#but i have to get blood drawn tomorrow morning pls help | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atinylittlepain · 1 month

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Little Pinch

nurse!marcus pike x f!reader

she needs to get bloodwork done. one small problem, getting bloodwork done never goes well for her, especially not when she's distracted by the very kind, very handsome nurse doing it.

wordcount | 3.3K

content info | 18+ discussions of getting bloodwork that includes needles, fainting, nausea, mostly fluff, nurse marcus to the rescue, this is just a fun time, also an un-beta'd time so like, be nice pls

a/n | shoutout to the girls (gn) that pass out every time they get blood work done (me). I have to get new labs tomorrow morning, and writing this is how I coped with that prospect :') this one is for the fainters, the thin veiners, the "just do it in my hand"-ers - i see you, i am you, gawd bless

..........................................................................

Here’s the thing, this never goes well. It wasn’t always like this though. She has a vague memory of being a kid and taking it like a perfect champ, testing for mono after a rash of cases at school. But then, well, something changed.

It runs in her family. Thin veins that are hard for even the best nurses to find, lots of oh, I just lost it, and well, let’s try your other arm, and always, ultimately, hands? Should we try the hands? No, the nurses never listen when she tells them to just start with the hands, and without fail, somewhere around the third or fourth time they try to get the needle in, a cold sweat breaks, and the room starts to filter through a fuzzy pinhole of vision. It’s embarrassing, she thinks, because, really, she has no problem with needles. Can watch it go in, no issues with piercings, et cetera, et cetera, but getting blood drawn? Yeah, forget about it. She usually comes to with paperwork around her feet that she had been holding, and a well-meaning nurse pressing a damp paper towel to her forehead and breathing the remnants of her lunch over her face and alright, hon? Usually a box of apple juice and an escort out to her car to make sure she doesn’t go offline again.

The other thing is, unfortunately, she’s pretty sure her little fainting, fading thing has gotten worse over the years. A conditioned response, she thinks, that cold sweat starts the second she walks into the waiting room, already anticipating what comes next. And today, well, even worse than some of the others. Twelve hours fasted, and no, that certainly won’t help her case, no matter how much water she downed before she came here, no matter how tight she squeezes her fist in the hopes of pumping even one vein up enough to be tenable. She looks at the woman sitting across from her in the waiting room, reading a back-ordered issue of Cosmo, flipping and flippant and really, why can’t she be like that? Why can’t she be normal like that? Instead, her heel is doing a frantic tap, whole leg jerking with it, and everytime she checks her watch she feels her heart creep a little further up into her throat.

If she’s being honest, she thought about canceling her labs. No, doc, all good, doc, don’t need to know, doc. And then a friend pointed out, frustratingly, that avoidance is only going to make it worse. Right, so, right, so right, so, here she is. And here’s the nurse opening the door and right, calling her name, and it’s a man nurse, male nurse, though she’s pretty sure she’s not being PC by making that specification in her mind because really, twenty-first century, and really, anyone can be a nurse. But not anyone, right? Lots of schooling, right? Right. She realizes a bit too late that she hadn’t responded to the nurse calling her name, jerking up out of her chair and trying for a smile that she thinks probably looks more like constipation. And that’s just great because now man nurse, sorry, just nurse, probably thinks she’s constipated and she’d rather not have the, actually, very handsome, just nurse, thinking that on top of whatever she’s got going on that necessitates lab work she also can’t take a shit. Right.

“We’re going to be in this room right here.” Handsome just nurse has a nice voice too, deep but kind, and a strong jawline, and a patchy beard but she likes that it’s patchy, and he’s tan and he’s got one of those big watches that tells you how hard your heart was beating on your run and he probably runs in the afternoon after clocking out of the needle-in-arms gig and that’s probably why he’s so tan, probably has a golden retriever who runs with him too, because he looks like a golden retriever guy, dark flop of wavy hair and that smile and oh, oh, he just asked her a question and now she’s supposed to answer it.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” He smiles, nods, being nice, at least, about her whole scared prey animal situation. She presses her palm down hard on her knee to keep it from bouncing any more.

“It says on this order that these labs need to be taken fasted. Can you confirm to me that you haven’t had anything to eat or drink besides water in the last twelve hours?” Oh yes, yep, she can confirm that for you, Marcus, his name is Marcus, says so on his little lanyard badge. Thanks for the easy one, Marcus, pitch right down the middle, Marcus, with your nice smile and your clipboard and your, well, needles and tubes. But before he can get started with his, well, needles and tubes, she makes a strangled, sort of despondent sound because in situations like these, she comes with a warning label.

“I should let you know I have, um, bad veins? Honestly, you can just start with my hands, I don’t mind it. And also, I’m a fainter, yeah, so, it happens every time, just so you know.” And usually, usually, her spiel is given very little notice, mmmokay, hon. Sure, they’ll lay her back, how merciful, so she doesn’t crack her skull open on the way out of conscious orbit. That’s about it, though. But this time, she thinks, might just be different.

“Okay, thank you for giving me the heads up. If you’re sure you’re alright with starting with the hands then it’s fine by me to get it done that way.” So, so fine, Marcus, and maybe, just maybe, she thinks she might not pass out this time. He sets the exam table at a reclined angle and she wills her rigid spine to settle against it, trying to find the balance between breathing so deeply she starts to get light headed, and not breathing at all. In case you were wondering, yes, she is on medication for anxiety, it just doesn’t seem to presently be working.

“Just gonna feel around a bit here for a good one.” She only feels a little insane for the kick and clench in her heart when he takes her one hand in both of his, because he’s just palpating the back of her hand to find, as he said, a good one. Yes, the word for it is palpating, and there is certainly nothing romantic nor, hello, sexual about anything that’s called palpating. But, hey, taking wins where she can get them, and even through the latex gloves, his hands are warm and big and very know what they’re doing about the whole thing. And she’s no expert, obviously, but he’s got a very nice, very visible vein in his forearm, and she bets phlebotomists love him, bets that when he gets blood drawn, he’s in and out no problem, bets that even she could draw blood from him. Nope, nothing sexual about that, nothing weird about that, right? Right. Nothing sexual either, when he ties off the tight band around her arm and she watches his one bicep flex a little with the effort.

“I can count you down, or you can look away and I’ll just get it done, whichever you prefer.”

“Uh, no preference, I’ll just look away and you can do whatever you want to me.” Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. She realizes exactly what she just said a bit too late, him, Marcus, nice nurse Marcus, letting out a laugh that fizzles out into a cough. Great, now she’s made her fucking phlebotomist uncomfortable, possibly one of the last people you want to make uncomfortable. But if that, whatever that was, lingers, he doesn’t show it, already swiping an antiseptic wipe over the back of her hand and pulling his little cart of tubes closer to himself. And she knows this part, she’s good at this part, letting her eyes sweep up and to the right, because he’s on her left, and willing whatever vein he decided is a good one to stay a good one. Little pinch, little prayer, she lets out a held breath when he says a quiet alright and keeps the needle exactly where it is. Hallelujah.

“This might take a little longer, just because we’re drawing from your hand.”

“I’ll bleed as fast as I can then.” At the very least, he laughs, even though she wishes she had kept that one to herself.

“Do you live around here?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Sorry, I’m trying to distract you.”

“Didn’t they teach you how to do that in like, phlebotomy school?” She still has her eyes turned up and away, only a little wince when he switches out one tube for another. He hums at her question.

“Not really, I could ask you about the weather, is that better?”

“It’s cloudy. Not much of a conversation starter.”

“Well, why don’t you ask me something, since you’re such an expert on starting conversations.”

“Do you have a golden retriever?”

“What?”

“Sorry, you just, you look like the kind of guy who’d have a golden retriever.” Another tube clicks into place, but she’s not paying any attention to that now.

“Uh, no, no golden retriever. I do however have a very old, very deaf pit mix named Lucille.” Goddamnit, somehow that’s hotter than the golden retriever.

“Great name.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. She came with it when I adopted her.” God. Fucking. Damn it. What next, is he a volunteer firefighter on the weekends?

“Alright, that’s the last one.”

“Wait, really?” She chances a skittish glance but, sure enough, the needle is out.

“Yep, just let me get a band-aid for you and you’re all set.” Is he? Is she? Really? Going to make it out of here with no blackout? She considers, very briefly, as Marcus is smoothing a band-aid over the back of her hand, whether it’s possible to put a phlebotomist on retainer.

“If you want to sit for a minute and make sure you’re feeling alright before getting up that’s totally fine. I can also get you water or juice if you’re getting lightheaded.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine actually. Which, hey, thanks for not making me faint and stuff– that’s a first for me in a very long–” Oh, oh, stops herself mid-compliment because oh, oh, maybe stood up too fast, because the room is going a little dark, a little sideways, cold prickle and nauseous and–

“Easy, easy, I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?” His voice is a little fuzzy around the edges. To be honest, he’s a little fuzzy around the edges, though she knows right away what happened. No, not her first rodeo, like she blinked and then came to in a strange sprawl on the end of the exam table. Marcus presents a dixie cup to her, holds it right in her line of sight because clearly, she’s still a little slumped, still a little vacant, and a little warm, actually, which is new, and a little pleasant, and, oh, it’s because his arm is curled around her shoulders, firm palm held there to help her sit up. Oh. He smells like clorox and something woodsy, and it shouldn’t, but it kind of works.

“You feeling okay?”

“Mmmhmm.” She’s afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she doesn’t keep her lips pressed in a thin line, mmhmms again when he asks if she can sit up on her own, only a little despondent when he takes his arm away.

“So, you really weren’t kidding about that happening every time, huh?”

“Nope, wish I was. It’s– I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“That you had to deal with that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, it’s part of the job. And actually, you fainted about as perfectly as I could’ve asked you to.”

“I didn’t know you could faint like, well.”

“Right before you went down you said I’m gonna faint. That’s a lot better than getting no heads up and turning around to find my patient unresponsive on the ground.”

“Oh gee, I bet you say that to all your patients.” Lord, if there was ever a time to put her out of her misery it’d be now. She probably still looks green from her little trip to outer space but sure, flirt with Marcus, handsome nurse Marcus who just watched you absolutely eat it. Kick your feet and bat your eyelashes while you’re at it.

“I take it you’re feeling better then? Are you okay to walk out to the front desk?” And the rest is, mercifully, easy. He walks her to the front desk, squeezes her shoulder and gives her a good job today that she likes a little too much. She makes a mental note to herself to never come back to this clinic for any future bloodwork, lest she make a fool of herself all over again in front of a man who, with any luck, she will never see again.

…

“Yes, this is she speaking.” This is she speaking in the middle of the cereal aisle with a half-filled grocery basket at her feet. She sets her gaze on a hyper-realized image of a granola cluster (now with real strawberries!) while the woman on the other end of the phone tells her that her lab results came in and were sent over to her doctor.

“Oh, great, thank you for letting me know. Do you know– did things look okay?”

“We don’t interpret the results, ma’am. Your doctor will go over that with you.” She doesn’t quite catch that, doesn’t catch the woman’s ma’am? either, a little preoccupied with staring down the aisle, because is that? Is he? He looks good out of the scrubs.

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry, no, um, of course. Thanks again.” If the woman had anything else to tell her, it’s a little too late for it, already hung up, and she’s trying to decide if she wants him to see her, or if fleeing immediately is the best course of action. He probably wouldn’t even recognize her, she thinks. It’s been a couple of weeks since the whole ordeal. And actually, she’d prefer if he didn’t recognize her. Oh yeah, the one who, well, ate it. But it seems the choice has already been made for her, because he saw her, walking down the aisle toward her, with his chin tilted down and part of a smile like he isn’t sure, but he’s pretty sure. He says her name like a question. Guilty as charged.

“Marcus, right?” Like she forgot his name, ha. His smile stretches, a little brighter, palm to the nape of his neck, and while she got the golden retriever part wrong, she totally clocked the rest, watch on his wrist and nice-looking athletic shorts and just-right-tight t-shirt with the little swoosh on the chest. She thinks his hair might even be a little sweat-damp, curled ends nearly getting in his eyes. In other words, she’s a goner.

“How have you been since we– you, well–”

“Since I passed out on you?” Yeah, that, he laughs out and yeah, she likes him, sue her.

“Just for the record, I believe it was you who said I passed out perfectly, so.” Shrug, so, he takes a step closer, leans in a little like he’s going to tell her a secret. In the cereal aisle, of all places.

“Just for the record, I really don’t say that to all my patients.”

“No?”

“Nope, just the nervous, pretty ones.”

“I was not nervous.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nope.”

“Are you just gonna blow past the other thing?”

“What thing?”

“The pretty thing.”

“Yep.” Something a little giddy, like being back in high school, shared, shit-eating and smug grins. He shakes his head and she rolls her lips back in her mouth to stop her smile from getting any cheesier.

“So, you do live around here then?”

“Mm, yeah, I do. And so do you?”

“I do.”

“Nice, nice.”

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Wow.”

“What? I’m making conversation.”

“You’re still not very good at it.”

“I’ll keep working on it for you.”

“Sure, okay. What kind of cereal do you get?”

“What kind do you think I get?”

“You look like a Kashi guy, if I’m honest.”

“Somehow I feel insulted.”

“Well.”

“You’re not even right either.”

“No? What do you get then?” He just smiles, steps away and reaches up to the top of the shelf and she is very grateful to General Mills for being located on the top shelf because his shirt rides up just enough to see a bare hip. In cheerios we trust.

“Apple cinnamon, seriously?”

“What? It’s a classic.”

“Actually, you know what, that tracks.”

“What do you get?” She waggles her basket in front of him in response, goods already procured.

“Peanut butter chex, respectable choice.”

“Thank you, thank you.”

“You know, I’d say we’re pretty good at this conversation thing.”

“Yeah, we’re not bad.”

“Do you want to do this again sometime? Not in the cereal aisle?”

“What, you mean like in the produce section?” He smiles at that, rolls his eyes, his basket lightly bonking against hers.

“I was thinking more like dinner, or drinks if that’s your thing?”

“I might be free on Saturday.”

“I might also be free on Saturday.”

“Well, sounds like we’re both free on Saturday.”

“Can I get your number?” His lockscreen is a picture of a dog. Lucille, he tells her, before she was very old and very deaf. She can’t help how big her smile gets at that.

“Text me, and we’ll do this whole conversation thing again.” I will, he says, phone tucked back into his pocket, though he seems to think twice before asking her can I see something really quick. Not entirely sure what he means when she nods, but then his hand sort of hovers over her forearm, may I? He really does have nice hands, she doesn’t think twice about nodding again.

“Oh yeah, we didn’t have to use your hand. I could have totally gotten it from here.” His hand curled around her elbow and his thumb lightly pressing into what she can only assume is a vein, and he says it so earnestly that she can’t help the incredulous laugh that rises up in her chest.

“Really? You’re still stuck on that, huh?” He smiles something sheepish, pad of his thumb rubbing an apology into her skin before pulling away. She didn’t really want him to pull away.

“Sorry, occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Kinda weird, you know.”

“Did I just ruin this whole thing?”

“Mmm, no, I kinda like it.”

“So, Saturday?”

“Looking forward to it, Marcus.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fic #marcus pike au #marcus pike angst #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you

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pocket-full-of-wonder · 4 years

Note

oh ! same anon but i was wondering if you could do number 5 for the drabbles ! preferably w kags asking for help if its not too much trouble 🥺

oh heck yea!!!! most of the qp kagehina series so far has been kags lookin after hina which is BLESSED but i have been meaning to showcase more of the vice versa so thank you v much!!!! ~~

((ngl i had such a hard time deciding exactly wHAT scenario i wanted to go with and bounced through a good 5-6 of them before finally settling on this one and it’s made me want to write a small collection of ficlets centered around the two of them learning to be vulnerable around each other and ask for help more openly jkjlkjlSDF))

((#5: First time asking for help))

Now Available on AO3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They’ve been living together for two months. In the grand scheme of things, that isn’t a very long time, and they don’t plan to stop at two months, either. Or even two years, granted their impending futures don’t pull them apart–and if it does, and they’ve talked about the fact that it most likely, inevitably will, there’s nothing to keep their futures from aligning again.

For now, though, it’s been only two months. Long enough for them to settle into a routine, long enough to memorize each other’s good/bad habits and pick up the slack wherever needed. It’s a nice system they have in place of taking care of things around the apartment, who prepares/purchases their meals, who waters the house plants, this that and the other. It’s a system that works and a system they love. Tobio certainly wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Except, he wakes up one Friday morning feeling like someone’d taken a sledgehammer to his head and mint to his sinuses, and there’s barely enough coherency in his befuddled mind to think oh, no.

Two months, perhaps, isn’t nearly long enough a time to experience everything that comes with a) being in a partnership but also b) seeing each other sick in said partnership.

Tobio doesn’t get sick often, he never has, but he knows from the moment he wakes up that accursed morning that he’s going to go down hard. That’s always how it’s been; he doesn’t get sick, but when he does get sick, he gets really, really sick. Sick enough that his panicked father has driven him down to the ER at ungodly hours.

But now he’s eighteen, and living with Shouyou, and he has a routine and a job and a crash course of general college ed and a boss and bills and of course a partner, god, Shouyou–

He isn’t going to know, he resolves to himself, barely ten minutes after waking up. Usually the first day isn’t that bad. I’ll power through today and spend tomorrow in bed, I’ll sleep it off.

And power through, he does. Maybe he doesn’t do it well or completely subtly, but he does. He keeps every conversation with Shouyou brief and makes excuses about leaving early when he really doesn’t have to. Shouyou questions the integrity of his words (and his footing, too, actually–Tobio would kick himself for being so obvious if he weren’t already staggering into walls) but can’t discern the problem well enough to call him out on anything.

So Tobio goes to work that afternoon at a job he hasn’t had long enough to hate or love. He’s only a dishwasher, luckily, and the restaurant’s only open for lunch so he doesn’t even have that long of a shift. He plows through, makes it through. It’s his night to get dinner so he takes care of that, too, bringing home ramen from their favorite hole in the wall joint. Shouyou won’t stop glancing up at him throughout dinner, but doesn’t question him. He does, however, offer to do Tobio’s part of the dishes.

Which.

Tobio would say he could power through that, too, but his head is pounding and he’s kind of scared if he moves too much more tonight he’ll throw up and he really, really doesn’t want that. All he has to do is pretend to be okay for just a little bit longer and then tomorrow he can sleep this whole mess away.

“Are you okay?” Shouyou asks later that night. His hands are covered in soap suds and he’s splashed some dishwater on the front of his shirt, sponge in left hand and bowl in right. “You haven’t been acting like yourself today.”

“I’m fine,” Tobio says (lies, lies, why does he feel like he has to lie to Shouyou of all people?), but doesn’t let go of the counter’s edge. He doesn’t loosen his grip on it, either. He’s not sure he can. “Are you sure you’ve got the dishes? I don’t mind drying them.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Shouyou says, shrugging. “I’ve got an audiobook I was planning to listen to, so it’s fine. You kinda look dead on your feet, I think you should go to bed.”

It sounds like the best idea Shouyou has had in a very long time, but Tobio of course doesn’t say that. He nods, swallows down his nausea and barely remembers to say, “Goodnight, Shouyou,” before he’s turned and stumbled down the hall toward the bedroom. Shouyou returns the sentiment, but Tobio barely hears it over the ringing in his ears. When had that started? Fantastic.

He faceplants his side of the bed (which is something mutually decided between them, that they never really talked about or discussed, it just sort of… happened) and breathes in a long, deep breath, relishing the ease on his feet and eyes and skull and god, please stop pounding, please stop pounding, please stop.

He clenches his teeth and digs his fingernails into the sheets. His eyes are burning, and he doesn’t know why, and it’s all he can do to turn his face into the pillow and croak, “Sh-Shit,” when he knows Shouyou isn’t around to hear it.

In the back of his mind, he’s still resolved to never let Shouyou know about this. He’ll just sleep it off, he’ll be fine, he’s fine, this is fine, Shouyou doesn’t have to know. Tobio isn’t going to disrupt this routine, he isn’t going to ruin the first time in his whole life he’s felt 100% accepted and loved. He isn’t going to ruin it. He ruined it once, with old teammates in a worse time, and he isn’t going to ruin it again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tobio wakes up in the middle of the night and feels like he’s dying. All those times he was sick before, all those times he was hospitalized as a child because his body couldn’t fight off the fever on its own, or because he was dehydrated–nothing compares to this, nothing could.

His eyes burn with tears before he’s coherent enough to know why. His head is–

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, his head–

It overwhelms his thought process, every coherency he thought he had, and it goes ahead and takes over all the coherency he’d been grasping for. It hurts, it pulsates like there are fireworks going off inside of it, ping-ponging against the insides and outsides of his skull, then catching in orbit and spiraling round and round and round androundandroundandround–

He’s not even sitting up why is he spinning–

He’s pulling his hair, grinding his teeth hard enough to worsen the pounding, squeezing his eyes shut against the impending tears he doesn’t think he has the energy to stop, and no amount of digging his nails into his skull makes it any more bearable, it doesn’t dissipate at all, nothing helps–

He can feel Shouyou’s warmth beside him, somehow, in the back of his mind and nearly overwhelmed by everything else. Shouyou is sleeping soundly on his own half of the bed, vibrant hair almost too bright to look at in the dark space. Tobio wants to squeeze his eyes shut again but there’s something comforting about Shouyou’s presence in the darkness. Even if he is sleeping.

Don’t ruin this. Don’t ruin this. Don’t ruin this.

His head burns. It courses through him like poison, hitting every soft spot and hard spot alike. There’s acid in his throat brought up by the pound in his skull and his stomach is in knots. His chest hurts. He feels like he does after playing a match for too long and trying too hard. Only worse.

Don’t ruin this don’t ruin this don’t ruin this don’t ruin this

He can’t.

It hurts and it burns and he can’t.

Don’truinthisdon’truinthisdon’truinthis–

“Sh-Shou–” He chokes that much out before he hauls back, clenching his teeth, yanking his hair, digging his fingernails into his scalp. He hopes he hasn’t drawn blood, but he can’t tell and barely cares. “Sh-Shouyou, please–”

This time he manages to detangle one hand and reach out, giving Shouyou a poke on the shoulder. Shouyou is the lighter sleeper of the two, and it doesn’t take much to rouse him. He stirs, shifts, and the slight jostle of the bed almost makes Tobio throw up.

“Mngn? W’ssup?”

You’re going to ruin it you’re going to ruin it you’re going to r

Tobio gulps back whatever’s in his throat, tears, bile, it doesn’t matter anymore and he can’t tell up from down. “Shou, I–” (Shouyou freezes. Tobio can’t see his face. His voice doesn’t feel like his own and it only worsens the hurt.) “Pl–Please, I–help me–”

It’s barely audible. He doesn’t know how Shouyou hears it.

Shouyou is sitting up at once, hands on Tobio’s shoulders. One trails up to touch his face. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Shouyou’s voice is wide awake, if shaky. “What happened? Tobes?”

“S-Sick.” Tobio forces it out, chokes on the exertion. “My head, I–c-can’t–”

“Okay.” Shouyou’s voice is somewhat steadier now. But just somewhat. “Okay, okay. It’s okay, you’re okay. Is it just your head? What else?”

“D-Don’t know.” He thought he’d feel worse waking Shouyou, but hearing his voice, feeling his touch, eases him into a certain sense of calm. It doesn’t ease the pain, but it helps him cope with it. “I-It just–it just hurts, it hurts–really bad–”

“Okay, okay.” Shouyou’s hand presses to his forehead, smooths back his hair. “Yeah, that’s a fever. Hey–” His opposite hand comes to settle on Tobio’s. “Let go, okay? You’re gonna hurt yourself. You can hold my hand instead if you want, okay? It’s okay, just let go.”

He gently unclenches Tobio’s fingers from his hair, somehow, and threads their hands together immediately. Tobio wants to cry. He could already be crying for all he knows. Shouyou’s fingers card through his hair and it makes the pain just a little more bearable. Tobio leans into it and tries to breathe.

Shouyou sits with him and lets Tobio rest his head on his thigh. Everything is muddled and hazy and now that Shouyou is holding his hand, and petting his hair, he can close his eyes again and still have reassurance of Shouyou’s presence.

“Hey.” Shouyou’s voice is quiet. “Hey, I need to get you some medicine, okay? And take your temperature. I won’t be gone a minute, I’ll even run.”

Shouyou has run through the apartment before, and almost skidded out and concussed himself on the table. Even in pain and barely there, Tobio manages to grind out, “Don’t you friggin dare.”

Shouyou laughs quietly. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I won’t. But I’ll be back as fast as I can, okay? Hang in there.”

He keeps his promise (he must) because the next thing Tobio knows, he’s in Shouyou’s lap again with a thermometer being held under his tongue and what feels like a cold plaster on his forehead. He must have zoned out.

The thermometer is pulled back. Shouyou hisses. “Oh. Yikes. Okay, but it’s not as high as I was scared of. I think you’ll be okay–I’m still gonna give you some medicine, though, do you think you can stomach it? Was that a stupid question?”

Tobio turns his face into Shouyou’s stomach with a moan he doesn’t remember making. Shouyou’s fingers run through his hair again soothingly.

“Okay, we’ll wait on the medicine. How’s your head now?”

“Distant.” Shouyou is a good distraction. He’s just loud enough and just present enough. Never too much. “Th-Thanks.”

“Aw, you don’t gotta thank me. But you’re welcome, anyway. Does anyone in your family get migraines? My mom used to get them–maybe being sick triggered one?”

Tobio is zoning out again. Something about Shouyou’s voice is just. Nice. It does bring up the pain in his head, but it’s a worthy trade-off.

“Is this why you were so weird today?” Shouyou asks, in a voice that suggests he already knows the answer and isn’t expecting one, anyway. “You should’ve told me sooner, stupid. I would’ve helped.”

“S-Sorry,” Tobio croaks, and somewhere in the pit of his stomach not yet claimed by nausea is guilt, just as sickening. “D-Didn’t… wa-wanna throw it all on you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wanted you to be able to rely on me.” His head still pounds but it’s a little easier to talk, now that he’s been doing it. “Gotta keep up with my half of the d-deal. C-Couldn’t… let you down.”

“Oh my god are you for real?”

Tobio has to bite the inside of his cheek. “I…”

“Wait, no, seriously. After everything we’ve been through, all those years, every volleyball match and every confided secret and literally everything, you don’t think I rely on you?”

Tobio shrinks back and feels suddenly small, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t meant to be. “I–I don’t know.”

Shouyou sighs, but there’s no small amount of endearment in it, and he strokes Tobio’s hair again and squeezes his hand.

“I’ve always been able to rely on you, Tobio. Little things, big things, all of it. I don’t think there’s ever been a time where I felt like I couldn’t trust you.”

“B-But–” Tobio tries to think, tries to find logic behind his emotions but he’s in pain and he feels terrible and Shouyou is just, Shouyou and he can’t filter himself. “But you can’t now, I-I don’t know if I c-can do everything I’m supposed to tom-tomorrow or th-this week and I–”

“Tobio.“ Shouyou cuts him off, flicks his shoulder lightly. “You are. So stupid.”

It’s said with such fondness that it makes Tobio’s head spin. Again. “Wh-What?”

“’What’?” Shouyou repeats in the same disarmingly sincere tone. “Tobio, I love you. You know that I love you. And maybe we’ll be burdens on each other every now and then, but that doesn’t–change anything. That’s just part of what it means to have relationships, sometimes we do have to pick up each other’s slack. And I don’t mind picking up yours, because I love you. You do the same for me all the time.”

Tobio’s heart is tight, and so is his throat. “I-I–Shou–”

Shouyou’s thumb traces his cheek, and it’s only now Tobio realizes he’d started crying. “I know you’re sick right now, and you don’t feel like yourself, and this is probably a conversation we should have when you’re feeling better, but. Yeah. Sorry, I should’ve saved the emotional compromisation for another time, huh?”

It draws a hoarse laugh from Tobio, one that quickly turns into a pained yelp that has him clenching his teeth and Shouyou wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him in closer.

“Sorrysorrysorrysorry,” Shouyou hurries, a little frantic. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were gonna laugh–It wasn’t funny, moron, you’re ridiculous–”

Tobio gets his breath back, and his head is still pounding, but this time all he can feel is worn down and exhausted. Especially with Shouyou holding him this close, with Shouyou this warm, with his hands stroking his hair and side.

“Really, though, Shou,” Tobio breathes out. “Thank you. I’ll tell you. Next time.”

“Good, good.” Shouyou is calm again, and it calms Tobio further. “You should get some sleep, I’ll turn off your alarms for tomorrow. And if I wake up and you’re doing chores, I may in fact kick you.”

“Noted.”

Shouyou squeezes his hand. “Take it easy, alright? I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Shouyou hums an acknowledgment, and strokes Tobio’s hair gently long after Tobio has fallen asleep.

#haikyuu!!#fanfiction #fanfic #kagehina #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #queerplatonic relationships #qpr kagehina #prompt fill #cloud writes #sickfic #THIS WAS SO SOFT TO WRITE AA TY SM FOR THE PROMPT!!~#i love these kiddos so muCHH #anytime i can write some good hurt/comfort is a good day #i really hope you liked this!!!#im big love these kiddos aa theyre so soft n good

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bucky-at-bedtime · 6 years

Text

Stuck

Summary: You and Bucky get stuck together when his arm malfunctions

Pairing: Bucky x reader (because when do I write anything else, evidently)

Warnings: fluff. Fluffy fluff.

Words: 3000

A/n: I wrote more fluff because why the hell not?? It’s also longer than most of my fics and I’m pretty proud. Give me feedback pls!?!? Thanks, @movie-dates-and-choccy-shakes for convincing me to post this 💛💛

Masterlist

It was all calculated. Fast fists flying through the air, grabbing, kicking, pulling. You felt yourself falling and twisted, catching yourself and using the leverage to swing your legs out. He fell, but was up too quickly and threw a jab, missing your shoulder as you ducked and spun underneath, throwing your elbow into his stomach.

It was a Saturday afternoon and the compound was almost completely empty - all that remained were a few of the Avengers who had nothing better to do on a weekend, thus including you and Bucky, who were seemingly two of the most anti-social people in the entire world. You decided to spend a few hours training - usually a fun way to pass the time.

Short puffs of air escaped his lungs and you felt your own chest tightening with the effort. Your heartbeat seemed to pulse throughout your entire body. You could feel it in your fingertips. But you kept pushing.

He reached around your body, pulling you towards him, his metal hand tightening around your wrist as he prepared to throw you on to the padded ground. You braced yourself for impact - the ground may have been padded, but you still ended up with bruises after every training session. But the move never hit. You twisted, his arms were still gripping your body tightly, but you managed to see his face. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion and his mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“You alright, dude? You forget how to fight or something?” The music that had been pumping in the gym muted itself immediately at the sound of your voice, and you shot Bucky a quizzical look.

“I–” he stopped, his arms releasing you but his metal hand remained tightly around your right wrist. He continued to stare blankly at his hand, or your wrist, or both, and you gently tried to shake him off. “I’m stuck” he finally mumbled, sounding confused by his own words.

“You’re gonna have to clarify what you mean, Buck.” You furrowed your eyebrows and stared up at him expectantly, but he just kept looking at the point of connection between the two of you. “Stuck with what? D’you need help with a move? Are you–”

Your eyes widened in realisation and he finally pulled his stare from his hand, meeting your eyes as panic filled them. “You're stuck on my arm?!” you exclaimed, shaking your arm vigorously in a week attempt to get him off.

His cool fingers remained unmoved, still tight around your wrist. His eyes flickered down and then back up again, going back and forth for a few seconds as your other hand came up to try and pry the metal away. You couldn’t be stuck to Bucky - not now. You were just starting to get over the frankly ridiculous schoolyard crush you had on the man, and this level of closeness for an extended period of time, would not be helpful in your cause.

“You– Can you slip your hand out?” he asked timidly. His flesh hand was clenching and unclenching subconsciously as he tried to make the metal hand listen. His eyes were full of regret and you knew this was causing horrible thoughts to arise from his past. You needed to get his arm fixed.

“Not without breaking my thumb.” you gripped his metal wrist with your free hand and you could feel the metal plates twitching. You pulled his wrist back as you pulled your own arm towards you, but it just caused a mild ache and even more frustration.

“What do you usually do when it does this?” you grumbled, throwing your free hand up in exasperation.

“This hasn’t happened before - but usually Tony does all the work on my arm,” he muttered, looking helplessly at the ground.

“Tony,” you stated. “Of course. Let’s go.”

You surged towards the edge of the boxing ring, quickly ducking underneath the ropes, but realising the error in your ways when you jolted to a halt, Bucky’s arm pulling back against your skin. Somehow, in your haste to get to Tony’s workroom, you had tangled your’s and Bucky’s arm around the ropes of the boxing ring.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled to yourself. You saw the first signs of a smile twist onto Bucky’s lips and rolled your eyes in amusement. “Ok, d’you reckon Tony would mind if I cut these freaking ropes?”

You heard the chuckle escaping Bucky’s lips and looked up at him, allowing your own smile to reach your face.

“Just… here you crouch down and I’ll–” He maneuvered himself underneath a few ropes and you blinked in slight disbelief when he stood up straight, somehow escaping the horrible trap of stretchy rope. “There we go,” he mumbled, and began to walk towards the exit.

You chuckled lightly, following along and smiling at how this looked - almost as if he was holding your hand as you wandered through the nearly-empty halls. You felt your heart swell at even the thought, and internally groaned at the feeling. You really needed to get him off you.

When you reached the door of Tony’s workshop, Bucky pushed it open, only to find darkness clouding the benches and a stillness that could only mean one thing - Tony isn’t here.

“FRIDAY, Where’s Tony?” you asked the empty room, already dreading the answer - you knew if he wasn’t here, he most likely wasn’t anywhere near the compound.

“Tony is with Miss Pots in Paris, France. He has asked not to be disturbed.”

“France?!” You exclaimed forgetting for a moment that your hand was connected to Bucky’s and attempting to run your hands through your hair.

You turned towards him, an expectant look in your eyes. He looked back at you, eyes once again filled with anguish. “Do you think you could fix it?” you asked gently.

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “No– I mean, maybe, but I haven’t…” he trailed off, looking down at the arm with anguish and surveying the faulty plates. You looked up at him, attempting to comfort him with a gentle smile.

He sighed. “I’m scared I’ll do the wrong thing and it’ll… I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” The last words were almost a whisper and his eyes averted down to his shoes, ashamed.

“Ok,” you mumbled, the fingers from your free hand coming up to gently brush against his metal wrist, an attempt at comfort. “Ok, That’s ok, you don’t have to. FRIDAY, when will Tony be back?”

“Tomorrow morning. Shall I let him know you need to see him when he gets back?”

“Yeah, thanks FRIDAY.” You turned back to Bucky. “Alright, I guess we’re just… uh, stuck like this until– until tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sorry, doll,”

There they were, the shivers that run up your spine had become an all-too-familiar feeling when it came to him and as you stared into his eyes, captured by how much emotion was running through the blue of his irises right now.

“I didn’t mean to– god I hate this fuckin’ thing” he mumbled, shaking the metal arm weekly in an attempt to get it to work again.

“It’s alright, Bucky, seriously, we’re basically alone in the compound anyway, we can just– spend the night watching movies and we won’t even notice that we’re literally connected. We’ll probably just do what we were going to do anyway.” You were already pulling him out of the workshop as you spoke, heading towards the kitchen. He followed after you, not that he had a choice, a smile still hidden behind his doubt.

“We’re gonna need snacks. And I swear to god, if you need to pee you can hold it.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head in your direction. “Same goes for you, doll.”

“Deal.”

Moments later, the two of you were sitting close together on a large couch whilst ‘Django: Unchained’ played on a massive screen.

“Woah, this movie is brutal,” he stated, staring at the screen wide-eyed as crazy amounts of blood splattered across the scene.

“You realise what your job is, right?” you asked, amused by his surprise.

“Well, yeah– but I have never seen so much violence in a film. Let alone this much blood. This is just unrealistic.”

“Yeah - because we watch movies for their realism Mr.‘Star Trek: Beyond was the greatest movie ever.’” Your words were laced with sarcasm as you looked over at him, sending a bright smile his way.

“Fair point,” he chuckled.

At that point, you couldn’t help but glance down at his metal fingers, the metal now warm from your skin. If a feeling could echo, that’s what it felt like as your heartbeat rung out against the metal. He shifted slightly on the couch, obviously uncomfortable in his current position - as were you - but you couldn’t exactly lay on opposite sides of the couch right now. You had a situation.

“Ok, look, if we’re gonna be comfortable, I have a feeling we’re gonna need to be uncomfortably close.”

His were slightly wide with the statement, but he nodded gently, looking at you cluelessly.

“If I– If I put–” you gave up on explaining almost immediately, instead just flopping down so that your back was pressed up against his chest and pulling his metal arm so it wrapped around your shoulders, your own arm crossed you chest so that the metal hand was able to rest just below your shoulder.

The cool metal pressed against your shoulders and the back of your neck, sending a shiver through your bones. His body was stiff behind you, like if he moved he would disturb your comfort.

“Sorry, it’s cold I–”

“Buck, it’s okay. Relax.”

It took a few moments, but you finally felt him relax behind you, his body sinking into the plush couch as your body sunk further into him. You knew now, that you had brought this all upon yourself, but with his warm chest pressed up against your back, you knew you weren’t getting over this crush anytime soon.

After all the time you had spent convincing yourself that you couldn’t like Bucky, you simply couldn't, something happened that forces you even closer to the man and your heart takes over again. The thoughts that you had been blocking out for months were all coming back at full-force - his hands on your skin, his eyes on your face, his lips on your own. It was all you could think about and the movie was passing without you even realising time had gone by.

“You okay, doll?” his warm breath hit your ear and you jolted out of your thoughts, blinking rapidly as you turned to look at him.

“Yeah– yeah all good. All good.” You stuttered, shaking your head slightly in an attempt to get him out of your head. You knew it was gonna take more than that, and you bit down on your bottom lip, thinking about how long it was gonna take to get over this little incident.

“You sure? You were like, completely zoned out,” he murmured, his unoccupied fingers reaching up and brushing a hair from your cheek.

You felt your chest tighten as you looked into his concerned eyes, getting lost in the muted blue of his irises. You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief moment, turning back to face the screen as you mumbled a lie; “Yeah, all good.”

It was almost 1am when you found yourself falling asleep. Since then, you and Bucky had somehow maneuvered so that you were spooning, his metal arm still connected to your wrist and lying limply across your waist. ‘Creed,’ one of your favourite movies was playing on the screen, but your eyes were resisting the world of the awake, your heavy eyelids closing in protest of the late hour.

“Sweetheart, we gotta get you to bed.” His breath was warm on your ear again, and you were too drowsy to acknowledge the new nickname that had escaped his lips. You hummed quietly in agreement and he pulled you up, switching the tv off and heading towards the door, leaving a mess of blankets and food wrappers behind.

His metal fingers were still wrapped around your wrist like a vice, but the way he walked closer to you, his shoulder brushing against your own, his face tilted toward you to watch you yawn, a smile spread across his lips - it all felt so real, like maybe he wasn’t stuck, it was just a weird way of holding your hand.

He stopped abruptly when he reached the hallway, his brows suddenly pulled together in an unspoken question. His head jolted to you, and then back down the hallway, and then back to you, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Uhh… your room or my room?” he asked gently, a mild blush spreading across his cheeks at the question.

“Yours is closer,” you mumbled, dragging him down the hall towards his room. You were on a mission to get to bed, and the awkwardness of this situation was not going to stop you.

When you arrived in his room, you immediately crawled under the covers, forcing him to come along with you. A blush was still spread across his cheeks as he attempted to get comfortable, but with his hand clasped around your wrist, it was difficult.

He adjusted a few more times, switching from on his side, to on his back and back again, causing you to let out a giggle at his anguish.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he chuckled, turning to look at you.

You weren’t sure why, but you started to laugh more, the hilarity of this situation bursting from your chest in fits of uncontrollable giggling. It didn’t take long for Bucky to start laughing too, his eyes crinkled in amusement, a huge smile stretched across his face.

You laughed until your stomach hurt, and tears rolled down the side of his face, the darkness of the room lit up with the sound of your amusement. Somehow, you hadn’t realised how funny this was before.

Finally, the laughter ceased, tapering away into gentle smiles as the two of you subconsciously shuffled closer to each other, your hands resting between your bodies. You could feel his breath on your cheeks and watched as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. You couldn’t help but think about how you wished that was your lip. His free hand rested lazily on your hip, his fingers moving gently so you could feel the pressure through your leggings.

“Y’know, I always thought when we slept together it would be different.” Bucky’s voice was almost a whisper, and you snorted in laughter again at his words. His eyes widened innocently at the innuendo and he shook his head immediately. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean… Oh my god.”

“Wait, what did you mean?” your brows pulled together when you looked past the innuendo and still didn’t understand what he was saying. “When we slept together?”

“I- I just meant that– with my arm, I thought…” he trailed off, unsure how to explain what he had said. He hadn’t meant to say it, it just slipped out and suddenly he was regretting it very much. “Can’t control my arm or my mouth” he muttered to himself.

“Bucky, what did you mean?” you asked again, your voice shaking with anticipation – did he want this as much as you did?

“Look, Y/n, I– I don’t know if you can tell… I mean, I don’t know if flirting works the same as it did in the 40s but I–”

It was at that exact moment that his hand came loose, his fingers raised from your wrist, one by one and he watched in relief as your wrist was freed from his grasp. You gasped in relief at the feeling of freedom, rolling onto your back so you could stretch your arm out.

He also rolled away, sitting on the edge of the bed as the arm reset itself, falling to his side whilst each plat individually clicked in and out of place. He tenderly placed a hand over his shoulder, feeling the metal as he unclenched and clenched his fingers, in control once again.

“Thank god,” he mumbled to himself, letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

The room fell silent, and you knew he wasn’t planning on continuing whatever he was trying to say. You stood up, clearing your throat awkwardly and wandering towards the door. “I guess, I’ll uh… head to bed then,” you mumbled, gesturing towards the hallway.

“Um yeah, I guess you should.” He stood up, still avoiding eye contact.

As you turned to walk away, you felt his cool fingers clap around your wrist once more and pull you back towards him.

“I swear to god James Buchanan Barnes if your hand is stu-“

He pressed his lips to yours before you could finish the sentence, pulling you gently back into the room and kicking the door closed. You responded immediately, your hands tangling in his hair as you felt your chest bursting with excitement.

“I meant something like that,” he mumbled as he pulled away, keeping his forehead pressed against yours.

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