

Dad says something, but Matthew doesn’t hear it over the noise of the nebulizer. He just knows he’s going to be moved soon and the treatment is going to become more serious now. If he weren’t so tired, he might be scared.

The doctor leaves, and Dad goes back to holding Matthew’s hand. “It’s going to be all right, love. You’ll receive better care soon and hopefully, you’ll start to feel better,” Dad tells him before using his other hand to pet his head. “Try to rest. I’ll be right here, and I won’t let anything happen to you, understand?” 

Matthew nods. His eyes do close again, and he does get some brief rest. The next time he’s aware of his surroundings and wakes up, he’s already in the ICU, which means he slept through his transport. The respiratory therapist is setting him up on a BiPAP machine, and once it’s on, it makes his chest hurt even more, which he didn’t think was possible. He grits his teeth against the pain and tries not to make a fuss about it—it would just make Dad worry even more. The air being forced into his lungs is welcome yet excruciating at the same time.

But he doesn’t have to say anything for Dad to know he’s suffering. It’s written all over his face. “I know, poppet. It’s just temporary. It should help.” 

It’s so exhausting that he falls asleep again without even needing to think about it. Again, he has no idea how much time passes until he sees the sun shining through the windows of the hospital, indicating that it’s finally morning. The BiPAP mask squeezing his face gets replaced with a regular oxygen mask again, and it occurs to him that his chest feels much lighter and his head is clearer. The worst is over. The air in his lungs feels crisp and refreshing...Almost sweet, even. 

“How are you feeling?” Dad asks for the millionth time, still perched next to him. 

“Better…For real this time.” 

Dad hasn’t slept, of course. He never sleeps in such situations. He was likely watching him all night and conversing with his care team. “Good. You gave us all quite a scare.” 

“Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s not your fault, love. Not at all…Do you think you’re feeling well enough to have some breakfast?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dad gives him a relieved smile and then goes off to request a breakfast tray for him. It gets brought up within half an hour, and even though Matthew feels a bit nauseous from the steroids in his system, he knows he needs to eat to gain some energy back.

He’s given some pancakes, a fruit cup, and orange juice. He decides to make a move for the orange juice first because his mouth feels incredibly dry and gross. He picks up the carton and that’s when he notices just how shaky he still is. His hands are trembling violently from all of the bronchodilators in his system.

Dad quickly takes the carton from him, sticks a straw into it, and then brings it back up to Matthew’s lips. “Here, poppet, I’ll hold it for you.” 

“…I can do it.” 

“You’ll spill it. Don’t be stubborn.”

It doesn’t feel great to have poorer motor skills than a toddler, but Matthew sips some juice through the straw anyway, allowing himself to be fed because he doesn’t have a choice. He finishes the entire carton, one pancake, and half of the fruit cup before his stomach protests. Dad doesn’t seem too happy about him not finishing the meal, but he doesn’t push it either. 

And just as he’s finishing up, he finds out Alfred and Papa are outside of the unit, waiting to be allowed in. He’s only permitted to have two visitors at a time, so Dad leaves to take a quick trip home to eat and shower while Alfred and Papa take watch next. 

“Dude, you’re alive! Thank God, man. No offense, but you were looking really rough and out-of-it yesterday,” Alfred exclaims upon arrival, bright-eyed and full of pep as always. “It’s good to see you’re looking more like yourself now.”

“We’re so relieved, mon chou. Your father said you may be able to come home as soon as the day after tomorrow.” 

“I hope so…Sorry for making everyone worry.” 

Alfred throws his hands up in the air and shakes his head dramatically. “I have to teach you everything, don’t I, Mattie? You’re not supposed to apologize for being sick. You’re supposed to milk it for all its worth and make everyone feel bad for you and buy you get well soon gifts. Tell Dad when he comes back that you wanna play the new Pokemon Snap on the Switch.” 

“That’s what you want to play, Alfred.” 

“Yeah, but we can share it, right?” 

“Alfred, your brother is seriously ill, and all you’re thinking about are video games again! Where did your father and I go wrong? You could show some sympathy!” Papa scolds, pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation.

“It was a joke! Kinda…Obviously, I love ya, Matt! I was really worried, too!” 

And he has never craved normalcy as much as he does now. 

Yup. Things are already going back to normal.

[whump-town]

Deaf!Hotch

In AU in which I make Hotch deaf and hope that my research paid off and I do the deaf community right in my writing of Hotch. So, obviously, there’s the disclaimer that I know ASL but I am not deaf 

Warning for language

Word Count: 2,902

It was touch and smell that Aaron Hotchner knew first upon awareness. The heavy scent of antiseptic hovering in the air. He frequents the hospital enough to know that the smell will linger on his clothes, skin, and hair for days. A ghost with its fingers dug into his skin. The touch he feels is familiar. Fingers wrapped around his own in a light hold. There’s a light pressure around his bicep and the sting of a needle in his elbow. 

It’s with that last thought that it occurs to him that he can’t hear any of the sounds he commonly associated with a hospital. No hiss of the oxygen canal wrapped around the back of his head or beeping machines as they dump the numbing painkillers into his arm. 

Just silence.

“Can you hear me?”

Through slivers, Hotch looks up at his old mentor. He can feel Dave squeeze his hand, attempting to ground him through his blinding pain but… he can’t hear Dave. He doesn't hear the older man call his name or shushing him softly when the pain brings him to tears--- his own pain-filled cries falling deaf to his ears. 

Mercifully, he falls unconscious once again. 

The team comes in a moment later. The easy smiles on their lips falling. Together, they’d managed to shake some of their fear after seeing him collapse in the field. Emily had caved and told them about Hotch’s reaction to being so close to the backhoe. Reid had told them that while he and Hotch had been sharing a hotel room this trip, he hadn’t seen Hotch sleep. Any naps he may have been getting were rudely interrupted by pain or nightmares.

They’d shaken their mixed feelings with the reminder that nothing can keep Aaron Hotchner down. At least… nothing yet.

Knowing what they did, they still had a false sense of hope walking into his hospital room. Expecting their boss to greet them like he always does. Maybe he would let them have their moment. Giving in to the hugs and worried complaints they have but…

He’s curled onto his side, pain etched into the grimace he has even in his sleep, and they can see the drying tears from the door. 

“Hey, kiddos.” Dave stands from the only visitor’s chair offered and smiles wearily. “Did you eat something?” 

A nurse steps past them and they allow her through without mumbled complaints. She works quickly and they watch with curiosity and fierce protectiveness. When Hotch whimpers as she touches him, Morgan steps forward, stopped only by the hand that JJ grabs him with. He settles back against the wall, shifting nervously until the nurse can give Hotch the painkillers he needs and sends him into a painless, drug-induced slumber.

“He’s not alright,” Morgan mumbles, shaking his head. “What are we going to do?”

Dave shakes his head, rubbing at his goatee. His eyes are glued to Hotch and the nurse, smiling and nodding as she makes her way back out of the room. With the room cleared, he lets his shoulders fall and his resolve crumbles --- for only a moment.

Emily steps closer to the bed. Her arms are wrapped tightly to her chest. She has a complicated relationship with the man in question. A challenging friendship blossoming but… "We'll do what we always do, " she says, steadying herself with a deep breath. "We'll remind him what we're fighting for and we won't let him fall behind."

Dave starts to add on but Hotch shifts on the bed. A soft grunt leaving his mouth as he tenses in pain. He pulls his leg up towards his body, kicking out. 

Morgan grows frustrated--- are they not giving him enough painkillers? He shouldn't be in pain.

"Aaron, " Dave calls. He catches Hotch's hand as he raises it to his ear--- the doctor had warned he was only aggravating the eardrum by pressing into it with his palm. "Can you hear me, son?"

Hotch opens his eyes but still tries to weakly pull away. 

"Alright, " Dave mumbles, rubbing his shoulder and caving. Giving up on getting an answer. "Easy now." He holds Hotch's hand and steadies him when Hotch's panic-filled eyes find him. "It's alright."

Hotch turns his head away. "No, " he rasps. "No, " his chest heaves as he sobs. Ragged breaths leaving in heart-wrenching wheeze's.

"It's alright, " Dave tries but Hotch vehemently denies it.

With a soft, broken voice Hotch whispers, "I can't hear you, Dave." Tears falling down his face, got stinging tears. "I can't hear."

They should have seen it coming within the weeks leading up to the accident. 

New York had left them all shaky but if anything that should have made them more aware of his vulnerability, right? 

Hotch had stayed with Dave the weekend following the explosion. Dave had seen Hotch grappling with the pain and the buzzing. He’d forced his old protege to eat whatever meager bites of sandwiches he could manage but he was only drinking enough water to swallow the fistful of pills he’d been given by his doctor. 

But Dave isn’t the only one who’d seen.

Derek had driven Hotch home and then to Dave’s. He’d watched as Hotch sat in agony in the front seat. Trembling hands rubbing at his temple or covering his hurt ear but Derek hadn’t stopped. He’d asked if Hotch wanted him to but he knew Hotch would never agree. Not until it was too late and that’s exactly what had happened. Hotch had pushed himself too far and his body had made the decision to stop. 

When the Sheriff fired the bullet that finally killed Chloe and ended the horror she brought back to the Angel Maker and his disgusting legacy, Hotch had collapsed. 

And now…

“Stop hitting me!” As if losing his hearing wasn’t bad enough--- he’s got to have Emily fucking Prentiss teach him American Sign Language. She’s an awful teacher but he’s learning quickly. As much as he hates it, he’s getting really good at signing. 

Within two weeks he’s picked up a strong enough vocabulary that Emily no longer brings a notepad to visit him. It’s a wonder to him how she picks up ASL so easily but he also knows she's a very mysterious woman. He’s probably safer not knowing. Even if he can profile his way into understanding her time spent being thrown about the world in her youth made her adaptable to quick change. 

She raises an eyebrow, “sign the word right, and I wouldn’t have to hit you.” 

He frowns back at her, “you enjoy it.”

She smirks and he shakes his head. As aggravating as this all can be, he knows it’s brought him closer to his team. To his family. 

JJ had taught Jack and Henry some common signs and Jack had taken to them incredibly well. Children, Reid would later tell him, are good at this kind of stuff. Rapid change. Reid… not so much. The best part of his week is their updates. Each one taking the time to come to his apartment and show him what they’ve learned this week. 

They’re trying. They care.

But they’re all terrified for his return to duty.

The Bureau is always working against Hotch and the very idea of what losing this job will do to him--- the thought is sickening. And to lose it over something as silly as an accident? Over something that he can’t control? Especially, when he’s fought to learn ASL and to use the hearing aids that don’t help but are necessary for his return… It’s not fair.

If he can come back, if the Bureau sticks to their vow of inclusivity, then he can suck up dealing with the hearing aids.

“Are you alright?”

He hasn’t been cleared to drive yet. Hearing isn’t the issue. In fact, deaf drivers have a great reputation. Emily’s been steadily supplying him with books on deaf culture and even a program in Georgetown for deaf people in the community. The tinnitus is holding him back from driving. The hearing aids help with the buzzing of the tinnitus but they don’t improve his hearing quality enough to really matter. Which is fine, Emily doesn’t mind carpooling. 

“No.” He rubs just under his right ear, breathing through the wave of pain. It’s a bad day and hearing aids or not, his hearing is at nearly zero and his pain intense. “Hurts.” The Bureau has decided he needs the hearing aids for his return. They improve his hearing by a fraction but he’s not going to put up a fight if they help the tinnitus. The problem is, if he does leave them in for too long he gets a headache. 

It doesn’t get better as the day progresses...

His stomach lurches dangerously. Standing on shaky legs, he makes a jerky but quick pace out his office door. He can’t get any further than the stairs at the catwalk. It’s a stumbling crash that he can’t hear as his body hits the metal. He feels the cold bar pressing against his temple. Closing his eyes, he pulls in a deep breath and waits for the relief. Prays for the ringing and pain to settle with the soft, muffled pace of the bullpen. With sound other than the keys of his laptop and emails chiming. 

Lavender-- Emily. The soft scent of her customary perfume is the first thing to greet him. She must be hovering in front of him, deciding whether or not he’s better left alone. Giving him a chance to collect himself for a moment before pressing on.

A hand squeezes his shoulder and he peels his left eye open, leveling it on her. He knows it’s bloodshot and surrounded by the heavy bags that are cemented proof of the fact that he hasn’t slept well in days. He also knows, she’s not here to judge him.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, crouched right in front of him she signs the word help. He’s likely to never tell her but this is what he appreciates most about her. He’s in pain and she’s not going to waste her time if he doesn’t want her near him. He does want her near but… he doesn’t know how to say that.

He can feel the catwalk shake as someone steps out, heavy, solid steps coming his way. The low vibrations of a voice--Dave-- says something but he can’t hear it as he presses his head harder into the bars and digs his palms into his aching ears. A hand is placed between his shoulder blades and Dave sits down beside him-- the familiar scent of cigars and books washing over them. 

Dave. 

A hand comes between them and cups his jaw, tilting Hotch’s head away from where he’s painfully pressing it into the bar. “Hurts,” he feels his mouth form the words. He can feel his vocal cords moving but he can’t be certain he’s made a tangible sound. 

“One to ten,” Dave asks and Hotch is thankful the older man is much better at sign language than Reid because he can’t focus on his lips. Even if he were good at lip-reading, he’s not sure he could manage right now.

He holds up a shaky hand-- six. 

“Liar,” Emily says as she comes to squat down next to them. He hadn’t even noticed her leave. She’s got a cold press of paper towels and presses it to the back of his neck. It does wonders for his stomach but nothing for his pounding head. 

Derek offers a water bottle with a straw wordlessly as he passes with a cup of coffee.

It takes ten minutes for the ringing to start to die down. The pain doesn’t go anywhere but he can hear the faintest mumbling coming from Morgan and Reid’s rowdy conversation. It doesn’t matter how many times his ears flare up like this, each time he’s waiting for the noises to never come back. 

He knows that one day the world will fall completely silent. He’ll never hear Jack’s voice or the deep rumble of the team all trying to talk over one another. The progression of the loss of his hearing is slow but even with hearing aids now, he can’t make out the distinct sounds of words when someone is talking directly beside him. 

To the team's credit, he seems to be the only person bothered by this. 

“It’s only a two-hour drive,” Reid observes with a smile. “We can drive!”

One of the preventive measures for his hearing that the team had taken is cutting back on the use of the jet. If it’s not enough watching Hotch suffer through the buzzing amplifying each time they take off, then for the ecosystem (Garcia had sent a very lengthy and inclusive PowerPoint and email into the director to persuade him using the SUVs would be helpful in many ways). He’d agreed to fend off any more of her emails.

 The downside is they always have to stop for snacks.

“He’s a grown man,” Hotch signs down the aisle from Dave and Emily. “He should know PopTarts are not a meal.” Reid is, what, nearly thirty years old now and Hotch is still watching that kid eat these overly-sugared, processed things every day. It worries him. What does Reid eat when Hotch isn’t around to cut him off?

Emily holds up a power bar and the red Gatorade Morgan had requested, “do you remember if JJ said she wanted chocolate milk or not?” 

“No,” Hotch says from behind the shelf he’s scanning. “She wanted a Snapple.” He points her over the refrigerator he’d just come from. He would have gotten the Snapple if he’d been thinking about it. “What are you getting,” he asks, unsure of what he wants for himself.

“Hey,” Dave has to shout to get Emily’s attention and she points over Hotch’s shoulder to Dave. Hotch turns, eyebrows furrowed. With both of them looking Dave motions that he’s heading back to the car. “I will leave you,” he threatens, stepping out.

“No, he won’t.” They both agree.

They agree to split a bag of trail mix--- intends to pick out the pretzels and he knows she’ll eat the M&Ms out. It’s this intimate knowledge of his team that makes up for their shaky ability to sign. He’s not actually that good at lip-reading but he knows them and that covers his ass pretty well.

That and JJ has gotten really good at jotting what she wants to say rather than struggling to understand and use sign language. He appreciates it--- she’s really bad. It doesn't help that Emily is way nicer to JJ when she teaches her signs than she was with him.

When she takes her time, though--- when they have the time--- it’s all good. 

Morgan is surprisingly good at ASL. He didn’t just take to it like Emily but he didn’t blink. It brings them closer together. Sign language is also insanely helpful in the field. Even if Hotch can’t join them in the field. Running point means that Morgan and Hotch have to work closely. The shift in power between the field and the precinct is barely discernible. 

He enjoys talking to Garcia the most. 

She’s quick to adapt to slang. He has no idea where she’s getting these words from (she made internet friends so she could immerse herself better and support him). She also carries her very unique way of speaking and being into her signing and he really enjoys that. Even when it confuses him.

It takes some getting used to for all of them. 

Lots of flashing alarm clocks and Garcia showing Hotch there’s a program on his phone to make his phone flash when he gets a message. They all have things they learn to adjust. It’s safer to stand to Hotch’s left, it’s his better ear. Before talking, they have to actually make sure he’s paying attention. JJ signs as she gives her messages to the media that way he can keep up. They remind him to take the hearing aids out before he gets headaches and offer advil when he forgets. 

Slow and steady and, to them, it’s no different than the ways he looks out for them. Because he’s still the same hard ass who work long hours and doesn’t sleep enough. 

Jack takes is way easier than all of them. The kid doesn’t even stumble. 

There’s a sing for chicken nuggets and Hotch didn’t even know that until one day Jack out right refused to just verbally speak. Of course, he’d heard Aunt Emily and Hotch arguing about Hotch’s reliance on what’s left of his hearing. Siding with his aunt, as he has the aggravating tendency to do, he’d decided the only way for himself and good old dad to communicate was sign language. 

Later, he’ll use the story of his father’s accident on a college application. They’ll tear up a little as they proof read it. Jack might have been young when it happened but he saw the way his family shifted. He learned a valuable skill, ASL, and he also learned a very important lesson about family. 

Family adapts for those they love. 

And that’s what they’d done. When it would have been easier to let him go, they fought, because that’s what family is supposed to do.

Shout out to @softcabrera for looking over this!! 

[buck-nialled]

Two Million Minutes - N. Horan Imagine

NOTE: this is super angsty and sad as hell and yeah some of yall might cry but YOU CANT HATE ME BECAUSE I WARNED YOU!!

but you’re probably gonna hate me a lot okay enjoy !!!

PLAYLIST

The cold plastic she had been forced to sit in for the past two hours did everything but aid Veronica’s posture. Her figure was hunched over, hands covering her face as she deposited heavy breaths onto her quaky palms. In hindsight: pajama pants and one of her boyfriend’s old shirts might not have been the most appropriate choice to attend the emergency room the night before Christmas Eve. But that thought could not have been further from Veronica’s mind. In fact, all her mind had been doing for the past one hundred and seventeen minutes consisted of screaming her boyfriend’s name to the point where a migraine formed.

“Ma’am?” Veronica’s head snapped up, eyes watery and completely bugged out. A nurse stood inches away, gracing a sympathetic smile. Her heart quickened in its pace. “Did you want anything to drink? Water, or coffee?” The woman offered with a raise of her brows. Veronica never refused a free coffee, but her still trembling hands clasped themselves together, along with her lips as she declined with a head shake.

“Do you have any hot chocolate?” Solemnly, the white-uniformed woman shook her head back and forth.

“Unfortunately, we are out. Would you like a blanket?”

“Please.” The nurse scurried off in an instant, fulfilling herself with another activity. Veronica could not blame her. She—save for the two other strangers in the waiting room—had been the only visitors to enter tonight. If she could, Veronica would be doing just about anything to occupy her thoughts with something other than worst-case scenarios.

“Veronica?” She heard a deep, slurred voice call out. The woman’s head turned to the left, along with the two other occupants, to find one of hers and Niall’s closest friends standing with a slight sway.

“Jake?” Her voice cracked hopelessly as she stood herself up from the chair and waited for his figure to approach. There was a slight stupor in his steps to her, but his embrace when he finally wrapped his arms around Veronica was comforting, nonetheless.

“Hey, any word?” Veronica only shakes her head as she releases a shaky breath.

“They won’t tell me anything…I don’t even know what happened.” She whimpers, glancing back towards the front desk, whom she must have walked up to a dozen times, pleading to see Niall.

“I’m sure when the others get here they can explain. We all got jumbled up between the six and seventh pub and I wasn’t with him.” Jake simply shrugs, just as clueless as she was. Turning her back towards him at the sound of footsteps pattering, she spots the nurse from earlier. Her arm was stretched out, proffering a blanket. Veronica only gives her a silent nod as a thank you, before cloaking her shoulders with the itchy material.

Jake sighs at the sight of tremors running through her, despite the blanket. “Here, those things are like fucking paper. Don’t do shit.” He murmurs and peels off his jacket—one of the many layers he bundled up in before his night out with Niall and the rest of their mates.

“Take it.” He insists. And she does. As the minutes go by, more familiar faces pile into the room and greet her and Jake with sympathetic smiles and any hazy information she could pry from them. From what Veronica gathered from the slurs, a group of friends had collectively encouraged Niall to hop up on one of the pub’s tables and do a little jig. Nobody had ill intent by doing so, obviously, and everybody knew Niall was not idiotic enough to do something he felt was risky. Nobody knew the night would end with only seven pubs and an emergency room visit.

Maura was the first woman Veronica had seen and recognized that night. Their expressions were both identical; fearful eyes, trembling lips. The womens’  hearts were racing in sync as they collapsed into one another’s arms, trying their absolute hardest to hold in their sobs.

“Who is here for Niall Horan?” A group of nearly twenty people stood, including herself and Maura, attentive and silent. The doctor gazed upon the now crowded waiting area and blew out a breath.

“Okay, I know all of you are eager to see him. But I think the immediate family should come into the room first. Too many people might overwhelm him.” Maura, Bobby, and Greg all took quickened steps towards the doctor, explaining their relation. When Veronica asked Maura moments ago, she explained Denise was watching Theo back at their house, phone on hand for any updates.

“Alright, follow m—”

“Wait.” Maura cut in. “Could she come too?” Maura jutted her thumb back to point at Veronica. The doctor followed her pointed finger and met eyes with her.

“Relation?”

“I’m his girlfriend, but—” As she was about to justify herself with the fact that she was Niall’s emergency contact, the doctor cut her off.

“I’m sorry. Immediate family only.” He refuted. Maura glanced back at her, eyes swimming with empathy at her restless state.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” I should have gone with cousin, she thought.

“…vitals are stable, everything looks fine. He just took a hard hit.” Breaths of relief are exhaled when Niall’s eyes flutter open. He recognizes his mother almost immediately, as she exclaims at the sight of her son finally awake and unscathed.

“Oh, my Niall!” She cries upon wrapping her arms around him. Startled to see he is most definitely not on his tour bus, he reciprocates the delicate hug. “We were so worried about you.” It might have been the fact that his mind was still foggy from his long sleep, or that he felt quite hungover that made his mother seem more aged than she was over Skype only weeks ago.

“Mum, what happened t’ me?” His eyes meet the doctors as he asks this.

“You took quite the fall tonight, Niall. Luckily your vitals are fine and you seem perfectly healthy.” Niall blinks, eyebrows furrowing to exactly how and where he could have fallen. The last thing he recalls was being on stage with the band, performing. He was only supposed to be off of the stage for five minutes.

“How long was I out for?”

“Only about two and a half hours, which is quite average for a concussion.”

“How’d you all get here so fast? Chicago is miles away from Mullingar.” Niall murmured, reaching a hand up to scrub at his face. He was surprised to feel stubble scratching at his palm and brought the hand away from his face to study it. His eyes travel down to his wrist, the plastic, hospital band reading Mullingar Medical.

“Chicago?” Bobby repeated, just as confused. “Son, you’ve been here in Mullingar for the past week…when were you in Chicago?”

“I was…the band and I were just there playing a show. Are they here? Maybe we can ask Harry and he can explain.” The three Horans and Niall’s doctor all tilted their heads like dogs to his statement.

“Doctor?” The door opens, the nurse peeking her head through the opening. “Could I have a word with you for a moment?” The doctor gives a firm nod and turns back to the patient and his family.

“Excuse me for a minute.” The doctor exits the room to speak with the nurse, while Maura, Bobby, and Greg all stood dumbstruck.

“So you were playing a show with…Harry?”

“Mhm,” Niall confirms. “And Liam, and Louis,” he continues. Biting her lip, Maura begins to feel wary.

“Oh, and Zayn!” He finishes with a small smile, while Maura feels as though she was going to cry again. Bobby already senses her discomfort and wraps his arms around her.

“And that’s the last thing you remember? Like the very last thing before you woke up?”

“Yeah…why?” As he asks this, Niall takes in Greg’s appearance also. He looks more burdened with life than Niall remembers. The circles under his eyes looked darker. But he had a more mature way of dressing. Maybe it’s the two-year-old that’s changed him.

“Could I see all of you out here?” The doctor opens the door, staring at the family in urgency. Sharing apprehensive glances, the three all follow the doctor into the hallway.

“It seems that some test results were mixed up with Niall and another patient. Now, for the most part, everything is fine, except for his PET scan.” The doctor holds up a photo for Niall’s parents and brother to inspect. The majority of the x-ray was black and white, however, the brain held arbitrary splotches of red throughout it.

“This is the scan we took of Niall’s brain when he entered the hospital. We filtered the scan to only see the areas where his brain might have been injured and susceptible to amnestic syndrome…amnesia. Those red spots are where the injury occurred. And a lot of where Niall was injured were parts of the brain which function memory.”

“I’m sure this goes without saying, but from your expressions in the room, it seems Niall has forgotten an extensive amount of time. I’m not sure how much—“ Maura had already done the math in her head.

“Five years.” She breathed out. The men all looked to her. “At least.”

“Right. Well, there is a chance Niall might regain some pieces of his memory back within this next week. After that, the chances he might remember grow slimmer as the weeks go by. It all depends on how well his brain can function independently and if his memory transitions into something short-term…”

All while the family nodded their heads in understanding, Veronica stood feet away shaking her own. Warm tears streaked down her face. Five years? How could five years of him, her, them, be gone?

Hell, Veronica still thinks meeting him was yesterday. But luckily she could remember it had been nearly four years ago. In one hundred and seventeen agonizing minutes, her boyfriend had managed to lose more than two million.

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 28: Just Add Water

Certain things are instant.  Not usually sons.

Previously Chapter 27: So Long, Farewell Surprising things await back on Majuro.

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1) 

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2) 

FanFic Master List

     Perkaj looked so small sitting next to Jamie on the Jolok boat.  The breeze whipped his fine black hair around his ears.  Before he was discharged that morning, Dr. Langenbelik had coached us on our goals.  Perkaj, as young as he was, needed to be able to maintain his correct blood sugar level for at the least a full week by himself before we were to allow him to move back in with his family.  

     After that we were to spot check--stop in and have him test his blood sugars at a variety of times of day to make sure he was being consistent.  The goal was for him to re-enter his family and be independent of us, but not at the cost of his health.  We could also work with the family to help support him, hopefully getting their cooperation to speed the process of moving back home again.  

     Jamie and I had bundled up Perkaj with the few possessions he had brought along and the medical paraphernalia that he had gained during his hospitalization, along with a coterie of stuffed animals and toy cars, gifts from the nurses who had felt such pity for the unparented wee waif. We had boarded the Jolok boat just in time for departure.

     Perkaj’s dark eyes sparkled with delight as he glanced back at me.  He crouched to come close to me and exclaimed above the roar of the engine and surf.  “We go to your house now!”

     “We will also see your mama and baba,” I said.

     At that, he looked giddy.  “I miss them,” he admitted, then with a smile at me went back to sit with Jamie.

     He was equally excited during the bumpy ride in the back of the pickup truck from Arno Arno to Ine.  I realized from his enthusiastic reactions to everything we saw that he must have had no memory of his own truck ride to the air strip and plane ride to Majuro, and that this could be his first adventure outside the confines of the island.

     “Let’s stop at Perkaj’s house first,” Jamie suggested as we neared Ine.  I watched Perkaj’s face as we got closer, sharing in his joy as we pulled up to park on his property.  Our call to the Iroij had the desired effect, as the boy’s family members came spilling out of the house to greet him.  His mama was in tears, holding him by the cheeks and gazing into his face, clucking at how much weight he had lost but obviously pleased to see him looking healthy again.  His father smiled gravely as he shook Jamie’s hand.

     They invited us to come in, and we entered their house, nodding at the relatives we found already inside.  Perkaj’s mother and father ushered us to a pandanus mat and tried to urge food on us.  Jamie gestured to his stomach and explained that he was full and couldn’t eat anything.  I had a feeling that his stomach was still churning from the boat ride despite motion sickness pills.

     I could pick out the occasional word as Jamie explained everything to them.  At his invitation, Perkaj joined us on the mat and pulled out his zippered kit with lancets, tester, and insulin.  At Jamie’s nod, he took a testing strip and inserted it into the tester.  The room was silent as he twisted the plastic tip off the lancet, but there was a chorus of gasps as he poked his own finger and then touched the droplet of blood to the testing strip. Quiet murmurs followed, but when the tester beeped with the results, Perkaj held it up not to show his parents, but Jamie so he could see the LCD readout.

     “Emmon, good,” said Jamie. “120. Show Baba and Mama.” 

     Perkaj scrambled over to them, squatted between them, and pointed and explained as he looked at the monitor.

     I noticed that Maria was hanging back at the side of the room, so as the attention of the crowd was on Perkaj, I motioned to her to come outside.  She hung her head shamefacedly, not meeting my eyes.

     “I am not good aunt,” she muttered.

     “Yes you are,” I said.  “You came with Perkaj to Majuro.  It is very hard to take care of someone with diabetes.  You remember I am a nurse, so I can help Perkaj until he can manage it himself, but you can be a helper to him when he comes back home.”

     Her eyelashes fluttered as she glanced quickly up at me.  “Jolok bod,” she said.  “Is bad he live in your house? You and Meester Shamie are just married.  Is not time for nin-nins yet.”

     “Ejjelok bod.  It’s okay,” I said, trying as hard as I could to mean it.

      Before long, Jamie had made our excuses, Maria helped me grab a few more pairs of clothing for Perkaj, and we had our driver take us the rest of the way to the clinic. Coming around the side of the truck, I felt a hand on my arm. It was Jamie, concern on his face. “Are you all right, hen?” he asked. Perkaj was pulling his backpack out of the truck, his focus elsewhere.

     “Honestly? A little terrified,” I answered, meeting Jamie’s eyes. “Wondering how we’re going to manage all of this along with the rest of our lives.”

     “Just do the next right thing,” Jamie said. “That’s what my da used to say when Jenny, Willie or I were overwhelmed by a task.”

     I took a deep breath, grabbed my suitcase and swung it out of the bed of the truck.

     “Well,” I said, with a hesitant smile at Jamie, “let’s get inside and make a spot for Perkaj.”

     After dropping my luggage by the kitchen table, I went around the apartment opening up the louvered windows and curtains which had been closed for more than a week. Without a breeze to move the air it made little difference.  It was still stuffy and hot. 

     Perkaj wandered around the apartment, stopping in front of the pantry with its rows of cans and tubs of dry goods.  “Ebol mona,” he marveled, opening his arms to show how much food we seemed to have.

     “Eh bowl?” I asked Jamie. “I know mona is food.”

     “It means full… a lot.”

     After pulling our bed closer to the west wall of the apartment, Jamie moved the couch to create a barrier between the table and the back wall to give Perkaj a spot of his own.

     Glancing at me occasionally, Jamie set up the space.  He pulled a quilt from our storage tub, folded it several times and laid it on the floor, topping it with the pandanus mat Perkaj’s mom had carefully rolled up for her son. I pulled one of the extra pillows from our bed and put on a fresh pillowcase, handing a sheet to Jamie to put on top of the mat.

      Looking through the back window, I caught sight of my raised beds. Having seen the dry yellow grass along the sides of the road , the drooping palm fronds and wilting jungle plants on the way from Arno Arno, I’d had a sinking feeling. I still saw green peeking up above the wooden walls of the beds, so I invited Perkaj out to see my plants.

     Though most of the plants looked a little limp, as I dug down into the soil surrounding them I discovered that just an inch under the surface of the ground there was moisture.  It was only a minute later that Anni wandered over.

     “Meester Shamie asked me to water the plants,” she said, smiling. Perkaj stood up on tiptoes to peek into the box, then grabbed the bucket to go to the well.  He lugged it back having to use both hands to carry it, water sloshing out on his feet.  But he was fascinated and helpful as we dipped cups of water and gently poured them at the base of each plant.

     By the time we went back inside, Jamie had stretched wire from one rafter to the other and was hanging up a sheet to separate Perkaj's little room from ours.

     “Let’s do coconut rice and fish,” Jamie suggested, nodding towards our little visitor. He had reached into the dresser, grabbed swim trunks, and was about to drop his pants when he thought again.  

     “Do you want to see how yer bed feels?” He asked Perkaj, rattling off the translation in Majol afterwards. Once Perkaj had rounded the curtain, Jamie whipped off his clothing and pulled on the trunks, his back to the room.  After a pleasant eyeful, and having never seen the man sheepish about being naked, I couldn’t help but chuckle.  Perkaj was still happily sitting on his bed, setting his zoo of stuffed animals around the perimeter when Jamie joined me in the kitchen.

     “Obviously, I need to rethink the space,” he whispered. “No’ enough privacy yet,”

     “You think he’s never seen a naked man before?” I asked in an undertone.

     “Aye, I’m sure the lad has, but he doesna need to be subjected to the vision of a large, naked white Scotsman.”

     “That would be a traumatizing nightmare,” I joked.  Jamie smirked, kissed me, and headed out the door with his fish spear.

     “Itok, Perkaj,” I called out. “Can you help me find a coconut for the rice?”

      Prepping dinner took a good hour, followed by testing his blood sugar, giving Perkaj short-acting insulin, measuring portions, eating, and cleaning up after the meal. By 7:45 I couldn’t tell who was more exhausted--us or Perkaj. Jamie meticulously wrote down everything in the blood sugar/insulin log, and then we met each other’s eyes, an identical question on our faces.  “What now?”

     We were used to freedom in the evenings, our time being our own to read or write letters, to flirt and joke and laugh, to kiss and cuddle, to freely shed our clothing and make as much noise as we wanted.  But now there was an unfamiliar guest in our sacred space. 

     For the first time, I thought I saw it register on Jamie’s face-the sense of anxiety and discomfort I was feeling. But then he frowned determinedly and turned to Perkaj.

     “Ej awa in kiki,” he said.  “It’s time to sleep.  What do mama and baba do to help you rest?”

     “Erro bwebwenato,” Perkaj replied. His voice held a tinge of sadness.

     “They tell you a story?” Jamie repeated, translating. “Well, come & lie down in your bed, and I’ll tell ye a story.  I have one that’s called Jock & his Mother.”

     We turned on a lamp by our bed and turned off the main lights.  While the boys were on one side of the sheet I put on my pajamas, choosing a longer pair of shorts in case Perkaj saw me in the morning. 

     The story was a little like one I’d heard before, where a simple-minded boy keeps following his mother’s advice a bit too late.  Jock brings home a needle in a bundle of hay, and his mother tells him he should have put it in his hat.  The next day he brings home a plough, and following his mother’s advice, puts it on his hat.  Of course, it’s so heavy it falls into the river. 

     “She said to him, ‘You silly boy!  Ye should have tied a rope to it and pulled it behind you!’” Jamie said, giving the mother the voice of an old crone.  Perkaj giggled.

     “The next day,” Jamie said, “The boy earned a leg o’ mutton... well, they dinna have those on Arno, so maybe it was a… roasted chicken. What do you think he did with it?”

     “Tie it with rope?” Perkaj offered.

     “And pulled it all the way home!” Jamie answered. The answering peal of laughter made me smile.  I sat on the bed, arms hugged around my knees.  All this time I hadn’t realized this talent of Jamie’s.  My only bedtime story from him had been the boring recitation of Scottish history.

     Poor Jock tried to carry a horse on his shoulder and then rode a cow, which of course helped a sad princess to laugh and so they got married.  Jamie slowed his sentences and lowered his voice as the story continued, and just before I heard the floor creak with the movement of Jamie pushing himself up off the floor, I heard a little voice murmur something in Marshallese.

     Jamie crept around the curtain, smiling when he saw me.  He joined me on the bed and was reaching for a book when I whispered, “What did he say?  I didn’t hear him well enough.”

     I could have sworn there was a little mist in Jamie’s eyes as he answered.  “He said ‘Ainikiom ekakiiki ao.’” He paused, the effort of translating wrinkling his forehead.  “It means,” he blushed and met my eyes. “The sound of your voice lulls my soul to sleep.”

     I felt a lump in my throat, the sting of tears in my own eyes as I leaned my head on Jamie’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss onto my forehead and wrapped an arm around me.

     “Tired?” he asked.

     “Exhausted,” I answered.

     “I don’t even think I can read tonight,” he said, reaching over me to turn off the lamp.

     “I won’t argue with that,” I responded, getting up to turn the covers down and pull up the single top sheet. It was still hot and windless.

     Jamie cuddled me for a moment when he got under the covers, but then pulled away.

     “It’s so hot,” he groaned. “I’m missing air conditioning already.”

      It was pitch black inside and out when I startled awake.

     “I want to go home,” a small voice quavered.  “Ikonaan mama im baba.  In my house, my brother sleeps next to me,” Perkaj cried.  “I am alone here.”

     “Jab jan”, Jamie said reassuringly.  “Don’t cry.  Here.  You can sleep next to me.”

     He flipped on the lamp, pushed the sheet out of the way, pulled the mat over until it was touching the side of our bed and tucked Perkaj in again.  Jamie then got into bed, kindly turning toward the little boy and scooting closer to the edge that faced him.

     For the next few minutes, I could hear Marshallese as Jamie murmured reassurances to Perkaj.  The low rumble of foreign speech patterns soothed me as well, and soon I fell back asleep.

      In the predawn hours, I was awakened by large, warm hands that gently stroked my back.  They found their way to the tight muscles of my neck and shoulders, then ran fingers through my hair to massage my scalp.

     I shivered at a kiss on my shoulder blade, at which Jamie scooted closer to me and put his arm over me.

     “Cold, hen?” he asked.

     “Actually, no,” I said, smiling to myself.

     “Me neither,” he whispered, a hand meandering down my side, lazily tracing the waistband of my shorts before slipping fingers under the elastic.

     “Whatcha doing?” I whispered playfully, rolling toward him and being rewarded by an enthusiastic caress of my breast and a thorough kiss.

     “Dying,” was Jamie’s response. “A busy week at your parents’ house, then sleeping apart from ye at the hospital, and now we have an instant son? God, I'm starving for ye.”

     No words were needed to tell him I felt the same.  I’d been trying not to be selfish and resentful, but it was challenging to not feel deprived and disconnected.

     I helped him finish what he had started, wriggling out of my shorts and kicking them onto the floor, then climbing atop Jamie, who made quick work of pulling off my tank top over my head, throwing it to the side to join its companion on the floor.

     “Ifrinn,” he gasped as I used a hand to guide him in, lowering myself onto him.

     Perkaj won’t wake up, I assured myself, confident the darkness would hide us.  He was turned away from us anyway, his breath coming out in a low, even snore. I leaned toward him just to make sure he wasn’t looking in our direction.

     Jamie must have noticed my movement because he hissed under his breath, “It won’t be the first time he’s heard these noi…  Oh, God… oh, Christ...”

     I put my hand over his mouth, increasing my pace. I was close, he was close, and then, a plaintive voice interrupted the process.  “Meester Shamie?”

     I froze. Jamie desperately tried to hold my hips to keep me in place, but I was instantly out of the mood, melting down next to Jamie like an ice cube on a hot car.

     “No no no no no no no…” Jamie pleaded. I pulled the sheet up, panting.  “Bollocks,” he swore, then modulated his voice after a deep sigh.  “Ijin,” he said calmly, rolling away from me toward Perkaj.  “I’m right here.”

Next up on Island Hopper:

Chapter 28b: Just Add Water, part 2 Shots & the “Shungle” 

[ufonaut]

Prompt: Alive!Alan has his two kids, and lives in BV with everyone else. Jen, probably not Todd lbr, is on the same team as Artemis, and Larry makes it his business to try to land this hot blond who is obviously ignoring him.

had to change some stuff around so its a lil bit closer to canon, alan doesnt live in bv etc. post s1 finale

---

The diner is a Blue Valley original, must’ve been kicking around for years long before Jordan had made it into town all starry-eyed and coming off the heels of the JSA’s miraculous defeat. Hell, it’s probably why he’s chosen Nowhere, Nebraska as their base of operations in the first place -- Jordan’s spent his whole life nursing a chronic tendency to fall for that Norman Rockwell, All-American bullshit of a world that never was.

Larry doesn’t get the specifics of it, doesn’t like the diner much either no matter the rave reviews that keep getting thrown his way from everyone around and rare visitors alike. It’s not some health freak thing, though Larry’s under the firm impression that it’s his own business if that was the case, but rather the constant reminder of what this town with its Little House on the Prairie sensibilities isn’t.

It’s no Gotham, for a start.

Now, if going down to the diner meant getting served by a relic of a waitress that’s been no doubt chain-smoking since early childhood and the whole place smelled like it’d been deep-fried twice over, Larry would be all for it. That’s a diner. It’s Gotham tradition not to trust any restaurant that thinks itself above being a literal hole-in-the-wall.

As luck would have it, Larry’s walking past the offending place just now because Blue Valley believes in having every single business on a literal Main Street like it’s yet to move on past the 1900s. He’s on his way to Ripped City, which does sweeten the deal most mornings, and his light jog is accompanied by this fascinating internal monologue that comes to an abrupt and sudden stop in the face of the impossible. Larry stops in his tracks.

“No freakin’ way,” he mumbles and takes out his earbuds in what he’d call one of those instinctively idiotic attempts to see better. Wasting no time in laughing at himself, Larry steps closer to the diner’s window and squints at a reality he doesn’t-- can’t make sense of.

Fact of the matter is that he’s seen his fair share of heroes. There’s nothing humiliating about a defeat at the hands of the JSA Jr. when that used to be par for the course in the heyday of the real Justice Society of America. It’s probably why Larry’s bounced back quick enough, decidedly in action a couple months after that momentous occasion when he and Paula had decided there’s no real reason to put Artemis through the stress of changing schools after all.

The ISA is on something of a hiatus, sure, but Larry suspects an extended break will do Jordan some good whenever he finally decides to come outta hiding and, if nothing else, they could do with a less neurotic would-be leader. As always, he’s pleasantly willing to see it through out of a sense of novelty.

Point being, other than his own prevailing existence, Larry doesn’t see any reason for any big shots to be hanging around their neck of the woods and he doesn’t see any reason for dead men to be struggling with a travesty of an apple pie either. It’s not the neon-green teenage girl Larry’s spent these past few minutes staring at, as much of a worthy contender as she is in her drab surroundings.

For the first-- well, it might just be the second time total, Larry walks into the diner with the kind of determination he reserves for the field.

There’s nothing unassuming about the blond man sharing the last booth on the right with the aforementioned teenage girl and a boy with mousy brown hair that can’t be any older than her. Larry would recognise that face anywhere, the roll of his shoulders, his voice. For one thing, no one’s that big. He approaches without thinking, eyes wide at a surprise almost too good to be true.

The Green Lantern looks up halfway through a laugh and says, all traces of amusement fading like they’d never been there to begin with, “You.” 

It’s a delight to be recognised. An honour, even. Larry knows his grin’s gone a little manic and finds that he doesn’t mind it in the least. “Me,” he agrees, much more fond than any possible guidelines for the chance meeting of one’s most-likely-deceased nemesis would dictate. Variations on that exact sentiment sort of come spilling out. “Bud, I missed ya so goddamn much, you have no idea how boring it’s been without your nonsense. Jeez, it’s been too long! C’mon, bring it in, Green La--”

Being suddenly faced with the undeniable shock of Green Lantern’s full height gets Larry shutting up like nothing else.

“We’re taking this outside,” Lantern says, as serious as Larry’s ever heard him, and indifferent to the multitude of stares now directed at their little extravaganza, he turns towards the kids to add, “Todd, make sure Jennie doesn’t follow me.”

Past the girl’s indignant hey!, outside seems to amount to the secluded alleyway behind the diner. Larry’s walked by Lantern’s side with no complaints, thrumming with an excitement he remembers well and doesn’t often feel nowadays. He doesn’t bother fighting a continued desire to grin nor appreciative glances over Green Lantern’s form. It’s always nice to mix business with pleasure, it only gets nicer when he finds himself slammed up against the nearest wall.

“Oof, someone’s all worked up.” Larry winks. “Missed me, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing here or how you tracked me down but you’re gonna regret it, bud.” The Green Lantern’s eyes are icy blue up-close and Larry’s absurdly reminded of the way frost swallows even the whites of Jordan’s eyes when he lets himself freeze all the way. All the same, even he runs warmer than the present company.

“I live here!” Larry laughs, glances down at the forearm the Lantern’s got pressed hard against his sternum. Something stirs in him. “No, really, I do! My question is, Greenie, what are you doing here?”

Lantern frowns at him, vaguely fascinating in his handsomeness with the way the sun catches in his blond hair and a jawline Old Hollywood can only dream of. Distantly, Larry thinks he’d like to bite him. It’s a thought that comes and goes in the interest of more immediate matters. “I’m looking for my lantern,” he admits, “I heard Stripesy took it.”

“Aw, what’s the matter, pal? Can’t take over satellites without it?”

Oh, Larry’s missed this. No one hovers on the edge like Green Lantern does, he knows that for a fact. Then again, it’s never been wise to taunt him. The smell of ozone taints the air as Larry catches a flicker of green flame along Lantern’s arms for the briefest of moments.

“I can do a lot worse,” is what Lantern settles on and Larry’s grin only widens, wild-eyed with it.

He bites his lip and ruminates on the possibilities. They’re close enough that the woodsy undertone of Green Lantern’s cologne mixes with the scent of that brief show of power, Larry’s even got a couple ideas on how to close the distance between them. “So, are we gonna fuck or what?” he says, blunt as ever. It’s hard not to breathe out a laugh when Lantern jumps back like Larry’s dealt him a particularly low blow. Larry likes to think he spies a flush staining his cheeks.

“Listen, Sportsmaster, you’re not gonna tell anyone you saw me here, alright?” Coming from Green Lantern, who’s turned to leave already, it’s nothing short of an order. “Keep your mouth shut and maybe I won’t be taking it out on you if I can’t find my lantern.”

“Hey, ya know where to find me!”

Larry offers an eager little wave. He’s not, in fact, all that sure the Green Lantern does know where to find him. A problem for the future, then. His smile doesn’t falter.

[slasherscream]

Yes yes wreck me inside out, make me cry, I lOVE ANGST AND/OR FLUFF

A/N: angst won out because i’m a bastard i guess

       billy loomis x reader x stu macherft. reader has amnesia and forgets the boys

                                                     ——————– 

You’d just gone out to get a few things from the store.

You’d kissed them both on the cheek before walking out the door. Thrown a casual “I love you” over your shoulder on your way out which the boys had echoed immediately. You’d be back soon, you’d promised. They’d believed you because why wouldn’t they? You were always back soon. Never gone for long or never gone too far.

Been together for years now, the three of you. Since highschool and now you’re all in your mid-twenties. Some people grow apart. You’d all grown together, every year brought you three closer and closer to one another in ways even you hadn’t seen coming. 

After-all how many highschool sweethearts really last? You’re a relationship minority. A fact your boys are endlessly smug about. Even you puff up with pride when talking about the two of them and how you all are. Perfect, you always say. Because you’re sure you’ve got a relationship as close to perfect as a relationship can get.

The honeymoon phase had hit you all hard and seemingly never left. There’d been rough patches of course. Uncovered secrets (both bloody and benign). Adjustment periods. The troubles that accompanied learning to shrink three separate lives down into a single harmonious one. 

But every challenge you’d come across you’d conquered it together. Together you could face anything.

Then you didn’t come home. At first they thought it was a long line at the store. Then they thought maybe you’d stopped to pick up some food on the way back. Another two hours passed and they panicked. No messages. No calls and you never went so long without communicating a change in plans. None of you did that. Hadn’t even back in highschool when you were all just kids bullshitting your way through relationship etiquette.

They blow up your phone but there’s no response. When they do finally get a call they’re already shrugging on coats and headed out the door, ready to find you their damn-selves. They don’t recognize the number but Billy picks up immediately, “Y/N? Is that you? Where the hell are you? You’ve been gone for hours what-”

“Is this Billy Loomis?” A calm male voice interrupts him before he can really get himself wound up and on a rant. Billy goes quiet, eyes closing with irritation as he snatches up his keys.

“Yes. Who the hell is this? I’m busy.”

“There’s been an accident and you’re listed as the emergency contact for Y/N L/N.”

Billy goes rigid. “What?”

The sudden change from anger to nothing makes Stu crowd him asking him what’s wrong. Stu is just a buzz in Billy’s ear in comparison to the voice speaking to him through the phone.

“They’re alive but their condition is critical. It’s urgent that you-”

Everything is a blur after that. Getting to the hospital (somehow in one piece). Talking to doctors. Waiting. Endless waiting. Stu curled up crying in a chair while Billy tries to comfort him from the numb, half state of being he’s fallen into. At one point they have to go sit in their car, Stu in real and true hysterics that had begun to scare the few other people around them. The night is drawn out torture and it stays that way until the early morning hours. 

Stu had curled himself tightly around Billy, squeezed snugly against one another in one hospital lounge chair. Holding him like Billy was all he had. They were both afraid that this could be their new reality. Just the two of them (it had been that way once, ages and ages ago). The talk they’d had with the doctor was less than hopeful. Losing you …. an unthinkable cruelty they couldn’t wrap their heads around even as they imagined it. 

And then a miracle. A doctor walking over and delivering the first good news they’d heard since arriving. “Stable. They’re stable and you’ll be able to see them soon.”

Stu started crying all over again. Only soothed by Billy’s arms around him holding him steady and tight. Maybe holding him together. It’s still a few hours before they’d allowed to see you.

They’ve seen worse injuries. They’ve caused worse injuries. Much worse. But you … seeing you, so beat up with every breath labored (knowing you’d just got done fighting for your life) and shaky? For the first time of the night Billy cries, just a few tears, he’s trying to be strong for Stu. For you. But even he can’t stop the few angry tears that escape. 

They’re advised to go home. At first they don’t. Eventually they do. For two weeks you’re asleep. Medically induced coma for your own good. In that time they call teachers, family, friends, anyone who you’d want to know about your condition. Flowers, balloons, teddy bears, and cards from well wishers and loved ones alike begin to fill your room.

Everyone eagerly awaits your waking. When you’re finally brought out of the mini-coma you’re given a few hours to come to and adjust before visitors are brought in.

Stu and Billy are nearly jumping out of their skin waiting to see you. To see your beautiful eyes looking back at them. To hear your voice, their favorite sound in the world.

Then they get pulled aside by your doctor before they’re allowed into the room. Their face kind in the way someone who’s about to give you horrible news always is. Billy and Stu have to hold each other, sensing another brick-load of troubles about to hit them. By all means they’re at the edge of both patience and fucking sanity. 

What more could go wrong? What more could they take before they just started rampaging? Before they grabbed this doctor by their stupid, bad news breaking face and smashed it to a pulp and-

“Retrograde episodic memory loss,” The casually decided upon problem of the week. Amnesia. Fucking amnesia. But it doesn’t really sink in until they walk into the room anyway, doctor following close behind and you look up but there’s no recognition there. Curiosity. But you don’t reach out for them, wanting to hold them, needing them to hold you. There’s no tears of joy. No         anything. 

That first “meeting” doesn’t go well. Weeks of stress boiling over at this one last slight dealt against you three. Billy is the one to snap and Stu follows close behind. They’re escorted out of the room but not the hospital.

The doctor talks to them in more understanding and hushed tones that only make them feel murderous. “This will be a difficult period of-” Stu doesn’t hear the rest. Too busy laughing like a madman. Difficult couldn’t begin to cover the full scope of loss they’ve felt when they looked into your eyes and hadn’t felt you looking back. 

You go home with them eventually. You wanted to go stay with your parents or the handful of friends that you remember but the doctor suggests against it and so do the other people in your life. Jogging the memory best done in a familiar environment and whether you know it or not the environment that’s most familiar to you is the home you share with the boys. Your boys, apparently. 

They’d made an impression on you but it had been poor to say the least. Their anger intense and terrifying. There’d been sadness too, obviously, but it was the anger that had stuck with you. It left a pit of …not fear, but something close in your stomach.

It’s family and the hospital staff that soothe your nerves enough to allow the boys to take you home. The nurses telling you just how worried and doting they’d been during your coma. Almost always at your bedside. All the people you love (and can still remember) telling you how incredible your relationship had always seemed. How happy you’d been with them.

So you go “home”. 

It’s not easy. They’re perfect strangers to you and your the love of their lives. None of you knows what to do. How to act. How to deal with one another.

The first night is a special type of hell. They show you around the house, Billy radiating displeasure even as his voice is neutral. You get takeout and sit on the couch and don’t ask all the questions you want to because it doesn’t feel….right. You all pretend not to stare at each other. 

When it’s time to go to bed you change in the bathroom but after a moment of hesitation you do crawl into bed with them. You’re not able to sleep. Deeply uncomfortable with how these two men you don’t know hold you with such familiarity. You put up with it for a few more days before you tell them you’d rather sleep in the guest room for awhile. Things, shockingly, do not get better from there. 

Billy retreats into himself. Doesn’t know how to handle you not remembering him. Insecurity and anger blending to make the perfect storm within him. He tries to fight against it. Knows this isn’t your fault and that you’re the victim of this but some part of him is perceiving the whole thing as one giant rejection. The ultimate abandonment. You can stand right in front of him and feel nothing while he’s trapped feeling fucking everything. 

Stu is doing his best to be his usual self. Trying to be positive and happy for you and Billy both. It’s hard. Whenever you don’t get an inside joke. When you try to politely shrug away from affection that you used to melt into. It’s hard despite all his smiling and posturing. He doesn’t know what else to do but try and act like things are normal. 

Eventually you start asking them questions. About themselves. About you. About your relationship. They answer them all of course.

Stu with enthusiasm no matter what you’d asked. Desperately hoping something he tells you will jump-start any part of your memory. The amount of details he’ll throw at you from you asking the simplest of questions can make your head swim at times. But it’s endearing to, how much he’s trying to help.

Billy answers but there’s always a tightness to his jaw and a closed off look in his eyes. Like he’s angry you can’t remember. Sometimes he’ll be dutifully sharing a particularly important memory or story with you and some of that coldness will melt away for a moment. Then he’ll remember why he’s sharing the story with you like he would a stranger and not someone who also experienced the moment with him and that warmth is gone instantly. 

Stu is out picking up dinner when you finally decide to address the elephant in the room. You figure one at a time is easier and Billy is definitely the more difficult of the two. 

“I’m sorry I don’t remember." 

"What?” Billy asks even though he’d heard you fine. You’d seen his body tense the moment you began to talk. 

“I’m sorry I don’t remember.” You reach for the remote and pause the horror movie that’s onscreen. The final girl facing down the monster that’s been hunting her. You turn to Billy to do the same.

It’s about time you all faced the monster you’ve been running from instead of fighting. The full reality of everything instead of tiptoeing around it. 

“I’m sorry. But it isn’t my fault I don’t remember." 

"I know it’s not your fault.” An automated answer and it makes you snap. 

“Then act like it." 

His eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks. There’s not the usual coldness there. There’s a heat to them. Anger. Well perfect, you happen to be angry at him too. You grab the closest pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it and the anger settles on the rest of his face and not just in his eyes.

"Fucking act like it! You walk around and you act like I wanted to forget you and Stu. I got into an accident and now I can’t remember jack shit and it’s not just hard on you, okay? It’s hard for me too. It’s harder on me. Do you get that?” You demand.

“I-”

“I’m trying! I’m trying to remember and I’m trying to be normal but I don’t even know what my normal would look like anymore. And everyone tells me how good we all were together and I wish you’d show me that. Because I need …. I need some fucking support right now and if I don’t get it from you who am I supposed to get it from?” Tears fall from your eyes and you wipe the first of them away but before you know it you’re crying so hard you can barely breathe. 

“Hey. Hey, don’t-” A hand reaches out to grabs yours and tug you insistently towards the other end of the couch. You’re settled against Billy, his arms wrapping around you and his lips pressed into your hair, “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been an asshole-”

“A huge asshole.” You interrupt, huffing against his chest.

“-A huge asshole.” He concedes, squeezing you tighter, “I was …in my own head and wasn’t thinking about how much shittier this is for you. I'm         sorry." 

There’s a long moment of silence in the room but it’s not uncomfortable for once. You can imagine in a different set of circumstances laying in his arms for hours without saying a word. The sort of comfort that comes from knowing someone intimately for years.

Your tears dry up but you don’t pull away at first. You shift ever so slightly and Billy goes to let you go (even though he doesn’t want to). When you just settle more heavily against him and even move to hold him back he sighs in relief. This is the first time he’s touched you meaningfully in months. He was starting to forget how good it felt to hold you. 

"You don’t apologize much do you?” You ask quietly, but there’s teasing in your voice and Billy doesn’t bristle like he wants to. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Thought you were choking on the words for a second back there.” You pull back just enough so he can see your face and start to mimic how he’d forced out the word, “Sor …Soooorr-”

“Shut up.” Before the amnesia he would’ve kissed you to make you quiet. Now he just tugs you back into his chest where he can feel you shake against him with laughter instead of tears. It’s enough. 

“Are you guys cuddling without me?” Stu gasps with contrived betrayal (that’s maybe tinged with real upset). One hand full of takeout while the other is pressed dramatically to his chest.

“Yes.” You say even as you peak over the back of the couch to give Stu a grin, “But Billy’s kinda bony so get over here and make us all more comfortable please.”

You spend the rest of the night curled up like this. The takeout gets cold before you three can force yourselves to pull away from the first bit of comfort you’ve had in ages. There’s still plenty of conversations to be had and a long road to recovery but this is a first step. 

As you watch Stu try to sneak food from Billy’s plate and get smacked for his troubles you think it’s a pretty good first step to make. 

                                                     ——————– 

[quxntumvandyne]

48 Hours (Scott Lang x fem!Reader)

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: none, its just dramatic and cute lol

Summary: An accident happened that ends you up in the hospital, just around the same time as a stranger that you become very close with very quickly. But when disaster strikes, you are the only one who can help Scott. Do you trust him or is it too soon?

A/N: omg guys i’m alive!!!!!! back with a scott x reader fix that i’m proud of and i love this prompt i came up with. i have never seen it anywhere else if it has already been done, i’m super sorry and all the credit to you! and i tried to go through it the best i could so i apologize now for any mistakes. thank you for your support and i’ll have much out later! jump into my asks if you’d like to be added to my taglist, scott lang taglist or give me a prompt to write! i hope you love it. much love, lena

MASTERLIST

. . . . .

Bright lights.

That was the only thing that crossed your mind the moment you woke up in a hospital bed on Saturday morning. You blinked several times trying to see more clearly and rubbed your eyes, not knowing how long you had been asleep. You saw your best friend, Natasha, sitting across in the room asleep in a chair and you had a white blanket and a sheet covering your body up until your arms. You had a hospital gown on and the blinds in your room were wide open to let the sunshine in.

You tried to sit up and immediately felt a sharp pain in your torso, send you straight back on to the bed.

“What the hell??” you said, trying not to wake Natasha but she immediately snapped her eyes open in panic and came straight over to your side.

“Hey Y/N, slow down. Might not want to sit up that fast after surgery.”

“Surgery? Nat, what happened?” You just realized how little you remember about where you were and how you got there.

“You’re in a hospital,” Natasha reminded you. “Last night you really weren’t feeling well and passed out back in the apartment. I had to call an ambulance and they said your appendix burst. I was just glad it wasn’t anything worse but they fixed you up.”

It felt like a gut punch to the stomach, thinking about how scared this must have made her but so thankful you had the best best friend in the whole world.

“Did I ever tell you are the best person ever?” you told her, wincing while laying back down.

“Don’t need to, you know I’ll watch your six if you watch mine.”

“Duh,” you said smiling.

“Doc says you can go home tomorrow but they want to monitor you today. Apparently, they have a big case today but they’ll be by later to check on you.”

Natasha sits on your bed while she tells you about who brought you flowers, your friends Bucky, Sam and Steve. You and Natasha became friends when you met at a gym and became workout buddies and she introduced you to the rest of the gang, slowly becoming one of them. Thankfully you weren’t alone when this happened and you knew that your friends would always have your back.

“Do you know what big case they had today?”

Nat shook her head, “Not sure but I think he’s down the hall. All I know is it must be serious because he’s been here forever and has a ton of doctors on his case.”

This only made you more curious and wanted to find out what all the commotion was about. Just then, your doctor walked in.

“Good morning, Y/N. How are feeling this morning?”

“Better than ever, doc,” you said, pretending to not feel the aching in your side.

“Sounds great. We’d like to keep you overnight for observation just to make sure everything is alright and you can go home first thing tomorrow morning.”

Dr. Coulson went on explaining about at home care but all you could think about was this big case. Then you noticed the look on Dr. Coulson’s face. Something of nervousness.

“Hey Dr. Coulson, are you okay?”

“Oh yes, just a big day on the job.”

“Can I know about it?” you asked genuinely curious.

“I can’t disclose patient information, but you’re welcome to walk over and introduce yourself to our VIP today. Scott never minds new visitors and will make you feel right at home here. And bound to make you laugh, he’s quite the jokester.”

You decided that you would take a nap and visit later, interested to meet this Scott.

2 hours later

You sat into your wheelchair as Sam pushed you over to this mysterious man’s room to meet him.

“So why are we meeting this guy again?” Bucky asked.

“I’m not really sure, I just figured if I was here today I could meet some other patients and keep myself busy. Today seems to be his big day.”

You made it to his room and as you went in, it was filled with balloons and flowers with a man around your age sitting in the hospital bed, looking frail but happy. He had dark hair with green eyes and a big smile, instantly making you feel warm and welcomed.

Dr. Coulson wasn’t lying.

“Um, hi. Are you Scott?”

“Yes-“

“This sure is my best friend Scotty. And who is the beautiful lady rolling into his room that we have the pleasure of meeting?” said a man who must have been a friend of his.

“I’m Y/N,” you said laughing at his friend's quick response to your question.

“I’m Luis. Me and Scotty go way back, back to like-“

“Hey man, she just got here. Give her at least ten minutes before explaining the entire story of our friendship again,” Scott said with a smile.

“Scott Lang, at your service.”

“Pleasure is all mine. So, you seem to be a popular guy around this floor?” you asked.

Scott chuckled, “Well when you’ve been here as long as I have, you’re bound to make some friends.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how long?”

“Well, this is my fourth and longest visit in the last two years. I have renal cancer and I have my second transplant today. First one didn’t work out so well, so I’ve got high hopes for the new guy but I also have to realistic. I like to come off as a person who isn’t dying of cancer as best I can.”

You smiled. “Well, you won me over.”

“Oh, did I?”

“Well, you’re a better actor than you think.”

“It’s never acting when a girl like you happens to roll into my room.”

This made you blush and then laugh as Luis hit his shoulder and said “Oooo damn Scotty! You smooth!”

That earned a chuckle from the whole room and an eye roll from Scott.

“Oh trust me, Lang, you’ve never met a girl like me.”

“Oh really? Prove it.”

“My pleasure,” you smirked with a new found confidence.

Nat walked up from behind and said that her and the boys were going to get some food, while you requested to stay with Scott and chat some more. Luis decided to go with them and that left the two of you alone.

“So, what’s got you here?”

“Appendix burst last night and I passed out. Thankfully, Nat, my roommate was with me and rushed me here last night.”

“But you’re alright?” Scott asked, curious about your condition.

“Oh yeah, I leave tomorrow morning. But now that I’ve made a new friend, I kinda don’t want to leave.”

Scott’s eyes widen slightly and he blushes a bit, “Well I enjoy the company, Luis is here frequently but he’s about it besides nurses and doctors.”

“And they’re obviously a joy.”

“Always bringing such happy news and thrilled to poke me with needles.”

You laughed and kept on laughing for the next two hours as you shared stories together, learning about how Scott and Luis work together and how much you actually had in common. Little things, like how you like your coffee or tea and what goes on your pizza. It felt like you’ve known each other for forever and you could easily see you and Scott becoming close some day.

Dr. Coulson enters and is surprised to see you in the room.

“Well Y/N seems you found your way to Scott’s room. Hope you two have been keeping each other company before the surgery today. Speaking of which, we need to prepare you for.”

“Sounds good Dr. Coulson. And she’s been great company, hopefully, we’ll still see each other after this is all over.”

You looked at him and smiled, “Let’s make it a date.” You weren’t one to make the first move but something about Scott made you more confident that you have ever been about someone.

“Sounds like a plan to me, sweet cheeks. I’d say I’d pick you up but that might be difficult after the big procedure today.”

Steve, Natasha, Bucky, and Luis all came back to the room with ice cream, making Scott frown in jealous as you ate your first spoonful.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than at your side feeding you dinner,” you said, smirking while eating your ice cream.

“Oh, I am so getting revenge on you for this,” Scott said jokingly.

“Can’t wait!” you yelled, wheeling out of his room with Natasha pushing you.

“So,” Natasha said suspiciously, “sweet cheeks?”

“Someone made a new friend,” Sam said, nudging your arm.

You ate another scoop of your ice cream while blushing madly. “I don’t know what it is about him, he was just so easy to talk to. And even for him having cancer, we relate to each other in a lot of ways. It’s like I’ve known him my whole life but we only met a couple of hours ago.”

Steve chuckled, “You really like this guy huh? Doesn’t seem that bad.”

You smiled, looking down. “He’s kinda perfect.”

About 1 hour into Scott’s kidney transplant surgery, you see Dr. a Coulson running down the hall, followed by nurses with several bags in their hands. You look at your friends and start to think the worst. Natasha and Steve run after to see what’s going on and bring back the news, which made your heart leap into your throat.

“The new kidney had a tumor on it. Dr. Coulson is trying to find another one but nobody seems to have one close by.”

You feel your eyes water slightly and the only thought in your head is of his daughter, Cassie.

Steve continues with the worst news yet, which you didn’t think was possible. “He says if Scott doesn’t get a new kidney in the next 48 hours, he could die.”

“Let him test me.”

All eyes go to you in shock.

“I’m serious. Let them test me. Even if there is a chance I could help him, I want to try.”

Steve nods his head and runs down the hall to find Dr. Coulson again.

Natasha walks over to your bed. “Are you insane? You just met him. And now you want to give him your kidney?”

For a split second, you questioned it. Why were you doing this? You did just meet him. Maybe someone else would match and give him a kidney. But then you shoved those thoughts aside.

“I know what I’m getting myself into Nat. I don’t know why but I feel this connection to him. I’ve never felt this way before. And somehow I know that if it were roles reversed, he would do the same for me.”

Dr. Coulson then walked in with his team of nurses and doctors and looked at you with intense eyes with a hint of desperation. You could tell he was on his last straw of luck.

“Do the test,” you said.

And at that moment, the room erupted into chaos. You don’t remember much other than people telling you things and others running around but the only thing you could thing about was Scott lying open on that table.

And you wanted nothing more than to help him.

“Oh my god. She’s a match.”

The room fell silent. And all eyes went to you.

Dr. Coulson walked forward and said, “You were the last patient who let us test them and you are the only match. Do not feel pressure what so ever to do this and I can give you time to think abo-“

“I’m ready. No second guessing, no time to think, I’m sure. Scott needs that kidney and I can give him one.” You had never seen so many smiles at once.  

You had never felt so sure and unsure of anything in your whole life. But your gut was telling you this was the right thing to do. And what you wanted to do.

“Alright people, let's get ready for this kidney transplant!”

12 hours later

Could they really not have left the blinds closed? Sunlight is great and everything but after giving up a kidney, the last thing you wanted was to be awake this early in the morning.

Oh my god. You gave up a kidney last night.

You opened your eyes very slowly to a different room from the morning before and realized you weren’t breathing on your own.

You had a moment of deja vu when Natasha came over and requested a nurse who removed the tube from your throat. Your throat was very sore and it hurt to talk but you managed to speak.

“Nat? How did it go?”

She looked at you with tears in her eyes and began to cry.

Oh no. This can’t be happening, I did not just give a kidney to this man for him to die on me.

“No, no no no Nat. He can’t be dead. Tell me isn’t dead. NAT! TELL ME HE ISNT DEAD!” you started to yell with a rasp in your voice. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you couldn’t bear the thought of losing this man you’d barely met 24 hours ago.

“Natasha, please,” you begged her.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Hey sweet cheeks, would you mind keeping it down over there? Some of us are adjusting to living with another person’s kidney.”

Your eyes widened at the realization of who else was in the room with you. You look over to your right and see a drowsy yet goofy smiling Scott Lang laying in a bed next to yours. Tears of sadness then turned to tears of joy knowing that Scott was alive and so were you.

“Scott.”

“Y/N,” Scott said, looking at you from his bed, “I... don’t know how to repay you for what you did for me. I could’ve died on that table. But you... you barely know me and you saved my life. Why? Why would you do such a risky and unpredictable thing?”

You were quiet for a moment and then replied, “I told you, Scott. You’ve never met a girl like me before.”

Scott smiled so wide you thought his face would be stuck like that forever. “You proved me wrong.”

You both smiled then at each other and you could’ve stayed in that moment for eternity.

A week had gone by and it was time for you both to leave the hospital, and recover at home from the surgeries. You would miss lying next to Scott but we’re excited to leave the hospital and see what life on the outside was like with him by your side, proving him wrong time and time again.

“You know, I don’t think I can ever repay you for this,” Scott said, as you were wheeled out of the hospital together.

Just then, Cassie, Maggie, and Paxton pulled up and Cassie shot out of the car like a bullet straight for her dad.

“Well I can think of one way, and that is Cassie hugs.”

“Daddy!” Cassie yelled, running to Scott and giving him a gentle but loving hug.

“Hey Peanut! Oh, I missed you so much.”

“Are you all better now Daddy?”

“Much better. But I had some help. This is my new friend, Y/N. She helped Daddy get all better.”

Cassie looked at you and leaped off her dad’s lap to hug you. Her little arms wrapped around your neck as she smiled and said, “Thank you for saving my Daddy’s life.”

You hugged her back and said, “Your Daddy is somebody very special. Do you know that?”

“I do,” Cassie replied, sitting on your lap. “My daddy is my hero and I love him so much.”

You looked over at Scott to see his face beaming with pride at the picture of you two together. You looked back at Cassie.

“I think he’s my hero too.”

permanent taglist: @magic-marvel @celestialparker @galaxy-parker @signed-potato@ @lokiisragnarok @0captain-marvel0 @hedwigthelegend @highlady-ofthe-summercourt@minnie-marvel @vodkaqueensstuff @ms-marveleous @propertyofmarvel

[honeyedhoseok]

Should We Go Downtown?

Genre | angst, smut // friends-->lovers->friends au

Word Count | 9K

Summary | “And I don’t touch you, goddamn, I want to / Can we go downtown?” Taehyung has watched you struggle in your relationship with your boyfriend for a while, always being your shoulder to cry on. He’s learned the best trick to pick you up when you’re down--besides his sensation of his mouth on yours–is a trip downtown to the riverfront at nighttime, so you can see the boats coming in on the harbor while he tries to piece back together the girl he absolutely hates to see sad.

Warnings | Detailed smut, smoking, foul language, dirty talk, infidelity.

A/N | Listen...this was supposed to be a simple, short, angsty piece that turned into a 9K smut. I have no idea what happened but I hope you like how it turned out as much as I do! Also, thanks @risinginfire for proof-reading part of this and making me really excited to post it, ily <3

Read the rest of the V2 Series HERE!

--> Based on THIS song by The Ready Set

It’s the shrill, annoying sound of a phone call that breaks the bustling atmosphere of a get-together with your friends.

Actually, most of these people weren’t even your friends—they were really closer to Hongbin—and you were there because you were his girlfriend and therefore your presence was required but not necessary, because no one was talking to you.

You stood to the side in the kitchen, nursing a slice of greasy pizza that sat in the box beside you on the counter. Your friends were the reason you hadn’t left yet—the few that decided to show up to Hongbin’s casual, casual, casual (he stressed this to everyone multiple times during the week) party at his new apartment—and they surrounded you in a semicircle.

It was a ringtone you knew well, one that you’d told Hongbin a thousand times to change because it was too loud for someone who could hear perfectly fine. You thought it made him seem like a senior citizen with a smartphone they didn’t know how to work. He only chuckled each time you brought it up, as if you were just being silly. But now, of all times, you really wished his ringer wasn’t loud enough for everyone in the world to hear.

It’s nighttime—nearing 12 a.m.—and every acquaintance that Hongbin had was standing in the midst of his living and dining room, including you.

The first ring makes a few people around him quiet down just enough for you to catch the tail end of it, and you look up and over the shoulder of your friend Yeonwoo, who was standing directly across from you.

You watch Hongbin dig for his phone in his pocket, pulling it out to check the caller ID just as the second shrill ring sounds through the apartment. You flinch at its ferocity, the sound seeming to pierce not only your eardrums but your heart, as well.  You knew what a call at this time of night meant.

You watch your boyfriend excuse himself from the circle of people around him, catching your eye accidentally in the kitchen as he makes his way through the living room and into the bedroom the two of you shared to talk to his awaiting caller.

Any mood that you had for the casual get-together was certainly ruined due to the interruption—and it was not unnoticed by your friends, especially to one set of eyes in particular that had been lingering on you all night.

As those around you struggle to revive the conversation that had just been interrupted, ultimately feeling the strange mood twist and turn around the circle like fog, one pair of dark eyes captures yours and reads you like a book.

Taehyung knew you well enough after being your longest and closest friend that the sad attempt at a smile that tugged around the corners of your mouth was as phony as the black acrylics that donned your fingers. He takes a sip of the cheap beer clutched in his hand—provided so graciously by the host, who was now busy talking to his other girl in the bedroom—and watches you struggle to compose yourself.

You shift your weight from foot to foot and widen your eyes as you look at Hyebin—an attempt at looking ultimately interested, but Taehyung knows it’s a method of keeping the hot tears filling your water line from crashing over onto your cheeks. You laugh a little too loudly, a little too much, for a joke that Hyebin told—which made her laugh nervously in return, obviously not sure if she’d really told a joke that was worth that much. Your reaction probably made her think she had miraculously turned comedian in the last five seconds.

Taehyung sighs, shaking his head a little to himself as he finishes off the last sips of his beer, crumpling the can in his hand before sinking it into the trashcan across the room. It was cheap, low percentage and left a bad taste in his mouth, much like Hongbin. He knew what you needed, and it wasn’t another story about Yeonwoo or Hyebin’s antics from the weekend before.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, waiting for a break in conversation. “Come outside with me right quick—I just put a new stereo system in my car and I wanted you to hear how some bass-boosted songs sound.” He pauses, grinning at you. “I swear it’ll move your hair to the beat if it’s turned up to twenty-two.”

You blink once at the random request, but your brain quickly catches up—Taehyung was doing this to get you away for a few moments—and you nod, letting him wrap warm fingers around your wrist and lead you outside.

You expect him to stop once you two are outside of your apartment door, but he keeps going, leading you down the stairwell and out to the parking lot where his beat-up, black Honda sits in one of the visitor’s spaces.

“Door’s unlocked,” he murmurs, clicking the keypad in his hand once.

You open the passenger door, listening to it give a usual protesting groan. You push yourself inside, settling into the familiar sights and smells of Taehyung’s car. An old Yankee Candle air freshener swings lightly to and fro from his rearview mirror, it’s fragranced inside shriveled from years of the sun; Taehyung has had it in his car as long as you can remember—in fact, you’re positive he took it from his mom’s car and put it in this one when he brought it, despite having little to no scent left.

Once inside, Taehyung turns the key in the ignition once so that the radio lights up, but the motor doesn’t run. He cracks the windows on both your sides, letting in a cool, fall night breeze that caresses the warm apples of your cheeks as it swirls between you two.

A light tune floats from the radio—one of Taehyung’s driving mixes, you guessed—but he doesn’t turn it up and instead, lets it settle as background music. You can tell he did get a new radio and new speakers, but he doesn’t intend on letting you hear them just yet.

Once you are outside and away from the bustling crowd of people inside your apartment, the reality and embarrassment of what had just happened finally settle in. You look down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with a loose piece of gel nail polish lifted up on your ring finger, and avoid catching Taehyung’s eyes.

He hates seeing you like this, hates the way that Hongbin can snatch a good mood from you so quick without having to say a single thing. He was a piece of garbage, through and through, but somehow you loved him through all of it—it was something Taehyung would never understand.

You sniffle suddenly, breaking him out of his trance and he looks over at you to watch as a single tear rolls down your cheek.

Taehyung busies himself with searching in the middle console as you wipe angrily at your face with the sleeve of your shirt, turning away from him to look out the window instead. He needs something to do, something to focus on so he doesn’t go back in the apartment and rip Hongbin a new one. Finally, his fingers grasp the box he’s looking for and he pulls it, along with a lighter, out of the compartment.

“You mind?” he asks you, showing you what’s in his hand. You shake your head no, as always.

Taehyung’s obsession with cigarillos was as puzzling to you as your obsession with your shitty boyfriend was to him. But you didn’t mind it—you didn’t mind a lot of the things Taehyung did because he put up with you all these years—and besides, the kind he smoked let off an air that smelled sweet and so like him. When he was around you, you would catch whiffs of it sometimes, like he himself was the embodiment of the skinny rolled tubes he smoked daily.

“I found a different kind,” he says conversationally. When you turn to look at him, you have new wet marks trailing down your cheeks, but he chooses to ignore it for the time being. “Cherry vanilla. Smell.”

He lights the end, inhaling once and then takes the skinny Black & Mild out of his mouth so he can blow its perfumed smoke in your direction. You sniff, wrinkling your nose at first, but he’s right—it does smell nice.

“I still like the summer blend the best,” you say.

Taehyung shakes his head in annoyance, taking another inhale. He blows this one in your direction, too. “Too bad they discontinued them,” he says, smoke coming out of his nostrils as he speaks. “They discontinue all the fucking good flavors.”

Silence settles over the both of you for a while. Taehyung sits with his cigarillo in hand, blowing clouds of smoke out of his cracked window and into the night air. A lot of it stays inside instead of escaping through, covering you two in a skinny, sweet smelling fog that reminds you of your hot-boxing days in high school.

Things were much simpler back then, when Hongbin wasn’t thought of and it was just you and Taehyung every day. During your senior year, Taehyung got you to skip more than you actually attended class. He could always tell when you weren’t feeling up to going to school as soon as you got into his car. He would toss your bookbag in the backseat, giving you a wicked grin as he backed out your driveway—you’d realize it as you pulled up to the school still going forty-five miles per hour that Taehyung had no intention of stopping, and instead was going to take you on one of the many adventures you two embarked on that year.

Each one was simple—a trip to an old bookstore or record shop, sometimes to a park, sometimes to eat at a ratty stand downtown—but his plans were always a way of getting your mind off things.

Taehyung was good at reading you, good at only speaking about whatever was bothering you only when he knew you could handle it, good at just being there for you—whether it was in silence with his hands, lips and tongue to keep you distracted, or with just being a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold.

But that was then, and this was now. Things were harder when he wasn’t first on your list of people to vent to. You had a boyfriend—and even if he was shitty—he was the center of your universe. Well, except for when he took calls from other girls like the sleazy piece of fucking garbage that he was.

Taehyung inhales deeply after a puff, trying to calm himself once more by letting the smoke reach the deepest parts of him. He steals another glance at you after opening his eyes and you are looking at him too, your watery eyes searching the planes of his face.

He looks so cool and relaxed in the dark with his face lit up from the lights of the radio—something you’ve always envied about him. You feel like you are an anxious, shaking mess all the time, but Taehyung never seems bothered by anything.

“I don’t want to go back in,” you say, breaking the silence. Your bottom lip shakes slightly, and your teeth sneak out to latch onto it, stilling it for the time being. “Can we just stay out here?”

“He’ll come looking for you,” Taehyung says. “You know that.”

“Then let’s leave.”.

Your voice is pleading, and Taehyung hates that. It sounds like honey to his ears—this is how you hold him in, with that little sweet voice of yours that keeps him trapped and sticky. You aren’t doing it on purpose—you certainly can’t know what kind of hold you have over him—but he still hates it.

Taehyung sighs, dropping the end of the cigar into an old fast food cup sitting up front. He rattles the contents side to side, making sure the water in the bottom puts out the existing flame before sitting it back in the cup holder.

“Please?” you say, making sure he hasn’t forgotten your mention  from earlier. “Tae?”

“Put your seat belt on,” he grunts, reaching out to turn the key in the ignition.

Your face lights up with gratitude and you sit back in your seat, clicking the belt over your waist with a grin.

You look like a maniac. Your makeup is a little smeared from the crying and your eyes are red but at least you’re smiling. You’re smiling because once again, Taehyung and his Honda are going to take you away from all your problems, even if it’s only temporary.

Taehyung cuts the radio up a little louder once you’re on the road, and it’s an R&B mix that’s playing through the speakers. This song seems to be just the beats; he listens to a lot of music without lyrics because lyrics are distracting, or so he claims. But over the years, you’ve gotten attached to the style. You listen to lo-fi playlists when you have big projects to work on, and it helps you concentrate.

You roll your window down a little more, allowing the night time air to rush through the car. With your elbow propped on the door, you rest your chin on your folded arms. Tonight, thanks to the mix that plays through the speakers, you’re able to focus on the scenes of the city-scape coming into view as you drive down familiar streets away from your apartment.

“Are we going downtown?” you ask, your hair whipping around your face as you turn to look at Taehyung. He’s put the black hood of his jacket up to shield some of the wind from his own face, but he gives you a nod in answer.

You turn back around to the scenery flying by you, your lips twisting up in a small smile. Taehyung knows you love going downtown because the riverfront is there, and your new favorite thing is to watch the boats going past while the city lights reflect on the murky harbor water.

It’s the weekend, so downtown is a little more crowded than usual. You realize this as you pull into the city blocks that hold the many bars, restaurants and clubs that downtown has to offer. A party bus comes to a stop beside the car as Taehyung waits at a red light to pull into the parking deck, its inhabitants laughing and talking loudly enough to overpower the pounding baseline coming from the speakers inside. It looks to be a pre-wedding celebration of some kind—you can see a congratulatory banner on the side of the bus, but it pulls off before you can finish reading the swirly script it’s printed in.

Taehyung drives through the brightly lit parking garage, stopping and parking on the first floor thanks to a car reversing out of its spot just in time. He winks over at you at his good luck and places the parking ticket on the dashboard before getting out.

You follow him in his haste, excited to be away from your crowded living room and on to indulge yourself in the night life of the city you lived in. Downtown had its own energy that permeates you as soon as you step out of the parking garage and onto the cobble stoned streets. Your flat-bottomed sneakers allow you to feel each ridge of the rocks on the arches of your feet.

Taehyung stops once you two round the corner onto the main street, pulling the box of Black & Milds out of his pocket to light one up. He hovers in front of a parked car, the hood of his jacket still up and covering his face. He uses it like a shield, blocking the slight breeze from putting out the little flame produced from his lighter.

“You look so emo in this lighting,” you tease. “Let me take a picture.”

Taehyung quirks an eyebrow at you but says nothing as you pull your phone out of the pocket of your jacket.

You were always taking pictures of everything—always wanting to document your visits to places—but at some point in your friendship, he realized you really enjoyed taking them of him. You had so many of him doing mundane things like eating, talking, walking, and he never understood why. He let you take them though, and imagined that sometimes, maybe, you sat at home when he wasn’t around and looked at them, missing the time you two spent together; he knew he certainly did the same thing when you weren’t around.

With that in mind, he stands in front of the car with the lights of the city reflecting behind him and hides his cigar behind his leg while you snap pictures of him.

“Wanna see?” you ask when you’re finished, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll just want you to delete them.”

“But these are really good,” you protest. “Just look. You’re like a model, Tae.”

Taehyung takes a peek at the phone and lifts one shoulder in response, grunting in semi-satisfaction.

You didn’t understand why he hated to take pictures—there were rarely times where he ever wanted to pose for one, regardless if it was with you or a group. You roll your eyes at his unenthusiastic response, clicking the lock on your phone and stuffing it back in your pocket.

“Mean,” you mutter, bumping Taehyung’s shoulder as you walk past him and down the sidewalk.

It wasn’t long before he caught up, his long legs bringing him to you in no time, and he was bumping your shoulder back. A small smile plays on the edges of his lips and you both know all is forgiven. Taehyung doesn’t move over on the sidewalk as you keep walking, switching his lit cigar from his left hand to his right so he can take drags, with his other shoulder nudging yours occasionally.

It takes one, two, times of his hand bumping into yours before he grabs it finally, sifting his fingers through your own in a tight hold. You don’t mind this either—his hand is big and warm and feels like home, and so you let him hold it.

“Let me try,” you say after walking a few steps, reaching for the lit cigar in his other hand.

Taehyung passes it to you, watching you bring it to your overly pursed lips and breathe inward. Your form is bad because you don’t smoke, but at least from being around him all the time you don’t cough on the inhale.

You blow it out, hard, in the direction of his face and giggle. “How do you like it, huh?” you say, grinning. “How’s this feel to you?”

Taehyung inhales air deeply using his stomach muscles, yanking you by the hand to come closer and breathe on him again. The action makes you laugh, loudly this time—a brilliant sound to his ears—and you take one more drag to blow softly on his face, which was now mere inches from your own.

The smoke cascades over his tanned cheeks, seeping into the cracks of his hoodie and settling around his neck and hair. He accepts it gladly, breathing in the sweet scents of cherry and vanilla and something reminiscent of the virgin Pina Colada you’d had earlier. He was glad he’d brought you out—you were so pretty when you were happy and smiling like this, your eyes sparking from the lighting of the shops downtown and staring with excitement into his own.

You hand it back to him, still grinning as you continue walking.

“Let’s go in there,” Taehyung says softly, nudging you with his shoulder in the direction of a bar across the street. “We can get those shooters you like.”

You nod, leading the way and dragging Taehyung behind you as you cross the street to the sound of the walk signal beeping. You both flash your IDs to the bouncer and Taehyung drops the remains of his smoke on the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of his sneaker before following you inside.

You walk straight up to the counter, flagging down the bartender and ordering two green tea shooters. You hand her your card, telling her to close the tab while you wait for the drinks,  Taehyung hovering somewhere behind you. When she hands you the glasses and your card back, Taehyung’s arm appears over your shoulder, reaching out to grab his. He waits for you, and you two clink glasses before tipping them back.

“The green tea is so good!” you yell, moving closer to his ear to be heard over the loud atmosphere inside of the bar.

His hands fall to your waist as you lean in, steadying you on your tip toes, and his own answer comes at your ear, “But I like the purple Gatorade better.”

You pout at him and he gives you another wink, and then you’re grabbing his hand in yours again to pull him out of the bar and back onto the sidewalks of downtown. This time you make a beeline straight for the street that runs behind the buildings of downtown—the one paved in front of the river.

With you glancing back at Taehyung every so often, your hair whipping around your face as you give him a grin while you lead him through the throngs of people on the sidewalks—he can’t imagine how Hongbin has the audacity to hurt you over and over. The simple thought of it gives him a pit in his stomach, which you wash away with each and every look you throw back at him over your shoulder. Its like you think he’s going to disappear if you don’t keep turning around to check, which is silly: the tight grip you have on his hand says that would be quite impossible.

And Taehyung wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here right now, anyways.

“It’s so pretty!” you exclaim upon rounding another corner, finally able to see the riverfront from where you are standing across the street. You wait for a car to pass by before tugging Taehyung along again, until you’re on the dock that hovers over the water. There’s not many people on the riverfront—most are doing their part in the bustling nightlife that encompasses a few blocks behind you two.

There’s seating right in front of the railing, but you chose to stand, wanting the best view of the boats. Taehyung hovers by your side, his own eyes trailing over the water, over the evening skyline back-lighting a bridge in the distance.

You pull your phone out again to snap a blurry picture of what’s in front of you.

Taehyung watches your face fall as you realize your phone can’t quite capture the beautiful scenery seen with your own eyes, and he reaches out to take the phone from you.

“Let’s take one of you with the water in the background,” he says, backing up a few paces.

You pose effortlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning back against the railing, placing your elbows on either side. You look side to side while he snaps pictures before laughing at your own modeling antics. The one with the wide grin on your face turns out to be the best picture of them all, though when Taehyung turns his phone around to show you, you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

“My mouth looks funny,” you say, imitating your own grin in exaggeration. “Don’t you think?”

“It looks big,” Taehyung responds. But cute, he thinks. And kissable.

You smack him on the shoulder playfully before turning your attention back on the water.

A few years ago, if Taehyung was in this situation, he would be able to walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. You would lean back into him, and he would press a few soft kisses to the warm apple of your cheek or your temple before resting his chin on your shoulder and watching the skyline with you.

He can feel the imprint of you on him like it’s still there—the way you fit together so effortlessly, your body always soft and warm beneath his hands. There’s an infinite amount of times he’s taken you into his arms and breathed you in, keeping his hold on you tightly until you squirmed out of his reach, giggling each time he held you tighter so you couldn’t go anywhere.

He itches to do this now, until he realizes you’re crying again.

You swipe at your cheek once, twice, with your shoulder until the tears are falling too freely and you have to use both of your hands, taking them off the railing in front of you to wipe your face clean.

“Y/N,” Taehyung murmurs softly, and now he’s right at your side instead of somewhere behind you, his voice close to your ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Why am I not good enough for him, Tae?” you whisper, your voice on the edge of breaking. “Why does he keep doing this to me?”

When you turn to look at him, your eyes are rimmed red and glassy again. Your lips are parted, the bottom one trembling with how hard you are trying to hold yourself together.

“He’s not—” Taehyung trips over his words, trying to hold back his own feelings on the situation. “He’s not thinking right. He’s making mistakes.”

“Mistakes,” you scoff. “You’d think after a while he’d get it right.”

“Maybe.” Taehyung shrugs. “Maybe not. Guess it depends on how single-minded someone is.”

“I know it was a girl calling him tonight, Tae. I just know it. He’s been acting weird for a few weeks now, you know—how he always gets when he’s tired of me again—”

Taehyung takes a deep breath in as you say the words so casually, as if that were a normal part of the ups and downs of a relationship.

“—and then he started turning his phone over on the table, started putting it on vibrate when he was around me, started taking a really long time in the bathroom.” You pause, sniffling. “So, I listened in on him the other day—the shower was on—and he was sitting there, talking on the phone while the water was just running.”

“Could you hear was he was saying?”

“No, he was talking too low, so it was just murmurs. But why take a phone call in the bathroom?”

“Maybe he’s planning you a surprise birthday party,” Taehyung offered, picking up a rock by his foot launching it over the railing and into the river.

“Can you be serious?” you snap, suddenly looking at him with pinched eyebrows, your lips pouty with hurt.

“Okay then,” Taehyung huffs. “What do you want me to say, he’s a piece of shit? I think we both know that, Y/N.”

“I don’t know,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest to hold yourself. “Tell me why boys always hurt me.”

“Now that is unfair,” Taehyung says, turning his own hurt gaze on you, now.

“How?” you ask stubbornly, wiping at a stray tear streak on your face. “Didn’t you do the same thing?”

“I was young.”

“And Hongbin isn’t?”

“He’s not in high school, Y/N!” Taehyung explodes, slamming a hand down on the wood railing. “He’s not some dumb kid who didn’t know how good they had it until it was gone, okay? Hongbin is grown. You two live together, and he still can’t get his fucking act right. He’s done this what, three times now? And you keep going back to him, so I don’t know who’s stupider—you or him.” He ends the statement with a pointed, shaking finger at your chest and then one out to the lit bridge in the distance, where your shiny new apartment with Hongbin lies.

“Or you,” you spit at him, slapping a palm on his chest. The movement catches Taehyung off guard, giving you the opportunity to land another one as you release your anger. “What about you, huh?”

“What about me?” Taehyung asks incredulously. His tone raises an octave before he realizes there are people down the dock from you two, and he repeats in a whisper, “What about me?”

“Why are you still around, Taehyung? Why are you still here if this bothers you so bad!”

Taehyung chuckles humorlessly. “You want me here just as much as I want to be here, Y/N. Let’s not kid ourselves. We both know you use me—in many ways, I might add.”

“It was one time!”

“And another time after that, and once more, and then a make out in my car, and then you came to my house in the middle of the night—” he ticks the moments off on his fingers, tilting his head in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, do those not count?”

“You’re disgusting!” you cry, hitting him again. “You’re fucking disgusting—”

“Not as disgusting as your boyfriend who does this to you,” Taehyung says, holding you by the shoulders in order to stop your assault on him. 

Your chest is heaving up and down and your face is contorted, streaked with hot tears that don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. You’re sure you look like a really drunk girl to anyone passing by, mad at your boyfriend for talking to other girls in the club, so he bought you to the riverfront and away from the parties in order to calm you down. If only they knew how spot-on that scenario actually was in the moment.

“I would never do this to you, Y/N, do you hear me?” Taehyung says softly, pressing you to his chest. “I was just a kid back then—don’t hold that against me now.” He pauses, seeming to think of a nicer way to put his words before he says bluntly, “Unlike him, I won’t make the same mistakes twice.”

You let him hold you, knowing there’s some truth in his words, but there’s also a lie wrapped in there, too.

Taehyung knows this as well, because as you pull away from him, he cups your jaw with both hands softly, wiping away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb before he leans down and connects your lips in a familiar, soft kiss.

But kissing you is his mistake, because it means he failed once again to separate himself from his feelings. And this is certainly not the first time he’s chosen his heart instead of his head in the last three years that you’ve been with Hongbin. He’s sure it won’t be the last, either.

You respond to him feverishly, leaning up on your tiptoes and wrapping your arms around his hoodie-clad neck, bringing you chest to chest. There’s a beautiful city-scape behind you, but nothing compares right now to the slow and delicate way Taehyung’s tongue tastes every inch of the inside of your mouth with hot, slow licks.

He knows exactly how to kiss you to make you lightheaded, it seems. His hands comb backwards into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp and you whine at the pleasurable feeling, separating your lips with a loud smack that has him smiling.

He kisses you a few more times—just soft pecks to your lips with your eyes closed. When you open them, his are still squeezed shut, eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks and his bottom lip barely brushing yours as he murmurs, “Should we leave?”

You nod, suddenly nervous and aware of the wandering eyes around you. You grab Taehyung’s hand for the second time that night, pulling him back through the streets and to the parking garage with determination. Downtown fades into the background as your need for each other takes over—this is something you are used to, as well.

The days when you would skip in high school were nothing compared to the moments when Taehyung would take you back to his parent’s house after your adventures, curling up with you on his bed before ravishing your body until just before they got home. You two would sneak out, all kisses and giggles again despite having left his bedroom smelling of sweat and sex, and he would take you home, his hand encased with yours over the middle console the whole drive.

He clicks his keypad as you two near, and his Honda gives an answering headlight flash as the doors unlock.

Once the doors are shut and the radio is playing softly in the background, you don’t waste any more time before you are swinging your legs over the middle console and settling yourself into Taehyung’s lap.

Your lips lock onto his again and he grunts, shifting you into a more comfortable position so you aren’t squishing his dick against his leg before his lips answer yours in fevered movements.

You push his hood backwards so that you can run your hands through his dark chocolate tresses, tangling your fingers within the fine strands and giving them a tug. Taehyung grins against your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip as an invitation for you to do it again.

Taehyung’s hands roam your waist before pushing the fabric of your jacket off your shoulders and into the passenger seat. He carves a trail of sloppy, wet kisses down across your jaw and neck, fiery movements that seem to ignite your whole body.

It’s the smacks of mouths and breathy sighs that drown out the song playing on the radio. For once, you’re happy Taehyung’s windows are tinted a little darker than a normal car since you haven’t moved from the parking space in the garage. But you can’t wait—you want him, and you want him now.

It’s never like this with Hongbin. God, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had a quick, hot, passionate moment with him. Every moment like this in your memory is tied to images of Taehyung—his mouth, his hands, his cock—and each time it happens you get a little more memory for your spank bank when Hongbin is too busy for you.

Your mind isn’t allowed to linger on those thoughts for long, because Taehyung commands your attention, his hand shoving its way under your shirt to knead at the fabric of your bra. His mouth, hot and heavy on your neck, lap waves on your most sensitive spots. He licks and sucks his way up to your mouth and down again, all while you rut against the center of his lap shamelessly.

“God—” he murmurs against the skin of your clavicle, “you’re so fucking hot. Want you so bad.”

“Have me,” you say back breathlessly, mind foggy in the moment. Dirty talk is saved for only these moments with Taehyung, and you use it to the fullest because you know it gets to him. “I’m yours, Tae.” You breathe into his mouth, dragging your tongue across his bottom lip in a lazy manner. “Touch me, please.”

You don’t have to tell him twice—his hand immediately leaves your chest and travels south at your command. Taehyung unbuttons your bottoms with ease, snatching your zipper down and trailing his fingertips over the expanse of skin beneath your belly button.

You shiver a little at the ticklish sensation and let your head loll backwards, giving him a clear view of all the parts of your neck he hasn’t ravished yet.

Somewhere in between kissing you and feeling you up, he’d taken the opportunity to slide his seat all the way back, so when his fingers finally graze your most sensitive area, your body sinks back against the steering wheel into a more comfortable position.

A sigh escapes your mouth as he circles your clit, warming up the bundle of nerves with a few twists of his wrist. You grind down in his lap once more, finally feeling the bulge of his half-hard dick sitting between your legs. The thought makes your mouth water—knowing that the sensation of him filling you up is in the near future.

“Don’t tease me,” you whimper, leaning back up to suck at the skin on his neck. He grunts in response to your tongue laving at his throat, the tendons in his neck sticking out with how hard he’s trying to control himself.

Taehyung wants nothing more than to push you into the backseat and pound into your soaking wet center until you’re chanting his name, but he isn’t sure if that’s what you want tonight or not. Sometimes your hookups were just kissing, sometimes just oral, and rarely ever did you engage in full-blown sex.

When you’d shown up at his house in the middle of the night a few months ago, he’d thought you just wanted a body to sleep next to while Hongbin was out of town. Little did he realize you came over with a mission—or, he did realize it, when you swung a leg over him as you laid beside each other in bed, luring him in like a siren with your sinful hands and mouth. But you’d felt guilty afterwards, and so he never wanted to push you if you didn’t want it first.

“Please Tae,” you whine. You hand drifts down to his lap, squeezing his erection softly over his jeans. The feeling of you touching him makes him groan, and he pushes further into your pants, dipping a fingertip into your wetness. “I can’t—ngh—wait anymore.”

He doesn’t realize what you mean until you’re moving his hand away from your center, lifting off him to pull your own pants down just enough to expose your dripping core. You go to work at pulling his down then, too, and Taehyung groans again as your hand finally grips him, finding his erection through the hole in the front of his briefs.

“Fuck—” he grunts when you run your thumb over the head of his dick, swirling the bead of precum gathered at the top.

“I want you,” you whine, still not sure if he’s getting the point. “Do you want me?”

Taehyung picks his own head up from its relaxed position against the headrest just in time to see you pop your thumb in your mouth, spreading the taste of him all over your tongue. The sight is enough to make him twitch in your grip.

“’Course I do,” he says, his tone dropping an octave at the confession. It isn’t until he takes in the position you’re in—sitting on his lap, half-naked, with his cock in your hand does he realize what you mean. “Fuck, Y/N, right here?”

You nod slowly with your thumb still in your mouth, looking at him with those wide, blown out eyes that he can’t help but give into.

“No condoms,” he breathes, watching with half-sheathed eyes as you stroke his length with a soft touch.

“Don’t care,” you say. You lean your head down to let a line of spit dribble from your mouth and onto Taehyung’s cock, using the movements of your hand to lubricate him down to the base.

He’s hard as hell and in no position to tell you no. So, when you lift your hips above his, using your spit-soaked hand to line him up with your entrance, all he can do is watch you with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

You press onto him, letting him fill you up in a warm stretch that is so welcoming to your quivering insides. Taehyung lets out a low groan, his hands immediately latching on your hips with fingertips pressing into the skin of your thighs to aide your movements. You lean forward into his embrace, lowering your head onto his shoulder and burying your face into the soft, smoky scent of the material of his hoodie.

It’s sloppy and enclosed and hot inside the car because the air conditioning isn’t on and you’re both wearing way too many clothes, but a thrill runs through you at the thought that Taehyung wants you so much he’ll take you anywhere. He smells so good to you, starting to sweat a little around his temples and you want nothing more than to taste him, taste every inch of him you can get. You run a hot trail with your tongue up his neck, latching your teeth onto his ear lobe as you rise and drop your hips.

Neither of you know when this will happen again, and so you want to make the best of what time you have with each other.

“Fuck—” he grumbles, tilting his face to the side to capture your lips with his in a kiss that is hard and all teeth. “You’re so fucking hot like this—fucking yourself on me—”

A whine escapes your mouth at his breathy, low narrations. The bundle of nerves inside you is tightening, twisting into a ball in your stomach that you welcome with faster movements of your hips. Taehyung’s dick reaches all the right places inside of you, filling you up just right, like this is what he was meant to do: make you fall apart on top of him.

“Does that prick Hongbin f—fuck you like this?” he growls, leaning forward. While still aiding your movements with his hands, his lips latch onto your neck, sucking the skin into a pretty shade of pink with hard drawls of his mouth.

“Tae—” you whimper, because your head is too fuzzy right now to talk about Hongbin. All you want is him, him, him—but he doesn’t give in that easy.

“Does he?” he asks in a commanding tone against the skin of your throat. “If I’m so disgusting then why do you keep coming back, Y/N? Hm?” He trails one hand from your hip, pressing his thumb against your clit—it’s a movement that has your complete attention suddenly, your body on red alert as he makes slow, circular patterns that has your stomach muscles jumping. “It’s because you love this cock, isn’t it?”

He’s right, you do, and so you nod in agreement. But there’s something else about Taehyung that’s exciting and irresistible and comfortable and utterly familiar that you just can’t let go of. He’s unlike any other person you’ve ever met, and despite how hard you are trying to build a life with Hongbin because you know that’s what’s right, you still find yourself coming back to Taehyung for him to fill all the holes Hongbin can’t even think about reaching—in the literal and metaphorical sense.

Taehyung’s other hand comes up to grip your chin, making you open your eyes and look at him. His tongue darts out to wet his own lips, taking in your pretty face, eyes half-lidded as you continue to move up and down on his cock.

“Say it,” he says, in the softest voice. His ministrations on your clit fall unhurriedly to the smallest of circles, and you want to cry out at the diminishing tightness in your stomach as you slow your hips. “Tell me, Y/N. Tell me how much better I fuck you, than him.”

You kiss him with all tongue to shut him up, hard, wet and sloppy, hoping it will satisfy him. But you know Taehyung better than that, and you’re not surprised at all when he tilts his mouth away from yours, a devilish grin twisting the corners up.

“You don’t want to talk now, huh?” he asks impishly. “It was all Taehyung fuck me earlier, but now, nothing?” He mocks you in a girlish, breathy voice.

“Well, you’re not doing much fucking, are you?” you ask with a tilt of your head, playing along with his game.

He chuckles darkly, and you can feel the vibrations through his chest and onto yours from how pressed your bodies are against each other. His cock twitches inside of you, as if your words rile him up for a few seconds.

“That’s certainly not your pretty fingers between your legs, so I’d say I am."

You trail kisses along his jaw line with a smile—small pecks in order to warm him back up to you. You know he isn’t really bothered by all of this, Taehyung just loves to see what kind of dirty shit he can make you say when you’re all fucked out and desperate to cum. As usual, you give into him because you do want a release—but also because it’s somewhat fun. And somewhat the truth.

You start the slow movements of your hips again, loving the way Taehyung’s mouth parts and he lets out a sigh when you clench around him.

“I come back—” you mouth across his throat, making a trail up to the shell of his ear, “because you’re the only one who can make me, fall apart—like this, Tae.”

Your words seem to sate him for the time-being, and he releases his hold on your face, one hand coming back down to your hip while the other tends to your pulsing clit. He’s aiding you faster this time, the claps of your hips against his echoing through the car.

“God, yes, yes—” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut. “So good, Tae. So fucking, good—”

“Mm,” he grunts, feeling your warmth squeeze around him as you work quickly back up to your orgasm, “You’re so pretty with my cock filling you up.”

The car is filled with a cacophony of noises—your wanton moans and Taehyung’s deep, breathy murmurs in your ear, making you closer and closer to you release with each sinful thing that slithers from his mouth. Both your hips in rhythm with each other can surely be heard from outside the car—you just hope and pray with all your might that no one walks by to get into their vehicle until you’re through.

Taehyung’s fingers work magic on your sensitive bud and you grab onto the scruff of hair that sits on his neck, your fingernails scraping at his skin as you chase the impending snap of the coil in your stomach. Your whole body is tense, shaking, sweaty as you focus on his dick hitting you at just the right angle, scared to move too much for the feeling might diminish even the slightest.

“Gonna cum,” you pant, “Tae—Tae, I’m gonna—”

Your voice cuts off as your orgasm hits you, a heavy sigh releasing from your mouth as your body goes limp on Taehyung after the first wave rolls through. He takes control then, determined to help you ride out the searing pleasure as he ruts into you from the bottom. Each time his hips connect with yours, filling you up to the hilt, you swear you fall in love a little more.

“That’s it, baby,” Taehyung murmurs with a sated smile, nipping and biting along your collarbones. “Cum on me.”

You’re clenching around his length so well, the sounds of your heavy breathing in his ears as you come down off your high, he almost doesn’t catch it. As you press your lips to his over and over, soft, small kisses in way of a thank you—Taehyung’s ears pick up on the sound again. His hips stutter underneath you and then stop, and he sighs.

“Y/N, your phone,” he says softly, and even you can catch the hint of disappointment that laces his tone.

“What?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing—but then you hear it, too. The soft muted hums of it vibrating against the seat in your jacket pocket interrupt the moment and you shift on Taehyung’s lap reaching over to grab it.

Taehyung can’t help but feel like he’s part of some sick, cosmic joke because the annoying, repetitive sound of a phone call has now ruined both your nights. He leans his head against the headrest, his dick still hard and twitching between your thighs.

“It’s Hongbin,” you say softly. You stare at the screen, at his contact picture, finger hovering over the green button that will surely sour the mood upon being clicked.

“Don’t answer it, Y/N,” Taehyung says suddenly. His hands are soft at your sides, rubbing up and down your hips trying to coax you back into the moment. “Please—don’t answer.”

“Tae, I have to,” you say in a hushed whisper. You give him an apologetic look just as your finger hits the button, and you bring your phone to your ear.

“Y/N, please, I told you—”

You clap a hand over his mouth, begging him with your eyes to stay quiet as a shaky hello tumbles over your lips.

Taehyung wants to take the phone from you, wants to roll down the window and toss it hard, to smash it on the ground; but he knows better than that. If Hongbin knew you two were together, that would be it. He would get no more time with you, no more visits, no more small, intimate moments—and no matter how small they might be, he still enjoyed them.

He can hear Hongbin’s deep voice on the phone. He doesn’t sound angry, and instead, apologetic as he coaxes you with his excuses to come back home. Hongbin knows you left with Taehyung at first, but you quickly tell him you caught a cab downtown. It’s no secret that you love to escape by going to the riverfront, it’s just a matter of with who.

As you listen to Hongbin tell you about the party, you absentmindedly begin to swivel your hips onto Taehyung, earning an encouraging squeeze from his hands on your ass. He’s still half-hard in between your legs, and all it takes is a few rises from your hips to get him right back into action.

This is your apology to him for taking the phone call, and he knows it.

With your hand still pressed over his mouth to muffle any sounds that might come out, you help coax him to his own high, feeling the familiar tell-tale signs of his dick twitching between your legs with just a few, heavy moments.

His fingers dig into the spaces of your hip bones, big hands splayed out over your whole side as his eyes squeeze shut, barely audible grunts forming behind your hand as he spills his pearly release into your already spent core.

When you’re sure Taehyung isn’t going to say anything you remove your hand, wiping the perspiration from his upper lip on your shirt. He looks sated, his half-mast eyes hovering over your face as you finish your phone call. With his lips parted and swollen and his chest heaving, you can’t help but feel proud of yourself for taking part in his coming undone, and you trail a few soft fingertips down the side of his face.

“Love you too,” you respond softly to Hongbin, clutching your phone hard enough in your hand that your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes sting stupidly, your waterline filling as soon as the call is over—and they should, Taehyung thinks. He’s mad at you, but letting you know would only make those hot, wet tears appear on your face again, and so he holds it in and instead cradles your jaw in his hands for a few lazy kisses. You aren’t super into it anymore, but he’s glad you at least you return them with small, sad movements of your mouth.

The ride home is quiet. Taehyung drives with tight knuckles on the steering wheel and you sit in the passenger seat with your knees up, your arms bound around them tightly.

As usual, Taehyung pulls to the curb around the corner of your street where Hongbin can’t see. He cuts the headlights on the car off and lets it sit idling while you gather your things. He has so many things to say as you do so, but they all combine into one jumbled mess in his brain.

Taehyung finally mumbles out, just as your hand touches the cold, smooth metal of the door handle to leave, “Don’t be too mad at him, Y/N.” He manages this, even though it pains him all the way to his core to support Hongbin. “I think he’s trying. Some people just need a little forgiving, you know?”

“Yeah, Tae,” you respond softly. “I know.”

You leave him then, walking around the back of your apartment building to sneak up the stairwell.

Taehyung imagines you going upstairs and unlocking the door normally, bypassing Hongbin in the living room where he’s probably cleaning up all his cheap beer and pizza from the get together. You don’t say anything to him and head straight to the shower, turning on the water until it’s burning to scrub off any and all scents or traces that Taehyung may have left while you were with him. He supposes you do this every time, and the thought makes a hurtful twinge pass through his chest.

“Love you,” Taehyung murmurs, watching your shadowy figure finally disappear up the stairs as he pulls off from the curb, waiting until he’s somewhere down the street before he switches his lights back on.

As he drives back through the city, back towards his own lonely apartment, he can’t help but hope that someday he’ll get to hear you say those words back to him again.

[xathia-89]

Mafia AU Part 6

Please take the warning, this gets a little heartwrenching. 

It was beyond strange once the arrangement had been explained thoroughly to Hideyoshi and me. My brother was staying with Shingen, while I was to stay here. Shingen made sure to tell me that any articles declaring the engagement false or broken, would result in me returning to his manor at once. It was a way of combining the resources so that every contact had a mutual person to speak to, and also meant that I was the one to provide the communication between Shingen and Nobunaga since the two were effectively children who couldn't do things for their own good.

Oda took his part seriously at least. I wasn't even allowed my own room, he had me sleeping in the same bed as him, and then I had to send photo evidence to both Shingen and my brother that there was a pillow divider in place to stop anything. It meant I couldn't be attacked and kidnapped since Nobunaga only slept for a few hours a night it seemed. Mitsunari was in and out of the manor, always carrying files and boxes with him as I learned that he was just digging through police files to see if there was anything of a similar signature used in other cases. I kept trying to help, but Nobunaga had already decided that I was to be effectively glued to his side.

I spent the days out with Nobunaga, as usual, people were more willing to talk to a cleavage it seemed. Not that it was getting us the information we were after, but we were making tracks and chasing down the spider in the web.

"Natsuki," Shingen had to greet me with a hug and a kiss to the forehead, we were in public of course. It was a coffee morning, and he had picked one of his usual spots for our exchanging of information. A couple of trashy articles had already picked up on the fact that I was being seen with Oda regularly, and that maybe I had 'defected' away from Takeda was all they could hint at. I wasn't going to admit it out loud, but I was starting to miss the constant barrage of flirting in public that came with being Shingen's fiancée. His arm was over my shoulder, movements between us were more natural and less rehearsed as I heard the sound of a camera shutter go off.

I let my brother deal with it, as Hideyoshi immediately stormed off in the direction of the poor soul trying to scrape a living together obviously. The 'reporter' was just a kid fresh out of school, and it was a photo taken on his phone. Deleted from everything once Hideyoshi had gotten his hands on the guy, while I was quietly enjoying the coffee and cake habit I was getting into as a part of fronting it as a meet up of friends. The light was purposely done to show off the diamond ring on my left hand, though the owner of the cafe was one of Shingen's customers, so the security was thorough at the very least.

"There's a name that keeps coming up," Hideyoshi was frowning, which meant that both me and Nobunaga were being targetted in his eyes. "Kennyo. It means nothing to me."

"Ah, that does drag up some very old memories," Takeda frowned. "He was one of my first clients, his case went badly wrong, and I know that he held a grudge against me because in his eyes I should have done more than I did."

"And I was the reason some evidence was found by the police, he was hiding things away in corners that I managed to uncover and leave wrapped up for the prosecution," Nobunaga was stirring his coffee constantly.

"Well, that makes things interesting now," Shingen nodded. "We have a name, but I haven't seen him for years. He's out of prison and has been for a while. So where is he hiding now?"

"We'll have to just keep looking," Oda declared, before standing up abruptly. "Natsuki, we need to return," he ordered, refusing to look anyone in the eye as Shingen had my cake boxed up, and had another slice added to it before letting me go anywhere.

"You don't look like you're eating enough," he fussed, purposely keeping us back in time for them to make me a coffee to go as well. Then he made the full-scale goodbye of a kiss to my cheek outside of the cafe before Nobunaga was able to walk away.

"You're smiling again," Nobunaga was starting to sound like a pouting child as my phone lit up with a text message from Shingen. We were waiting in a different café, this time for a contact to show up. Neither of us had been thrilled with the prospect and had others nearby to show up and help. "You have that look whenever it's from Takeda."

"We are being constantly followed by the press, so I do need to make it all look believable," I muttered and reminded the man, before the sight of a sniper on top of a building caught my eye. I grabbed Nobunaga's sleeve and yanked him under the table in time for the glass to shatter from the bullet's entry.

Glass went everywhere, and people were screaming. They were reacting as expected, mass panic, the basics of any herd animal. Then the door opened at the same time as the initiators were stepping over the edges of the frame that had held the front of the shop in. My palms were going to be cut to hell as we were trying to figure out the best way of getting out of there.

He had paid the cops off well. And I heard Oda mutter something under his breathe before I locked eyes with the man who had all the stance of a leader. He had a scar straight across his face, and slightly greying black hair that had once been neatly kept and he was holding a walking stick. A strange addition for someone who appeared to be in perfect health since he walked with no issue.

The stick was jabbed in my direction. "Get her!" He yelled, breaking the stillness of the scene.

I bolted like a rabbit running from a bloodhound. I ignored Nobunaga's voice and heard gunshots being unleashed behind me. I had a group of followers who had one advantage on me, they were armed as I kept swerving intentionally making sure I wasn't running in a straight line at any point.

Then I ran into a group of men coming the other way.

One of them wrapped his arms around my torso, pinning my arms under his as he was trying to get me to stop struggling. I was swinging my legs about wildly, and the attention turned swiftly to the sound of approaching external inference. Either from Shingen or Nobunaga's back up.

I threw my head backwards, smashing into the man's nose and surprising him enough to loosen his grip.

I was dashing away from him, my mind racing and I couldn't think straight, that was for sure.

Then I caught sight of safety. Hideyoshi. My brother was near Shingen, all guns were blazing it felt like, the police were already on their way, no amount of money could make things look the other way for this long.

A burning agony struck my thigh, taking me completely by surprise and sending me sprawling over the ground. They'd avoided any major veins and arteries, but it was blinding pain.

I tried to get back to my feet, the panic-stricken look on my brother's face driving me to try. But the second I went to put weight on my leg, I was collapsed against the floor.

Then my darkest nightmares came true in front of me.

Hideyoshi was now sprawled out on the ground, blood spreading across his stomach in time for the sirens to start drowning out the chaos. I was pressing down on the wound, trying to do anything to keep Hideyoshi conscious. Tears were blurring everything, and I didn't even know what was going off as the paramedics swiftly took over from me.

"He's my brother please, he's all I have got left!" I was begging until they noticed my thigh, I was clinging and hanging off one of them before being bundled into the ambulance.

The surgery was a success, and it had taken them a while to realise that I had been shot through the thigh until the paramedics ungracefully lifted my dress in the emergency department to show the wound off. I refused all kinds of threats, they cleaned my leg up and made sure that no remains of bullet were about before stitching and bandaging it up. I had refused to sleep until Hideyoshi was out of theatre, and even then, it had taken several nurses to reiterate that I couldn't go anywhere between the fact he was still unconscious due to anaesthetic and that I needed to keep some weight off my leg for now. I hadn't been willing to back down until they loaded me up on the pain medication, and I ended up being knocked out overnight.

I had managed to twist the staff on the ward into not letting any of the administration staff know that I was sleeping on the floor of my brother's room in a sleeping bag after my official discharge. The younger sister doting on her injured older brother, and I knew they were discussing on occasions if we were just siblings.

I was more than a little relieved when Hideyoshi came to, though the first few days it was very groggy and he was exhausted for apparent reasons. The police had taken to coming by and talking to us both, but no one had any reports of us being anything but innocent bystanders. They kept wanting to ensure that we didn't have visitors from anyone who would raise suspicion, and the nursing staff were assuring them that we didn't even have visitors who weren't police.

Then I saw a magazine on the nurses' desk after I went to fill the water jug up again. It had a blurred photo of me in oversized sunglasses and just passing by, apparently holding hands with Shingen who was next to me and also shadowing me from getting a better quality of photo. It was reported that I hadn't been seen since the gunfight, and even my engagement ring had been found on the scene which had lead to Takeda being thoroughly questioned by police as to why his fiancée would now be absent and her ring located at the centre of the problem. Shingen had lucked out based on the lack of evidence to place him there apparently and had walked free within an hour or so.

My ring finger felt very empty and light at that moment, before the nurse glanced up at me with a smile.

"You look a lot like her, and you share a first name," she laughed, offering me the magazine which I accepted with a smile.

"I wouldn't be sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag if that was truly the case, plus I doubt that the Shingen Takeda wouldn't have already come looking for her," I flitted the topic away. "How long until the next doctor's rounds? Hideyoshi seems strong enough for discharge."

"A few hours, they might want to keep him in one more night before you both go gallivanting off, I overheard you two discussing moving away," she was making polite conversation, and I froze slightly.

"Well, there isn't much of point to staying somewhere all you will remember is being shot," I shrugged. "I'll go and let Hideyoshi know on the doctor's rounds."

I was mildly panicking about if they had overheard anything else. I thought we had been quiet and subtle, but now I was beginning to wonder if we had been overconfident in ourselves. I was trying to keep my features schooled at the very least as I slipped back into his room, and then shut the door.

"What happened?" Hideyoshi was only just able to get out of bed and onto his feet. The painkillers were only just being dropped, and his wound was a clean one now at least.

"We need to talk quieter," I huffed, puffing my cheeks out in annoyance and then taking a closer look at the magazine. "The nurses know we're looking at leaving," I grumbled before my brother did the annoying thing of wanting to know what I was looking at.

"At least you can just pass it off as coincidence," he sighed after a glance over the article, resting his arm on my shoulder. "And you gave a solid response at least regarding why we'd be looking to move."

"No one's come looking for us," I said in a small voice, trying to figure out why I was feeling a sense of disappointment.

"Gives us the perfect chance to slip away though," Hideyoshi patted my head, ruffling my hair a little before awkwardly making his way back to the bed.

"Mr Takeda? Such a pleasant surprise!" We both froze up instantly. It could just be a coincidence, and he wasn't looking for us at all. Maybe he was here to see how things were going on in the hospital as it dawned on me that this was the one that Shingen had spent all of his time fundraising for.

The rest of the conversation was continuing, but my brain wasn't processing any of it. It was just noise, and my body was now refusing to move.

The knock at the door startled us both, and then my stomach sank as my heart leapt in joy. The doctors were accompanied by Shingen.

The whole room just seemed frozen in time, before I realised that I was cradled against Takeda's torso, his hand holding my head to his chest. "I've been so worried," he whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Your phone wasn't on, there was no way of finding you," he was trembling.

"It was a casualty in the escape," I murmured. "And I was just so worried about Hideyoshi."

"Both of our phones were involved in the crossfire," my brother spoke up, quietly reminding us that we weren't along once the doctors had confirmed that everything was healing nicely. "But no one seemed interested in visiting us," he added on.

Shingen nodded, and the doctors made themselves scarce, mentioning the discharge papers before closing the door behind them.

"We knew you had both come here, but we didn't want to expose either of you while there was a chance you were otherwise off the grid. Since the only reason, we knew you were here was because I was on a tour of the hospital when Hideyoshi was wheeled out of surgery, and I spotted that you were being talked to by the staff," Takeda explained, though his arms were still firmly around me. "So that meant that no one else would know where you two were, we knew you both needed the time to recover."

"You also knew if you left us too long then someone would disappear again," Hideyoshi added on, and I felt both sets of eyes on me.

"You can't say you weren't entertaining the idea," I sulked, glaring at my brother.

"Only to get you settled before returning," my brother admitted. "I was never going to be able to completely disappear, you were always the priority, and if I could ensure your safety this time at least then I would be a lot happier."

"I don't think it would have been that long before someone realised who you are now," Shingen interjected. "You've been photographed too much, all it would take is someone to do a double take, and then you'd be on your own, surrounded by vipers who would do anything to take you out," the redhead was struggling with something. A flicker of emotions behind the eyes as he ran his hand through his hair. "Right now, let's get you back to my manor, you both need something to eat that isn't hospital food and sleep in actual beds," he gave me that false smile and then held my hand in his. I was starting to feel like I was being swallowed up by the tide as the nurses came in after knocking to give my brother his papers and medications.

Takeda had come prepared for certain. Complete sets of clean clothes for us both, and ones that the press would probably pick apart until Shingen made a cough for attention before pointing out they had both been in the hospital. He even had brought my make-up kit and seemed surprised when I refused to put any on, instead relying on the oversized sunglasses as usual.

The press were gathered far too excitedly outside the entrance to the hospital, after somehow catching wind of the rumour about Shingen's fiancée. I kept my hair over my face, and Shingen kept his body angled so you couldn't see a lot of me anyway as I was escorted into the car. Seeing all those flashes just reminded me of the attempted assassination attempt, and I pulled Shingen sharply into the vehicle. My morals were also glad that at least they weren't blocking the emergency entrance as the stretched car pulled off.

The journey back was silent. Shingen had insisted that I sit with him, and I was beginning to realise how little food and sleep I had been running on during our stay as my head was resting against his shoulder.

The place was empty, which surprised us both, and we turned to look at Takeda with similar wide-eyed expressions on our faces.

"I thought you would both just want showers, some food and to sleep before we bombard you with questions and plans," he offered. "I'll let Oda know you're both safe," he shrugged.

I got the pizza ordered in as a staple while Hideyoshi showered. It was strange for us to both be in the same room and bed without being surrounded by machines, as I watched over the news to see my face and name plastered all over. Though the photos were mostly from previous galas and outings instead of the blurry glances anyone got of me on the way out of the hospital. Then Hideyoshi flicked the tv off and patted my head.

"Stop watching that trash," he laughed, as I realised he was in some of Shingen's clothes. "Yeah, he had to lend me something to wear. Everything I have has either been shredded by bullets or got ruined in the hospital."

"Have some pizza and your medication," I argued, thrusting the mostly full box of pizza at him and his bag of things.

It wasn't long before he was asleep, and taking up the entire space on the bed. I had to smile as I wrapped myself up in a fluffy blanket, and padded out to the living room to see if the sofa was as comfy as the one Nobunaga had. Sharing with Hideyoshi was never going to happen, we hadn't been able to share a bed as kids, never mind being fully grown adults.

"Princess?" I jumped at the sound of Shingen's voice as I entered the living room, half-asleep from processing everything that had gone off. He was drinking sake in front of the currently lit fireplace. "I would have thought you'd be asleep in his arms by now." I had to smirk at the bitter undertone while he refilled his cup.

"He's my brother, not my husband," I snorted and dropped my body weight onto the sofa next to him. "He's my only family. Parents were murdered just as Hideyoshi became of legal age," I shrugged, "It's been us two all along. Then he got involved with Oda as I went to get my degree. And then I suddenly had nothing. My job offer was withdrawn due to lack of funding, I couldn't make rent, and I wasn't able to keep myself going. Hideyoshi called me and kept asking me what I was doing until I admitted I had nothing. He didn't even tell Nobunaga he was bringing me to live with them," I smiled.

"Oda didn't know?" Shingen was taken aback.

"Nope, he completely agreed with the whole idea once it was explained and I was already sat on the sofa in front of them both. But he was pissed," I chuckled. "He was shot in the stomach because I got shot in the thigh and he was coming to save me," I calmly added. "It was my entire fault."

I didn't even realise when it had happened, but I was cuddled up to Takeda, my head resting against his chest with his arm over my shoulders. "You're driving me, nuts princess," he groaned, putting the empty glass down on the table in front of us.

"Me? I don't go out of the way to get shot. I will have you know," I retorted.

Then my face was tilted so I could look straight into his eyes. "I thought my heart was going to burst the second I'd seen you'd been shot, then to see you wailing over another man killed me dead inside. I wouldn't let anyone contact you. I was telling myself that you were really married," his voice was soft but had my rapt attention. "Right now princess, I need the truth."

"We're siblings," Hideyoshi's voice was firm, and startled me as I nearly got whiplash from how quickly my neck rotated. "I've got the yearbooks from school if you need to know it that badly," he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "I swear you would happily sleep on concrete floors with your choice of mattresses," he bitterly added to me.

"Anything you sleep on makes me feel like I'm going to drown it's that soft!" I snorted, as I felt Shingen instantly relax. "I thought you were out cold anyway," I frowned.

"I was, then the intercom went off," he nodded to the buzzer that Takeda had put his glass down on. "We're siblings, never been married," he repeated. "And I was going to sleep on the sofa like I used to actually, I figured that's just where you'd be headed as I stole your bed."

Shingen chuckled and nodded, noticing that he'd even brought out a duvet with him. "Sure, I should really get you a mattress at this point," he smirked. "Especially since you're going to be my brother-in-law," as my face drained in colour remembering the contract. "But this is a conversation for once you two have slept and had some actual food in you, Hideyoshi, take my room, you'll probably find my mattress comfortable," he smiled genuinely. "A sofa to sleep on won't be a lot of good while you're recovering from a stomach injury."

My brother nodded sagely. "I will be talking to you as a brother, not any gang member over that chat," he warned, before taking the invite to sleep on anything that wasn't a hospital bed.

I settled back down, listening to the steady beat of Takeda's heart until I suddenly realised just exactly what I was doing, and jumped across the room like I'd received an electric shock. The man looked puzzled, as though it was strange for me to put any distance between us.

"I have no idea what is even going on between us, because everything is always for show, and I've spent weeks trying to figure out how to get out of the hair of everyone, and a few hours later, we're cuddling on the sofa?" I sighed exasperatedly, tightening the blanket around myself.

Takeda stood up and walked over to me, a concerned look on his face as he tilted my head up. Despite all our photos and glamour shots that were for the media, we'd never actually kissed. I felt his breath on my lips, and then ghosted over to plant a soft kiss on my forehead, and a twinge of disappointment deep inside me.

"We'll have that conversation tomorrow princess, go and get some sleep," he smiled, patting me on the head. "I have some work to do, and then need to remember your brother is in my bed."

"It's a mansion, you should really have more than one guest room," I laughed.

"Eh, it's more of a show-off place, I was just waiting to go and find the right place at the right time," he shrugged, an air of seriousness about him for once. "Go and get some sleep," he gave me his trademark smile, though I swore I could see a softening look in his eyes as he waved me back towards ‘my' room.

Shingen made sure to have everything available for our preferred breakfasts the following morning, as Hideyoshi was warily eyeing up the food. And then I was being given the death glare for turning up in my pyjamas with a wide yawn and a stretch of my arms that meant my tank top rode up my torso slightly.

"They cover everything," I drawled, rolling my eyes at my brother as I had practically floated from my room at the smell of the freshly ground coffee beans. "And it's either I'm in pyjamas, and we all get fed now, or you wait for me to finish sorting myself out," I offered as I reached into the fridge for the lean bacon and eggs combination that Hideyoshi favoured. As Shingen poured me out my preferred bowl of cereal to eat while I then made the porridge for him.

"So, let's get the awkward conversation out of the way before everyone else descends on us," Shingen offered and made the physical suggestion to go through to the living room. He took a seat next to me once I'd refilled everyone on the coffee, and I was keenly avoiding looking at anyone. "So, the contract mentioned last night came up as a result of when you and Oda technically kidnapped Natsuki from the yacht party," he opened, making sure to leave himself open to my brother. "In exchange for leaving you and Oda alone, and not prosecuting either of you and also for keeping her past hidden from the media storm that was going off, Natsuki signed a contract with me agreeing that she would play the legal role of fiancée and then my wife," he explained.

"So shred the contract, the whole game has changed," Hideyoshi snapped as I continued to avoid looking at either male. I had an inkling as to where Shingen was going with this as Takeda reclined back on his sofa.

"Yes, the game's changed, for the worse. We all have targets on our backs from the same person, and we've always gained enemies a lot quicker than we've gained allies, you know that. I was wondering if I should just let her go when I found out you were both hiding out at the hospital," Takeda's voice was rockier than I'd heard before, and his hand sought out mine. "But then I realised I'm too emotionally invested to let her go," there was a hint of regret as I finally looked at Shingen, it was regret about the situation we'd met in, and how this had happened. "And I couldn't bear the thought of her leaving as she wanted to, and after hearing her scream at the thought of you dying was like having my heart wrenched out of my chest. I had myself convinced that you two were married, and the sibling front was to stop anyone digging into your past too much," he shrugged and linked his fingers through mine. "Everything comes naturally around Natsuki," Shingen's voice was soft, and brushed a lock of my hair out of my face. "I don't need to be the man in the media or the courtroom, and she calls me out on the day to day stuff," he chuckled as I went bright red. "And most importantly, the actual gang stuff doesn't phase her and knows how to protect herself. She headbutted the guy who was stupid enough to try and restrain her, even while being completely outnumbered by the opposing forces," Takeda sounded faintly pleased.

"Natsuki was never meant to be in this lifestyle," Hideyoshi sighed, as he was looking as though his coffee wasn't strong enough. "She's brilliant and amazing and strong, but she's been destined for better than this."

"Unfortunately, she's got no way of not being associated with us now. Kennyo is the gang leader looking to take us both out, and he's already been out to get her. It's not a romantic notion, but putting her in the media light with me, means I can make it far too dangerous for Kennyo to take her without anyone knowing who she is," Shingen calmly explained, and then both men were looking at me. "I'll give you anything you want."

"Why are you both looking at me?" I asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

My brother sighed, and put his empty mug down. "I hate this, but Takeda's right. You are such a target right now, but by playing with him and being splashed across the media, it means you can't be hidden as easily. It makes you more protected since running from the whole life won't keep you safe," he mumbled, unwilling to outrightly admit it. "But it's your life and decision to properly make."

"I want to choose my own damn ring, that one you bought was ridiculous," I snorted, sitting back against the sofa, folding my arms a little bit defensively.

"Wait, what?" Shingen looked like he wasn't expecting us to agree.

"I want to choose my engagement ring," I spelt out for him. "That one you gave me was ridiculous."

"And I will be interfering as a good brother should," Hideyoshi smirked.

[themusechronicles-archive-blog]

TMC Fanfic - Friendly Dinners

Fandom: Shadowhunter Chronicles Ship: Malec Plot:  It’s been years since they graduated, but Alec and Magnus could not be happier, and spending time with their family is always important. 

Part of the Dorm Life Drabble series [ AKA: My gifts to @ofdemonicmagic ]

Even after three and a half years together, surviving graduation and moving in together after, it wasn’t often that Magnus and Alec had time to invite friends over. The proposal and wedding had been simple and beautiful, and the two were content to enjoy their life in bliss. Magnus’ paintings were selling well and he’d opened a little trinket shop on the first floor of their loft. Alec was an new artist at the local recording studio after over a year of open mic nights and was working on his first album since being signed. But they still tried to make time for family, knowing how important it was to both of them. Isabelle was high on the list of invites and she usually brought Simon, her roommate turned boyfriend, with her. Then there were the rare lot of Alec’s friends; Jace was finishing his Doctorate in music for orchestra and touring with the Brooklyn Symphony, Clary was the one everyone swore Magnus had a competition with back in the school, and Underhill [Magnus could never remember the man’s actual first name] who had recently taken on a seat in his family’s company. Magnus’ friends were usually early to arrive, a habit Magnus didn’t always share. Catarina, a lovable nurse and her adopted daughter Madzie came early because Madzie got out of school. Ragnor, the history professor who had done his bachelor’s and doctorate all at once, showed up after his last class at the campus three cities over, usually dragging his close friend Raphael - a young man with enough sarcasm to make even Jace think a moment - along for the ride.

Tonight was the first time in over a month that the two men had planned anything. Magnus had finished everything early, deciding to go with pulled pork and slow roasted potatoes with a vegetable medley. Alec had come in as he was gathering plates, and Magnus smiled as the other walked over to kiss him. “You know, I’m glad Izzy took off with her own idea.” he teased, humming softly.

“You say that every other day, Mags.” Alec replied with a quiet laugh. “Cat and Ragnor aren’t here?”

“Madzie has choir practice and Ragnor had to wait for Raphael’s debate team to get back from competition. They’ll be here soon.” Magnus promised. “Jace and Clary coming?”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Yes, because I convinced Clary that this dinner was important.”

“Important?” Magnus hummed. “What do you have up your sleeve, Alexander?” He paused in setting the table to look at Alec.

“Nothing.” Alec mused, going about the kitchen to check on the food and get glasses.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you are a terrible liar and therefore I know something is up your sleeve.” Magnus replied, walking over to stand in front of his husband. “So what is it? Come on.”

“Magnus, I promised I wouldn’t say anything.” Alec replied, smiling and reaching up to brush his fingers over Magnus’ cheek. “You’ll love it, though. I promise.”

Magnus had opened his mouth to reply when there was a knock at the door and Alec swooped around him to answer it. Closing his mouth, he pouted for a moment, immediately letting it drop when he heard Madzie squeal in delight as Alec picked her up. He walked over to the door, grinning at Catarina and opening his arms for a hug. “Catarina, my darling.”

“Hello, Magnus.” Cat answered, hugging back before stepping back so Alec could pass Madzie to her best friend. “Is that your pulled pork I smell?”

“Made with all the love I can give my family.” Magnus offered. “Come in, everything is almost ready.” he assured.

“Ready for what?” Clary asked as she walked up, hand in hand with Jace as Simon and Isabelle walked beside them.

“Dinner, of course, Biscuit.” Magnus said, moving to set Madzie down and hug the girl, turning to hug Isabelle before hugging Simon and Jace in turn. “Come on, everyone get inside.” he ushered out of the doorway and waved everyone inside to sit around and chat before dinner was finished. “I have everyone’s favorite wines, teas and sparkling waters.” he assured. Madzie sat between Catarina and Jace, curled into the blonde musician’s side as they laughed and talked, no one saying anything about the very obvious crush the girl had on him. Within five minutes, Ragnor and Raphael had arrived and the group began dinner, Magnus pouring the wines and making sure everyone had the teas. Dinner went without a hitch, the company and friendship a perfect atmosphere before Catarina glanced over and gave a little concerned look.

“Clary, are you okay? You haven’t touched your wine at all tonight.” she asked.

Magnus was mid-sip of his own wine when Cat spoke, setting it down slowly. “Was it the wrong brand, Biscuit? I’m sorry, you seemed to enjoy it last-”

“No, Magnus, I’m fine, I promise.” Clary cut him off, setting her napkin back into her lap and smiling at everyone. “It isn’t the wine, I promise.” There was a brief moment of silence where Clary looked down, one hand resting atop the blue tablecloth. Then green eyes looked up at Jace and he smiled, reaching to take her hand, the two silently communicating in a way Magnus knew he and Alec did on occasion.

“Oh, I know that look.” Cat replied to the silence with a loving smile on her face, leaning to rest her elbow on the table and her chin atop that hand. “How far along are you?”

“Far along?” Magnus’ eyes widened and he looked at Alec, who was grinning from behind a lifted wine glass. “Clary, are you pregnant?” he asked.

Clary laughed a little and nodded very faintly at first. “Yes.” she said, laughing a little louder and nodding so everyone could see. “Yeah, I am. A few months, and not far enough along to know the gender, but uhm....” She startled as Isabelle squealed and sighed in what was clearly relief.

“Clary, that’s amazing!” The ravenette reached over to grab the redhead’s hand.

Magnus looked over at Alec and pursed his lips playfully. “You knew about this, didn’t you? That’s what you had up your sleeve?”

“We asked Alec not to say anything for a reason.” Clary said looking at Magnus with a smile, her hand squeezing Jace’s for a moment.

“It’s twins, Magnus.” Jace said when Clary faltered. “And we know you and Alec have been talking about adopting the last couple of months, so we thought...what if you adopted one of our kids?”

Magnus couldn’t hear sound for a moment, stunned by the question. He opened his mouth to speak, blindly reaching for Alec’s hand before turning and finding that Alec’s expression was just as shocked. “Alexander…”

“You didn’t tell me about that.” Alec answered as he stared at his best friend.

“For very good reasons. We couldn’t risk you spoiling the surprise or you having more time to think about it.” Clary teased. “Obviously we don’t need an immediate answer, there’s still plenty of time.” she assured, laughing a little. “We just wanted to make it special, even if I wasn’t at a hundred percent.”

“Is Clary having a baby?” Madzie asked, derailing the moment of stunned silence from Alec and Magnus.

“Yes, darling.” Catarina replied. “You’re basically going to have a little cousin.” Madzie gasped and clapped excitedly.

“Oh, yay! Aunt Clary, can I hold them? And kiss them and play with them?”

“Well, I don’t know about playing with them, but you can hold them once they’re here.” Jace answered, dinner picking up with a celebratory tone, Magnus still trying to wrap his head around the offer he and Alec had been made. Dessert was warm caramel brownies with ice cream, which Clary added on enough cinnamon to choke an elephant, and everyone was sitting around the den for a little while, enjoying the news and the atmosphere of having a family. Jace and Clary let Madzie feel Clary’s stomach and talk to the babies, and eventually the little girl fell asleep with her head in Clary’s lap.

“I think that’s the cue for us to leave.” Catarina said, setting her wine glass down and standing. “Clary, if you need any check ups or anything in between appointments, you have my number.”

“Of course,” Clary said, nodding as Jace helped pick Madzie up. “We’ll come down with you.” she said, going over to hug Magnus. “I know we kind of sprung it on the two of you, but please think about it?” she asked, hands on either of Magnus’ shoulders. “It would mean a lot to us.”

Magnus smiled and nodded, everyone saying their goodbyes and making their way to the door. Once the group of visitors had vanished down the hall and turned into the elevator area, Magnus closed the door, slowly locking the door.

“Still lost in your head there, Mags?” Alec asked, walking up behind Magnus and wrapping his arms around him.

“Clary and Jace want us to adopt one of their children, Alec.” Magnus murmured, the words finally settling in his head. “All the run around we’ve gotten from the orphanages, all the red tape we’ve been trying to get around in the last two months...and they just offer it to us.”

“They know we’ve been planning to turn one of the guest rooms into a nursery. And when they told me about the pregnancy this afternoon at lunch, I guess Clary saw something when I congratulated them.” Alec replied. “I just never thought…” HE pulled away to urge Magnus to face him. “What do you want to do?”

Magnus looked up, swallowing hard after a moment and reaching to pull Alec into a deep kiss. “Of course I want to. I would love to adopt one of the babies. But if you aren’t ready-”

“If I wasn’t ready, Magnus, I would not have filled out all the paperwork we have had to go through just trying to get an interview to meet a child.” Alec cut him off, one hand cupping Magnus’ cheek. “Yes, I’m ready. We have an amazing family and friends. We’ve been trying to add to that with a child of our own and we’ve met a lot of resistance. I think this is good for us.” He gave a quiet laugh as Magnus seemed to relax in his arms. “That had you tense all night, didn’t it?”

“I mean, I know we’ve talked about it, and I know…” Magnus took a slow, deep breath. “I know we’ve been trying to adopt and then suddenly we have the opportunity we’ve been working for and for a moment I was terrified and happy all at once and then I thought…”

“You thought I was scared, too?” Alec finished, two sets of eyes meeting as he spoke, and he reached to pull Magnus into a hug. “Of course I was scared, but that’s part of being a parent, right?” he asked, pulling away to look at Magnus. “I love you, Magnus. More than anything. And we’ll be great parents, I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

Magnus smiled and nodded, tugging Alec down into a deep kiss, pressing close. “Alright. Let’s get some sleep and tomorrow we’ll go shopping for cribs and decor.” he breathed.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea. As soon as we put up the dishes from dinner.” Alec amended, taking Magnus’ hand and leading him to the kitchen, smiling as Magnus laughed and nodded.

“Alright, that’s fair.”

[paladinsuho-moved]

stay with me [chanbaek]

summary: when byun baekhyun wakes up in the ER and can’t remember anything about the car crash, or the man who was driving, who is apparently his husband, he braces himself feel pity for the man, one park chanyeol. it comes as quite a surprise to him and everyone involved when chanyeol wakes up and doesn’t remember him either.

ship: chanbaek (park chanyeol x byun baekhyun)

genre: ANGST, fluff

warnings: minor language, minor medical procedures, hospitals, my bad attempts at humor.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: i’ve been wanting to write this since,, january. and i just finished this like, twenty minutes ago. this is going to be a more baekhyun-centric fic, as you can see in this first chapter, but there will be chapters focused on chanyeol. this fic is my baby (do i not say that about all of my other fics tho?), so please, i hope you guys enjoy (and also enjoy my girlfriends’ appearance in this, amber and krystal from f(x)) ;-; happy suffering! also, the part about crime shows being the only thing to watch at the hospital comes from personal experience, i know what i’m talking about.

masterlist

chapter one: my name is byun baekhyun

“What do you remember?”

He remembers feeling angry. An argument, but not what he was saying. The car, soft pop music from the radio almost taunting him with its chipper melodies. Sitting in shotgun, when lights come into sight, blinding him. The impact, his senses kicking into overdrive as the car hits his. And next to him, in the driver’s seat…

“A man. Th-there was a man with me.”

The nurse and the doctor exchange a look, before looking back to him. He feels uncomfortable, as if he’s a science project being poked and prodded at -- he hopes this ends soon. He wants to go back to sleep, even though he’d been unconscious ten minutes ago.

“What’s your name, sir?” Doctor Liu’s voice is monotonous, lifting her clipboard and looking at some documents, papers that he can’t see. He searches his mind for a moment, eyes darting here and there as he ponders the answer.

“B-Baekhyun. My name is Byun Baekhyun.”

The nurse eyes the documents the doctor is looking at, then nods. “Good. You remember that much. How old are you, Mr. Byun?”

He bites his lip, racking his brain for an answer. He remembers being 21, but he doesn’t feel 21. And judging by what appears to be the wedding ring on his left hand, he’s definitely not 21.

“I… I can’t remember.”

Once more, to Baekhyun’s dismay, the nurse and the doctor exchange glances once more. He sighs in slight desperation, wondering when they’ll just get to the point. “W-what’s wrong with me, doctor?”

The doctor looks over to Baekhyun, and sighs at the look on his face. “Mr. Byun, what do you remember about the man who was with you in the car?”

Baekhyun takes a deep breath, before clenching his jaw so hard that he can feel the way his teeth grind together, like gears that don’t fit well with each other. He can’t find a face, or a voice, or a name of the mystery man driving the car. The only thing he’s sure of is that he must’ve been very angry, too angry, to start yelling.

“I can’t remember anything, I’m sorry.”

The doctor nods firmly, before pulling the nurse to the side to speak for a while. He fiddles nervously with his fingers, staring at his right leg, which is stuck in a cast whiter than the stark bright lights of the hospital room, the ones that greeted him when he first woke up, the ones that made him wonder if he was dead.  

He catches a few words here and there, but doesn’t strain his ears to listen -- he doesn’t really care. He’s still in shock, asking himself why he doesn’t remember anything, even though deep down, he knows the answer. He’s seen that movie with Channing Tatum and Rachel McAdams, he’s not stupid. Amnesia.

Ironically, as he silently asks himself how old he is, racking his brain for any trace of a memory of his last birthday, he can’t come up with anything other than the lyrics to that stupid Blink 182 song. He rolls his eyes at himself, before lying back down, shutting his eyes and trying to shut out everything else around him.

“Mr. Byun?” The nurse asks less than a minute later, now having finished her exchange with the doctor. He perks up, eyes opening and beginning to sit up. “Yes?”

The nurse walks towards his IV and begins to ensure that everything is in check, and Baekhyun winces at the slight discomfort as the needle under his skin moves slightly as the tube connected to it is tampered with.

“Mr. Byun, if you truly can’t remember the accident, your age and the man in the car with you, then, my diagnosis would have to be post-traumatic amnesia, along with physical damage -- three bruised ribs, a concussion, and a broken leg.” Doctor Liu’s voice is firm; non accusatory yet stern.

Baekhyun nods, furrowing his eyebrows as the official diagnosis sets in. “H-how long was I unconscious, exactly?”  

At this, the doctor scratches the back of her head, before glancing at her papers once more. “According to this… Sixteen hours. You should feel lucky that you’re awake, Mr. Park is still unconscious, and with the damage he’s sustained, we’re unsure if he’ll wake up at all--”

“Mr. Park?” Baekhyun can’t help but interrupt, the mention of a new name, and the curiosity inside him wonders if this was the man driving the car, the one he’d been arguing with.

“Oh, yes -- sorry about that. The man who was with you, driving the car. He received most of the trauma, given the fact that he was in the side of the car where the truck crashed into it. His name is Park Chanyeol, and according to these files, and the visitors you’ve had… Well, he’s your husband.”

Husband? Baekhyun thinks, furrowing his eyebrows, Wait, I’m gay? That’s so… Actually… That’s not surprising. Like, at all.

Still, he can’t deny the cold feeling washing down his spine as he sits up from the hospital bed, like when the wind blows at you while you’re walking through the rain, and the wetness makes it worse.

“Wait, so… h-how is he? Chanyeol.”

Doctor Liu purses her lips and exhales sharply through her nose, as if she doesn’t want to share the information. For a moment, she tilts her head back and forth, weighing the consequences.

Baekhyun bites his lip nervously, and a twinge of involuntary guilt blooms in the middle of his chest -- what will happen when this man wakes up, and Baekhyun has no idea who he is?

Doctor Liu eventually lifts the papers on her clipboard to check her facts before reporting back to Baekhyun. Quietly, gently, trying to sugar-coat the damage.

“He's… he’s not good. Two broken ribs, a broken wrist, a concussion.”

Baekhyun winces at the news, before shaking his head and clasping his hands together in hopes that they don't start shaking. He takes a deep, shaky breath before gathering the courage to speak again.

“But he's not awake? I can't go to see him, or anything—”

“You're still supposed to stay in bed, Mr. Byun, because of your leg,” Nurse Krystal reminds him, “And even if you could, Mr. Park hasn't woken up since the accident. He's not in critical condition anymore, but—”

“Krystal,” Doctor Liu interjects through somewhat gritted teeth, “This is obviously overwhelming information, for someone who just woke up himself. Let's give him a while to process this before we tell him the whole story. Unless, that's what you want, Mr. Byun—”

“N-no, please.” Baekhyun doesn't look at either of them, staring straight ahead at the dull bluish gray wall of the hospital room, “I’d rather not do this right now. I’d like to rest, if that's alright.”

Doctor Liu nods, and so does Nurse Krystal, eyes showing a slight amount of remorse and guilt. The nurse explains that the button behind him on the wall will notify her or any other nurse on duty. He nods once, indicating understanding, and with that, the pair take their leave.

When the door finally closes, he realizes he'd been holding his breath. Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes for a minute, taking everything in.

My name is Byun Baekhyun. I was in a car accident. I have amnesia. I'm gay, but that’s honestly not much of a surprise. I'm married. My husband still hasn't woken up.

My husband's name is Park Chanyeol. I don't remember anything about him.

His eyes open, slowly, as his gaze curiously glances down to find the wedding ring on his left hand. Clenching his jaw, he quickly removes it to inspect it more closely.

He cradles it gently, as though it's made of  glass. It's nothing too flashy, silver and gold sandwiched together to meet in the middle. On the inside, he catches an engraving, and he brings it closer to his eyes, closing one of them and squinting in order to read the tiny text.

To Baek, from here to the stars.

He sets it down on the small table for a moment, before realizing he could lose it, and half a second later, despite feeling his skin crawl he puts it back on.

His skin doesn't crawl because he woke up married to someone he couldn't remember. That happens to the average person after a wild weekend in Vegas. His skin crawls because it feels wrong to be here, wearing the ring.

He feels like an impostor who's taking the place of someone else. He doesn't… he doesn't know this man, this Park Chanyeol. He's not sure if he'd love Park Chanyeol if he woke up and barged into his hospital room claiming to know and love him.

Because he had a feeling that, in the best case scenario, Park Chanyeol had loved a Byun Baekhyun—but not the Byun Baekhyun that was currently in charge of steering the sinking ship. It's a horrible way to think, but it was the truth. The ugly truth, yes, but still the truth.

A knock on the door jolts him back to reality, and half a second later he’s glancing up to see the door opening, and to his relief, it’s finally a familiar face. Two faces, actually, as his best friends, Minseok and Jongdae enter the room.

Jongdae’s expression is slightly happier than Minseok’s, and as Jongdae closes the room, they exchange a brief look. As they make their way towards Baekhyun, he manages to crack a small smile.

“Hey.” It’s the only thing he can manage to say without breaking down completely. He feels like he’s just jumped off of a plane, and his parachute isn’t working. He’s falling, falling, and there’s nothing to slow down his momentum.

“Hey, Baek.” Minseok’s response is quiet, and while he manages a smile, he still sounds grim. “How’re you doing?”

He shrugs, tongue lying heavy in his mouth. “I’ve been better. I don’t… I don’t remember anything.”

Once again, the pair in front of him exchange looks, before looking back to him. Jongdae puts his hand on the small railing of his hospital bed, and leans against it, careful not to let it roll around too much.

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

Baekhyun shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows. He holds up his left hand shakily, showing off the ring. “Do you have any idea just how terrifying this is? I’m married, for fuck’s sake.”

Jongdae’s face flashes in a somewhat sympathetic expression, and Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair, desperate. “Doctor Liu told us everything. I’m sorry, Baek. We’ve been here since yesterday, if it makes you feel any better. Waiting for you to wake up.”

“How long have I been married to this guy? Chanyeol?” Baekhyun bites his lip nervously, exhaling through his nostrils.

Jongdae opens his mouth to speak, raising a hand, but Minseok cuts him off, nodding his head back and forth as he speaks. “It’s going to be four years next may.”

“And how long have I known him?”

Minseok pauses for a moment, looking to Jongdae for a moment, before back to Baekhyun. Baekhyun notices something in Jongdae’s eyes for a brief second, but it’s gone before he can tell what. “Well, you guys met that night we had that big party at my house... That was a few weeks before your college graduation, so that would make it six years now.”

Baekhyun nods, face still scrunched up at the information. He’s staring at his lap, processing what Minseok just told him. If his math is correct, and he’d known Park Chanyeol for six years, then he’s most likely 27. The room falls silent for a few moments, before Jongdae finally sighs, before speaks.

“You guys really love each other, if it makes you feel any better. He takes good care of you, just like you take care of him, you know?”

Baekhyun’s smile is sad, and once more, he looks down at the ring on his finger. “I just… I don’t want to know how he’ll react when he wakes up. I don’t remember him, but I also don’t want him to hurt, you know?”

Minseok puts his hand on Baekhyun’s back, giving him a few rough pats. “It’ll be hard on him, probably. But he’s pretty optimistic, and if I’m right, he won’t give up on you. He loves you too much.”

“And besides,” Jongdae interjects, “Yeol’s a big boy, he can handle you.”

“Figuratively, and literally. He’s tall as hell. And if what I remember from you being drunk a few years ago is true… He’s a big boy, if you know what I mean.” Minseok smirks, trying to lighten the mood, wiggling his eyebrows before both Jongdae and Baekhyun smack him, Baekhyun snorting.

“Shut up, hyung,” Baekhyun and Jongdae say in unison, before turning to quietly laugh at each other.

Once the laughter bubbles down, Baekhyun smiles at both of them, tilting his head. “Thanks for being here, guys. I don’t know what I’d do if I were alone by myself.”

“We’ll always be here to help,” Minseok replies, “We weren’t going to just leave you here.”

Baekhyun’s smile grows, and Jongdae ruffles his hair. “I mean, the only reason you were alone when you woke up was because we were hungry as hell, and the bibimbap they have here is great, but at least we're here now.”

“Jongdae?”

“Yes, Baek?”

“Shut up.”

The days pass slowly, Minseok and Jongdae taking turns so that he wouldn't be alone, except at night, when they went back to their homes to sleep.

Minseok and Jongdae have helped to fill in some, but not all, of the gaps as the days pass. He's 28, he's a preschool teacher, Chanyeol works an office job, and up until now, the only child they've had is their cat, Asshole. He's still not sure if Jongdae was kidding or not when he told him the cat’s name.

His memories still haven't come back, and a little voice at the back of his mind asks if they ever will.

His days were occupied by Minseok’s fussing, Jongdae’s bad jokes, Doctor Liu’s check-ups, bland, unseasoned lunches and dinners, reruns of Law and Order: SVU on the television, failed attempts to stick a straw into his leg cast to scratch at any itch he gets. And, of course, thoughts of Park Chanyeol.

He asks, at one point on the third day, if he can visit him, to which Doctor Liu denies him, saying she didn't want him to get stressed.

He's definitely not dumb. He knows that if Chanyeol still hasn't woken up after this long, that something is wrong, and if he was, at one point, emotionally involved with him, he at least wants to see him, just to see what he looks like. He would've looked through his phone to find a picture, but it was destroyed in the accident.

It's on the eighth day after he wakes up that Baekhyun finally catches a break, and Doctor Liu tells him he's responsive, but not fully awake.

“We think he’ll be fully awake and responsive by tomorrow,” Doctor Liu explains during her daily check-up, “You're doing much better, would you like to see him then?”

Baekhyun contemplates the offer for a moment, before nodding. “Might as well get it over with,” He answers, and Doctor Liu nods with a small smile.

When Minseok comes back and he explains what she'd told Baekhyun, he nods and smiles at the news.

“That's good, man, that's good. You'll be fine. I know you will.”

He can’t sleep that night. He’s too restless, too impatient, too scared. The man he’s meeting in a few hours is his husband, but he still can’t remember a thing. And that terrifies him.

The way his memories can’t remember anything about him make him want to keep Park Chanyeol at a cold, clinical distance, barely within arm’s reach.

But the way Minseok and Jongdae have been filling his empty head with stories of the man who gave him the ring that, for some reason, he refuses to take off, makes him doubt. They’d said Chanyeol would be willing to wait for him. But what if he didn’t?

To wake up in a world where the one you loved has been replaced by someone who wants nothing to do with you, now that is the most terrifying thought indeed.

He sits impatiently the entire morning, he barely even manages to down his morning coffee. The reruns of Law and Order: SVU that play on the TV manage to calm him down, but it can only do so much. Neither Jongdae nor Minseok are with him, finally being called back to their respective jobs. By the time Doctor Liu comes around, he’s practically bouncing off the walls.

“Good morning, Baekhyun.” Her voice is warm, calming, her tone motherly. He smiles, nodding.

“Sleep well?” She asks, and he drops the smile, shaking his head. “I barely slept. I’m terrified, Doc.”

She nods, understandingly. “It can be a bit overwhelming. But I’m sure you’ll be fine. I haven’t gone in to see him yet -- but I assume he’s asking about you already. It’ll be fine, they’ve probably told him about your condition, so it might not be as much of a shock once he sees you again for the first time.”

He doesn’t respond; her encouragement doesn’t exactly ease the high speed nerves churning in his stomach, as if someone’s pressed the puree button on a blender.

She helps him out of bed, and he groans slightly as he’s helped into the wheelchair that they’ve brought him to move to the bathroom or anywhere else if he needed to, seeing as his leg is still in the cast. They told him it’d be another month and a half before he’s able to walk right, assuming he takes care of himself.

He assumes the way to Park Chanyeol’s room will take a while, so he decides he’ll think of what to say as Doctor Liu helps him get there.

Big mistake. It’s right next to his, and he almost pisses himself when he comes to this realization. But at the same time, he was less than twenty feet away from Park Chanyeol, and no one told him? Rude.

This hospital room is different to his; it has a small hallway before it opens towards where he assumes that the bed lies. He can’t see anything, or anyone, except for a wall.

“Mr. Park, are you awake?” Doctor Liu says, and he hears a hum of confirmation. The voice is deep, and he gnaws on the inside of his cheek, his hands gripping the sides of the wheelchair until his knuckles turn whiter than the walls.

“Come on in,” The voice says, and he takes a deep breath as the wheelchair rolls into the room,  and, for the first not first time, he finally sees Park Chanyeol, face to face.

The first thing he notices are the ears. They’re big, and stick out underneath dark, black hair. His eyes are dark, quickly bouncing between him and the doctor, and the few small tattoos he has along his arms seem to jump out at him against the background of tan skin. He has a few stitches, and the circles under his eyes are dark, as if he hadn’t been sleeping for more than a week, but he still manages to take Baekhyun’s breath away.

If being gay didn’t come as a surprise him, the fact that he fell for this gorgeous human somehow surprises him even less.

“I’m Doctor Liu, I assumed Doctor Kim told you about me?”

“Yes, he did,” Chanyeol says, nodding. His voice is deep, and soft, as Chanyeol’s eyes meet Baekhyun’s. The blender of nerves sitting in Baekhyun’s stomach goes into overdrive, from puree to instant death from the inside out.

Chanyeol studies Baekhyun for a moment, and Baekhyun waits for it to come: a hey, sweetheart, or Baekhyun, you’re here, or something along those lines that will make Baekhyun’s chest tighten with pity.

Instead, what Chanyeol says next causes his eyes to widen, and the blender to turn off, as if it’s been dropped off a cliff along with the rest of his stomach.

“Doctor… Who’s this?”

[chapter two: my name is park chanyeol]

[xenosaurus]

Vermilion City Pokemon Shelter (chapter 1)

Rating: T Tags: animal shelter setting, original characters, lesbian protagonist, worldbuilding

also available on ao3!

By this point in her career, Marianne Joy has learned to be wary of calm.  It’s the same for the shelter as it was for the pokemon center her mother worked at when she was growing up-- if things seem relaxed, that means you’re either missing something or it’s about to get very loud.

After 45 minutes of paperwork with no noise except for her Nidoking’s gentle snoring, Marianne is ready for an interruption.

Right on schedule, the receptionist knocks on the door.  Marianne knows it’s Lilo even before the door opens-- she’s the only one in the office who knocks like she’s setting the beat for a song.

“Yeah, Lilo, you can come in,” Marianne calls back.  Her Nidoking, curled up in the enormous pokemon bed set up next to her desk, makes a snuffling sound and lifts his head in response to her voice.  Marianne gives him a quick pat between the spines.

Lilo hovers in the doorway to Marianne’s office, an apologetic look on her face.  She’s a short young woman, dark-skinned and pretty.  She’s wearing orange lipstick today, the exact same shade as the trim on her uniform.

“Sooo, we have a situation.” Lilo draws out the word ‘so’ like she’s trying to delay having to actually finish the sentence.

Marianne puts down the paperwork she was reading with a sigh.

“Pokemon situation or people situation?”

“People situation,” Lilo says, grimacing. “Mrs. Bernard is here again.”

Marianne mirrors the sentiment.  She’s heard stories about this one, and it must be serious if Lilo came for backup.

Marianne gets up from her desk, grabbing a clipboard from the rack on the way out of the room.  Her Nidoking watches her sleepily, before deciding the situation isn’t worth sacrificing his nap.  He’s back asleep almost immediately.

“What’s the clipboard for, Mar?” Lilo asks, while Marianne takes a random packet of papers from her desk.

“Makes me look more official.  She’s obviously not scared of the damn Garchomp in the lobby, but maybe human authority will work.”

Marianne leaves her office.  Lilo follows her, and out of the corner of her eye, Marianne can see the receptionist’s shadow jump unnaturally.

“You have your Gengar free-roaming today?” Marianne asks as they walk down the hall towards reception.

“Yeah!  She’s doing so good, isn’t she?  She even came out from under my desk!” Lilo turns to address her own shadow, which currently shows no sign of concealing a pokemon as far as Marianne can tell.  “Did you hear that, Lucy?  You’re such a brave girl!”

Sure enough, Lilo’s shadow shifts in response, swaying side to side.  Marianne smiles.  This is a good pick-me-up right before she has to deal with entitlement personified.

“Ma’am, you really should go through the Good Start program.”

Shit, that’s Tyler.  Marianne turns to Lilo in alarm.

“You left Tyler alone with her?” she whispers.

“Peggy’s on lunch, somebody had to stay with her!” Lilo protests.  Marianne just sighs and pushes open the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Bernard.  How can I help you?” Marianne asks, customer service voice in full effect.

Mrs. Bernard is a middle-aged woman with the least practical fake nails Marianne has ever seen.  Tyler, the shelter’s volunteer coordinator, is a tall black man with a honeycomb tattoo on his wrist and braids pulled back with a yellow elastic.  His Ribombee, Daisy, is perched on his shoulder.  Behind the front desk, Lilo’s Torracat and Garchomp are watching the humans with a shared sense of boredom.

“Nurse Joy!  Finally, someone reasonable!” Mrs. Bernard exclaims, ignoring Marianne’s question entirely.

Lilo and Tyler exchange a look and Marianne resists the urge to throw the clipboard at their guest.

“Mrs. Bernard, as I’m sure you’ve already been told, we don’t have any pokemon that would be appropriate for your daughter--”

“I don’t see why I can’t go in and see for myself,” Mrs. Bernard interrupts, which greatly amplifies Marianne’s desire to throw something.

“I already explained the training class to her,” Tyler says, arms crossed over his chest.  Daisy starts patting his cheek with her tiny hands, trying to soothe him.  Tyler tilts his head into the gesture to acknowledge her efforts.

“She’s already taking lessons through the school!  She knows how to handle pokemon,” Mrs. Bernard argues.

“Ma’am, the pokemon we have here generally aren’t appropriate for a kid just starting out, especially if she isn’t going to have adult supervision,” Marianne explains, desperately willing this woman to understand.

“I know multiple families whose children got their first pokemon through your organization!” Mrs. Bernard is only getting more agitated, and Marianne really wishes she’d brought her Nidoking along after all.  Butch is good at looming until people stop yelling at his trainer.

“Oh, they probably got them from the Good Start event we hold in the fall!” Lilo jumps in to explain. “When we get very young pokemon or eggs, some of our fosters raise them special for the Good Start program so they’ll make perfect partners for new trainers.”

“And why can’t I have one of those pokemon?”

“Um.  Because they all go into the program.  So that kids from the smaller towns can get starter pokemon too.  The Good Start program finds trainers for them much easier than we could, so we really don’t keep suitable pokemon around unless Good Start’s doing one of their local events.  It’s mostly pokemon with issues or older pokemon that--”

“Then give me an older pokemon!”

Lilo’s good cheer falters a little, and her Torracat finally comes out from behind her desk.  He nuzzles her knee, then sits at her feet, glowering up at Mrs. Bernard.

“The older pokemon are rescues.  They have specific needs--”

“I know some of your pokemon come from retired trainers.  Those pokemon would make <i>great</i> partners for a new trainer!”

Lilo’s Torracat does not appreciate his trainer being interrupted.  He meows at Mrs. Bernard-- it isn’t terribly threatening, because he has a particularly small, cute meow, but Marianne is fully aware he’ll start spitting embers next.  As much as Marianne would love to see that, it probably wouldn’t be good PR for the shelter to light a visitor on fire.

“Ma’am.  I don’t mean to be rude, but we are not denying you a pokemon for your daughter out of spite.  I’ve seen otherwise tame pokemon take bites out of beginner trainers seemingly out of nowhere, because the kids don’t know the pokemon’s limits.  The pokemon in Good Start are trained from birth to be safe partners to young trainers who are bound to make mistakes.  Pay Good Start’s registration fee, or, if you can’t afford it, talk to someone at the pokemon center,” Marianne says, in a tone that brooks no argument.  Mrs. Bernard tries to interrupt her twice, but Marianne just talks over her.

That’s actually enough to make the woman falter, which Marianne takes as a victory.  After a moment, Mrs. Bernard speaks again, less indignant this time.  She isn’t addressing Marianne, having apparently decided Tyler is a safer conversational partner.

“So, um.  What was that you said about classes?”

Marianne groans.  Lilo’s mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile.

“Come back with your daughter, then we’ll talk to her about classes,” Tyler says, staying remarkably calm.  Lilo loses the fight against her smile and covers her mouth with a hand instead.

*

“I can’t believe you told her to get her daughter.  I mean, you’re totally right, the ten-year-old is more likely to be reasonable, but it’s like telling a little kid to put mommy on the phone,” Marianne shakes her head and laughs.

Now that they’ve got Mrs. Bernard out of the building, she’s sitting across from Tyler in the break room.  They’re sharing a styrofoam container of greasy takeout stir fry, their pokemon eating lunch nearby.  Tyler’s Ribombee is sipping nectar from a special bottle, still sitting on his shoulder, while his Volcarona devours a large bowl of alfalfa on the floor.  Marianne’s Nidoking is snacking on some high-protein kibble (figy berry flavor), occasionally trading morsels with her Audino, who prefers the pecha berry blend.

“I don’t know what her problem with the Good Start program is,” Tyler complains, gesturing with his chopsticks.  He talks with his hands, even when there’s something in his hands.  Marianne has seen him point to things with a Caterpie before. “I wish they had that program when I was a kid!  My first Weedle stung me four times in my first week!”

“Probably would have helped if you hadn’t tried to hug him.  Don’t try to tell me you didn’t, I’ve known you for half a decade.”

Tyler points the chopsticks at Marianne.

“Bug pokemon are adorable and they deserve hugs.”

His Ribombee squeaks in agreement and throws her arms around Tyler’s neck.  He raises his free hand to pet her, grinning.

“See?  Daisy knows what’s up.  You too, right, Cinder?”

Tyler’s Volcarona makes a tiny chittering sound but doesn’t even pause in her quest to devour her bowl of sprouts.

“Admittedly, I also got poisoned a lot when I first started.  Hugging may have been part of the issue,” Marianne says, tilting her head towards her Nidoking. “But I had basic medical training.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Tyler says. “We can’t all come from globe-spanning families of doctors.”

“That woman knew my name without an introduction.  There are downsides.”

“Wait, you hadn’t met her?  Lilo seemed to think you had.”

“Nah, Peggy dealt with her last time, and Lilo got her out of here herself the first time.”

“Holy shit, Marianne, you shaved your damn head and you’re still getting recognized?”

“It’s the cost of my beautiful face.  Everyone I’m related to has the same one.”

“You should have taken your wife’s last name.  Maybe they’re reading it off your nametag.”

“Do I need to get out my family photos?  We all look identical.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of cloning--”

“Tyler, do not start with the cloning theory again.”

Tyler laughs and leans in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Come on, you don’t know--”

The door to the break room swings open.  Tyler startles mid-sentence and turns to look at whoever has interrupted the conversation.  It’s Peggy, the shelter’s adoption counselor, her Togetic fluttering over her shoulder and one of the Pichu she’s fostering tucked under her arm.  She has long brown hair and oversized glasses, a fashion choice Marianne has never fully understood.

“I’m gone for 20 minutes and I miss Mrs. Bernard?” she asks without offering a greeting, sounding affronted. “Did anyone die?”

Tyler laughs and pulls out a chair for her.

“Come sit, we’ll tell you everything.”

[stichflamme]

Vinnie and Ryan, 8 and 63

hospital au + everybody knows (mistaken for couple)

version one: 

you all know those two people at your workplace. those two. they’re never seen without each other and when one of them actually does show up alone you’d be asking them: where is the other? vinnie and ryan are exactly like this. joined at the hip at work, living together in a small flat, and usually teasing and bickering with each other. that’s them. if they had the same haircut you could bet they would pose as each other some times. 

it’s all usual business until a rumor spreads. somebody (spoiler: it was nick) saw them kissing and told somebody they could trust (that was john) but which was overheard by someone who unintentionally spills the news to the entire staff (that was alex. you know, kitty. but he’s still settling in, so that’s ok. he might be thankful for shifts he’s not sharing with them though) so now everybody knows they’re more than friends. ryan doesn’t mind too much. vinnie tries to tell everyone they’re mistaken first but eventually he’s thankful for not having to hide anymore.

version two:

vinnie gets in the hospital, not as a nurse this time but as an idiot who slipped in the kitchen and broke his leg. also he has two visitors, a boy and a girl. one of them bought him flowers with a note saying “tough luck clumsy” and a heart written on it. pretty much everyone guesses that the flowers come from the girl. obviously his girlfriend, and the dude being his best friend.

eventually it turns out that the girl is in fact his older sister and the guy is his boyfriend ryan. but not before dr. toews mixed them up and embarrassed himself.

he also tried to get vinnie hooked on green smoothies to improve his bone structure (more or less successfully) but that’s another story.

[totallyrhettro]

Another Me, Chapter 8

Word Count: 2116 Rating: PG-13 Warnings: None Summary: This time, Rhett was really going to do it. He had tried maybe a thousand times over the past thirty-odd years to tell Link how he really felt, but this time he was finally going to actually succeed. At least, that was the plan, but when another version of the six-foot seven bearded internetainer appears out of nowhere during their weekend getaway, Rhett’s carefully laid plans are quickly pushed aside. Notes: AU, Present day, Rhett and Link aren’t married

Also available on ao3!

First Chapter Previous Chapter

There where more than a few words Rhett wanted to have with his alternate universe counterpart, and few of them very kind, but he didn’t get the chance even after they returned from their sightseeing day trip. Any moment he would have had alone with the guy, Link was there. Not that he could ever complain about Link being around but it made it very hard to talk about him, and the Rhetts’ relationship, with him while he was around.

After Old Sarum they visited a few other places Rhett had planned with his original itinerary. He skipped those he picked out for their romantic setting, since they were picked for him and Link to visit after he confessed his love to the blue-eyed man. In the evening they went out to dinner with barely a break; Rhett couldn’t get either of his companions alone long enough to have a serious conversation and it was driving him crazy. He tried not to show it, of course, making a concerted amount of effort to be talkative and amiable during dinner but Link could tell he was putting on.

They said their goodnights as they parted ways from the elevator, on the second floor, and Rhett’s copy strode off down the hall to his room. Rhett watched him go; so did Link, much to Rhett’s annoyance. If he didn’t think it would start a fight he would have grabbed Link and dragged him back into the elevator, but he was never one to be rough for any reason other than comedy. He did take the elevator ride as a chance to fum quietly to himself, mulling over what he wanted to say once he and Link reached their shared hotel room.

“What is up with you, today?” Link demanded as soon as the hotel door was shut behind him. Rhett hadn’t been expecting Link’s reaction and was taken aback. Of all the scenarios he’d ran through his head, Link starting the conversation angry wasn’t one of them. “I thought we agreed to make the most of this situation and you’re acting like you’re going to a damn funeral tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure behaving as if everything is normal helps things either,” Rhett pushed back, his frustrations reaching their breaking point. He didn’t mean to take things out on Link but Link had just pushed the wrong button at the wrong time and now Rhett couldn’t stop himself. “We just had dinner with a man from another universe. Who, might I add, may not be able to get back to his own version of Earth and we’ll be stuck with him.”

“He’s you!” Link insisted, raising his hands in exasperation. “I mean, granted it will definitely complicate things to have another version of you around-”

‘In more ways than one,’ Rhett mused to himself.

“But I don’t see how that would be a bad thing. Rhett,” Link continued, trying to keep his voice level. “I just think you’re looking at this all wrong.” Gently he placed a hand on Rhett’s arm. Normally his tender gesture would bring great comfort to his lifelong friend, but not this time. This time it just irked him. “If anything that Rhett should be in a sour mood, not you. You’re not the one trapped in a different world.”

“All that Rhett has to look forward to is going to a one-man apartment, where he lives all alone in misery, with a broken heart and a broken life.” It sounded harsh but he knew it was true. He knew because if he ever lost Link that’s where he’d be. That’s who he’d be without Link. “Why would he ever want to return to that universe when he can stay here?!” ‘And take over mine,’ his mind added. ‘If that Rhett stays here… he’ll take you.’ Suddenly Rhett realized why he was so upset, even more than just Link and the new Rhett getting along so well. He was afraid he was going to lose Link. This new Rhett was going to either steal him away or scare him off and neither scenario gave the original Rhett a good feeling in his stomach.

“I need to go for a walk,” he muttered, crossing the room and reaching for the door handle. He had said enough, far too much in his opinion. He had started the fight he’d hoped to avoid and now the look on Link’s face was breaking his heart.

Link wanted to stop him, he really did, but something in Rhett’s tone had shook him to the core. Rhett hadn’t said it but Link heard it loud and clear. The sorrow, the fear in losing his world to someone else. He couldn’t understand why Rhett was so emotional about this and without understanding his problems Link didn’t know how to help him. So, he let him go. Even though it broke his heart, he let him open that hotel room and wander off into the night.

~ ~ ~

Rhett’s shoulders slumped as he walked towards the elevators. He never meant to start a fight. In fact, it was the last thing he had wanted to do. Part of him, a big part, wanted to go back and talk things out, to explain why he was so upset, but he was scared of that part. It was the same part of him that wanted to take Link in his arms and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe, and that was the last thing he could do.

Southampton was a small town, definitely worthy of the word ‘quaint’. In this late hour anyone who didn’t have to work and wasn’t a tourist had already gone home. Visitors to the town, like Rhett, were still about, though their numbers were few and far between. Those that wandered the quiet town were heading back to their hotels or whatnot, having gotten their fill of sightseeing or late dinners. None paid Rhett any mind as he traversed the winding streets, brooding more than someone vacationing in such a beautiful countryside ought to.

His feet carried him several blocks away from the hotel down towards the wharf, twin docks where several boats were moored and empty cars waited for those on ferries to return. The sun was well below the horizon but the light it cast on the Earth still filtered through a few low-lying clouds. It reminded Rhett of home, of the hours he and Link had spent on the hill overlooking the creek for which their home town of Buies Creek was named. It had been a much more simple time, when they were young and innocent, oblivious of the world beyond their small town. At least, it had seemed so much simpler.

A short, humorless chuckle escaped Rhett’s lips at the thought. Simpler, maybe, but not better. Once he figured out his feelings for Link he had to start hide them, from Link, from everyone. Sure the rules were simple, but he hated them all the same. At least these days he had Link by his side and they could be happy. Relatively. At least he had Link. Throughout all their shared lives together that had been Rhett’s spark of hope and the only reason he hadn’t broken down years ago.

Turning around he walked back north, heading towards the Platform Tavern. Rhett had never been a big drinker, but it was the only place that looked open, and could use a drink if only a small one. He needed something to settle his nerves, maybe give him the confidence to face Link before the hour grew too late.

Inside the red, brick building it looked very much like a bar from America, albeit with more British flags. Lights hung on wires crisscrossing the room and a stage was set up at the far end for small bands to play. There was no one performing at the moment and most of the folks inside were seated directly at the bar and not in any of the tables scattered around the joint. Although it obviously boasted being a restaurant as well as a pub, it wasn’t currently being used for food. Everyone had a pint or glass in their hand containing some alcoholic drink or another. None looked to be in the greatest of moods but, then again, it was late night at a bar; one could hardly expect a cheerful atmosphere.

“Heineken,” he ordered, glancing over the selections as he sat down at the far end of the bar. The bartender gave a curt nod before turning and grabbing said beer. Rhett glanced down the row of patrons, nursing their beers and liquors, seeing similar expressions across all their downtrodden faces. He probably had a very similar expression across his bearded face; he never pictured himself ending up sulking in a bar, heartbroken and moping into a beer, yet here he was. This was the lowest he had felt in a very long time. He wasn’t sure how things could get much worse.

~ ~ ~

Link threw himself onto his bed, butt first, and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Now that he was alone he finally had space to think, without either of the Rhetts distracting him. After a moment he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone with his thoughts; they just reminded him how complicated his life had gotten, as of late. They reminded him of the strange impulses he’d experienced not once but twice today. Impulses that he didn’t want to have.

Before this weekend, he had everything worked out. He had Good Mythical Morning, he had his friends, and most of all he had his best friend, Rhett. Everything was clear cut and neatly defined. His whole life was wonderfully organized and everything and everyone had their place. He never questioned whether anyone was in the wrong place, or the wrong role. Every piece of the puzzle was right where it should be and everything made sense.

Now nothing did.

He’d never wanted to kiss Rhett before, not like . Sure a warm hug was never out of the question, for support or in jest. He loved Rhett, he did, very deeply, but always in a family way, a friendly way, a ‘we made a blood oath and we’re closer than blood’ sort of way but not… in that way.

Right?

Thinking back to days gone by, Link tried to recall any time Rhett had shown signs that he wanted more, more than just friends, more than just colleagues. Surely there weren’t any. Surely he was nothing other than Link’s best friend who was only interested in girls. Rhett had gone on many dates with girls in the past, had several girlfriends even as an adult. Not that Link met any of the more recent ones.

That gave Link pause. He hadn’t met recent Rhett’s girlfriends, even the ones he didn’t date for very long. Surely Rhett, as his best friend and confidant, would have told him about them, even in passing. Link thought about again but the memories were clear. Absolutely no mention of who he was dating, no meeting them or talking to them; It was like Rhett had been embarrassed by who he had been going out with, and that just wasn’t like him.

Or maybe Link didn’t know his best friend as well as he thought.

His brain was starting to hurt from all these conflicting thoughts and he rolled over onto his side to glance at his phone. It was late. Real late, but he wasn’t tired enough to go to sleep. He felt too wired. Besides, he wanted to wait until Rhett got back so they could work things out. The minutes ticked forward. Where was Rhett?

A knock on the door made his heart leap and he nearly did the same as he got up from the bed to answer. Had Rhett forgotten his key? Possibly. Link figured that was the case and didn’t even check to see who it was before opening the door.

It was Rhett. Not his Rhett. Link recognized him by his shorter beard and different hair. He was a bit taken back that this Rhett had come to call.

“Something wrong?” Link asked, assuming the worst.

“No, nothing���s wrong,” the Rhett assured him, but he looked nervous as his eyes were drawn past Link into the room. “Am uh, I here?”

“He went for a walk.” Simple explanation. Link didn’t want to get into any details about the fight earlier. “Did you need to talk to him?” Rhett’s alternate shrugged but answered without confusion.

“I was hoping to speak with you, actually,” he explained. “Can I come in?”

Next Chapter

More Fics

[atlanxic]

I feel like I should talk about my surgery in as much detail as possible, both for my own memories and to get the information out there for others. Obviously I won’t be able to do a review of the results until I get the bandages off and recover some, but here’s my recollection of the hospital stay itself. Warnings for medical talk and details. I’m on mobile so I don’t think I can put a cut, sorry.

Leading up to the surgery, the clinic was better about communication than some other agencies I’ve dealt with, but it definitely still required some self-advocacy to get all the information I needed. There were some things I didn’t know until a bit later than I would have liked. I wasn’t entirely sure when I would need a post-op appointment with my local doctor until it was too late to book with them, so I’ll be going to a drop-in to get my nipple dressings off. I also didn’t know until a couple days before the surgery that it would be required for me to shave most of my torso and arm pits, even the peach fuzz.

The clinic in Montreal is associated with a bnb just into Laval, which is currently occupied exclusively by other trans people also getting surgery, and a couple other accompanying family members. My stay at the hotel is covered for 3 nights by OHIP. My mother, who is accompanying me, had to pay extra. There is only one bed in the hotel room, so we’ve been sharing it. She pays $20/meal aside from breakfast. The food is excellent home cooking, and everyone eats together. Taking my meals with other trans people going through similar experiences has been one of the highlights of my trip. There’s a real feeling of community.

Yesterday morning, me and two other patients, as well as two accompanying mothers (mine and another guy’s), were to share a taxi to the clinic. It was rather severely delayed, and we learned that there is only one taxi service on Laval, so we basically had no choice but to wait. When the taxi did arrive, there was only room for the actual patients. Our mothers had to get a second taxi. The first one was covered by the clinic, the second one was not. We arrived about 10 minutes late.

Inside the clinic, the reception desk and the nursing station are a joint island in the middle, with doors to patient rooms in a ring around the perimeter. There are about a dozen chairs basically just in the hallway after the entrance. You have to take your shoes off and put on little blue disposable slippers. Each patient was given a stack of paperwork comprised of three parts. The first part is a personal and medical form to fill out: very standard stuff. The second part is two consent forms regarding images. The first form asks you to state that you will not take photos of the staff, and your visitors will not take pictures at all. However, the patient is allowed to take photos of themself and their visitors, as long as they are solely for personal use. The second form asks your permission to use photos of you taken by the staff in their training and promotional materials. I understood it to be optional, but I gave them my consent, as I feel like that sort of thing is a valuable kind of activism. The third part of the paperwork is also optional, and is a very detailed demographic survey. It asked a couple ethnicity and language questions, a couple questions about my transition, and a whole lot of questions about the genders and orientations of my family members, to my surprise.

After filling out that paperwork, I was asked to come to a little booth attached to the center desk but isolated from the rest of the room. I signed consent regarding the type of surgery, the specific surgeon, and the anesthetist. I was asked some more medical questions, and they made sure I didn’t have any removable accessories on me any more: no piercings, no gum, no dentures, etc. They also asked me to confirm that I had shaved. One of the other clients I spoke to at dinner mentioned that if you did not shave adequately, they would ask you to do it in the washroom at the clinic, and they would not provide shaving cream. While I was in the booth, they gave me two strong Tylenol and a muscle relaxant, with about two tablespoons of water. I had been fasting (even water) since midnight, so I was very thirsty, and I honestly appreciated even that much water.

After that I returned to the waiting area for a short while, and then I was asked to change. I was given two hospital robes: a normal one that closed in the back and a second one with longer sleeves that closed in the front. I was asked to not even wear underwear or socks, and was given a fresh pair of disposable slippers. I waited for a little while longer. They asked me to use the washroom, and then I was escorted upstairs, via an elevator.

Upstairs I was put in another waiting room, with one of the people I had arrived in the taxi with. We chatted a bit about how our jobs were about our transitions and how longe we’d been on waitlists. He was seeing dr Belanger, I was seeing dr bensimon. My anesthetist came to the waiting room and took me aside. She introduced herself, asked me about the previous time I had been put under, and about whether I knew of anyone in my family who had suffered an averse reaction, or any medical allergies I might have. I think I signed my consent to her services again. The other guy in the waiting room was taken into another room to have incision lines sharpied onto him, and then taken to start his surgery.

Then I was taken into a side room to have incision lines sharpied onto me. Dr bensimon introduced himself too me, and cracked a joke, and then drew on my chest using a regular sharpie, a clear ruler, and a level app on his phone. I was not expecting it to be so low-tech, but I guess that part of it is as much an art as a science. He also took a photo of my chest before drawing the lines on, for medical record purposes. The process was strange and a bit ticklish, but not unpleasant.

I went back to the waiting room, the second one. I could hear dr bensimon and the nurses chatting in French and taking their break in the next room over. After a bit longer, I was finally escorted into the operating room. It looked impressively high tech, tbh I wish I could have gotten a photo. On my way in, I was asked to put on a hair net. They asked me to take off my second robe, and lie down. They put little ankle warmers and compression socks on me. They put four stickers on my chest and back to monitor my vitals, as well as an arm band to monitor my blood pressure and a finger clamp to monitor my pulse. I was covered in a warm blanket. And then they tied a rubber strap around my forearm, on the opposite arm to the one they were using to monitor my vitals, and put an IV in the side of my wrist, by my thumb. They put an oxygen mask on me, and repeatedly asked me to breathe deeply. My arm with the IV hurt more than I expected it to, and I wanted to ask if that was normal, but I didn’t. I get the impression that it took me longer to knock out than they expected, but not by too much.

When I was last aware of the time, it was probably 9 or 9:30. I woke up in a post-op resting room, with one or two other patients and a considerable amount of medical equipment. I was surprisingly lucid, but very sleepy and dizzy. There was one nurse looking after us. She was very kind. She told me that it was 11:30. I asked if everything had gone well, and she said that it had. I asked her to tell my mother that, and she said she would try to, but in the end she wasn’t able to find the time. She asked me how my pain was, and then gave me an injection for it. I asked for water and she said I couldn’t have any until I got to my actual patient room. I tried to stay awake and be patient, but I think I drifted off a couple times. She called someone to get them to take me donwstairs, and ended up having to call twice before anyone was free.

They wheeled me to the elevator and into my room. I called out to my mom when we passed by her. In the hospital room, the stretcher I was on was lined up with the bed and I was asked to scoot myself over, which turned out to be manageable. There was another patient in the room, but we were separated by a curtain, and did not interact. I was brought orange juice and water and a variety of crackers, all of which I appreciated. I think it was 1pm when I got downstairs. I texted ghost and played a bit of fire emblem, but it was very difficult for me to stay awake for any length of time. They wrapped ace bandages over my white dressings, and told me to keep the ace bandages on for the next 4 weeks. The white dressings can come off on Sunday, but I will have to go to a drop in on Tuesday or Wednesday to get my nipples uncovered. I asked about stitches. They said the stitches will dissolve, and that it is normal for that to take 30-90 days, and that it is also normal for skin to grow over them. They said that my nipples will be black and smelly when they are uncovered, but that is nothing to worry about.

They gave me prescriptions for two pain medications. White capsules which I am to take every 12 hours whether I feel I need them or not (apo celecoxib 100mg), and blue tablets I am allowed to take every 4 hours as needed (supeudol 5mg). They work to a point, but I can still definitely tell I have fresh deep wounds on my body. I am also supposed to ice them for 20 minutes out of every hour while I’m awake.

It has now been about 24 hours since I woke up, and I feel like I could not have stayed awake and focused for long enough to write this post until now. My thoughts have not been clouded or unusual, but I have just been so super sleepy.

I will post updates when I can. If anyone is interested in photos when I can take my bandages off, I can post some under a cut. I will be leaving Montreal by train tomorrow morning.

Thank you everyone who has sent me well wishes.