#they will also be able to do bloodwork for me there so

[achilleslyre]

okeiiii got a referral into a healthcare unit for TRS. he said they’ll likely be able to get me in some point in april and he’ll give me a call then to make an appointment. yippee! look at me getting that ball rolling

[semiotomatics]

bloodwork came back normal (derogatory) and its gonna be at least 2 weeks till i can talk to my dr abt next steps, tried to find another clinic to go to but got scared off by bad reviews/my own prior bad experiences for the close ones, the distance/inaccessibility for the far ones, and cant get a virtual appointment anywhere until august, so like. that sucks

[elijah-loyal]

dying again guys

(tag rant)

[bloodyke]

everyone wish me luck i have blood work in the morning tomorrow

[wrecking]

i’m going to just make a bunch of small posts in the tags bc i have like 15 thoughts and none of them really deserve to be full posts so like yeah

[killbaned]

man i just can’t stop thinking about like damn. is it selfish i’m upset about the dog because i don’t wanna have to be in a position where i have to start considering that it’s shifting from ‘he’s getting older’ to ‘he is old’ and what that entails?

and like. yeah. it is.

but also, as of this moment i don’t think that’s a bad thing because there’s nothing indicating that he’s suffering, or in pain. the vet seemed very surprised that he’s got the murmur, but hasn’t had any changes in behavior or anything. no coughing, no lethargy, no instances of not wanting to play, no struggles with walks/jogs or anything of the sort.

like. yes, he’s clearly got the murmur, but he’s not like. sick.

and that’s what’s so upsetting about the eco test being so expensive because that’s the test that tells you WHERE on the CHF scale he’s at.

i really hope she can/will feel comfortable making some guesses when the blood tests get done. she said that when CHF is caught early on it’s almost nothing to worry about for years with proper medication.

so yeah, fuck it, i’ll be selfish about it until the time comes where i cannot be selfish about it any longer. i’m sure whatever meds he may need are going to be just as much of a monetary hassle as his special bladder food and his special bladder meds are right now, but i will consider that an even exchange.

[skeltnwrites]

Summary: You are there for Steve when he has to face his fear of needles. | 1.1k

TW: needles, medical anxiety, panic attacks, bf steve

A/N: this is based on true events 🥲 also you cannot convince me he doesn't have anxiety about this after rewatching that scene where he is literally stabbed in the neck with a needle

This is the first time Steve’s ever let you drive his car. Not because he doesn’t trust you with it but because he’s happy to be your chauffeur for as long as you let him. He’s always one to refuse when you offer, to grab the keys before you even think about it. He’s a gentleman at heart, even if part of him just likes to drive. But today is different. 

Steve’s practically buzzing in the passenger seat, snapping his foot against the floor mat like a rubberband and tapping his fingers where they are crossed over his arm. And he’s silent, which is weird because he’s always been the type of nervous to not be able to shut up. 

You wrap a hand around his knee, thumb caressing denim. He doesn’t acknowledge it like he normally would, gaze trained on the windshield. His eyes are glazed over like he’s somewhere else entirely. You have to call his name twice before he hums. 

“Wanna get ice cream after?” 

You barely catch his nod.

You’re grasping for anything to get him out of his head but he refuses to talk to you regardless of topic. He’s been more obliging during arguments. 

It’s not surprising that he’s anxious today, you expected it. He’s always been hesitant about doctors and only goes if he absolutely has to. But lately, this hesitation has transformed more into refusal, regardless of reason. This appointment specifically, a checkup and routine bloodwork, has been an ongoing battle with Steve for months. After his dad had a health scare, it was recommended Steve be seen to rule out anything preemptively. You’d given Steve every opportunity to schedule it himself like he claimed he would, but weeks turned into months of procrastination so you eventually phoned the doctor's office. 

Steve stalls in the parking lot. You’d turned the car off nearly ten minutes ago but he’s had to fix his hair twice, retie his shoes, and he even pretended to search for something in the glove box. You’ve been patient, but with only two minutes left until his appointment, you circle around to his side, gently guiding him out of the car. Before he can protest or claim he forgot something, you quickly lock the door behind him.

“Name?” The middle-aged woman at the front desk asks. 

“Steve,” his voice shakes so he clears his throat.  

She pops the wad of gum she was blowing, bemused at your boyfriend. “Steve…?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees.

You swipe a hand across his back, finishing, “Harrington. Steven Harrington.” 

She turns to her computer and begins typing lazily. 

“Oh,” he nods. 

She hands him a clipboard and pen, “Fill this out.”

You lean over the arm of his chair as he writes. His hands tremble around the pen and he stops to scribble out where he wrote his birthday incorrectly. You offer to do it for him but he declines. 

“Steven?” A nurse calls from the other side of the room where she’s propped a door open with her foot. You’re thankful for the short wait so Steve didn’t torture himself for long in the lobby. 

Steve doesn’t move so you squeeze the hand you’re holding, “Ready?”

He neglects to answer you but stands. You release his hand, collecting the clipboard and your things. Steve turns around, frowning and wide-eyed. “Are you coming?” 

“Yeah, baby. Do you want me to?”

He nods as you pass him his papers.

The nurse guides you down the hall, obtaining Steve’s height and weight before reaching a small room smelling of antiseptics. She takes his blood pressure, listens to his heartbeat, and jots down notes on the clipboard throughout. Steve’s breathing shallowly and staring at the floor as she works, focused on holding it together. 

When she leaves to grab the phlebotomist, Steve lets out a staggered exhale and whispers, “I really hate this.” His eyes join yours for the first time that morning, all warm and honeyed. 

You climb onto the paper sheet beside him, sealing his palm between both of yours. “I know, babe. You’re doing so good. Almost done.” 

He cranes over until his forehead meets your neck, eyelashes tickling your skin. You lean into him, planting a kiss on the nearest strip of skin. 

There’s a knock before the door swings open. A new face in the same scrubs. This one is all smiles, however, and chatting up a storm before she even sets her things down. 

Steve sprawls up slowly, eyeing the woman’s caddy as she rambles. 

She familiarizes herself with his chart before getting to work– washing her hands, ripping open the needle packaging, brushing a disinfectant wipe across his skin. It's all happening so fast. Steve’s breath picks up and his eyes dart away to the bland wall beside him. The nurse notices but doesn’t address his fear. She instead tries to distract him, asking him about how you guys met. 

A few words will find his tongue before he’s cut off by a series of gasps. He’s trying so hard to speak but his thoughts keep spilling out in a scrambled mess and that terrifies him even more. It terrifies you too– you’ve never seen him so scared. 

Steve gets a glimpse of the long needle near his arm and flinches away from her fingers. You’re pressing his face into the slope of your neck with your free hand because he keeps trying to watch what she’s doing.

“I need you to stay still, okay, hun? I’ll be so quick, I promise,” the nurse encourages. 

But as soon as her grip on his arm tightens, locking it against the table, he’s losing it. Fat tears are dribbling down his red cheeks and falling onto his lap where you’re clutching his hand. His chest convulses with shallow, uneven breaths, his muscles tensing under the strain of trying to keep his arm still. The needle slides in, and for a moment, his whole body stiffens, but she successfully finds the vein with a single poke and starts draining the blood into a vial.

Gradually, his breath starts to even out as he realizes the worst is behind him. Your fingers weave through his hairline and soothing words are whispered into his skin. A few final hiccups escape into your tear-stained collar.

“All done,” she’s patching him up with a cotton pad and tape and even you’re surprised at how quick it was. 

Steve tilts in your embrace to see the damage, unleashing a shuddered sigh. The nurse smiles at him and he offers a wobbly one back. 

Over a bowl of his favorite ice cream, he hesitantly opens up about his fear, recounting his traumatic experience with a Russian doctor. His words are thick with the weight of the painful memory and anxiety lingers through the tremble in his voice. No matter how many questions you have or how much you wish you could take away the experience, you know the best thing you can do is listen and praise him for his bravery.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[vodika-vibes]

i know i just requested something (so sorry abt this😭😭) but i just thought of this!!

a modern AU meet cute with fives!! like a romantic little thing with a gn reader please!! maybe in a cafe or restaurant bc i love food lol

Coffee Cake

Summary: You are a busy person, always running hither and thither, running errands for your boss, your coworkers, and your family. And, every morning, you stop at the same cafe for coffee and a piece of coffee cake and hope that the cute barista will finally notice you.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1440

Prompts: Modern AU

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So this is less meet cute and more they already had their meet cute and are now friends who want more. I hope you don't mind! I also wrote this in under an hour, without any coffee because I have bloodwork this morning, so I'm sorry if there's any mistakes. And I'm, like, 90% sure that I kept this GN, but if I didn't just let me know!

The cafe smells like fresh coffee and fresh pastries. It’s probably the most comforting scent that you know, comforting enough that the moment you step through the doors, stress just falls off your shoulders. 

Stress is a regular part of your life.

Well, okay.

Stress is a regular part of everyone’s lives, but you seem to have twice as much stress compared to everyone you’ve ever spoken to.

“Babe,” They say, “Babe, you’re doing too much. You need to slow down.” And then they dump three weeks' worth of needs on you, and your stress levels just skyrocket.

At this time of day, though, so early that the birds are still waking up and the sun is just barely creeping over the horizon, there are not many people in the cafe. So you’re able to move over to your favorite table and drop all of your stuff on the table.

Technically, your work day doesn’t start for another hour, but you have some emails you need to send, and a speech you need to read over and correct for your friend. Not to mention, Mom needs you to make reservations for her, Dad, and your older sister and brother-in-law at a 5-star resort on the other side of the country.

And then your workday will properly start.

Yay.

You think it’s kind of telling that you’re not invited to the resort for the vacation that you’re scheduling for your family, but you’re not going to call them out on it.

This time.

You jump when someone raps their knuckles on your table, and then turn your head to look at the man standing just to your left.

Tall and broad, with curly hair, a neatly trimmed goatee, and a 5 tattooed on his temple, Fives is probably the biggest reason that you regularly visit this cafe rather than one of the dozens of other cafes in the city.

A small smile crosses your face when you see him standing there, “Good morning, Fives,”

“Morning yourself, early bird,” He teases as he reaches out a tugs on one of your curls, “The coffee cake isn’t done yet, but I do have your coffee.” He sets the paper cup on the table next to your laptop, “Peppermint cream and two sugars, just how you like it.”

You sigh, “You’re an angel among men, Fives.”

He smirks at you, “Oh, I know.”

You laugh quietly and sink into a chair, resting your chin on your knuckles as you look up at him, “Busy morning?”

“Never,” Fives replies as he leans his hip against the table, “You know we have some regulars, but the majority of our clientele is made up of my brothers.”

“Well, you do have a lot of them,” You joke as you pick up the cup and take a sip of the cafe and then pull it back to look at it in surprise, “Did you put—?”

“Whipped cream? Yes, I did. With some chocolate shavings.” Fives replies smugly.

You set the cup back on the table and look up at him, “Marry me?”

“You only want me for my coffee.” He counters with a grin, “I wanted to try something new, if you like it enough I’m going to add it to the menu.”

“Ah, and here I thought you just wanted to spoil me, not that I was playing taste-tester.”

“It can be both,” He says with a shrug, “Anyway, what mess are you cleaning up this morning?”

“Mm…I have some emails I need to send for work. My friend in the governor's office needs me to read over a speech she prepared for the Governer. Oh, and my parents and sister need me to book them a stay in a 5-star resort when they go on vacation.”

“You’re going on vacation?”

“Well, I wasn’t invited.”

“Wait, you weren’t invited but you still have to do all of the work?”

“Yup.”

“Don’t do it.”

“If I don’t then it won’t get done,” You reply.

“Then it doesn’t get done, it’s not your problem.”

You sigh softly, “Honestly, it’s fine. I don’t have time for a vacation anyway.”

Fives stares at you for a moment and then drops into the seat next to you. He smells like coffee and pastries, and there’s a smudge of powdered sugar on his cheek, and it’s all very distracting. 

“You,” Fives says as he takes your laptop and shoves it back into your bag, “do too much. When was the last time you took a vacation?”

“Uh…I dunno, five years ago, maybe? My sister’s wedding.”

“And was that an actual vacation, or did she make you play wedding planner?” Fives asks.

“...I’m feeling very attacked right now.”

“Good, you should.” He takes your hands in his so you aren’t able to grab your laptop, “You deserve better.”

“They’re my family and my friends,”

“Them being family only excuses so much,” Fives counters, “And you need better friends.”

“It’s not that easy, Fives. Can I have my laptop back?”

“No. This is rest time.”

You sigh, “Fives—”

“The bags under your eyes are so deep that they can probably carry all of my clothes with room to spare,”

You pull back and shoot him an offended look, “That’s mean,”

“I’m worried about you.” He releases one of your hands so he’s able to pull your chair closer, and you can feel his warmth radiating off him, “There’s more to life than…this.” He gestures to the pile of work stuff.

“I know that! I do. I’m just…busy, that’s all.”

Fives watches you for a moment, and then he smiles, “Do you dance?”

“I…what?”

“Dance? Do you dance?”

“Not well,” You reply slowly, “I’m not very coordinated.”

“Well, I’m going clubbing tonight with my brothers,” Fives says, “Come with me.”

“To the club?”

“Yeah.”

“And do what? Sit there and watch other people dance and drink?” You ask.

“Don’t be obtuse,” He rolls his eyes, “You’ll dance with me. I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

You stare at him, bemused, “You want to dance with me?”

“I want a lot of things. But I’ll settle for dancing for now.” He grins at you and continues before you’re able to ask him about his comment, “Anyway, are you in? It’ll be fun~”

You sigh softly, “Yeah, okay. I’ll go dancing with you tonight.”

The broad grin that crosses his face surprises you, though you’re not sure why you’re so surprised. Fives always gets excited when you say that you’re trying something new.

“That’s great! The dress code is whatever you can move in, I’m sure you’ll look amazing,” Fives says, his voice very excited, “But, I have to get back to work. I’ll bring you your coffee cake as soon as it’s done.”

You smile at him fondly, “Fives,”

He pauses before he stands, “Yeah?”

“You have sugar on your cheek,” He blinks at you and wipes his cheek, only to miss the sugar, and you laugh softly, “Hold on, I got it.” You reach out and lightly brush the sugar off of his cheek and onto the floor, “There. Perfect,”

You start to pull your hand back only for him to grab your wrist and, in one smooth motion, he pulls you towards him and crashes his lips against yours. 

You release a surprised noise, and then you melt into him, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest.

In your experience, first kisses are supposed to be soft and gentle. But this one isn’t. It’s deep and probing as if Fives is trying to determine what makes you tick with every press of his lips against yours.

You could lose yourself in him if you had the chance, so it’s probably a good thing that Hevy yells at Fives from behind the counter, “Oi!” He shouts as he flings a ball of paper at his younger brother, “Stop making out with your girl and get back behind the counter.”

Fives flips his brother off without looking away from you, and there’s a small smile on his face as his hand lingers against your cheek. He leans in as if he’s going to kiss you again, only for his twin to jerk him out of the seat.

“I’m happy for you, Fives. But you need to get back to work. Now.” Echo hisses as he drags Fives away from the table.

You lightly press your fingers against your lips, they’re tingling a little bit. And, for the first time in your life, you’re looking forward to going out tonight. 

And, judging by the goofy grin on Fives’ face, tonight can’t happen fast enough.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 20)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

“Soldier Abernathy,” Boggs’ voice is the one to finally break them apart.

Y/N moves to her feet, straightening out her gear. “Yes.”

“Civilian Abernathy.” Boggs also acknowledges the man on the floor.

“Yep.” Haymitch groans, pulling himself up.

“There’s been an incident.” Boggs squares his shoulders.

“What kind of incident?”

“Peeta attacked Katniss.”

“He what?” Y/N stammers.

“Our Peeta?” Haymitch is getting older, surely he’s heard wrong.

Boggs nods. “Follow me-”

Without another word, Boggs ushers them to Katniss’ room in medical. She is limp on the bed, being changed into a hospital gown. She looks the same as she had when Haymitch left her, save for the large angry bruise, blooming over the expanse of her neck.

“Damn it,” Haymitch murmurs.

“How could this happen?” Y/N turns to Boggs.

“I stepped outside to give them privacy. When I heard the commotion, I went straight in. He’d already put her through the medicine cabinets and had her on the floor. It happened fast.”

Y/N brings a hand to her throbbing temple. “Thank you for…” Y/N breaks off. “I should’ve stayed with him.”

“Not your fault, soldier.” Boggs says, immediately.

Haymitch passes a hand over her back. See, you stubborn thing? Not everything can be your fault.

“I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.” Boggs excuses himself.

The doctors trickle out, leaving Katniss in her neck brace, hooked up to a bunch of beeping monitors.

“She’ll be out for a while, by the sound of it. We should check on Peeta. Try to figure out what the hell’s going on.” Haymitch kisses Y/N’s temple. Watching his wife stroke dark hair away from Katniss’ face.

Y/N nods.

Peeta’s room is not much better. He is restrained, for his own safety. Unconscious after the attack, Boggs had to get him off somehow.

The results of the bloodwork returns without traces of any hallucinogenic drugs. The only abnormal thing found in his system is trackerjacker venom.

“So what does this mean? He thought Katniss was someone else?” Haymitch asks Dr. Aurelius, who’s come to deliver the news. He’s not a regular doctor, he’s a head doctor. Maybe he’s here to make sure they don’t lose their shit?

“Well…it’s hard to say. I’ll need to speak with him once he regains consciousness. For now, it seems a bit odd that he would remember Y/N in the hovercraft and in this room, only to not recognize Katniss a moment later.”

There must be something…something she’s missing. “So you think he knew it was Katniss and did that to her anyway?”

“I understand how difficult this may be for you to hear, but Peeta did attack Katniss with the intent to kill her.” Dr. Aurelius explains.

Haymitch shifts, meeting Y/N’s eyes.

“That’s why he’s restrained?” Y/N presses her lips together.

“This is for his own safety.“

“I don’t understand.” Y/N cuts him off. “He held my hand all the way home.” There’s just no way. “Peeta wouldn’t do that to Katniss.”

“I know it is painful for you to see them this way. But given your experience on the hovercraft, I have every reason to believe that we can help him work through this.”

“How?” Haymitch wonders.

“With the knowledge that he recognizes Y/N, we will be able to use a trusted source to sift through the information fed to him by the Capitol. In theory we will be able to reverse this fear conditioning.” Dr. Aurelius is already working up a plan.

“So that’s what you think this is? A response to fear conditioning?” Haymitch asks.

“He has lacerations, old and new. Evidence of shocks and beatings, that with the presence of trackerjacker venom suggests what one would consider brainwashing. A hijacking, if you will.”

“Have you ever treated a patient in his condition?” Y/N gnaws at the insides of her cheek.

“I have never seen anything like this, no.”

“We’ll do whatever we can,” Y/N says, immediately.

“For now there is nothing to be done. Katniss and Peeta are resting, which they both desperately need. I might suggest you do the same.”

“If it were your kids, could you rest?” Haymitch bites out, bitterly.

Aurelius nods, in understanding. “No.” He stares for a moment more. “As Peeta’s family is deceased, you are his next of kin. You will be involved in making medical decisions. If anything changes you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.”

“There is one more thing, before you go.”

“And what might that be?” Haymitch retorts.

“Johanna Mason has requested that you also be listed as next of kin, until she is found to be of sound mind.”

“What about Finnick?” Y/N wonders, they’ve always been close.

“Finnick struggled during separation with Annie.”From what Aurelius can see, he’s still struggling. “He is in no position to make decisions about her medical care. Rather her be a ward of the district, she would have you.”

“Of course, we’ll take her.”

————————————————————————

Pollux is with Madge, when they return to the children, keeping all three entertained. There’s someone else, perched in the corner, quiet, just watching.

“Mom?” Y/N says, warily. She’s only seen her once since they’ve been here. The older woman was deep into detox and screamed at her to get out.

“Hi, honey.” As if nothing has happened. As if nothing is wrong.

“Mommy, look what we made for Peeta!” Arista holds up the off white paper banner, lined with drawings and colored flowers.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Y/N chokes down her despair. How can I explain this? “It’s beautiful, he’ll love it.”

“You’re sad,” Everest calls her bluff.

Haymitch steps closer, saving her, the way he always has. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Is it Peeta?”

“Yeah,” Haymitch breathes, perching himself at the end of Everest’s bed. “Come here.” He pats the space on either side for his children. I’ll take this one.

Y/N follows her mother out into the hallway.

“How are you holding up?” The older woman asks.

“I’m ok.”

“Good.”

“So you’re out of rehab?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yes.”

“You look really…healthy.”

“Y/N I saw Finnick’s broadcast and I- I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. That I couldn’t protect you. I know I wasn’t the best mother-”

“You did the best you could,” Y/N cuts her off. “As a mother, I understand that we can’t always be there the way we want to.”

“But you are there. Everyday and every night, you are there for those kids. They know that no matter what, their mom is coming home. They know that you will always be there. I’m sorry you didn’t have that.”

“It’s ok…I’m-” Y/N wraps her arms tightly around herself. “I’m ok.”

“When I lost Maysi, I lost myself. I tried to get it back, to get a grip, to keep pushing but I couldn’t. When you got reaped,” she breaks off. “When I saw my baby girl get taken from me I- I mourned you. I mourned you the second you got on that train and I never stopped mourning you. But you weren’t dead, you were alive and my mind, especially with the morphling, couldn’t comprehend that.”

“Mom, please, stop.”

“I know you must be angry with me.” Her mother tugs at Y/N’s hand. “But I need you to know that didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of this, you are so good. You are good and you are brave and you are strong. Better than I ever was or could be. And I’m going to be here for you now, if you’ll let me.”

Y/N nods, silently, brushing away tears. “Thank you.”

————————————————————————

The guilt grows, festering like a wound. Guilt over the strain on their marriage, guilt for their absence from their children. Guilt for Katniss, neck braced, in a coma. Guilt for Peeta, restrained, turned into a weapon meant to kill the only girl he’s ever loved. Guilt for Johanna, tortured and stripped of her dignity. Guilt for Cashmere, who lost her brother. Guilt for Madge who takes on so much burden that is not her own.

“He’s been asking for you.” One of the doctors from Peeta’s team catches Y/N in the hallway.

The voice is enough to snap Y/N back to the task at hand. Haymitch is with Katniss, such is their agreement, until Peeta feels more at ease in the presence of others. Triggering him is not worth the risk.

Through the observation window, she can see him struggling, tugging at the bonds. Two doctors are beside him, attempting to soothe him. Y/N enters the room without hesitation, fighting her way into his line of vision.

“Peeta.” She says softly, moving towards him.

His thrashing does not stop, but he registers that she is there.

“Can we clear the room?” Y/N asks.

“Of course.” The doctors nod, they too are at a loss.

Peeta’s breathing is so shallow and rapid, she fears he might be hyperventilating. His eyes searching her sadly, warily. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Don’t you know what I did?”

Katniss. “I’m not upset with you, Peeta. I just want to help you.”

“You don’t know what it was like.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“But Snow did stuff to you too, didn’t he?”

“Nothing like this,” Y/N swallows the lump in her throat. “I brought you something, from the kids; my kids.”

“I remember…” Almost. Memories dancing near the surface of a frozen lake.

“They made you this,” Y/N unrolls the slightly crumpled paper. “Sorry I smushed it.”

Peeta’s eyes well up with tears. “Can I keep it?”

“Yeah, of course, we’ll find somewhere to hang it up.”

————————————————————————

“My colleague, Dr. Maes, informed me that the two of you had a rather…colorful conversation, at the bed side of her patient, Johanna Mason.” Dr. Aurelius says, during his later session with Y/N.

“She’s not a good fit for Johanna,” Y/N explains. “I’d rather you see her.”

“I couldn’t possibly take on Peeta, Katniss, Johanna, Haymitch and yourself.” Aurelius explains, “given her condition-”

“Take me off the list.”

“Are you sure that’s the best decision?”

“It’s the only option I have.” Y/N crosses one leg over the other.

“Tell me why.”

“What?”

“Tell me why that’s the only option and I’ll consider it.”

Y/N takes a steadying breath. “You’re the best they’ve got down here and we both know it. This isn’t about being a lost cause, or a martyr. It’s about people needing you more than I do.”

Dr. Aurelius sighs, “I’m sure Haymitch will follow your lead.”

“I didn’t mention it to him yet.” The longing pangs in her chest.

When she does tell Haymitch, later that night, he’s half asleep.

“Whatever you want, Angel.” He murmurs, pulling her closer.

They’ve hardly seen each other. She feels the strain on his heart, tugging at her own. Y/N fists a hand in his shirt. “You’re what I want.” More time with you.

“You have me by the balls,” he scoffs, “Stop torturing yourself. Everyone has to pay the piper and revolutions don’t come cheap. If we have to keep going like this; for however long, we’ll do that.”

“This is enough for you? Five minutes to ourselves before bed, after being apart all day?”

“You’re enough.” Haymitch breathes, “you’ll always be enough.”

Just you and me.

————————————————————————

Katniss wakes a day later, clawing at the brace around her neck and breathing hard. The monitors surrounding her beep frantically as Boggs tries to calm her.

“Hey, Katniss. You’re alright.”

Her hands move back to the brace.

“Don’t, you’re swollen.” Boggs stills her fingers.

Katniss leans back in defeat, her voice is but a broken whisper. “Peeta.”

Part 21

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly @misfits1a

[stuckinapril]

Hi :), how do you keep your energy up to do all the things you do? I don't do much and I always feel tired.

Anon I had a period where I felt that way too—and I literally realized it’s bc of my phone. I don’t want to be thaaaat girl, bc I’m the last person to just liberally demonize my phone into something I wish I never had (without my phone I would not have been able to befriend so many lovely people). But you need time off. You need boundaries w it. Otherwise you’re tiring your brain out w endless consumption, and by the time you’re done scrolling you have no energy left for anything else.

Beyond that it comes down to cliche stuff like working out, eating healthy, getting your vitamins in. Getting bloodwork done was a major game changer for me. Keeping your spirits high after a long work day w a hobby that truly fills you w joy. Stuff like that.

Having a schedule is so instrumental too—but be careful not to go above and beyond your limits. it’s understandable to burn out if you’re going from doing nothing to overloading every hour of your day w something you want to get consistent about. Progressive overload always.

And finally… I rly don’t think this is said enough… but if there’s major resistance to doing something, maybe it’s just not your passion & you should reconsider what you wanna do. I don’t like pressing this point bc for a lot of people it could be something entirely unrelated to passion—phone addiction, lack of time management skills, just not having their priorities right. But it’s also good to check w urself every now and then to ensure you’re doing something you like, not something you’re simply familiar with.

[vaspider]

Hello friends!

Mila had her most recent vet appointment this past week, which was just bloodwork, and I have incredible news:

Her bloodwork right now looks like the bloodwork of a completely healthy dog. Not only are there not presently any "free-floating cancer cells" in her blood, as there was before her first vet appointment, but her CBC (Complete Blood Count) looks like that of a healthy dog.

For now, anyway. We know it's temporary, but she looks really, really good right now.

Her left eye, which was sunken in because she had a lymph node pressing on the nerve, looks almost entirely normal. We can't actually feel the lymph nodes in her neck at all. She's started dancing for her dinner again.

We've had to institute First Dinner and Second Dinner, and she also has breakfast AND lunch right now, because she's just hungry ALL THE TIME. This is a factor of the steroids, of course, but we indulge her because she needs to put some weight back on, and she's doing just that -- in the past two weeks, she's put on a pound and a half, which pushes her back above 60 lbs. Luckily, she's been able to go back to her regular food rather than the extremely expensive soft food, but she also gets fresh veggies, the occasional half of a dried fig (which she loves because they are so chewy and sweet, but which she can't have very much of because they are so very sugary), and ham, because it's the cheapest lunch meat and our dog doesn't have to keep kosher -- she just has to eat more protein and get more pounds back on. HaShem wants me to take care of my dog. :P

Her fur is shiny again, we can barely feel her ribs when petting her -- like, we can feel her ribs in a normal, 'there are bones under there somewhere' fashion, not in a 'oh no, she's lost so much weight' way. She's been play-bowing at Cap again, and seeking out me, and Cat, and Evie for love, and not just Emet.

We know this is just temporary. We know we'll be lucky to still have her around come 2024. But for right now, we can enjoy the beautiful fall weather with a happy girl who was very content to sit out on the porch last night, watching the neighborhood with Emet and me while I pitted plums to make more jam from the wild abundance of our neighbor's plum tree.

We have enough on hand right now for one more treatment, which will happen October 3rd, and final expenses. (I keep making sure we have enough to cover her final expenses so that she doesn't have to suffer because we can't afford to make her suffering stop.) I'll shake the virtual can again when we need it -- right now I just want you to see what your help has given us.

Today it's 72 degrees and sunny, and Mila has spent most of her day snoozing on Emet's lap in the basement.

What more can you ask of life than that?

We would not have had this day without you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Fight Me? (Gojo Satoru one-shot)

This is based on the following:

Nurse!Gojo falling for a grumpy lil Rinko in this short and sweet AU one-shot 💕

It is fluffy and cute and I really enjoyed writing this silly lil thing 🥹

Also, happy early birthday Gojo Satoru!

I'll try to get the amusement park Another Level Extra done and posted by tomorrow 😊

Fight Me?

“Good morning, Kurisaki-chan,” the nurse’s annoyingly chipper voice sang as he entered the room. “Wakey, wakey!”

“Fight me,” Rinko mumbled, trying to shield her eyes with a pillow when he flipped the lights on.

“Maybe later, Kurisaki-chan,” Gojo replied cheerfully, prying the pillow from her face. His stunning blue eyes smiled down at her from behind the white hair that fell in a messy mop across his forehead. “Can’t if you suffocate yourself while I’m trying to take your vitals, though.”

He wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm and began pumping air into it, his eyes staying firmly on the gauge as it inflated.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked as he jotted the numbers down. “Comfy enough?”

She hadn’t, which was to be expected since she was in a hospital. Her least favorite place on earth. The constant beeping of all the machines and the hustle and bustle just outside the door didn’t help the ambiance, either. But she would admit that it was a bit more comfortable than usual because he’d been kind enough to get her extra pillows before he’d left the previous evening. 

“Fine until someone blinded me at-” she glanced at the clock on the wall, “-seven in the morning.” She scowled at his giant grin. “Did you have to turn all the lights on?”

“How else would I be able to see your pretty face?” he teased. His lips pulled into a smirk when the beeping of the heart rate monitor sped up, and he winked before walking toward the door. “Remember, if you need anything, just press the little button, and I’ll come to the rescue!”

He flipped the lights back off and closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t fair of him to be attractive and flirty with her when she felt - and probably looked - like death.

She glared out of the little fortress of pillows she’d created as the door opened, his familiar voice chiming excitedly.

“You know what time it is,” Gojo called, his grin widening at the sight of her protective barrier.

“Fight m-” the words choked off when the air caught in her lungs, and she hunched over as the coughs rattled her chest.

He patted her back gently before giving her a serious look when she was finally able to breathe again.

“I can’t fight you, Kurisaki-chan,” he stated matter-of-factly as he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her bicep. “You’d win. And those other assholes over at the nurse’s station would never let me live it down. They’d probably film it, too, and then it would end up on the internet, and then I’d never be able to leave my house again.”

The wheezing laugh escaped before she could stop it, causing his face to break into a giant, boyish grin. His already brilliant eyes somehow shined brighter when he smiled like that. She found herself blinking up at him stupidly as he turned his attention back to his task.

He had dimples.

There was that damn beeping.

“Bit faster than it was when I took it earlier,” he observed. Her neck felt hot, especially when his grin turned smug, but he just jotted down the numbers and placed her pillows back where they had been.

Her brow furrowed in confusion when she heard Gojo’s voice just outside her door.

He had been in earlier to get her vitals before he left for the evening, so she wasn’t sure what he was doing back. The only thing she could think of was if they needed more bloodwork, which made her actually want to fight him.

The door opened, and he slipped inside, holding his left hand behind his back. She knew he could see the panic in her eyes, but it shifted into a glare when he laughed.

“I’m a bit hurt you’re so upset to see me,” Gojo teased, his lips pulling into a pout. “You can breathe easy. I’m not here to poke or prod you again, Kurisaki-chan.”

“What are you hiding, then?” she asked suspiciously. “If you have a damn needle, I’ll-”

“Threaten to fight me?” he asked, eyes shining with amusement. She leaned over, trying to see what he had, and he tutted. “Ah, ah. No peeking. I have a gift for you since you’ve been such a model patient this week, right now excluded.”

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a slightly unimpressed look.

“What kind of gift?”

“Just a little something to remember me by,” he stated happily. “You’ll most likely get discharged tomorrow, but I won’t be here since it’s my day off. Soooo-” he pulled his hand from behind his back to dramatically brandish a small stuffed panda, “-I wanted to give you this. You can look at him and think about the best nurse you’ve ever met in your life.”

Her eyebrows shot up at the sight of the stuffed animal, a surprised laugh escaping at the fact that it was wearing scrubs and had a felt stethoscope draped around its neck. It was cute.

The boyish grin that showed off his dimples was back. Deep cerulean blue made her feel like she was drowning. When her eyes met his, she felt her neck heat up when the damn beeping sped up like it always did.

“Thank you,” she murmured, gnawing on her bottom lip. “And thank you for being so kind this week. Sorry if I was a bit rude-”

“I don’t take it personally,” he cut her off, still smiling. “You clearly aren’t a fan of hospitals. Most people aren’t. But I do like to think my incredible charm makes it a bit more bearable.”

“A bit,” she conceded, unable to fight the urge to return his grin. “Thank you again. And for- the gift.”

“It was my pleasure,” he replied easily, moving back to the door. “Now, I’m heading out for the night. Take care of that little guy, yeah? I know it’s a big responsibility, but I think you’re up for the task after I did such a great job caring for you.” He paused at the door. “But if you forget, I left some instructions in his pocket to help you remember!”

He tossed her a wink before he was gone, and she blinked stupidly after him. 

Pursing her lips, she reached into the tiny pocket curiously to find a torn piece of notebook paper folded up. Another laugh escaped before she could stop it as she read his scribbled ‘instructions.’

Fun anecdote: years ago, when I was in the hospital, a student nurse came into the room at 7:30 after I'd barely slept at all, flipped the lights on, and was like, "GOOD MORNING, [KIKO]. MY NAME IS KATE. HOW DID YOU SLEEP? I'M HERE TO CHECK YOUR VITALS-" and I feel like the fact that I still remember her fucking name after all these years tells you enough about how much I hated her in that moment.

[zuzsenpai]

mental health update

I've been having a pretty shit year as far as mental health goes. I mean, I had an actual mental health crisis in February that was one of the scariest times in my life. It was all because I was trying to taper off a psych med and apparently that was a BAD idea.

In the months that followed, I was able to avoid a bad depression spiral thanks to getting back on that particular med. But I've been getting more and more exhausted, and when I have anxiety, I have it REAL bad. Like shaking and chest pain bad. Thought I had covid and nearly passed out waiting the 15 minutes for the test results. Zuko was sick and had surgery and I was in a constant state of misery and shaking and dizziness. I know I should probably get like... Xanax or something for this. Maybe I will in the future.

Anyway, my focus is almost non-existent these days. During and after Zuko's health crisis last month, I have been at a point where my brain just can't move. I think I've spent the last 30 days scrolling tumblr because that and projects at work (the ones with deadlines) are the only things I can actually get my brain to do.

I want to work on fanfic. So I open a project, but then am immediately like "no I can't get myself to mentally be on the same page as this project". I think about a different project and my chest feels tight because I both want to do it and don't want to do it. It's painful. I accomplish nothing. I want to play a game or watch a show but the thought of putting effort into those things destroys my ability to do them. I just sit and continue scrolling tumblr. I long for conversation but when I'm actually conversing with someone, I can only manage a few words and I hate myself for it. I long for validation or praise on past projects to help motivate me into writing fanfic again, but I know that's selfish and I know it doesn't motivate shit.

This is where I am right now. I don't know how to have fun or relax. I don't know how to focus on anything. I don't know how to want to focus on anything. I waste entire days fretting about doing nothing.

I've also never been more exhausted in my life. I got bloodwork done on vitamin D, B12, iron, and thyroid. All are within normal range. So I'm getting a consultation with a sleep doctor (I get about 5% deep sleep per night, which is NOT good). We'll see how that goes.

I'm starting an exercise routine soon. I'm hoping that does something helpful. But I keep pushing the date back in my mind like "let's start exercising next week"... so you can imagine how that's going.

[literaticat]

Publishing aunty please help. Need advice, not publishing related.

What do you do when you're just tired, feeling unfulfilled and want to run away from everything? :( 

That sounds like a classic case of Burnout to me, though it could be combined with something else -- like Depression, or even a medical problem.

(For example, at one point a couple years ago, I was absolutely exhausted for no discernable reason and burst into tears at the drop of a hat -- I chalked it up to "winter blues" and ignored it -- come to find out, eventually, I had severe anemia and my body was not absorbing iron at all and actually it was an autoimmune disorder and became a Whole Thing! Uh... oops!)

This article from the Cleveland Clinic gives a lot of advice about what to do about Burnout -- but the most salient points, I think:

Be gentle with yourself. Everyone goes through it sometimes. You aren't a failure, you're going to be OK, you just have to take care of yourself before you can properly take care of anyone or anything else. So with that resolved:

TELL YOUR SUPPORT SYSTEM HOW YOU ARE FEELING. Keeping this stuff undercover is not going to help. Being honest with your friends/family/partner or whoever your "people" are will lighten your mental load AND they will want to help and support you.

Figure out what your stressors are and tactics to deal with them. Part of this will be linked to the previous part, probably -- For example, if you are burdened by too much work -- DELEGATE or ASK FOR HELP! You've told your support system what's up with you -- now tell them what you need to move forward.

Set Boundaries. If you're the type of person that says yes to everything and then you feel overwhelmed -- remember that it's OK to say NO. It's a good thing, actually. You'll be more "on" for the things that are actually important if you are able to protect your own boundaries and aren't wasting energy on bullshit things. I can't stress enough how important this is (and it's something I am always working on, because it can be tough!) -- but my life CHANGED when I made certain rules for myself and stuck with them. For example, mine: No checking email after 7pm or on weekends. At all. I gotta tell you, my life suddenly got a lot better. (I have forgotten this one recently, and my life has gotten markedly worse -- so I gotta get back to that!)

Go to the doctor. Yes, going to the doctor sucks! But they can make sure your bloodwork is OK, you aren't Vitamin D or Iron deficient, rule out any problems (like, I dunno, severe anemia)... etc etc. Like, step one of Self Care is knowing what your Self is working with. (And if you think you might actually be capital-D Depressed or have anxiety, etc -- ask for a referral to a psychiatrist to see about getting some medicine. IT WORKS!)

Practice Self-Care. Yes, that means the boring stuff like "hydrate" and "make you are getting enough sleep" and "eat your veggies" and "meditate" and whatnot -- but also, you want to "run away from everything"? DO IT. Take a vacation -- or even a staycation -- or even a DAYcation -- where you are literally not doing ANYTHING for anyone else, no email, no nothing. Get a pedicure with extra massage, sit in sunlight with your favorite drink, read a book or just think about NOTHING -- you have no responsibilities except to yourself during this time. It's rejuvenating!

Get toxic feelings out of your system. Find a therapist, if you can afford to do so. (There may be free or inexpensive options if you are a student, or with some insurance, some therapists have a sliding scale for patients, etc) A therapist can give you at least somebody to talk things out with who doesn't know you and isn't judging you. If that's not for you -- journal? Do something artistic? Go to a rage room? Climb a mountain and scream a lot?

Now you are on the road to being healthy, physically and mentally, you hopefully have less stress and are getting your forty winks and all that good stuff -- and hopefully you'll be MUCH better soon.

Good luck!

[whydontyousaeso]

“Bunny”

Drew McIntyre x fem!reader

Type- Angst to fluff

Warnings- pregnancy, mentions of previous miscarriages, mentions of difficulties of being able to conceive (not proofread)

A/n- hiii! So im not gonna lie, this one is personal for me. As someone who suffers from pcos and just having extremely small chances of having children, I wanted to make something for my other girlies who might be going through the same thing. I hope you guys like this, and be ready for my next posts! Love you!

Tag list: @alyyaanna @queencherryberry @new-zealand-chic @slutfortheeclaymore @codyswhitebelt @lizzyd1ish @southerngirl41

You mumbled under your breath as the last stitch fought with you, not going into the yarn.

You had recently took up crocheting, especially with drew on the road.

It had taken a moment, but you had made a little bunny with fluffy yarn, it was adorable.

“What did ya make dear?”

You heard your husband come up behind you, feeling him wrap his arms around your smaller frame.

“I made a little bunny, isn’t it just adorable?”

“It is, your talent never fails to amaze me.”

You chuckled and turned around, kissing his cheek.

“You gonna give it to someone?”

“Nah, I think I’m gonna wait a bit. After all, you don’t exactly know what the future holds for us”

It aggravated you whenever it seemed like your own family didn’t even understand you.

“When are you gonna have kids?”

They always asked it at family gatherings

In reality you didn’t even know if you could.

You had been born with a disorder that made it extremely hard, if not impossible, to conceive.

And every time you had hope it never made it past the second month

The odds were never in your favor.

But every time they asked, you just smiled and said

“You know, when we finally get the chance and settle down a bit.”

You knew that was a lie, so did Drew.

But he loved you regardless.

He would always comfort you afterwards, throwing out adoption if you truly weren’t able to.

He tried his best, and you loved him as much as he loved you.

You stared at the positive test in your hands.

Instead of joy, you felt fear.

Very true fear.

You never had a positive, and when you did it never ended well.

You had been sick for the last couple weeks, and you also missed your period when you were supposed to have it.

You were actually terrified.

Lucky for you Drew was busy today so he wouldn’t be asking a lot of questions until after the doctors appointment.

Which was just as dreaded.

And when you got there they just confirmed it all.

“Congrats Mrs Y/n! You are pregnant!”

They gave you some vitamins and told you to come back in a month to check up.

That would either be the worst or the best appointment of the entire process.

You didn’t want to tell Drew, not because of how he would act, but because you didn’t want to get his hopes up like before.

He was absolutely crushed every time.

You wouldn’t have that again until you knew for sure.

The day of the doctors appointment had you in shambles prior.

You were so nervous, it was gonna kill you.

They asked all the normal checkup questions, asked a few extra, and then it was time for the final procedure.

The ultrasound was always where it went downhill for you.

You watched the doctors reaction as she moved the wand over your stomach.

“There it is!”

She stopped the screen and turned it around, showing you the picture of the little baby in your stomach.

“The heartbeat sounds extremely strong, and when your bloodwork comes back we will be able to tell you nothing is wrong, once again, congrats y/n!”

It felt like in that moment you were able to breathe again.

You were so relieved, you were just gonna have to tell Drew now.

You sat on your bed, holding the bunny you had made and thinking.

This would finally be used.

You heard the door opened.

“What are you doing darling?”

He came over and sat down next to you, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead.

You really didn’t know how to say it.

“Drew I uh, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it dear?”

You paused, looking at the little envelope on your table.

The one that held the ultrasound picture.

“Drew I’m pregnant again. And this time it made it past the second month mark.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you.

“Are you serious?”

You nodded and got up, walking to grab the envelope and handing it to him.

You watched him open the envelope with shaky hands and look at the photos.

“So..there’s a chance?”

“They said there was an extremely high chance that I carry to term because everything seems fine.”

He stared at them a bit longer before finally smiling and looking up at you.

He stood up and pulled you close, embracing you with his broad figure.

“I love you so much baby girl, I’m so excited you don’t understand”

You felt yourself tear up and held him closer.

You were nervous, but you knew with him it would be okay, no matter what happened.

You sat in the nursery, rocking back and forth with your daughter in your arms.

You had little complications with your pregnancy, thank god.

“There’s my two favorite girls”

You looked up and saw Drew walking in, holding the bunny you made a year prior.

Your daughter was awake, she looked perfect to you.

She looked too much like her father, you loved it.

He put a hand on your back, leaning down to come into view for your daughter to see.

You smiled as he cooed at her, making her smile and laugh at him.

He held out the bunny, letting her tiny hands try to grab the larger toy.

“I love you Drew”

“I love you too baby girl, can I hold her?”

You mumbled a small “of course” and handed her over, watching him.

It amazed you on how such a huge giant could be so gentle with such a fragile little thing.

He could only do it to two people though,

You and her.

You loved his gentleness.

She loved it too.

Despite looking like her dad, she was just like her momma.

It was the perfect balance really.

You watched them two play together.

Drew was play wrestling with her, and she was enjoying every moment of it.

You loved the way she laughed and squealed with him.

You held her bunny in your arms, the bunny had been there her entire life.

She adored it.

You chuckled and watched her make him “tap out”, ultimately winning the match they had going on.

“Alright you two, let’s go eat dinner outside, it’s nice and warm and I’ve got some fresh fruit and veggies.”

You watched her scramble up and giggle as she ran outside, leaving you and Drew together.

“She takes after you too much”

“Not at all, after all, that’s not a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not a bad thing at all.”

You reached up and kissed his cheek, wrapping your arm in his.

You liked this life.