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statelysapphic · 4 months

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Doctor Blake

Alex Blake x Reader

Summary: When Alex hears you've come down with the flu, she takes it upon herself to nurse you back to health. Covers the Cold & Flu Season square for @storiesofsvu's Holiday Bingo 2023!

Warnings: Mild descriptions of illness, mostly flu symptoms. Fluff.

A/N: Hi babes! I know I said I had four different holiday fics for yinz, but life has been much busier than expected. I'm hoping to finish up another soon for ya. Anyway, here's some Alex Blake fluff. Thanks for reading! <3

Ao3 Link

You felt like shit. Laid on your couch, under a mountain of blankets, yet you still felt like ice. Your muscles ached like no other, and your chest hurt from the near-constant coughing. Your throat was on fire, your head was pounding, and your mind was foggy. You really weren’t sure what time it was, or even what day it was, just that everything hurt. You knew you were dozing off now and again, but soon, you were unable to distinguish between what was real and what was a dream. (Undoubtedly caused by the fever)

Alex was immediately concerned when she heard you had come down with the flu. Doctor's offices and hospitals were inundated with patients, though she knew you wouldn’t be one of them. You were too damn stubborn to ask for help on a good day, and you definitely wouldn’t be asking for help while you were sick. She made the executive decision to take care of you, whether you liked it or not. You had given her an extra key to your place, after all. (In case of emergencies, of course.)

The older woman had spent her entire morning perfecting your favorite recipe. One she jumped through hoops to get, but she would do anything for you.

When she stepped foot into your apartment, the first thing she noticed was your soft snores from the couch. Lightly padding through the living room, Alex was met with the sight of you burrioted in at least three blankets, only your pale face showing. Cough drops, medicines, and an empty tissue box were littered across the coffee table, clear signs you were not well. Your current state only reaffirmed her decision to take care of you. She moved into the kitchen and started to unpack the dinner ingredients.

You woke up coughing and confused but feeling slightly better than you had been. As you were trying to make sense of your current situation, you heard your refrigerator door close. You knew you should have felt some sort of panic, but you didn’t. You listened closely for another moment before hearing the kitchen sink turn on. Confused, you shuffled through your living room into the kitchen.

“Alex?” You asked, rubbing your eyes, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a few days since anyone has heard from you and I know you don’t always take the best care of yourself, so I figured I would stop by and check in on you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you croaked out, “I don’t want to get you sick. I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me. I’ll be back in the office by tomorrow, no doubt.”

“Sweetheart,” she started, calmly, “What day of the week is it?”

“Thursday,” you said confidently, though you really didn’t know.

“It’s Saturday.”

“No way.” She laughed at your skepticism.

“Yes, way.” You stood in place, eyes squinting, confused by the passage of time. “See, this is why you need me. Now, take this and go lay down on the couch. I’m going to get dinner started.” She handed you a glass of water and some Tylenol.

“Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner, now please go lay down.” She pressed a kiss into your burning forehead before gently pushing you towards the living room. Doing as you were told, you laid back down on the couch.

Alex, however, got to work in your kitchen. She had spent the morning in her kitchen, following your grandmother’s pierogi recipe. She figured making the dumplings would be a messy process and she didn’t want to make a mess of yours. Alex filled a pot with water, putting it on high heat. Once at a boil, she cut the temperature back until the water gently simmered. She cooked the pierogi for a few minutes, just until they floated to the top of the pot. Melting butter in a pan, she sauteed some onion and fried the pierogi until they were golden brown. She remembered to serve them with a helping of sour cream and chopped chives.

You were stunned when she set the plate on the coffee table in front of you. You were even more stunned when she began cutting the pierogi into smaller, bite-size pieces and began to feed you. When the first bite hit your tastebuds, you could tell the dumplings were homemade, and that you’ve had them before. It was your comfort food after all.

“‘Lex?” you croaked.

“Yes, sweetheart?” She replied.

“Are these my babcia’s pierogi?”

“Indeed,” she answered softly, scooping another bite into your mouth.

“How did you-” you pause, losing your train of thought.

“Get the recipe?” You nodded, “I may or may not have gone into your file looking for your emergency contact information so that I could call your parents to get it from them.” You stared at her for a few moments, a confused look on your face, so she continued. “You once said that there wasn’t anything a plate of your grandmother’s pierogi couldn’t fix. I just figured you could use a good comfort meal.” She smiled, pushing the fork towards you again. You were unsure how she could go through all of the trouble and be so blase about it.

“This is too much, Alex,” you squeaked, “You really didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I take care of my friends.” Again, blase, and a bit dismissive. She didn’t want it to be a big deal, because, to Alex, it wasn’t. She’d give you the moon and the stars if she could.

“Do you do this for all of your friends?” You asked. She hesitated to answer.

“No,” she sighed.

“Can I ask why you did this for me?” Your brain told you it was probably her motherly instincts, but you wanted to know her reasoning. Alex stared at the dinner plate; You could tell she was fighting an internal battle, unsure of what she should say next. Alex met your gaze, her eyes shone with unshed tears. Concerned, you sat forward and rested a hand on hers. Her eyes darted left to right, looking into yours. Then, briefly, her gaze drops to your lips, and right back to your eyes. It clicked.

You had assumed your chances of landing a date with Alex Blake were low, even though you two were the closest on the team. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, often working better together than apart. You spent so much time together in the office and in the field, that being alone was, well, lonely. More so than before you had met. Days in the office turned into evenings at one of your homes, simply enjoying each other's company.

You noticed the signs quickly though. Whenever you laugh, you look her way, hoping to see her smile too. You sought her out in every room, and when you found her, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her. You learned to hide it quickly though, she was a profiler, after all. And though you were too, Alex hid her feelings better. She was also in denial. She didn’t ever think someone ten years her junior would show any romantic interest in her, let alone a woman. The doubt bubbled within her, and the fortress she built around her feelings for you started to crumble. Tears she had been fighting rolled down her cheeks. “‘Lex,” you whispered, “It’s okay. I’m falling in love with you too.” You were shocked you admitted your feelings so easily, and for a moment you panicked. But Alex simply relaxed and a soft smile formed on her face, which calmed your nerves instantly.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Alex fed you the rest of your pierogi and finished hers as well. You knew with Alex taking care of you that you would be feeling better in no time. She stuck around until Monday morning when she insisted you take the day off to recuperate, even though you felt significantly better.

“Fine,” you sighed, defeated, “I’ll take another day, but only if you let me cook for you later this week. If we don’t have a case, that is.” You found yourself lost in her eyes for a moment, just as she stared into yours. Soft hands cupped your cheeks as she swept some hair out of your face.

“I think I would enjoy that.” Alex smiled before kissing your forehead. “Now, get some rest, will you? And drink more water.”

“Yes, Doctor Blake,” you replied. As Alex left for work, and the door shut with a click, you whispered, “I love you.”

As Alex shut the door behind her, making sure the lock clicked into place, she whispered, “I love you.”

#alex blake x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #alex blake fanfiction #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023 #wlwfic #wlw fanfic

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amive2567 · 1 year

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Ingredients: Shoto Todoroki x fem!reader

Contains: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, pregnancy, no read on, Todoroki went missing, a really bad hospitalxizuku pun

Words: 3188

A/n: Well I actualy wanted to upload this earlier, but my tablet tumblr app said no. But now I am home and can finally upload it :)

The door of the pub opened with an inviting chime and the atmosphere almost made you feel at home. Brown wood lined the room and comfortable warm light made the pub look like a winter hut in the wilderness, even though the pub was in the middle of Musutafu. Saturday Night was the usual hero night, all heroes would get drinks for half of the price, so there is no wonder all heroes would gather here to celebrate the weekend. Crime never sleeps, but the heroes here just wanted to commemorate. "Over here, Y/n." shouted the deep voice of Natsuo Todoroki. He waved like a madman so you could see him in the crowd, even though his white hair and his height made him already really visible. You waved back at him. The little room was filled with chatter as if no one in there was fighting for their lives to protect the country. You sometimes wondered how they could always be so cheery and kind. Never in your whole life had you imagined becoming a hero. That's why sticking to your "normal" job was just as right. "Hey guys." you greeted them shyly. "We missed you. How have you been? It must have been a handful, planning the Christmas get-together and also caring for your grandmother."Natsuo's wife Akemi greeted you. "It's alright. We could finally manage to develop a good care system for her. She is doing great now, and she finally eats and drinks enough." You remember your grandmother finally being able to return to her home. "It was hard for her after grandpa died, but now she is doing better. We could finally let her live on her own." Akemi clapped in her hands and cheered. "That is lovely. Where is Shoto by the way?" "Kachan, Ochako and he got sent on a mission on I-Island. Some villains stole the security terminal and they needed to keep the people safe until the system was repaired," explained Izuku, who hasn't spoken a word to you until now. "How have your holidays been?" you asked the green-haired hero. "It was wonderful. Ochako always wanted to go to Hawaii. Since it was a surprise, she cried as we landed in Hawaii." He illustrated with a huge grin. You returned his smile. "She must have told everyone by now, don't you think? The holiday has done her well." "Yeah, so well she is throwing herself into danger again, but she is still a hero at heart so I can't complain," Izuku mumbled and shook his head. Natsuo laughed. "You're a hero too, Deku. A sometimes reckless one I have to say." "And? I am perfectly capable of keeping myself safe." Now Natsuo had to laugh so hard he almost cried. His head was red by now. "Shoto told me if you hadn't married Ochako you would have married a hospital bed." By now no one could stop laughing and even Izuku had to laugh out loud. After everyone calmed down Akemi asked you a question."Do you know when Shoto comes home? It's almost Christmas and since we could finally manage Rei coming home and Endeavour moving out, we wanted to celebrate a huge Christmas party together." "He should be home by tomorrow morning. He said they are leaving tonight. Even if he had to stay there he would come home just for Rei." you smiled. "When are you going to celebrate on Christmas eve or the day after?" "On Christmas Eve, but when he comes home later we will wait for him of course," stated Natsuo as he hugged his wife. There was a comfortable silence until Izuku noticed something in shock. "Oh no, I am so so sorry." Izuku started to bow frantically and everyone wondered what was up. "Izuku stop it. What is the problem?" you said with panic lingering in your voice. "I forgot to ask you what you want to drink." "You don't need to worry.Everything is alright. I will just take some water." Izuku stopped bowing and apologized for it and went off to get some water for you. "Have you already bought Christmas gifts? We only have three days left and slowly I am getting stressed.

Shoto said he just wanted to spend some time with his family. We can arrange that right?" you started a conversation again. "Of course. Mom would be over the moon if he visited us more. We only got him a pair of new ties since he only got one or so." Natsuo chuckled.

You talked for hours and since the others drank alcohol, which aided in keeping the conversation going. But the conversation soon came to an end when Natsuo's phone started to ring. "It's Fuyumi," he said and turned away from your group. Akemi and Izuku continued talking, but something inside you told you something happened. You watched the expression on Natsuo's face change from cheery and bright to worried and nervous. He shortly ended the call and almost sprinted back to you. The knot inside of your stomach twisted. "We need to come home. Fuyumi said the jet of the heroes crashed. Shoto is still missing. The heroes went already searching for him." You didn't know how to feel or what to think. Blood started orbiting inside of your ears, it was so loud you couldn't hear the talking of the other guests, neither the clinking of the glass nor the bombardment of questions from Akemi. Your body was frozen and all you wanted was to cry. You experienced a chill as though a bucket of ice had been dumped over your head. Your mind replayed every horrible scenario imaginably. The image of Akemi, who was attempting to calm you down, was hazy. She talked with the other two and Natsuo carried you out of the pub.

Everyone was probably sober after the horrific news. He was the son of the former number one hero and since Dabis revealed everyone knew about him and his family, maybe some crazy villain captured him to gain the attention of the nowadays number one hero. Akemi held your hand the whole ride, but you couldn't feel the touch. Everything felt so surreal. The panic attack was coming closer and closer. Your stomach felt twisted and you started gagging. "Hold the car," screamed Akemi, it almost sounded like you were underwater. Natsuo parked erratically. Automatically you opened the door and puked on the parking lot. Your eyes were filled with tears, and you were already trembling. You've already lost control of your head as well as your body. Akemi closed the door and Natsuo continued driving. "It's all right. Shoto is going to be saved. He most likely went off to find the villain who attacked the plane. He'll be fine; you know him; he goes to great lengths to save people. Perhaps he is saving a child or a cat." Akemi hugged you tightly, but nothing helped. You were still trapped inside your mind. Your body is trembling, and breathing is difficult. The whole drive to the Todoroki Abode was a blur. Your vision was clouded by tears and worry. The ringing in your ears continued. "We are there," whispered Akemi in your ear. The car came to an abrupt stop with a loud screech, and everyone got out except for you. Natsuo carried you inside after opening the door next to you.

The entrance was dark, and it appeared that Rei was not present, but she quickly ran towards you after you entered. "There you are." she almost shouted. "Have you heard anything recently? Nothing has been reported in the news." her voice was shaking, but her complexion was unreadable. Natsuo set you back on the ground as Izuku got rid of your shoes. Your knees were weak, and you were proud of yourself for being able to stand on your own. Rei immediately hugged you and helped you into the living room. "How long has she been like this?" she whispered as if she was afraid that you could hear her. "Since Fuyumi called. Where is Fuyumi ?" Natsuo asked and looked around. "She is in the kitchen. Stress baking like always."

"Oh damn no no no…." As if Fuyumi was summoned, her desperate screams echoed in the huge house. You sat on the ground staring into the black screen of the TV. "He is not dead is he?" you whispered still in shock and as if a switch got turned everyone went quiet. Even Fuyumi stopped her baking and went back into the living room. "Of course not, he will come home. Safe and sound my dear." guaranteed Rei. "I will call him and the other heroes, maybe someone knows something," said Izuku, weirdly calm. "Maybe we should watch the news to keep track of things," suggested Akemi. Fuyumi put it on the news channel in mere seconds. Meanwhile, Rei hugged you tightly and mumbled comforting words to you, even though you weren't sure if they were for you or herself. But to be honest, you couldn't care less, everyone was on edge and anxious. You as his wife should be able to know that he will be safe, he always was, but something today didn't feel right. You were used to him being gone for days, weeks, or even months saving people, but the prospect of him being kidnapped by villains out to harm him made your anxious brain go crazy.

"The heroes of the safety mission on I-Island should be coming home today, but since a villain attacked the Embraer Legacy 600. Because of this, the plane crashed into the woodlands of Aokigahara. Luckily almost every hero on board survived. Gravity, Dynamight, and Scanner. Sad news occurred shortly after the crash. Shoto Todoroki, the son of the former number 1 hero, is not to be found. The search party is on their way, but nobody has seen him for 5 hours. We hope for the best and update you after the advertisement." The lady in the news pronounced every word with such boredom you wanted to rip her throat out. "Washing machines live longer with Calgon…" the jingle of the ad was already far away from your mind to notice. "I can't reach anyone. No one is answering," said Izuku frantically and tried to dial the number of Uraraka again. "Of course, no one is answering they are searching. Let them search for him." Rei's posture was tense, and you could see her trembling even though she was acting. Tears were now running down your cheeks. "Will he make it?" you asked anxiously. Your trembling got worse and you couldn't sit still for the love of God. Fuyumi laid a blanket over your shivering body, but it couldn't ease the anxiety and worry inside of your chest. The ads were over and the news lady continued her talk. "Shoto Todoroki is known for his volunteering at multiple honorary posts. He raised more than 14 billion yen for charity with his wife Y/N Todoroki…." the talking of mundane facts calmed you down. "Here have some tea Y/n." Fuyumi put down a cup in front of you, but you were only focused on the Tv. "Could someone please turn off this nonsense? These strange facts are well-known to us all. Why are they talking about him like that, he's not even dead for fucks sake!" exclaimed Natsuo. You flinched a bit. Fuyumi grabbed the control but Rei stopped her. ". Simply turn down the volume. It makes her feel a bit better." She still hugged you. Tears were still running down your cheeks, but you still felt like you were swimming inside an ice bucket. You put your head on your knees and rocked back and forth. "They will find him soon," said Akemi loudly, so everyone would believe her. Meanwhile, images of the work on I-Island were displayed. Shoto looked into the camera while holding a small child over his head, who was brightly smiling. Your eyes were filling up with more tears. He was so kind to everyone.

Natsuo moved back and forth in the background, almost walking through the Tatami mat, Izuku still tried to call some heroes to get some updates and Akemi helped Fuyumi to clean the kitchen. Everyone was tense and on edge. "He can't possibly be dead. We needed more time; we didn't have any." you cried desperately. "He is not dead and you will have plenty of time when he returns. You will see, everything will be alright." Rei hugged you even tighter, but also spoke calmly. "I am so happy that Shoto found true love. He deserved the world since his father failed at that, but you made that possible. Since he met you he has been so much happier. Thank you, honey. He stopped being so cold and smiled more often. I am sure he is safe and sound." insured Rei. Never in your life had you felt so much anxiety, not even when he was fighting the high-end Nomu in Hosu. Your tears dried on your cheeks and there was nothing left inside of you but despair. "We can only wait. Ochako said there is still no trace of him," said Izuku, worry written all over his face. Everyone was just so focused on the news that nobody noticed the opening of the front door.

It was Izuku who first noticed it. He activated his Quirk and walked slowly into the hallway. "There is an intruder," he whispered. Everyone stopped moving. Natsuo got his wife behind his back and balled his hands into fists as if he was ready to fight some professional villain with his bare hands. Slowly approaching footsteps resonated against the hallway wall. Rei's anxiety only increased. She was on edge by now you could tell. With every step, the culprit made your anxiety thrive. The atmosphere in the room was tense. Shoto entered the room through the shoji sliding door, filthy and battered. His jacket in hand and some dirt stains on his face and shirt. He has dried blood on his temple, but he is still alive. Everyone got up and greeted him immediately. The tension instantly disappeared. Your eyes widened in disbelief. He truly is alive. You couldn't move an inch, everything inside of you screamed and wanted to jump onto him, scream at him for making you worried sick or just finally kiss him again. "Welcome back bro." greeted Natsuo nonchalantly as if he hadn't just walked a hole into the floor. "We were worried sick. What happened ?" asked Fuyumi as she hugged him tightly. "You gave us a good scare." Izuku patted him on his back. "what are you all doing here ?" Shoto asked confused. Your eyes were still glued onto him. "Hey why haven't you called ?" asked Rei as she finally got up and hugged him. "My phone died" he mumbled overwhelmed. His eyes finally focused on your shocked ones. "I will tell you everything later, but now I need to see my wife." Rei smiled understandingly and let him go. He moved closer to you with short, wide steps. He gently picked you up and placed you on the ground, as if you were made of glass. "Have you missed my darling?" he asked raspily. You were only able to nod. Tears were now spilling out of your eyes and you clung desperately to his dirty shirt. You wailed like a baby but you didn't care, he was finally back. He gently stroked your back while holding you in his arms. "I am here now. Everything is alright," he whispered, so only you were able to hear his words. You continued crying and it took a while until you calmed down. "I…I…I thought you were dead." you mumbled against his torso. Shoto took your face in his hands and stared deeply into your eyes. "Love." he paused and smiled gently. "I am alive, I am well and nothing happened to me. I could flee before they got me. I am a hero anyway." his grin grew sly and you almost needed to chuckle. Of course, he would be safe, he always was. "I was just so afraid I couldn't breathe. Don't you ever dare to do something like that again or I will kill you." you began to sob once again. "You will never lose me. Ever." He kissed you deeply. Your hands are buried inside his locks. The both of you parted to take a breath and kissed again.

"An attack caused the plane to crash. With the help of my ice, I could protect myself. As a result, I became separated from the others and ended up in the area where the villains were hiding. I was able to capture them all and attempted to locate the others, but no one was near the jet, so I assumed they had been rescued. I started walking back home." he told you about his 'trip'. Like nothing big just happened he slurped his soba noodles. "Everyone was searching for you. Dumb of them to leave the plane." Izuku complained. "I am happy that you are back buddy, but I have to go now. Ochako must be home by now." Izuku got up and bowed deeply. "Thank you for the Food Fuyumi." "You're welcome." she smiled and waved him goodbye. Everyone saw him off and the chatter continued. After everyone had eaten up, the group dissolved.

As both of you finally lay down in bed, bundled up you, remembered your gift for Christmas. The clock stroke midnight and you got up. "Where are you going, love?" he asked, surprised. A bright smile spread across your face. "I know it's not Christmas yet, but I got you a present." You got the little box from the shell. A tiny bit of anxiety flooded your mind. You talked about this topic and he would never leave you. "Open it." you stretched out your arms and he took the package from your hands. Suspicion lingered in his eyes. He slowly opened the box and revealed the small blue shoes. "What's up with these small shoes?" he asked confused. "I am pregnant Shoto. The blue shoes represent the sex of our baby. It's a boy." you cheered. His eyes widened and he looked back and forth between the shoes and you. "We are getting a son." You nodded wildly. Todoroki got up and hugged you tightly. He swirled you around. "I am so happy. Thank you so much." he smiled brightly and kissed you deeply.

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wind-becomes-lightning · 1 year

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morning cuddles

bingooo yeaaa! :D just some fluffy stuff for your saturday! I ran out of steam at some point with this one so I hope its not too bad. I love them all very much.

Obito x Kakashi x Rin

Everybody lives, nobody is dead Au :)

1527 words.

Ao3 link [x]

for @obito-week 2023: you're late & family.

Obito should get up and go meet his team, but it is so warm in bed with Kakashi and Rin

With one large swoop Rin pulled the blanket from Obito’s body and threw it over Kakashi instead. “It is time for you to get up, Obito”, she said with the strict voice she only used for her medical students or when Obito hadn’t cleaned up his clothes from the floor. “You are going to be late if you don’t head out now.”

Obito, now freezing with the loss of his blanket, rolled over and buried his head in Rin's chest. “One more minute, please,” he begged and held on to the fabric of her blanket in the vain hope to get a piece of it over his body.

He knew he was already way too late to get up in time for his mission. He knew that his team was going to be waiting for him at the village gates. Naruto making a face, Sakura scolding him and Sasuke would say nothing which would be the worst of all, but Obito couldn’t get himself to leave this bed, which to him seemed like the most comfortable place on earth. Well, until Rin took the blanket from him.

It had been such a long while since the three of them had been able to be together for a night with two squads to lead and medical ninja to train and Obito had thoroughly enjoyed his moment with both his favourite people together. At night they had a big dinner kudos for Kakashi's amazing cooking skills and then they had Rin tell them a hospital story which always creeped Obito out and made Kakashi excited and then they had gone to bed, without sleeping at first of course.

Obito especially had been against falling asleep. When the clock struck 4 am and both Rin and Kakashi could barely keep their eyes open he would still kiss each of them to keep them awake. “I don’t want tomorrow to come,” he had whined. “I don’t want us to have to part again.” And while the others had affirmed his love for them and said they understood his worries, eventually each of them fell asleep and tomorrow did come.

Now Obito had to live with the fact that he had not only overslept, but also the fact that he found himself completely unable to let go of them. Kakashi had already switched bedsides to Rin’s other side so Obito couldn’t reach for him again. “You shouldn’t let your students wait,” Kakashi had said, “That would be really bad for their teacher.” Kakashi of course was meticulous in his approach to his own ANBU squad. He’d never come too late to meetings.

“Alright, I will go, I swear I will go,” Obito whined and grabbed the blanket again,”Just one more snuggle, I promise, just one more.”

Rin raised a brow as if she wasn’t believing in his words, but Obito repeated the plea. “I’m so cold so I can’t stay long anyway,” he said, leaving out the part about how a blanket would easily warm him up again.

“Last one, though, Obito, you promised!” Rin lifted her blanket so that Obito could quickly snuggle under it. He let out a deep sigh of relief when he felt the warmth of her body again and could put his head onto her soft and wonderful chest. Behind her he could feel Kakashi moving, his arm still slung around Rin’s hips. They were sandwiching the girl in between them.

Obito felt so good to be back with them, this is how it always had been and how it always should be. The three of them, rocky as their past had been with Obito disappearing and RIn almost dying, had always kind of stuck together. Through fights and anger and love and feelings and more fights they had always come up on the other side as a trio. So while it had been at first only Kakashi and Obito that had made the jump from friends to more than that, adding Rin had felt natural, like that had always would have always been the result of them being teamed up with each other.

“Your little family,” Minato-sensei had once said to Kakashi and Rin when they for the first time complained about working too much, “keeps you busy together, doesn’t it? Reminds me of how I was when Naruto was born.” At that point they didn’t even know that Minato was aware of the three of them dating each other. But, well, he was Hokage, so nothing got past him.

They really did feel like a family, especially when they were all babysitting Naruto as long as he was still small. Nowadays the only person babysitting Naruto was Obtio, who had been blessed or punished, depending on the day, with the boy in his Genin squad. “They fight all the time,” Obito had complained one time about Naruto and his teammate sasuke. “I can’t deal with that bickering all day.” The look Rin exchanged with Kushina did not slip past his notice.

Kakashi and him could also be great at bickering. They did it as a sort of foreplay sometimes. There were times when their arguments got so heated and Rin had to step in, either to shut both of them up or to remind them that deep down they really loved each other. Still, Obito couldn’t help but feel that the comparison between Kakashi and him and Sasuke and Naruto was totally unwarranted, after all the kids were much more of a hassle to deal with now then Obito had ever been when he was young. At least he was convinced of as much.

Rin moved closer to him and wrapped her arms around him tighter so that he could nuzzle his head into her chest even closer. He could barely breathe in this position, but it was worth it for the comfort it gave him. Rin liked being in between both of them like this, letting both their bodies warm her from each side, but since Obito had been so whiny the night before they had made a change and let him sleep in the middle, which he had happily accepted.

“Obito,” Rin whispered in his ear. “You should really get up now.” Obito groaned in response and didn’t move a single centimetre in response.

“The kids can wait,” he murmured into her chest. “They probably have much to catch up on since it’s been some days since we trained together.”

Kakashi let out a huff of air from behind Rin: “Excuses.”

“Hey, who was late last time Minato-sensei had a mission, because he wanted to “Just get a kiss goodbye”, huh?” Obito shot back mercilessly. Of course Kakashi would enjoy teasing Obito about this, as if he wasn’t the same. “Speaking of it, remember, Rin, when you almost missed your surgery appointment because you wanted to stay in bed listening to Kakashi?”

Rin made a face: “T-that was different. He isn’t just reading to us everyday.” One day last summer Kakashi had found a new book that had really excited him. One afternoon the three of them had found themselves in bed together and Kakashi had started reading paragraphs from it, which had drawn them in almost instantly. Kakashi was aware of the effect his voice could have on people and so he had continued reading, loving the captivated audience around him that adored him.

OBito had to remind Rin several times to go to work, but she had always stayed for “One more paragraph” and then almost missed her appointment.

“Really, you are in no position to judge me. At least nobody's life depends on me arriving on time. I’m just teaching a bunch of kids the importance of patience.”

Kakashi laughed, but, magically, said nothing in response. Rin squirmed, probably trying to run over the arguments she could possibly make to still win this discussion, but coming up short.

“Alright,” she said finally. “You can stay, but if you arrive and Sakura-chan rips off all your hair I will not put them back together.”

Suddenly, Obito sat up, his eyes wide: “She would, wouldn’t she?”

Behind Rin Kakashi sat up too: “I don’t think she’d have any mercy for you.”

“I… I better go then.” His eyes showed him the image of his twelve year old student Sakura, ready with a sharp kunai to carve some more scars into his cheek. “Obito sensei” she would say with a strict face. “In the two hours we had to wait here for you we thought of a new fun game to play.” A lopsided grin on her face, her green eyes glistering dangerously. He shivered. “That girl is scary.”

WIth a deep sigh he pushed himself up and dropped the blanket from his shoulders. With another he watched Rin and Kakashi move even closer together. They would spend another few hours together here in the bedroom in their warmth, while Obito would be outside in the cold trying to keep kids from killing themselves. It was unfair, but better this than to lose all his hair or be a story in tomorrow's newspapers about a group of children that killed their teacher.

#fanfiction things #obkkrin #obikakarin #kakaobirin #hatake kakashi #uchiha obito #nohara rin #obito week 2023 #obitoweek2023

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slowparts · 28 days

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sometimes i forget that this is actually a blog i can write about my life on. crazy right. anyways. this will probably be the first of many bc shits getting fucking insane in the membrane.

tw medical, cancer maybe, some vast unnameable fear saturday

gabriel has multiple masses in his neck and lymph nodes that we found out about on tuesday. one is nearly two inches long. he’s been complaining about neck pain for months. he had a regular checkup last week, his doc correctly noted his enlarged lymph nodes and ordered an ultrasound, he went for that on monday. on Thursday the (marked urgent) orders for the ct scan of his major lymphatic system + biopsy of his neck finally got sent to the hospital for scheduling. they haven’t called us yet though so i’ll be ringing them in the morning.

and like. yeah. i’ve felt his neck and i can feel it in there. this sounds dumb but he’s always had a big fucking neck. he’s just built like that, with a jawline that can retreat into his neck at a moments notice. he loves making people laugh with it. and yeah under his beard it’s obviously there. and i realize i’ve been staring at it for weeks, months maybe. noting something was off but not putting together what. even if i had, he’s a round soft boy. i’d never say a fucking thing about his chins getting bigger bc i know he feels self conscious about it sometimes. like i couldn’t have known. he’s been attributing his neck pain to his incredibly long working hours lifting things and working the restaurant. he’s been in pain for months and we still don’t know anything about it. i do not want to pre-worry about hypotheticals when we don’t even know what it is. and honestly, most of the time i fully believe it. i can usually talk myself (and often him, too) through a wave of fear about the not knowing, and the waiting. right before i am trying to sleep is the hardest. i dont want to take any meds to help at this point bc i need to be up in about 4 hours and be at work an hour or two after that, but the fear is eating me alive right now. so im writing this to hopefully exorcise some of it, maybe wear my brain out just enough to crash.

it might not even be anything as bad as all that. but it could be, and that’s going to be the rock in my shoe until we know literally anything besides how big the masses are. which coupled with the months of his being in neck pain—he is fucking averse to ibuprofen so whenever he complains about aching and i offer meds he declines 75% of the time, so i always just assume it’s because. he is lifting shit all day at work and when he’s not lifting things he’s at a computer doing other work things. he’s an achy boy and i rub his shoulders and kiss him lots and love him with everything in me. anyway i just assumed it wasn’t anything major. —so the size of the masses + the amount of time he’s been in pain = I’m Really Fucking Concerned. and i can’t fucking do anything about it right now so i should just go to sleep. but when i put my phone down and close my eyes and try to sleep, im more aware of him next to me. and i love him being there. but my brain is making extremely unsolicited leaps and bounds from “oh, my partner is next to me in bed, i love sleeping next to him” to “what if he wasn’t next to me in bed and what if he never would be again because he died from this thing” which is like. literally THE most unhelpful thought to be having while you’re trying to sleep. So i’m gonna ride it out until sleep comes for me like a brick, or until my shift ends tomorrow.

i am so fucking scared. i don’t think i have ever felt fear like this before. everyone in my family who died of cancer died before i was born. i have only ever seen this play out at arms length. if i dwell on that fear, if i try to say what it is i’m afraid of (because for me, naming it is the first step to working through it), its like something primordial in my brain takes over. tangle of eels, oil spill dark and swallowing. no language for it yet.

when he had appendicitis and was in incredible amounts of pain, he described his pain on the 1-10 scale as a 3, maybe a 4. Granted that was nearly 9 years ago and he’s more aware of the fact that he as a man is allowed to be in pain and express it and treat it. so tonight he described the pain in his neck as a 7 that went down to a 5 with the ibuprofen. when he said 7 i had to stop myself from putting him in the car and taking him to the hospital right then. but it was already down to a 5. and he’s sleeping, and has been for a while now, so well at least wait until the morning.

i know he’s scared too, and i truly do not want him to have to be thinking about my fucked up brain feelings in the insomnia hours on top of everything else right now. i will not be telling him about this bc i want to self soothe. its a great time for me to practice. tomorrow night with meds. bc tonight i genuinely don’t think im sleeping. the clock just keeps…. going. and i keep being here.

and the fuck of it all is i do not know. and we wont for days to come. and i just have to live with that and keep reminding myself that it might not be that bad, and that lymphoma has a really high survival rate if it is that, and at least we know about it now. and the hospital has the orders for the next steps and he or i will call tomorrow to see if we can get the ct scan + biopsy scheduled as soon as possible. and tomorrow night, instead of dreading bedtime and spiraling the second i put my phone down for the night, i will take one of my anxiety meds preemptively. if i took it now id be zonked by the time i have to be at work and i do better sleep-deprived and winging it utterly than i do sleep-deprived with benzodiazepines in my system. but tomorrow night i can plan better. and we will get through it.

i love him so much. i know i know i know he will be okay. i don’t need to worry about all that right now.

also somehow!!!! on top of ALL OF THIS!!!!!! my brain is somehow able to sustain a positively unhinged crush on a friend, who doesn’t use tumblr thank god. few truly safe spaces remain in this world for me to have a full on mental breakdown complete with insomnia and inexplicable horniness. sorry that’s more than you needed probably. no actually im not sorry it’s my blog. this is under a readmore. if you’re here you’re in it now.

i think i started writing this post like two hours ago. at least 90 minutes have elapsed. Anyways. i love you im kissing you on the forehead and thank you for reading this and being here with me in a way. i love you.

#tw medical #it’s a long one #i should have a tag for these kinds of posts…#fell asleep before i came up with one. yay sleep. i’ll come back to the tagging idea later #edit to add #it’s not clear but i started writing around 3am. finally crashed around 5:15 #posted when i woke up at 8 #tag for this kind of personal post in the future will be:#personal log

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theretirementstory · 10 months

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Good afternoon, yes “The Trainee Solicitor”and his girlfriend arrived last weekend and although I had to go into hospital on the 13th we still had a good few days together. It was wonderful to see him and to meet the young lady who is making him so happy. To say it was an emotional time is an understatement and other photos taken after this show two people trying to control their tears.

Well as I said, it was hospital for me Tuesday to Friday for my second round of treatment. I took food in with me so that I wasn’t hungry if I couldn’t eat the stuff they serve up to me, I have always been quite a picky eater especially where meat is concerned and anything that looks a little bit suspect won’t go anywhere near my mouth. Apart from that my treatment was a breeze this time, no sickness and I kept an eye on the fluids I was being given to ensure that there were no problems with the flow, as there had been last time. The only visitors I had were my son and his girlfriend, not that it mattered as I had a couple of books to read, and read them I did!

So what have I done since I got home on Friday, well I have inspected the garden, watered the vegetables, fruit and flowers. The radish I planted on Monday were sprouting by Friday, no sign of the spring onions or whatever else I planted. The transplanted beetroot look as if they may have taken.

I asked the doctor about driving my car and she said there was no reason not too, so Saturday morning I was up bright and early to drive to the supermarket to do my own shopping. I was very pleased with myself but I have noticed that if I touch anything cold the nerves in my hands go absolutely crazy, it’s like little electric shocks up my hands and arms. Peripheral neuropathy the bane of my life, it’s been with me since my treatment nine years ago, I had hoped it would not affect me so badly this time but it’s not to be it seems. Anyway, standing in the queue with my hands tucked under my armpits for warmth may have looked funny to other people but it had the desired effect. I am going to have to invest in a pair of gloves to pick up cooler items, I can’t be having this tingling pain.

Today, I have been cooking up ratatouille and savoury mince to have this evening. I have been given a protein mix to take once a day, obviously they are wanting to “build me up” for the remaining treatments. I have noticed though that I am feeling hungry too (not sure why) so I will get back to eating good wholesome food.

Here is an excerpt from “All In June” by William Henry Davies

“Till to my garden back I come,

Where bumble-bees for hours and hours

Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums,

To wriggle out of hollow flowers.”

I thought it was quite appropriate as my garden is what I miss most when I am in hospital. Just a little bit more gardening news, I was going to try and sort out the pots containing the alstroemerias as they haven’t started to show any signs of life. I don’t know how I manage to lose them over the winter but I will try to investigate that tomorrow. My beautiful hibiscus from last year has been another casualty of the winter and I really must clear the pot, it currently has some little yellow violas flowering at its base and I don’t want to lose those as they are so pleasing on the eye.

To everyone who messages to find out how I am, I want to say a big thank you. It can be quite difficult to reply straight away but I do get round to it eventually, but this is just to say thanks for taking time from your day to think of me.

Hopefully there will be more to talk about next week, not all about hospital and treatments.

Until then, have a great week, I intend too!

#barsuraube #trees #nature #livingthedream #france #crafts #troyes #baking #photography

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coppeliafoxworth · 1 year

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February 7th 2023

Today could have been better.

My day started off with me waking up later than usual. I forgot to set my alarm for this morning. Luckily my father woke me up around the time I usually get dressed.

When I wake up late my entire morning routine is messed up. Usually my routine goes:

Wake up at ten of five in the morning. Use the bathroom and weigh myself. Make breakfast and pack my lunch. Watch YouTube until my father gets out of the bathroom. Watch news with my father until five thirty. Get dressed for work. Start car if it's cold outside. Fill up my water bottle. Leave for work.

I like to do my routine every day during the work week. If I don't, it seems that my entire day goes wrong.

Anyways, once I arrived at work I learned that there was only two things known that needed to be done. I thought today was going to be an easy day.

Sadly, Theo forgot to mention all the contractors we had coming in today. We had four separate contractors come in today. People working on the floor, the washing machines, the soap lines for the washing machines, and the security gate. I'm just happy that I was able to get off on time.

After work I was looking forward to my lover coming over to my house. He asked me to call him as soon as I got off and I did. Turned out he wanted to go to the Dunkin down the street from my work. We went together and ate, as well as talked about our day. Sadly, he wanted to go to Dunkin with me because he promised his great-grandmother to help out with her television. She lives over half an hour away from me so he wasn't going to have enough energy to drive back to my home once he was done.

I informed him that we wouldn't really be able to hang out tomorrow either as I have a wedding to attend. He wasn't invited because it was strictly family only. We have both agreed on Thursday being the day we hang out, as well as out nine month anniversary on Saturday.

Once I arrived home I saw that I had a package. My guitar came in today! It was bigger than I thought but the only other guitars I've played were the little ones made for kids. I immediately opened her up and she was beautiful! I downloaded yousician for the free tuner and then flew to YouTube as that's how I learned ukulele.

I really hope I wasn't scammed out of two hundred dollars as the chords don't exactly sound right to me. I hope it's just because I have a larger guitar than what I'm used to.

After dinner I'm going to walk around a bit and do some exercise as well as shower. Once I'm done with those things, I'm going to work on my guitar playing some more.

Unlike when I was learning the ukulele, I don't have an abundance of free time on my hands. When I first started playing the ukulele I was in a program called home hospital. It was a home schooling program for students in the middle of a medical crisis. I was bouncing in and out of mental hospitals so my parents enrolled me in the program to keep me on track. I ended up having a lot of free time on my hands so I picked up the ukulele.

I hope I can get the hang of playing the guitar as fast as I did the ukulele.

#online diary

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worldismyne · 2 years

Text

The Smell of Lavender

Date of Origin: 01/14/2010

Author: Twinkel13; I do not take credit for this fic

(Mildly edited for grammar/spelling)

Rated: T

Summary: Modern Au.

A sunny Monday morning, the poor, 15 old Harv woke up in his bed to get ready for the day, the week, the month etc. He helped his mom a lot at home while his father is almost always at his job as the janitor at the town's hospital. After cleaning up after the breakfast, Harv's off to school. He takes his crappy old mo-peed that his father gave him, it takes a little while until the motor wants to work...he's off. On the way he had to pick up someone, someone annoying, someone he was forced to hang out with, someone- he was almost there, there 'he' was. He didn't need to see which street he was on, he could just smell it in the air. It smelled of lavender. "It's 'bout time!", Finn said, "I've been waiting here for a whole MINUTE!" "Well, I'm sorry", Harv answered, "but this old thing just didn't want to start this morning and I had a lot to do at home, you know." Finn took his seat behind Harv at the mo-peed. "Why won't you just buy a new one?" Harv didn't bother to answer that question. Finn knew Harv's family was poor, he just didn't think of it at the moment. The school day turned out as usual, they went trough all the classes extremely bored with nothing better to do but just obey the teacher as brain-dead zombies then. When PE-class started Finn, as usual, gets in trouble for being so arrogant and both him and Harv, for some reason, has to go to the principal's office. When that's over with, Harv just has to drive Finn home so he doesn't get chased by Hevvin Angelbright, the 17 year old mass murderer(scary8C). "Hey, Harv? You know what?"

"No wh-"

"I had a reaaally weird dream last night." Harv's eyebrows goes up.

"Really, What was it about?"

"Well..." Finn hesitated. "I-I though we could talk about that some other time...like on the weekend.."

"Sure. Are you free at Saturday?" Harv asks.

"That's fine with me... Saturday it is." They're at the same place where Harv picked Finn up in the morning. "We can talk more 'bout that tomorrow." Harv said.

"Let's not." Finn said fast. "There's no need to. I just want to tell you about the dream." Finn suddenly runs off. "See you tomorrow, Harv!"

"Wait, Finn-...bye." Harv looked after Finn for a little while. The smell of lavender that been in the air the whole day, that will be tomorrow and the day after that, slowly disappeared. Harv drove home, at home, in the small apartment it smelled food, dirt and the warm smell of little kids with smooth skin. Harv smelled it deep into his nostrils... and sighed. It wasn't the same.

------ Harv woke up Saturday morning to hear that the phone was ringing. He picked it up. "Hello?" He yawned.

"Hi, Harv. It's me." Finn said on the other side of the line. "I just wondered if we could meet up in the park, ok?"

"Sure we can. What time?"

"Well, I'm already here so-"

"What? Are you already in the park? I'll come as fast as I can!" Later, Harv was in the park, looking for Finn. He didn't tell where in the park he would be...*sniff, sniff* Lavender! Harv turned around a little to see Finn sitting on a bench, about two meters away. He looked up.

"Oh. Hi, Harv." Harv sat down beside Finn. It was quiet for a moment. "So, about that dream..." Finn started.

"Oh, yeah." Harv said. "What was it about?" "Well..." With red cheeks, Finn looked around a little nervous. "I'll whisper it to you." ... "WE WHERE KISSING?!" Harv exclaimed. "Smooching, with our tongues, to be exact..." Both Finn and Harv where blushing hard now.

"A- and just when we where about to have...you know, heheh..." Finn laughed a little, akwaaaaard. "...I...woke up." Finn felt like he wanted to disappear from earth ground. Why did he tell him all this?? Harv didn't know if he should be disgusted or embarrassed. He looked at his little petite friend. He never though of doing something like that with a boy before, with ANYBODY for that matter but Finn had a dream about it. Why? Did Finn though that Harv would do something like that? WOULD Harv do something like that? Harv looked away from Finn, his face all red. "Uh- a- and... how was it?" Finns eyes widened.

"W- what do yoy mean? I didn't f-feel ANYTHING, of course!" Finn stood up, hands on his hips. "It- it was just a dream, right? A stupid dream,haha...heh.." Harv stared at Finn for a moment.

"...OH, yes. Of course.. Sorry, heh..." Silence fell over them until Harv broke it. "Soo...what're we gonna do now?" "I dunno! What do U wanna do?" "Well, maybe we could just..hang out, here in the park?" Finn wrinkled his nose a little. "Uuuh, I would rather go shopping but sure, whatever." Then they just walked around in the park, talking (mostly Finn), laughing and just feeling each other's presence. And all of a sudden, it was getting dark. No wonder, it was fall after all. "Hey," Finn said, "why don't you come over to my house? I mean, it's kinda cold and my house is just around the corner..." Harv stared at Finn. After what Finn told him before? What was he thinking?! "S-sure, why not?"

-----

On the way to Finns house, Hevvin jumped out behind a corner.

"What's up? Nihihihi!" The two boys gasped in surprise and fright.

"AAAAAH! It's the crazy, pink wearing, killer guy!" Finn got behind Harv to protect himself. Harv looked at Finn, then Hevvin.

"Dude, you should do something about that weird laugh of yours."

"You can't change the way I aaam!!!" Hevvin madly yelled back. Of course, Harv was, as usual, ready for this. He took an apple out of one of his pockets in his blue jeans-jacket.

"You want an apple?" Hevvin sneezed at him. "You think I'm that stupid that I'll let you go for an apple?"

"It got a sticker on it~."

"OMG, a STICKER<3 Give me!!!" Harv threw it away in a random direction.

"There! Go get it!" Without a word, Hevvin ran as fast as he could after the apple. Harv took Finns hand. "Ok, let's run for it!"

And so they did. When they finally where on the same street as Finns house, Finn said "Um..Harv."

"Huh? What is it?"

"...you can release my hand now." Finn blushed and soon Harv did as well.

"OH! Sorry.." He said as he released Finns thin hand. Leenan, Finns mother, wasn't home for the moment but she'd leaved a note that Finn could take whatever he wanted in the kitchen. Finn sighed. Leenan had been very busy with her work lately so she almost never home. Tho there where a lot of maids in the house to take care of the chores, Finn felt lonely with his mom not there with him. "Let's go up to my room." Finn said fast as he pulled up Harv to the 2nd floor. When they went into Finns room, Harv got shocked at the oh so strong scent of lavender that was filling the room. He started to feel a little dizzy. "Let's sit on the bed" Finn said and so they did. Harv looked at Finn as he sat beside him. He though of the dream. Kissing, huh? He looked at Finns small, pale lips. They looked like the lips on a British china doll, still very soft-wait! Why was he even thinking this. Ugh-the lavender scent was so dam strong. It made his head feel fuzzy. He couldn't control his own thought. Maybe if he just closed his eyes and breathed peacefully, he could just fall asleep as he sat there? He was just about to try when Finn leaned his head against Harv's shoulder. Harv's face got the color of a red rose. He looked down at Finn and to his embarrassment, Finn was looking back.

"What are you thinkin' about?" he asked.

"N-nothing special." Harv responded as he looked away.

"Are you thinking how it would be to kiss me?"

"*GASP*"

Finn started to laugh loudly at this respond. "HAHAHA, I KNEW IT!" Harv looked, deeply embarrassed, at Finn.

"NO! I-..how did you know."

"It's written all over your face, you know." Harv covered his face with his hands. For the moment, he just wanted to DIE! Finn stopped laughing and moved a little closer to Harv. "You want to do it?" Harv turned around at this words, making his own, sky blue, eyes meet Finns big, deep, lavender blue eyes. He suddenly felt really hot. "I-I dunno..." he said with a shaky voice. Finn moved his face closer to Harv's. Closer, closeeer and...chu<3 Their lips where meeting. Time flied as they finally separated. Finn blushed. "I think...I might like you..more than a best friend should." Harv blushed as well. "...Me too." That night, neither of them fell asleep.

#Warrior u #WU Fanfic Archive #Harvfinn #little finnharv things #This is the most 2010s beginner ff writing I've deen in a while #I do not mean this in a mean way it's entertaining but..... yeah

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j-j-ehlby-writes · 3 years

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Almost (c.e.)

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Word Count: ~5.9k

Summary: You and Chris were set up on a blind date by your mutual friends. Sparks flew, but you never heard from him again. Two years later, you come face-to-face with him once more for their friends wedding.

Warnings: Some angst, swearing, not much else

A/N: This is a mixture of the movie “Life as We Know It” (mmm Daddy Josh Duhamel 🤤), a dating experience I had, and one scene from One Tree Hill. Enjoy.

My Masterlist

Two years ago…

My heart is pounding all the way to my ears. My hands are shaking under the table. My knee bounces uncontrollably as I wait.

I knew this was a bad idea. Why did I let her convince me to do this?

“You haven’t had a boyfriend for as long as I’ve known you.” My best friend so pointedly mentioned when we were out to lunch last week.

“What’s wrong with that?” I counter.

“I’ve known you for three and a half years.” She deadpans. Even without looking at her, I know she has her eyebrow raised at me and her lips are pursed.

“Your point?” I know she thinks my serious lack of companionship these past few years is wearing on me, but it’s been quite the opposite. Not being attached is freeing. I can do what I want when I want; I don’t have anyone to answer to. If I want to sleep until 3 on a Saturday, I’m going to do it. If I don’t want to socialize with anyone, I won’t. If I want to take a spontaneous road trip, I’m going to do it. My life is my own and that’s how I like it.

“I want my best friend to have someone to experience life with.”

My shoulders dropped, sighing in defeat. There was no way I was getting out of this conversation.

“I want you to be as happy as I am.” I see the love in her eyes as her mind goes to her boyfriend and their new relationship. They’ve only been together for a few months, but I know that this is it for her. She’s a smitten kitten and he is equally as infatuated with her. They’re sickeningly cute. “Which is why I think you need to meet one of his friends-”

“Lemme stop you right there,” I interrupt her, “I hate blind dates.”

“You’ve never been on one.”

“And there’s a reason for that.” She rolled her eyes at me. “They’re cliché, they’re awkward for both parties, and they never amount to anything, thus being a total waste of time.”

She sighed, “Ever the skeptic.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Regardless,” she continues, “I think you’ll really like this guy. He’s already expressed interest in you.”

Like that makes everything better. “Great so now I have to live up to his impossible expectations of me when I know absolutely nothing about him.” As if the idea of a blind date wasn’t bad enough, now it’s only a semi-blind date. There’s no doubt in my mind that she has hyped me up impossibly high, that’s what a best friend is for. However, when your confidence level is next to none and already skeptical of the pending meeting, there’s no way he’ll like who I am in reality.

“I can tell you anything you want to know about him.” She is bargaining with me. She really wants me to meet this guy. She wouldn’t be trying this hard if she didn’t believe we would hit it off.

“Well is he nice?” This was the only real question I had. If he isn’t kind then there’s really no future.

“Incredibly!” She continues to tell me of the many things he has done for a charity he started a few years ago and slowly but surely she was starting to convince me. If he was that generous then he has to have a good heart and therefore is a good man.

How bad could it be?

I check my phone, glancing at the time. Great, he’s late. That can’t be a good start.

Numerous reasons why popped into my head.

Reason one: he saw me and bolted.

Reason two: he got into an accident on the way here and he could be in the hospital.

Reason three: he changed his mind and decided to stand me up.

More and more played through my head as I sipped my drink.

By the time I was on my second drink, I was convinced he wasn’t showing up. I knew this was a ridiculous idea. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. I never should have listened to her.

I chugged the rest of my drink followed by some water before standing up to leave some cash. I was slightly humiliated for actually thinking this would be any different than all of my expectations.

My shoulder rammed into another as I turned to leave.

“Oh my, God, I’m so sorry!” A hand steadied me, gently grabbing the shoulder he ran into. “Are you okay?”

“My already small ego is a little bruised, but I think I’ll live.” I looked up to meet my assaulter’s eyes and immediately I froze.

Holy shit, it’s Chris Evans.

His piercing blue eyes were staring right at me, his concern was directed towards me. In all of his charming, ray of sunshine, bearded glory, he was here.

“I’m so sorry that I’m late. Traffic was insane over the bridge. I would have called but I don’t have your number.” He half-smirked but not in a cocky way. I’d seen him do it in interviews before. He could have come up with a lame excuse, but somehow I knew he was telling the truth.

“No, it’s okay. I understand completely.”

He sighed in relief, his gorgeous and perfect smile taking over his features. He looked down at the table and it disappeared. “Were you leaving?”

“Uh,” I stammered, “I was because I thought I was being stood up.”

“I feel awful. Please let me make it up to you. Let’s sit down, have a nice dinner, and get to know each other.”

I hesitate, now even more nervous than I was before.

As if sensing my hesitation, he decided to sweeten the pot a bit to persuade me, “We can even get dessert.”

I chuckle at his attempt. That’ll do it though. I sit back down with him following suit, finally starting our date.

We talked about everything. Anything and everything. No topic was off limits. Hours went by but it felt like minutes. We didn’t even know how long we’d been there until our waiter came to tell us that the restaurant was closed. We left and walked around the city until the night sky was giving way to the morning. He accompanied me back to my car, gave me the best hug I’ve ever received and a kiss on the cheek, promising we’ll get together again soon, and opening and closing my car door for me. I drove away with the biggest smile on my face and literal butterflies in my stomach. That was the best date I’d ever been on.

When I made it back to my apartment with the early morning rays peeking through my shades, I had a text message waiting for me from him. Just a simple good night, he had had an amazing time, and he couldn’t wait to see me again.

I fell asleep, hopeful. Hopeful that I would see him again, that this could maybe go somewhere. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but it was hard not to. I hadn’t felt this way in an exceptionally long time. I haven’t been on this good of a date in equally as long. I can’t wait to see him again…

Present day...

I finally pull into the parking lot after an hour stuck in traffic. My 12-hour day at work today has taken a lot out of me. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. Thankfully though, my 2-week-long vacation starts tomorrow. After that, I have fourteen days of no working, no getting up at the ass crack of dawn to be able to drive in miserable traffic, no dealing with difficult or boring co-workers. Just fourteen days of rest and relaxation, after the wedding of course.

My best friend and her fiancé are getting married on Saturday. I’ve watched them go through all of their highs and lows throughout the last few years and when he came to me telling me he planned on proposing, I couldn’t have been happier for them. He even asked me to secretly photograph the moment for her. She was more than surprised about everything.

Now their wedding is here and everyone couldn’t be more excited to celebrate them.

Tomorrow is their rehearsal dinner. The wedding party and their plus ones are all invited.

I walk into my apartment, immediately relieving myself from the confines of my shoes. A heavenly scent registers to me and I’m carried all the way to the kitchen. I see my sexy boyfriend standing at the stove with his back towards me.

“Hey babe,” he calls without turning around.

I hum, happily making my way towards him. I wrap my arms around his waist, placing a kiss on his back. “What is that unbelievable smell?”

He chuckles, vibrating through his chest. “Your favorite, of course.”

I hum again, “You spoil me, baby.”

He chuckles again, turning in my arms. His handsome face finally came into view. His gorgeous brown eyes look into mine as I get lost in his. For the past year, I’ve been the happiest I’ve been in a while. Since the day I met him, it was like everything fell into place. He’s sweet, ambitious, funny, kindhearted, passionate, and just overall the best man I had ever met. He makes me so happy…

Oh who am I kidding? He’s perfect. He is everything I ever wanted. If I made a list of all of the qualities I wanted in a husband, he would check off every single box.

But the feelings I have had for him over the last year are nothing compared to what I had in one night for him. I find myself wishing his eyes were bright blue instead of dark brown. I wish his arms were around me instead of the ones around me right now. The butterflies from that night have stayed dormant ever since.

I don’t know what happened after that night. I honestly thought we had a good time that night. Conversations flowed seamlessly. We made each other laugh so hard we had tears running down our faces. The physical connection was there- at first he had his arm around my shoulders as we walked around town, but as time went on he slowly moved lower around my waist, eventually intertwining our hands together until we arrived back at our cars. He even said that he wanted to see me again.

But I never heard from him again after that one text message. No call, no text, not even a message from my friend’s boyfriend. Nothing. I was disappointed beyond belief. I didn’t think he was that guy: the type to ditch someone without any explanation or goodbye. I thought I understood him to be a gentleman. Everything I had read about him pointed to him being one of the purest humans in the world. This was the opposite of all of that.

From that day on, I’ve loathed him. He gave me the perfect evening and then cut me off cold turkey from anything further. I have a three strike rule. His first: he was late. His second: he tricked me into liking him. His third: he lied to me. Three strikes and he’s out.

I have tried not to look back since. It’s not without its difficulties though since he’s literally everywhere. On magazine covers, in commercials, movie trailers, streaming services- he’s there. Why did he have to be such a successful actor? If he weren’t, it would make for forgetting him that much easier.

No closure. No answers. Nothing.

The rehearsal dinner went smoothly the next night which hopefully was foreshadowing for the big day itself.

A majority of us were standing around about to start when the doors loudly being opened drew everyone’s attention away from our milling about. A man stood in the middle of the doorway then strode in like he owned the place. The closer he got, the more the details of his face came into focus.

No. Freaking. Way.

I look toward my best friend. She looked like she wasn’t shocked he was late, but she knew he was coming. I creep up behind her and clear my throat. Instantly she cringed.

“Did you forget to tell me something?” I whisper to her.

She sends me an apologetic smile, “Well, I actually put off telling you ‘cause I didn’t know how you would react and then I meant to tell you last night but with the whole ‘I’m getting married in two days’ buzz took over and now the rehearsal is here-”

“Just please tell me I’m not walking in with him.” I beg.

She chuckles nervously before she escaped to go greet him with her fiancé.

I turn to her sister who is also one of my closest friends. “Did you know he was going to be a groomsman?”

The guilt written in her face tells me everything I need to know. “She made me promise not to tell you.”

I groan, “The loyalty level around here is staggeringly low.”

I head over to where my boyfriend is standing and take comfort in his arms before I have to deal with the man who broke my heart.

“Are you okay?” He asks a little confused by my actions.

I nod, “Just tired from last night.” He chuckles at the mention of the night before, squeezing me into his chest.

“Alright everyone! Time to get started.” The wedding coordinator beckons us all to the back entrance of the barn standing next to our corresponding wedding party member. I stand right in front of the Maid of Honor and Best Man. I kept my eyes forward focusing on anything but the guy who took his place next to me.

“It’s good to see you,” He murmurs to me over the instructions of the coordinator.

I scoff and roll my eyes. He has the nerve to say that to me after two years of silence. I imagined a million times what it would be like to see him again. I’d imagined a lot of screaming with possible hitting. Or I thought about the ever-effective, old fashioned silent treatment. He doesn’t deserve to know that our one night out together effected me so much and I’ve carried a rather large torch for him ever since. At the very moment, it will be the latter, but there’s no telling what tonight and tomorrow will bring.

“Now ladies, rest- don’t grab- your hand near the crook of his arm. Men, keep your arm at that angle with an open hand resting on your stomach- no fist. And don’t forget to smile- this is a happy day!” As quickly as he showed up, the coordinator was on to the bride and her father before either of us could register he was there.

I begrudgingly did as I was instructed, “resting” my hand on his bare forearm, holding a stand-in bouquet for the occasion in my other hand.

“Are you not going to talk to me?” He speaks again but I ignore him once more.

Thankfully that was when it was our turn to walk down the aisle. For the rest of the rehearsal, he didn’t get a chance to say anything else. As soon as we were done, I go straight for my boyfriend. I figured there’s no way he would approach me if I were with another man.

We all head to the restaurant afterwards to celebrate the last night before our friends begin their lives together as husband and wife. I keep my distance from Chris, always sticking close with my boyfriend.

The one moment I was alone was when I went to the bathroom. I thought for the few minutes I wouldn’t be in danger.

However I was wrong.

As soon as I step out an arm shot out in front of me. A very pale muscular arm.

“Are you seriously going to ignore me for the next two days?”

I duck under his arm fully planning on continuing what I set out to do.

“Y/N,” he grabs my arm, “will you please talk to me? What did I do to make you so mad at me?”

I whip around hopefully sending daggers his way. “Are you serious right now?”

“She finally speaks!” He exclaims.

“Because I cannot believe what I’m hearing. Like, I don’t think I heard you right.” All of the feelings I’ve been burying for two years were making their way up to the surface and I don’t think I can stop them. “We had a fantastic night. It was literally the best night of my life, it was the most comfortable with a guy that I had ever been. You made me laugh, you gave me butterflies, you helped me feel for the first time in years.” I try to swallow down the lump that was forming in my throat. “You told me you wanted to see me again. You made me excited for the future for once in my life… and then you took it away.”

With every second that passed, his expression got closer and closer to utter defeat: his shoulders slumped, his grip on my arm loosened, his jaw slowly unclenched, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You were late,” I hold up one finger, “You tricked me,” two fingers,” “You lied to me.” Three fingers were up and in front of his face for emphasis. “Three strikes and you’re out.”

I back away from him, having nothing more I wanted to say. As soon as I turned the corner, I felt liberated… for about five seconds. When that passed, devastation hit. For the last two years, I’ve held out hope- I tried not to- but I did, that maybe someday something could happen between us. That maybe, just maybe, we could pick up where we left off that night.

Now that the moment of confrontation has come and gone, I feel all the hope fade away. All of those possibilities I pictured have left the building. Being with him is no longer an option. I have my boyfriend who makes me happy, who gives me everything I could possibly want.

The rest of the night went on without another incident. Chris kept his distance. However, I could feel his eyes on me for every second that passed as we sat at the table. It was a relief when we finally left and could retreat back to our hotel rooms for the night. The bride and I got to stay in a suite that we’ll all be getting ready in in the morning. They wanted to uphold the “not seeing each other the night before the wedding,” even though they’ve lived with each other for a year and a half now.

On the wedding day, everything went according to plan. Everyone was on time to hair and make-up, pictures went flawlessly, the weather cooperated with everything, Chris didn’t attempt to talk to me at all- it was a perfect day to watch two people who love each other commit to the other for the rest of their lives.

But then came the reception. That’s when I knew apparently all bets would be off. The ceremony was over. Niceties would wear off as more and more alcohol is consumed. I was not looking forward to it.

We make our ridiculous entrances and take our seats at the head table. We eat then speeches were made. Lots of laughs were had as the Best Man dished on stories he had with the groom growing up, a few tears were shed at her sister’s after recounting the moment the bride knew he was the man of her dreams- overall I’d say they were a success.

Again, I felt his eyes on me, burning holes in the side of my head from the other side of the groom for the entire dining portion of the evening. I kept myself from glancing in his direction, instead focusing on the conversations with the bride’s sister next to me and my boyfriend who is across the way- anything not to meet his eyes.

Finally the DJ announces it was time for all to convene on the dancefloor after the specialty dances. I immediately see my boyfriend start to stand, knowing he’d been ready for this all night. I’d been looking forward to dancing with him all night as well, I even removed my shoes in anticipation. As I stand up, a hand is held out in front of me. I knew whose hand it was. I remember staring at it as he would rub his lips on our date. The strength of it as it intertwined with mine as we walked down the streets of our town, the safeness I felt as he squeezed it if he detected I was getting anxious around a group of people and I needed the reassurance. I knew that hand well, unfortunately.

“Dance with me?” He nearly whispers in my ear. I didn’t realize he was that close until I could feel said whisper on my neck. I contain the shiver that runs down my spine at how husky his voice is. God I’ve missed that…

No! I will not be enchanted by him again. He does not deserve me.

I exhale the breath I was holding, it comes out a lot harsher than I expected. “No, thank you.” I turn away from him, but his hand gently grabs my arm stopping me from going any further.

He whispers again, “He’s not good enough for you,” before walking away.

I’m frozen in place. I glare at his retreating back as he makes his way over to the bar. My mouth hangs open in disbelief. How dare he… How fucking dare he assume anything about me or my relationship. He doesn’t know anything about what our relationship is like. My boyfriend treats me so well, spoils me even though I know I don’t deserve it. He listens to me, he cares about me, and he makes me laugh until I cry- he’s everything I’ve wanted in a man. Chris is the one who had his chance and subsequently blew it. He has no right to judge or even comment on my relationship when he knows absolutely nothing about it.

I hurriedly make my way to my awaiting boyfriend and pull him onto the crowded dancefloor. “You okay?” He asks me, “Did he say something to upset you?”

“Nothing worth repeating.” All I wanted to do was forget about him and his irrelevant feelings towards my relationship…

…Except I couldn’t. His words rattled me. Does he see something I don’t? He told me on our date that he’s an excellent judge of character so he wouldn’t say something like that unless he got a bad feeling, right? Either that or he said it just to get under my skin and force me to talk to him. No matter the reason I hate him for it because my pride won’t let it stand.

I spot him leaning against the bar, staring directly at the two of us over the rim of his glass. His perfect eyebrow quirks up at the eye contact, that sets my blood to boiling. He thinks he’s so smug. I wish I could just slap that stupid hidden smirk right off his perfect face…

Following a few dances, I mutter something about him going to dance with the bride to my boyfriend before exiting the dancefloor. I rush out of the barn, away from the crowd needing some air from his suffocating gaze. I find a little lit area that’s perfect for pictures. There are rectangular hay bales set together as a makeshift U-shaped bench with some low watt bulbs strung up above between two poles. It would be serene if I weren’t already on edge.

After taking a few deep breaths, I finally feel like I can speak without yelling. “You had no right.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know he followed me out here. It’s exactly what I wanted him to do, just like it was his intention to get under my skin. As much as I wished to avoid this conversation it seems that we can’t go on without it. We may tear each other apart in the process, but this is my chance for closure. This is my only opportunity to get the answers I’ve been needing to move on for the past two years. Two years of wondering what went wrong after the most perfect date I’ve ever been on with an equally perfect man has been eating at my heart and mind. I hated always wondering “what if” or “what would I be doing right now if I were with him” especially when I started dating my boyfriend. I had no answers as to why those questions could not be. I thought with time I’d stop asking them, thinking I’d never see the man again. He’s a big movie star, why would he wonder about a woman he went on one date with?

As I expected, his deep baritone voice comes behind me, but his words do little to ease my nerves. In fact they set them off even more so than before. “I’m sorry.”

I scoff at his half-hearted apology, knowing he doesn’t mean it at all. “Oh bite me, Christopher.” I turn around to face him. God he looks even better out here. The subtle gold glow from the lights are complimenting his skin tone, they make his baby blues shine which just frustrates me more.

“Please, Y/N,-” He takes a step closer to me, but I won’t have that.

“No,” I take a step back keeping the needed distance between us for fear I may strangle him. “I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit excuses. You had no right to pass judgment on a relationship that you know absolutely nothing about.”

He slips his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “Oh, I’ve seen enough.”

“Really?” I jut my hip out, resting my hand on it. “In the two days you’ve been here, you think you’ve got us all figured out?”

“Yes,” he answers with conviction.

My shaking hands clench into fists, trying my damnedest not to lose control. I entangle them into my hair as best as I can without ruining the work the hairstylist did this morning before running them down my face. He has some nerve.

“We had one night. One night! One nearly perfect night together and suddenly that makes you an expert on what is good for me?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘an expert’-”

“I wouldn’t say anything!” I interrupt, “I never heard from you again. Now after two years, you come in here acting like you know anything about me or my relationship? Who do you think you are?”

“A man who made a mistake!” He snaps.

There was a long pause. I never expected to hear that from him. All these years I wanted to think the worst of him for leaving me hanging like that. He got my hopes up, thinking we may have a future together only for them to come crashing back down to Earth when he never contacted me again. I wondered and wondered if maybe I read the signals wrong. Maybe I took his flirting as more than it was. Maybe the small gestures like his arm around my shoulders, on the small of my back, or the hand holding were only him being friendly. I wracked my brain going over every single detail of the night to try and pinpoint a reason for him not to have called me afterwards. I found nothing, which was equally as frustrating.

“Alright, I made a mistake.” He moves to sit on one of the hay bales. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands, letting out a huge sigh. “God I wanted everything with you.”

Once again, I’m frozen by his words. He what? But that doesn’t make sense. His words and his actions don’t line up- how could that be?

He removes his hands from his face, staring at the grass. “After that night, I wanted it all. I wanted to settle down, get the house with a white picket fence in the suburbs, carry you through the threshold after our wedding day, bring our children home from the hospital, watch them grow until we’re old and gray. I wanted everything.”

My heart aches. All of that was exactly what I wanted, especially with him. I could feel the tears building behind my eyes, my heart breaking mourning the loss of what we could have had by now if he had only said something.

I also find my anger growing as well. If he felt all of that, why did he not contact me again? Why did he give me hope that our night out together could have been the start of something good and then taken it away just as quickly?

“But?” There had to be a “but” coming after his statement. Clearly something stopped him from pursuing the possibility of “us,” destroying any future we could have had.

He sighs, “but…” he finally looks up at me with more emotion in his eyes than I was expecting. There was contemplation, confusion, honesty, agony…

I look away. In an instant I knew what he was about to say. It makes complete sense. He was at the height of his career, shooting movie after movie all around the world for a majority of the year. How would he have had time to have a relationship mixed in with that? He couldn’t.

“Your career was more important,” I interject, “I get it. I do.” I couldn’t fault him for choosing work over someone he just met, no matter how much he claims to have liked me right off the bat. He was going to be busy. We probably wouldn’t have had a lot of time to see each other. It’s not like I could give up my career to follow him. Besides even if I could have, he wouldn’t want that. He said so himself. He wanted someone who was independent; who could do their own thing and not be enveloped in his crazy life.

He stands up and steps closer to me, “no, that wasn’t it. I promise you that wasn’t it.”

There’s that word. Promise. He promised we’d see each other again soon after our night together. But he broke that.

“Then what was it?” My voice cracks at the end. I can feel my reserves slipping the more he speaks. I didn’t realize how much I missed his voice until now. I haven’t seen any of the movies he’s been in the last few years. I have him and his hashtag blocked on all social media platforms so I don’t see anything of his on any of my timelines. My other friends think I don’t like him (only my best friend and her now husband know about our date). To hear it again brings back all of the good memories we made together in that short night and all of the emotions I’ve been holding back since. “I have been wracking my brain for years wondering what went wrong after that.”

“I got scared,” he finally admits the truth. “I got scared of how much I liked you and how much I wanted to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From me,” he casts his gaze down at his hands as he fidgets with them, “and my life. I didn’t want to subject you to the chaos that is my life. I know what my fans would do to you if we were in a relationship, I was trying to protect you from all of the ugly that being with me comes with.”

So that’s what he was afraid of? He was afraid our relationship would inevitably end exactly like his last one? His “fans” were horrible to her. They sent death threats to her and her family members, always commenting negatively on her social media pages all because she was dating him. I remember reading about it right after it happened. I knew that side of his fandom was toxic. But did I care? No. Did I think I couldn’t handle it? I honestly don’t know, but would I have been willing to deal with it for him? Yes. I would have given up anything to be with him. That’s precisely why he did what he did. He didn’t want me giving anything up for him because he knows I’d be giving up any semblance of privacy I had if I were in a public relationship with him.

If I had known these were the reasons why he ghosted me, I would have been broken hearted but I would have understood. Hell, I probably would have fallen more in love with him if I knew that, not fallen in loathe.

He continues, “I thought that if I never contacted you again, you could move on”- he clears his throat-“and find someone better than me who could give you the normal life you deserve. Which as much as I wish I couldn’t, I see that you have…” he pauses as if deciding whether he should keep speaking. When I don’t stop him, he does, “But I can’t help feeling like that could have been me.”

My slightly shaky hands cover his fidgeting ones. His hand moves until he’s intertwining our fingers together, palms touching. They fit perfectly together as if they were each other’s missing puzzle piece. His thumbs stroke mine sending warmth down my arms all the way down to my toes. The sparks I felt back then return with full force. He leans down, pressing his forehead against mine. My heart is beating out of my chest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t feel it in some way.

I feel my heart break in my chest. My lip quivers and the tears threaten to make themselves known. My only saving grace is the fact that he can’t see my face. I may lose it completely if he did.

His breath is coming out equally as shaky between us, he squeezes my hands as if he doesn’t want me to let go. Believe me, I don’t want to. I bring one of our interlocked hands up to my lips. I kiss the back of his hand because I can’t kiss him where I want to. I pull back just enough to see his beautiful baby blues that could have any woman in the world swoon. They were terribly bloodshot right now but that only made them more tragically breathtaking. I tear one of my hands out of his and bring it to his cheek. He leans into it, a tear drops into the crevices between the contact.

The barely above whisper that came out was all I could muster without having a total breakdown because he’s right. It could have been him. We could have been something great. We could have built a life together. We could have had it all. And it broke my heart into a million pieces knowing all of this could have been avoided if life had handed both of us different lives.

“It almost was.”

~*~

Taglist: @the-marvel-wars @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @princess-evans-addict

#almost #Chris Evans #christopher robert evans #christopher evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans drabble #chris evans oneshot #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #jj ehlby writes

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wienerbarnes · 3 years

Text

Are You Growing?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Cheek to Cheek) Word Count: 1,886 Warnings: mentions to alzheimers A/N: idk about yall but im loving posting about the earlier times w bucky n reader

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

You sit on Bucky’s couch, Alpine curled up in your lap, purring softly with closed eyes as you lightly scratch behind her ears.

Bucky’s sitting on the floor in front of you, in the place of where his coffee table used to be, which is now pushed into the corner for the time being. He rereads the instructions to put together his new bookshelf for the eleventh time now, still not understanding where exactly to put each screw.

You were no help to him, your first suggestion was to toss out the instructions and build to his heart’s desires; whatever felt right.

The last thing he needs, though, is for his bookshelf to collapse in the middle night and scare the shit out of him, so he tries his luck with the instructions.

He’s grateful for the ring of his cellphone, perhaps a break for a phone call will somehow make the instructions easier to read.

His stomach drops when he sees the caller ID as Rebecca’s retirement place. He pushes down his nausea and answers the phone.

“Hello? Is Rebecca okay?” He answers, quickly standing and moving to another room, not missing when your eyes look up at the sound of his sister’s name.

Is Rebecca okay? Did she hurt herself? Did she hurt one of the nurses? Is she dead?

“Hi, Bucky. Yes, Rebecca’s okay,” The receptionist Bucky’s gotten to know well responds, causing him to let out a sigh of relief, “She’s asking for you, is all. She’s… not eating. She didn’t touch her breakfast or lunch, she just keeps asking when you’re coming. I know you don’t normally come until tomorrow, but I promised her I’d call you.” She finishes explaining.

“Uhm… okay, okay. Tell her I got hung up at work and that I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He tells her, sparing a glance into the other room to see you peeking at the instructions on the ground.

“You’re amazing Bucky, thank you.” She responds, and all he does is hum through his anxiety before hanging up, returning to the living room where you sit.

You look up at him as if to ask if he is okay and he only stares back for a few seconds, thinking, before deciding, “Put your shoes on, we gotta go somewhere.” He tells you, voice still a little shaky from the scare of that phone call.

You don’t question it, recognizing that it’s probably not the time, and move to go grab your shoes by the door. Bucky silently pushes out air through his mouth, an attempt to calm himself down and get the nausea to go away. Rebecca’s okay, he reminds himself, she’s having a bad day, but she’s okay.

You’re worried at how quiet Bucky is and with how fast he speeds on his bike down a route you don’t really recognize. Finally, though, you see the sign in the distance, St. Francis Alzheimer’s Hospital, and you understand.

He parks the bike out front and turns it off, not yet moving, and you take off his helmet you’re wearing to get a better look at him. You say his name when you notice tears have gathered in his eyes; you’ve never seen him cry before.

“Sorry,” He wipes his eyes, “This shit is just so… exhausting. Everytime the phone rings, everytime I come here, I don’t know what I’m going to get, if she is okay.” He vents before letting out a long sigh.

You don’t know how to respond, choosing to rub his back as he composes himself. Bucky’s always been a tough rock; always knowing what to say, what to do, always knowing how to take care of everyone and how to solve everyone’s problems. You’ve never seen him so tired, so nervous before, and you see the toll doing this has taken on him.

Before you can say anything, he stands, “Let’s go.” He holds out a hand to help you off the bike and rests the helmet on the seat, knowing no one’s going to take it.

You follow quietly behind him as he enters and greets the receptionist, walking past the desk and down the hall. You feel out of place, not only here, in the retirement place Bucky’s sister lives at, but in public. You’ve barely left the apartment while you’ve been in hiding; you think this is the most amount of people you’ve been around in months.

Bucky approaches a door and knocks quietly before entering, “Hey, troublemaker,” He calls out, voice no longer strained or shaky as it’s been for the half hour, as though he flipped a switch to make himself normal again.

“Bucky!” You hear an excitement-filled elderly voice call out.

You enter to see her sitting on the bed, arms reaching out for Bucky to embrace him in a hug.

“Sorry, I’m late, I got caught up at the gym.” He tells her, hugging her back.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were at work, I just wanted to talk to you about the carnival, it’s coming this weekend.” You notice Bucky’s jaw clench for a second before loosening.

“It is, isn’t it. I’ll get Steve and we’ll all go together, I know how much you love the rides there.”

You linger by the door still, observing the interaction. How Bucky plays along so perfectly and so composed. You tense when you notice that Rebecca’s eyes have found you.

Bucky follows her gaze and snaps his head to you, “Becca, this is a friend of mine.”

You walk over and hold your hand out, giving your name, and she reaches out and accepts it, giving you a gentle smile, “A friend, huh?”

“Bec -”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s really great to finally meet you.” You tell her.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, too, I haven’t met one of Bucky’s friends in a while,”

“Rebecca -”

“Who was that floozy you brought home once, the one that Mama hated?” She teases Bucky, who now stands with arms crossed looking at you take a seat in the chair next to Rebecca’s bed.

“That was Madeline.”

“Madeline! My goodness, she didn’t last very long at all -”

“How about we talk about something other than my love life? Are you hungry, Bec?”

“A little bit.” She responds, and Bucky feels relief flood through his body. He nods and leaves the room to go fetch her lunch from one of the nurses.

“I love these flowers on your shirt.” Rebecca compliments, snapping your eyes away from the door Bucky exited out of and back to hers. They’re the same blue as Bucky’s.

You glance down at your shirt, one you thrifted with lilac’s all over them.

“Thank you, they’re, uh, lilacs. They symbolize growth. Like, change from ignorance to knowledge, innocence to wisdom, and all that.” You tell her.

She hums, “And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Growing?”

You pause to think about it. Have you grown? Changed?

“Yes. I think so.” You respond.

“Well, then I’m happy for you.” She says sincerely.

You feel a knot swell in your throat at the validation, being greatly reminded of Bucky in that moment, and it’s then that he returns with a tray of food, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of juice.

Bucky places the tray on the small table that can swing over her bed, cutting the food on the plate for her small pieces, before moving to the fruit and juice, taking both lids off for her.

You watch as he takes gentle care in moving the tray closer to her, piling small pieces of food onto a spoon before feeding it to her.

She clears about half the plate before saying she’s full, which is more than enough for Bucky to be satisfied; it’s better than this morning.

Whatever problem there seemed to be this morning that caused Bucky to come over here in a rush is gone. To you, it was like his presence was the only thing she needed to feel better; it’s like there wasn’t anything wrong in the first place.

Soon enough, the two of you leave, with a promise from Bucky that he’ll see her tomorrow on Thursday and they’ll go to the carnival this weekend.

You don’t mention anything else about the visit to Bucky the entire way home, and choose to help him on the floor of his living room for the rest of the evening instead.

Thursday and Friday pass, and Bucky goes to Steve’s on Saturday.

“Remember that girl I told you about? The one I’ve sort of become friends with? That I’ve been looking out for?” Bucky stirs sugar into his coffee, his sweet tooth showing up more frequently since he’s been hanging out with you.

“I remember.” Steve says, sitting down next to him at his table with his own cup of coffee. Steve’s is decaf, though.

“I, uh… I took her to meet Rebecca.” Bucky doesn’t meet his eyes, waiting to see what his reaction will be.

“Oh?” Steve responds, setting his mug down and resting his aged hands on the table, paying all attention to Bucky now.

“There was a situation on Wednesday, Becca wasn’t eating and she was at my apartment -”

“At your apartment?”

“So, I just took her with me -”

“You haven’t even taken Sam to meet Rebecca.” Steve tells him, making Bucky stop.

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “When I saw Bec on Thursday, she remembered her.”

Steve’s head tilts, processing his words.

Bucky continues, “I went to go see Bec on Thursday, and she asked me about her, apparently they talked about some flowers and she wanted me to bring her some so she can see them in person. Asked when I was going to bring her to see her again.” He finishes explaining.

“Wow.” Is all Steve says.

“Rebecca… doesn’t remember anything. I mean she remembers me and you, but she barely remembers anything she and I talk about when I visit, barely remembers her kids. But she remembered talking about lilacs with this girl she’d never met before!” Bucky says, still in disbelief.

“...Must be something special about her.”

“Oh, don’t you start now, too.”

“Just saying. Maybe you should bring her here sometime.”

“Nah, I didn’t even plan to take her to see Becca. That was a risk all by itself, taking her out in public like that.” Bucky glances up to see Steve smirking at him with that stupid wrinkled mouth of his.

“Stop looking at me like that, would you, punk?!”

Steve chuckles, “She sounds like a sweet girl.”

“She’s my friend, Steve.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“But you’re implying -”

“Implying what? What are you thinking?”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes, Steve twisting his words around, and he realizes he won’t escape this conversation without teasing.

“Whatever. She’s just a friend. If that. We just hang out sometimes, I help her do things that I had trouble with when I got out of HYDRA. I’m just around to help her.”

“Sure, pal. That��s nice of you.”

Bucky sighs, standing to go refill his coffee, and Steve smiles to himself, glad that Bucky’s met someone like you, and glad to see where it’ll inevitably lead, even if the two of you don’t see it yet.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes onshot #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #lol dummy

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

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