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oddballwriter · 9 months

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Moon Boys w/ Reader who is on their Period

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Warnings: Mentions of periods, cramps, and other period symptoms (of course). Reader is kept gender neutral for all my he/hims and they/thems who still have their periods. Mention of Layla, I know that’s not really anything but whatever.

Author’s Snip: Guess who’s on his period! Me! So might as well use this as something to help fill out my MoonKnight masterlist.

Notes: There is no dysphoria talk in here but if anyone wants that they can request it.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Steven Grant

Steven of course knows what a period is but he’s never actually been with someone long enough to come to the part were they would get their period or see them while on their period

He’s great support though

If you have any issues while on your period like bad cramps or fatigue he’s right there to help

Steven actually reads up and researches as much as he can about periods and menstrual cycles to actually understand what’s happening and how to help you

If you hold up fine on your own then he respects that but if you need something he’s on it

Literally nothing is too big of a task for him. If you want a specific snack then he’s going to go get it and some extra things

He’s had a cashers look at him after noticing all the stuff he’s buying and say “You’re a good man.” or just give him a knowing look

Steven does get a little scared if your moody because he doesn’t like feeling like you’re mad at him. But he understands.

I mean you’re bleeding against your will for several days and can sometimes be in pain and still have to go on with your day like you’re not. That’s defiantly not comfortable. He’d be a bit snappy if he had to go through that.

Steven is a huge cuddle bug so if you want him to hold you while you sit through a cramp he’s right there and holding your heating pad for you

He’s just a sweetie the whole time

Marc Spector

He was married to Layla

He knows how it goes

Marc isn’t doting like Steven (very much) is, but he’s not going to tell you to walk it off either

If you’re stuck in bed because your period isn’t going easy on you he’ll get you what you need, but he’s still very much Marc about it

“Alright. Think of what you need because I’m not gonna walk back and forth repeatedly.”

For the most part he leaves you alone and lets you come to him since he doesn’t want to get in your space and bother you

Marc memorizes and remembers when you usually get your period and so he’s able to prepare for it so that you don’t have to worry about running out of pad/tampons or painkillers

Again he’s not going to treat you like your sick and dying but he still very much cares about you and wants to make sure you’re okay

You can twist his harm into getting you a specific snack if you do puppy dog eyes and hit him with the “pretty please”

Is he aware that you use that against him? Yes. Is he mad that it gets him every time? Yes. Is he still going to drive all the way to the store? Also yes.

Jake Lockley

“Beba, I’m in the period aisle. What pussy size you wear.” energy

You know he would. Jake’s the type of man to do that. Don’t argue with me

So all the boys know your cycle and what time frame you get your period. But Jake is able to be most on the dot

It’s kind of creepy because he knows exactly when you’ll get it but Jake’s just used to being observant and so he just recognizes it more than the rest of them

This also leads to him telling when you’re really going through it with your cramps and just trying to keep a brave face

When he sees that he just picks you up and puts you on the couch with your heating pad, pills, and a blanket

Whatever you were doing before doesn’t matter, he’ll do it. You go ahead and just lay there and relax as best you can

To all my Mexicans and hispanics reading this, if you’re cramps are bad then he puts his hand on your stomach and does “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana” to help you feel better and also make you laugh if you know what it is

For context to any non hispanics, “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana” is a rhyme that parents will do while rubbing where their child got hurt or feels pain

#moonknight #moon knight #moonknight x reader #moon knight x reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #period comfort

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writefightandflightclub · 7 months

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It’s a sick fic (Marc takes care of reader)! I’m in bed with pesky sniffles today, so naturally my mind is wandering to these things. Not proofed / elaborated bc of the aforementioned. Also, Marc was the obvious choice for comfort today because this morning I read @astroboots’ wonderful period sex with Marc fic! So, he was on the brain and I definitely have to acknowledge that fic had a large part in spawning this. I strongly suggest you read CiCi’s fic, in fact, and ignore this one 😝 (see my last reblog if you’d like to check it out).

Warnings: painkiller mentions; reader is ill. Comfort from Marc.

You’re sick in bed.

Marc’s all worried. Has been dabbing your forehead with a damp cloth, hovering around as you dozed and timing out your rounds of painkillers.

When you stir again this time, from the sticky haze of a fever dream - and not in a good way - Marc is poised on the lip of bed, all DeNiro brow, crumpled up in concern until his eyebrows knit together and his puppy dog eyes shine beneath.

Even in this state he stirs something deep between your loins; not that you’d be in any position to act on it.

“Marc,” you croak softly, forcing a thin smile, but it does little to assuage his worry.

“Heyyyy, Shortcake,” he says softly, forcing a smile up until his eyes crinkle with the effort of it. “How are you doing?”

You pop your lower lip, feeling a little sorry for yourself. “Still quite bleugh.”

His face tightens with pain, and you feel a pang of guilt for not downplaying it more. He does worry something rotten about you.

He dips forward, his Magen David pooling against your chest. Providing a pleasant, cooling shock against your tacky skin. You feel Marc’s lips softly brush your forehead with a kiss. “Well, I’ve got something for ya.”

Your eyes tick to the clock in confusion. “Already had the medicine. Not time yet,” you argue weakly, in a babyfied voice.

He smiles softly, and this time it is not forced - it’s hard for him to hold it back. “Not that kind of medicine. Here, I’ll show you.”

He scoops your hands up gently into his, and they feel rough and sturdy against you. You don’t know where he’s going with this, but you don’t really have the strength to argue either; however, luckily, you trust him implicitly, and you know he won’t lead you wrong.

“I’m not supposed t’ do this. Told Khonshu it was an emergency. Ground the bastard down eventually.”

“Wha-?”

“Ssshhh. Don’t worry, baby girl. I got you, huh?”

You stop protesting and you nod weakly, as Marc holds his hands more firmly around yours.

Then, in a flash, Khonshu’s suit begins to wind around him, bandages curling and snaking around his thick, sturdy frame. His eyes glowing white like the celestial glisten of the moon.

Next though, as he holds you, you watch in silent awe as the bandages unwind from his forearms. As they wrap around you, snaking gently up and around your arms. It kinda tickles.

Ah. Suddenly it makes sense to you.

The healing suit.

You shake your head softly, and you try to release your grip on Marc’s hands, suddenly full of worry. Won’t he get in trouble with the bird for a stunt like this? For sharing his power; with you of all people?

“B-but Marc. This isn’t an emergency,” you rationalise. “I’m fine. It’ll just take me a little longer to heal, all on my own.”

Marc looks at you softly. Intently. “Shortcake. You not feeling well? Trust me. That’s an emergency to me.” He strokes his loosely bound thumb over the ridges of your knuckles. “I can do this for you. Please. Would you let me do this?”

Damn.

Who are you to say no to those shining, puppy dog eyes? To Marc’s pure, unfettered devotion?

Except….

“But your wounds, Marc! You need the suit more than I do.” You survey his collection of grazes from his latest bout with a foe.

He looks at you though, slow and steady still, and all your reservations melt away. You see it in his face. He’s hurting; sure. But more so because you are hurting, and you think this can heal him too.

“I’m fine,” he repeats with a lazy uptick at the corner of his mouth. “Just scratches. It’ll just take a little longer to heal. All on my own.”

He has you beat there. You both want the best for each other. Would do anything to take away one another’s pain. It’s all you want.

You clasp his hands tightly in yours, heart overcome with love, and you softly concede, the bandages wrapping more steadily up you arms with your permission granted, until you and he are intertwined - in more ways than one. “Okay, Marc. Get me all better - and then I’ll take care of you, alright?”

He smiles. Shifts on the bed until his warm frame is spooning you, all safe, bandages loosening and tightening to accommodate your shifts. He kisses the back of your neck. Whispers warmly into your skin. “Got yourself a deal, Shortcake.”

You hum softly with relief. You’re not sure whether it’s the bandages, or just Marc; but you sure as hell feel better already.

#Marc Spector x reader #moon knight x reader #might delete later

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bellaxgiornata · 6 days

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do you have any head cannons for how Frank would take care of you on your period? i have endometriosis and my periods are really rough, i just started mine and couldn’t help but wonder how he would try to comfort you 🥹 congrats on your recent milestone!

Thank you!! And oh friend, that sounds rough and I hope you're doing well making it through yours this week! 💕 I definitely have some thoughts on how Frank would take care of his significant other when they are on their period--especially if it was a particularly rough one (or if they were always rough and painful). Frank is just a big softy under his hard exterior, and I feel like his caregiving side (that isn't seen often but definitely exists) would certainly come out seeing his partner struggling and in pain. He would make it his personal mission to make them as comfortable as he could. But I'll throw all my thoughts below the cut for this one!

Frank would know exactly when you were on your period just by looking at the pain etched across your face because of the cramps. You wouldn't even have to ask, he'd already be up grabbing you your preferred painkillers and bringing them straight to you without a word.

He'd get you a nice warm shower started first thing and demand you take it to help with the pain while he fixed you breakfast/coffee/tea. And he would absolutely refuse to hear you tell him not to worry about you. "That's what I do," he'd say. "I worry 'bout you 'cause I care. I'm always gonna worry 'bout you. Now don't argue with me and get in the shower."

On the worst days of your period he'd be telling you that you should be taking it easy for the day. And if you had to go into work? You can bet he'd be grumbling to himself about how "that’s a buncha bullshit" and you deserve a sick day because you're clearly not feeling alright.

At the beginning of your period, he'd make a special stop after work at the store to pick up all your favorite comfort snacks to help cheer you up for the week. Because he knows the smile he'd get from you when he walked through the door with your favorites in hand and he could never pass up an opportunity to see it. And if you were low on painkillers, pads, or tampons? You can bet he'd have no issue picking those up, too.

Before bed at night, he'd sit down with you on the couch and let you choose to watch whatever you wanted, even if it was some ridiculous romantic comedy you've seen a hundred times or a reality show he absolutely hated. Sure, you might get his occasional commentary on it ("Who honestly thought up the idea for this?" "That ain't how that works in real life"), but you wouldn't hear a single complaint to turn it off. Though he'd certainly give you a very specific look if you joked about telling your friends that he'd been watching it with you.

Frank would absolutely be cuddling you while you relaxed, too. Maybe your legs would be draped over his, or maybe you'd be laying atop him on the couch. However you felt most comfortable, he wouldn't complain. And you could always guarantee that his fingers would absently trace patterns over you as you lay there, offering comfort he wasn't even aware he was giving.

At some point while you both relaxed you'd hear him say, "C'mere, let me help, sweetheart." And you'd know you were about to get the most relaxing back massage that would just about put you to sleep from his large hands that somehow always knew the right level of pressure to use.

When it was time for bed, Frank wouldn't mind being your personal heating pad. You want to lay curled around him? Use him as the big spoon to your little spoon? He'd happily comply because he remembered how you'd once told him that his body heat helped to dull some of your cramps so you could fall asleep.

#bellas 2.5k follower celebration #frank castle headcanons #i think he'd be a big softy if you were on your period and really going through it #frank castle #frank castle x reader

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estrellami-1 · 6 months

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Lay With Me (Sleep It Off)

Apparently one of the symptoms of covid is fevers… guess who just spent the last 5 or so days with a low-grade fever 🙄 it started with me waking up at 3am to use the bathroom, thinking I was fine until I got out of my (warm) bed and started shivering uncontrollably.

Also my eyes started hurting about halfway through so uh. If you see any typos. No you don’t ✌️

Steve wakes up to Eddie’s hand drifting over his skin.

It’s something that happens more often than not, nowadays, to the point where he rolls over and presses his hips to Eddie’s automatically.

Eddie’s hand stutters. “Baby?” He asks, and Steve frowns, because neither of them had expected him to be soft.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, still sleep-drunk. “Dunno.”

“You want it?” Eddie asks, then presses a kiss to his forehead and freezes again. “Oh, shit, baby, you’re hot.”

“Mmm,” Steve says. “Thanks.”

Eddie chuckles. “Though you are hot, that’s not the kind I’m talking about, babydoll. I think you have a fever.”

Steve frowns. “No, ‘m fine. Got work.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think fevers care about our work schedules.”

“Rude,” Steve murmurs. “They should.” He sighs and tucks himself closer to Eddie, because he’s warm and Steve is a little bit cold. “Time’s it?”

“Almost eight.” He runs a hand down Steve’s back. “You’ve got a little over an hour.”

Steve smiles against Eddie’s throat. “You were gonna make me late.”

“Was not,” Eddie retorts, even though they both know that’s a lie.

Steve hums and wiggles further into Eddie’s warmth. “Gotta get up,” he says, doing absolutely nothing to do so.

Eddie keeps petting Steve’s back, which furthers his resolve to do nothing. “I think you should stay home, baby. If you’re sick…”

“Not,” Steve argues nonsensically. “Don’t have time.”

Eddie sighs, pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Okay, baby. If you’re not sick, then you need to get up and get ready to take a shower, right?”

“Mhm,” Steve mumbles. “Come with?”

“Of course I will, baby. Following your lead here. You gonna get up?”

Steve groans, strangely feels like crying as he detaches himself from Eddie and shuffles across the bed to sit on the edge.

He stands after a second and walks to the closet, realizing as he’s reaching for a shirt that he’s trembling, shivering. He’s suddenly, viscerally aware of how cold he is, and he can’t stop his teeth from chattering as he looks to Eddie with a furrowed brow.

“Baby,” Eddie murmurs, pulling him into a hug and taking some of his weight. “You’re sick. You should be in bed.”

“No,” Steve murmurs, ashamed at the tears pricking at his lids. “Can’t- need to work-”

“I’ll call Robin,” Eddie soothes. “She’ll figure it out, ‘kay? But you know as well as I do that she’d tell you to stay home, too.”

Steve sniffles. “Don’t wanna be sick,” he mutters petulantly.

Eddie runs a hand through Steve’s hair. “I know, baby, it’s not fun, is it? Let’s get back in bed, I’ll make you a hot tea and call Robin, and then I’ll be right back and we can cuddle, alright?”

Steve nods slowly. “Tell Robin sorry.”

“I will, baby. You just focus on getting back into bed now, there you go. And I’ll be right back, m’kay?”

“‘Kay,” Steve agrees, letting his eyes slip shut again as chills continue to wrack his body.

Soon enough Eddie’s back with a tray of dry toast, hot tea, water, and some painkillers. Steve startles awake even though he’d only been half-asleep, and Eddie apologizes, rushing to place the tray down so he can assist Steve’s shaky arms in lifting his body to a seated position.

Steve is handed the water and meds first, then considers the tea and toast and shakes his head, trying to apologize. “It’s okay, baby,” Eddie murmurs. “They’ll keep, you need to eat something today, I’ll just heat them up later. I just wanna do what you need, m’kay? Right now your bodu is saying it needs more rest, and that’s just fine. C’mon, come lay down with me, go back to sleep, okay? Let’s try and sleep this off. I bet when you wake up, you’ll feel a hundred times better.”

“M’kay,” Steve murmurs, tucking his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. “Thank you. Love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie whispers, sealing his vow with a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

And with that, he drifts off to sleep.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #sick steve harrington #Steve has a fever #but it’s okay #because Eddie’s there to take care of him #brought to you by my experience this week with covid ✌️#(it sucks btw 0/10 do not recommend)#not pictured is Eddie getting sick the next day and being an absolute baby about it #(and Steve taking care of him every step of the way)#starambles

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jamiesfootball · 2 months

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🌷🌸🌹🌺💐🌷

some flowers for u when u need them <3

You told me to get back here and fix it. So here is a small scene from a sequel to last week's prompt for "Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

Jamie shifted to block his path.

“Look, don't worry about me and the grouchy dick, alright? I just wanted to say sorry for before. At the hospital.” The distance on Sam's face softened into something Jamie could reach. Yet all his teammate said was, “That isn't necessary.” “No, see, 'cause it is. I mean, I don’t really remember what I did to set you off. Mostly I just remember some yelling. But if you can remind me what it was, I want to apologise for it proper- take accountability and make amends and all that, you know?” Because before he could apologise, he needed to know what he'd done. Knowing what you were apologising for was a big part of taking accountability, Jamie knew that now. The part where he'd gone and gotten his head rattled by a midfielder with anger issues didn’t excuse his actions, and it didn't make it any less his fault. Whatever he’d done to drive Sam — Sam — to yell at him, it couldn’t’ve been good. Still, he didn’t know what he could’ve done that was so bad that just the mention of it had Sam’s face turning spoiled sick. With a hand pressed to his chest, the lad looked seconds away from fainting, the grip on his water bottle so tight it might burst at any moment. Before Jamie could ask how high a debt he’d be paying off for the rest of his life, Sam shook his head and said, “No. Jamie, no. No, that is not-“ Whatever it wasn’t apparently wasn’t worth mentioning, because Sam chewed through the distance between them in two large steps. His body barely had a chance to startle backwards before Sam had him in his grasp.

He cradled Jamie against his chest. Lean, capable arms wrapped tightly around his shoulder and lower back, avoiding the sore spots the doctors had pointed out like they were real injuries instead of short term inconveniences. Sam breathed in deeply, a long inhale followed by a welcomed exhale, and Jamie found his own breathing struggling to match the pace. He let his head drop onto Sam's shoulder; since he couldn’t have painkillers around the house right now, the headache was killing him. “I worry sometimes that we are speaking two languages,” Sam admitted quietly against his ear. “That if I am not careful, I will accidentally do something to harm you. “Nah,” Jamie argued. “I’m tough. Not much you could do to hurt me.” Sam hummed, a rumbly little noise that rattled into Jamie’s chest, clearing away the cobwebs. “Let me cook for you. Come over to my place tonight.”

Some things were just too good to last.

“Can’t." Jamie said, starting to pull away even though regret tugged between his ribs. “Roy said we could start training again, and I've got stuff I need to get ready. 'Sides, I’m not supposed to -“

Sam held him fast.

"Jamie, please," Sam begged. "Training can wait one more day. In the meantime, I would like to cook for my friend. Please. Come over. Let us fix things. He should say no. He had responsibilities, things he'd committed to that should feel more important than jumping at the chance to skive off and play tea party with his friends. But he was so so tired, and any excuse not to spend another minute at home was a fucking life raft, and Sam-

Sam looked so bloody hopeful. “Yeah, alright," Jamie agreed, allowing the life raft to drift him a little further offshore. "D’you want me to bring anything?” Sam squeezed his shoulders. “Thank you. And no, that isn't necessary. Do not worry- I will stick to your nutrition plan. Only if Coach asks, we will tell him that all the food was fried.” Jamie grinned. It didn't even feel like a chore this time. "Sound."

#today is Jamie-getting-hugged day i guess #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #writing snippet #rose for a snippet #most of today has been me frustratingly reminding myself that all writing is progress #while the draft I should be editing stares at me accusingly #it be like that sometimes

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tails89 · 7 months

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Been up all night (and the night before)

911 - 3.5k

His parents leave. There’s disappointment, sure. Buck had really thought that things were changing. He’d really thought that maybe, finally, his parents wanted to be around. There’s also relief, because he finally has his apartment to himself again. Finally it’s quiet. Finally he can sleep.

Finally posting my whumptober insomnia fic 😊

Read on ao3 or below

After the lightning strike, Buck can’t sleep.

While he’s still at the hospital, he blames it on the noise— the constant rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the distant echo of alarms. The painkillers he’s on makes him groggy and nauseated, and he’s too uncomfortable to do more than doze in snatches between the next round of tests of vitals.

Buck lets his parents bundle him into their car, too tired to argue that he doesn’t need them to stay with him. It’s not worth the energy anyway. They’ll probably get sick of him soon enough. They always do.

Shuffling into the apartment, Buck lets Maddie nudge him towards the single armchair in the middle of the room.

“God, this apartment. Such a bachelor pad,” his mom laughs. “You don’t even have a couch. We’ll have to go shopping.”

The words are spoken like a joke but Buck can read between the lines. Notgoodenoughnotgoodenoughnotgoodenough. He nods along anyway, sagging against Maddie when she perches on the arm of the chair.

“Are you hungry?” his mom asks, poking her nose into his kitchen cupboards. “I’ll make you something.”

“Not really.”

“Mom, leave him alone.” Maddie runs her fingers through his hair just like she did when he was a kid. “Buck, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a while.”

Buck reaches for his sister's hand and gives it a grateful squeeze before slowly easing himself back out of the chair.

“You guys don’t have to say,” he says, his words falling on deaf ears. “I’m probably just going to sleep.”

“Nonsense,” his mom tuts at him, her hands on her waist. “We want to be here, Evan. Oh, I know. I’ll cook you something to eat when you wake up.”

“Uh—” Buck falters, unused to the attention. “Okay.” He glances at Maddie, eyes wide, begging for help.

“There’s a grocery store down the street,” Maddie says, picking up the hint and herding their parents towards the front door. “I’ll stay with Buck while you go get some things for lunch.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Maddie,” their mom collects her handbag from the counter. “Oh, Philip, we could look at furniture while we’re out.”

The door swings shut and Buck sags against the side of the armchair.

‘Thank you.”

Maddie grins. “That will buy you at least an hour.”

Buck slowly shuffles over to the foot of their stairs. God, were they always that high?

“It’s not too late to come back to my place,” Maddie tells him gently. “Or Bobby’s, I know he offered. I bet Eddie offered too.”

They did, and Buck turned them all down.

“I just want to sleep in my own bed, Maddie.”

“Okay.” She raises her hands in surrender. “But at least let me help you upstairs.”

It’s slow going, and Buck’s almost regretting his decision by the time he makes it to his bed. He’s out of breath, legs shaking from a trip he normally does without thinking, and he refuses to think about how he’s going to get back down again.

But that’s a problem for future Buck.

He doesn’t bother changing (he’s already wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt that may or may not actually belong to Eddie. He’s not sure how it got into his things but he’s not complaining) Buck just toes off his sneakers and sinks into bed.

After spending so much time in the hospital, his own bed feels heavenly. He can almost ignore all the other aches and pains that have followed him home.

Buck closes his eyes and lets himself drift.

He can hear Maddie moving around downstairs. Outside, a siren echoes in the distance.

A dog barks.

A car backfires.

Buck’s eyes shoot open.

He’s not sure how long he lies there. At some point he hears his parents return, his mom’s voice echoing through the open plan apartment. There’s a scrape of furniture being dragged and more voices.

Giving up on sleep, Buck reaches for his phone. The movement aggravates his aching ribs, the burning sensation helping chase away some of the grogginess. His hands shake— a lingering side effect of the strike— as he unlocks his phone to scroll through the recent notifications.

His phone chips as a new message comes through.

Eddie: Hope you’re settling in ok. Let me know if you need anything.

Buck hits the call icon before he can give himself the chance to overthink it.

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice is low and slightly tinny over the connection. “How’d everything go this morning?”

“It was fine,” Buck says, dragging a hand down his face. “I think Mom’s already redecorating the apartment.”

“She’s what?”

“She doesn’t like my furniture.” Buck drops his voice to a whisper to prevent being overheard.

“She doesn’t have to like it,” Eddie says. “It’s not her furniture.”

Eddie’s made no secret of the fact that he doesn’t like Buck’s parents. Buck doesn’t blame him. Eddie’s only seen the bed. They really seem to be trying though, doesn’t Buck owe it to them to give them a chance?

He can already imagine Eddie’s response to that.

Shifting, Buck tries to get comfortable. His meds are wearing off, and the ache in his ribs is beginning to thrum in time with his heart beat. It’s weird to think that for a long six minutes, his heart didn’t beat at all… so he doesn’t think about it.

“You still there?” Eddie asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?” There’s a beat, then, “be honest.”

Buck sighs. “I’m tired.”

“Still not sleeping well?”

“Everything’s just— it’s a lot.” His dreams feel too real, but he doesn’t say that part out loud.

“The offer still stands,” Eddie says. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

Buck smiles. Eddie lives a good half hour away.

“You think staying with you and Chris will be quieter?”

“Probably not.” Buck can hear the amusement in his voice. “But we promise not to rearrange your furniture. So…?”

Yes, he thinks.

“I can’t,” he says.

Eddie’s quiet long enough that Buck has to check he hasn’t disconnected the calls.

“Okay,” Eddie says, finally. “But if you change your mind, call me.”

He ends the call and Buck can’t help but feel like he’s lost something.

His parents leave.

It doesn’t come as a surprise when they tell him two days after he’s out of the hospital that it’s time to go home. The surprise is that they lasted this long.

There’s disappointment, sure. Buck had really thought that things were changing. He’d really thought that maybe, finally, his parents wanted to be around.

There’s also relief, because he finally has his apartment to himself again.

Finally it’s quiet.

Finally he can sleep.

Except that he doesn’t. Or, when he does, it’s in snatches, dreaming of those he couldn’t save.

He spends his first night alone sleeping on the new couch. He’d tried to climb the stairs on his own and been so out of breath that he’d had to sit down halfway up. His legs had been shaking so bad he wasn’t sure he’d get himself down again.

He doesn’t try the stairs again, resigning himself to spending at least a few days on the uncomfortable couch his mom had insisted on buying.

(He hasn’t been this grateful to have a downstairs toilet since he obliterated his leg.)

On top of that, people keep coming over.

It starts with Bobby.

“Jeez, you’re supposed to look better when you get out of the hospital, kid,” Bobby remarks when Buck opens the door. “Not worse.”

“What are you doing here?” It comes out much harsher than intended but Buck doesn’t have the energy to correct himself. There’s a headache that’s been building behind his eyes since the early hours of the morning, and he’s so tired he can barely think straight let alone hold a conversation.

“I heard you were on your own.” Bobby steps past Buck to set his bags down in the kitchen. He turns to look Buck over. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You only got out of the hospital a few days ago.”

“Yeah, well Maddie had to go back to work,” Buck shrugs, easing down onto a stool by the counter. Everything aches today, and he can’t remember if he took his meds this morning or if that hazy memory is from yesterday. All the days seem to blur into one.

“I thought your parents were staying with you.”

“They left.” Buck props his head on his hands, watching Bobby pull different ingredients from his bag.

“What about appointments?” Bobby asks, frowning. “Don’t you have a bunch of follow-ups this week? You’re not cleared to drive.”

He’s not cleared for a lot of things.

Can’t drive. Can’t exercise. Can’t sleep. God, he wants to sleep.

“Uh—” Buck tears his eyes away from the little gathering of condiments to glance at Bobby. “Sorry, I missed—”

“When was the last time you slept?”

Buck frowns.

“This morning?” He thinks it was this morning. “I had a nap.” And he’d woken gasping for breath, the ghost of his brother standing over him (“Spare parts and they were defective”).

“When was the last time you got proper, actual sleep, Buck?”

Buck scrubs a hand through his hair. The headache that had just been annoying before flares, bringing with it a wave of nausea that Buck swallows.

“What do you want me to tell you, Bobby?”

“The truth.” Bobby sets down his knife. “Asking for help is not a weakness. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

Buck’s eyes burn. “I’m fine.”

Bobby watches him for a long time as the silence stretches between them, and Buck shifts, fidgeting under the heavy weight of Bobby’s gaze (“Bobby Nash is dead”).

“This’ll probably take a while,” Bobby says, finally, and he nods towards the food he’s prepping. “Why don’t you take another nap while I make us some lunch.”

And like a coward, Buck takes the out.

Buck goes through his days on autopilot.

Maddie visits around her shifts. Hen and Chimney drop in. Buck spends more than one night picking at Bobby’s cooking.

They fuss over him and he hates it.

He turns down their offers of assistance and gets himself to his follow-up appointments where the cardiologist, pulmonologist and neurologist who all go on about how lucky he is to be alive and how well he’s continuing to improve.

He’s breezing through the tests and no one suspects a thing—

“Before you go, I just wanted to ask, have you thought about talking to someone?”

“Uh—” Buck falters, the pathway between his mouth and his brain just completely shutting down. “I don’t— it’s not—”

“What you went through was traumatic,” the cardiologist continues, “for anyone. And a lot of my patients find it really helpful in processing what happened.”

“I— I see stuff like this all the time,” Buck stammers. “I don’t—”

His doctor shrugs. “Seeing it is one thing, experiencing it is another thing entirely.”

“I’m fine.” Maybe if he says it enough times it’ll stick. I’mfineI’mfineI’mfine.

He escapes back out into the waiting room and pulls out his phone to call an UBER back to his apartment.

“Hey, wake up. We’re here.”

Buck digs his palms into his eyes until his vision goes white and the image behind his eyelids fades. Blinking to clear the spots, he stares out the window.

“This isn’t my place.”

“Well this is the address you gave me.”

Buck pulls his phone out of his pocket to check, and yeah, this is the address he’d booked the UBER for, but he doesn’t remember typing it.

“C’mon man, I can’t sit here all day.”

“Right, uh— sorry.” Buck climbs out of the car and makes the short walk up the driveway only to hesitate by the front door.

This is stupid.

He should just call another UBER and go back to his apartment.

He should—

“Buck?” The door swings open. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh—” he fidgets with the strings of his hoodie. “I didn’t mean to,” he starts. “I just— I didn’t—” Buck blows out a long breath. “Is your offer still open?”

“Always.” Eddie smiles, stepping aside so Buck can enter. “I’m just making lunch but you can hang out with Chris while I finish up.”

Wordlessly, Buck follows Eddie through to the living room on legs that suddenly feel shaky.

“Hey Buck.” Chris glances up from the game he’s playing on the TV.

“Hey.” The word comes out in a choked breath because they’re here. They’re right here.

And logically, Buck knows they were never gone but every time he closes his eyes he hears the echoes of another life.

(“You’d be angry too if you lost your kid”.)

(“Can you help me find my dad?”)

“You wanna play?” Chris holds up the spare controller.

“Why don’t you put a movie on?” Eddie suggests, and Chris grumbles that he just started the campaign.

“s’fine.” Buck waves them both off, easing down into his usual spot on the couch and sighing as he sinks into the cushions.

He lets his eyes fall closed, feeling the couch shift as Chris resumes his game and the soft footfalls of Eddie returning to the kitchen. The soft sounds wrap around him, comforting and familiar, and it’s reassuring to know that Buck could call his name and Eddie would be there.

“Buck, come on. You can’t sleep here.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake and Buck groans. God, he’d been so close.

“I know.” The hand on his shoulder skates down his arm, fingers curling around his wrist. “But your ribs will thank me later.”

The hand on his wrists tug, but Buck doesn’t want to move, he doesn’t want to wake from this new dream— he never dreams about Eddie anymore, he’s always gone.

“I’m right here.”

He’s on his feet and there’s a hand on the small of his back, guiding.

“Sit.”

He’ll do anything to keep Eddie from disappearing again (“I’m not going anywhere”) so he sits, and his shoes are tugged off his feet.

The sheets smell like Eddie.

“Good night Buck.”

Finally, Buck sleeps.

He doesn’t dream.

At one point Buck thinks he hears Eddie.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s sick, he doesn’t have a fever.”

A hand sweeps across his forehead, and into his hair before retreating.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s been sleeping.”

Buck doesn’t catch the response, already sinking back into the depths of sleep.

“Thanks Maddie. I’ll let you know.”

Buck has no idea where he is.

He blinks up at the unfamiliar ceiling, mentally trying to retrace his steps but the last week is a blur of people and places— some real and some imagined.

He stretched, biting back a low groan. When was the last time he took his meds?

Buck feels like he’s been hit by a bus, still groggy with sleep and aching from lying in the same position for so long. It would be so easy to just go back to sleep, but his bladder is demanding his attention so he eases up to look around the room.

Eddie’s room.

Oh.

The bathroom is his first stop on his slow shuffle out of the room. He’s finishing up, washing his hands in the sink when he catches his reflection in the mirror.

He stands there for a long time, scrubbing at his face like he can rinse away the dark smudges beneath his eyes.

God, no wonder everyone keeps asking if he’s okay.

With a long sigh, Buck lets his hands drop. It’s not like Eddie hasn’t already seen him at his worst— though this feels like a new low point.

He follows the sounds echoing down the hall to find Eddie in the kitchen, packing Chris’ lunch.

“I thought I heard you moving around,” Eddie says, looking up. “You sleep well?”

Nodding, Buck leans against the counter. “What time is it?”

“Uh, seven.” Eddie glances over at the clock on the wall. “You missed dinner, but I saved you some in the fridge.”

“I slept all afternoon?”

“And some,” Eddie tells him. “You’ve been here since yesterday.”

“I slept a whole day?”

“You looked like you needed it.” Eddie sets down the sandwich he’s making to face Buck. “You still look like you need it.”

Buck lowers himself gingerly onto one of the bar stools. He can’t remember the last time he slept through the night, let alone an entire day.

“Maddie drops off some of your things. Meds, a change of clothes.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, hang on.”

Eddie leaves the kitchen, returning a moment later with a bottle that rattles as he sets it down on the counter.

“I’ll heat some leftovers so you’re not taking them on an empty stomach.”

Buck opens his mouth to say he’s not really hungry, but then his stomach rumbles and for the first time in days, he actually kind of is.

Eddie sets the plate on the counter with a glass of water. He doesn’t hover, which Buck appreciates. He finishes packing Chris’ lunch and moves on to cleaning up the kitchen while Buck slowly eats.

It’s not until he’s finished and his plate is in the dishwasher that Eddie turns to Buck and asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Buck swallows and looks away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

From the corner of his eye he watches Eddie nod and lean back against the sink, folding his arms across his chest.

“Last year,” Eddie starts slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully, “when things got bad, I kept telling everyone - and myself - that I was fine. The worse things got, the more I pushed those feelings down until they had nowhere else to go.”

Buck can’t help himself. He glances up, looking right into Eddie’s watching gaze.

“And well, you saw how spectacularly that blew up.”

And Buck had been there for the fall out, spending days camped out on the couch in case Eddie or Chris needed him. He still gets chills remembering Chris’ panicked phone call, and the fear of not knowing what he might find on the other side of Eddie’s bedroom door.

And maybe, of all people, Eddie understands.

“You haven’t been okay for months,” Eddie continues. “Talk to me.”

Buck chews on his lip, his stomach churning.

“Do you remember anything?” he asks, hiding his shaking hands in his lap. “From when you were shot?”

“Not really,” Eddie shrugs. “I remember going to work, going out to see that kid—“

“I remember all of it,” Buck cuts in. “I remember your blood on my face. I remember crawling under the truck and not knowing if you were alive. I remember you bleeding out and you were asking me if I was okay.” He laughs, still unable to believe it. “I remember thinking I was going to lose you.”

He wipes his face, surprised by the wetness on his hands.

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Buck agrees. “But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about the what ifs. It doesn’t stop me from running the worst case scenarios over and over in my head.”

“Buck—”

“And I keep having this dream,” Buck tells him, the words spilling from him in a torrent that can’t be stopped. “Daniels alive, and Bobby’s dead and Maddie’s there but she’s still with Doug. And you—”

“Where am I?”

“You’re not in it.” Buck wipes his face again. “You just— you’re not there and you lost Chris and I— I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save anyone.”

“Buck—“

“And I know it’s not real. I’m not that full of myself to think you’d have lost Chris if I hadn’t introduced you to Carla.”

“Buck.” Eddie moves around the counter to stand directly in front of him, his hand on Buck’s shoulder, pulling him back from the brink. “I’m sorry.”

“I feel like I lose you every time I close my eyes.”

Eddie sighs, so close Buck can feel it in his hair. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“I don’t remember being shot,” Eddie says. “But I’ll never forget the night you died.”

Buck’s next breath catches in his throat.

“And you did save us,” Eddie insists, crowding in closer. “You saved Chris in the tsunami. You saved me from myself and you were there when I needed you.” His voice drops low. “You were always there, and I didn’t even see it until I lost you for three minutes and seventeen seconds.”

“I came back.” Buck lets out a shuddering breath. “But I don’t know what to do next.”

“You keep living,” Eddie tells him softly. “But first, you take another nap.” Lips twitching, he reaches a hand to smooth away the dark smudges beneath Buck’s eyes. It feels nice and Buck finds himself leaning into the touch. “And then tomorrow we can figure out the rest.”

#911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fanfic

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kinnbig · 1 year

Note

*smooches you on the cheek* i hope you have a lovely day!

- - -

"Who is the new guy?"

Big regrets the question the moment it leaves his dumb mouth because Chan tilts his head and looks at him with knowing eyes.

"Big," he says, and his voice is stern. His eyes are steely, and Big can feel them unravel everything he is trying to hide away; everything he promised wouldn't be a problem.

A few meters away from them, Kinn laughs so openly and joyously that it stings.

Chan sighs and turns back to his tablet. Only when Big turns to leave he says: "His name is Tawan."

The way Kinn looks at Tawan makes Big sick. The way Tawan looks at Kinn makes an uneasy feeling crawl into Big's gut.

- - -

"Who is the new guy?"

The new guy is sitting at the edge of the pool and grinning. His dark hair is dripping water everywhere as he runs his fingers through them all pretend casual. He winks at Pete, whose record so far has been undefeated, and Big thinks he looks like a certified fuckboy.

"Ken," Arm whispers, quiet enough so Ken cannot hear them. And then, because Arm likes to gossip, he adds: "He's been staring at you all morning."

Big glances up and catches Ken's eyes on him. There is a pink flush on Ken's cheeks as he bites his lip and quickly looks away.

"Cute," Arm says next to him, and Big bites the inside of his cheek to stop the stupid smile that wants to sneak onto his face. He feels warm. Nobody has ever looked at Big like that.

- - -

"Take the day off," Ken pleads again. He has argued about this all morning, talked about how Big needs a break, how he looks exhausted and how Ken knows he didn't sleep well. "Come on, mate, just today."

Big sighs. "I can't, not with Tawan being here."

"Please," Ken says in English, and it startles Big. Not the English, as Ken constantly swears in it, but the way Ken sounds distressed, the way he looks at Big with wide eyes, and the way his fingers are gripping Big's arm so tightly that there will be bruises.

"Is everything okay?" Big asks because he knows he is missing something, something important. Ken is shaking as he lets go of Big's arm like it physically pains him to move his fingers, and then he smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, and he looks down before Big can see them.

"Forget about it. It's fine," Ken says, and his voice is raspy. "Just don't do anything stupid because of Tawan."

Big cannot guarantee that, so instead, he says: "I'll see you later tonight."

Later, when Big takes a bullet aimed at Porsche, he wishes he wouldn't have made a promise he couldn't keep.

Later, when Chan says, "Ken was working for Vegas", Big wishes Tawan was a better shooter.

- - -

Big's apartment looks as sad and pathetic as he feels. He doesn't spend time here more than once a month, doesn't share it with anyone, and never bothered to furnish it properly. He sits on the sofa and stares at the empty wall because there's nothing else to do, nowhere else for him to be. He feels hollow, wonders if the doctors put him back together wrong.

"Take a week off," Kinn has said, voice sincere and sad. "You deserve it."

"I should have known," Big had whispered, trying to hold back his tears, and wondered if that's how Tawan's betrayal felt. And then, because he couldn't stop thinking about it, he had said: "He wanted me to take a day off." Kinn had patted his shoulder awkwardly before leaving.

Big wonders if he can just sleep for a week, if any of the painkillers can do that for him, or if he can get his hands on some sleep medicine or something.

The knock on the door startles him.

He gets up slowly. His stomach still hurts, and so does his arm. He leaves the gun on the coffee table. If anyone wants to kill him, Big thinks, he wouldn't mind. He opens the door.

Ken is bleeding. His face is purple and bruised, and one of his eyes is swollen shut. His shirt is soaked with blood, and it's dripping everywhere. He is trembling.

"I didn't know where else to go," he finally whispers, voice hoarse and broken.

Big feels like he is being shot all over again. He wants to slam the door close, he wants to get the gun he left behind and kill Ken himself. He wants to ask why, he doesn't want to know the answer, but mostly he just wants to pretend that nothing has changed, that everything will be alright. Slowly he moves and opens the door wider.

"Come in," he says.

anon i am smooching you on the mouth i can’t believe you just dropped this masterpiece anonymously in my ask box i am emotionally devastated. come back pls i’m losing my mind?!

#IM EATING THIS?!?!?!#wtf?!!!!!!!#it’s so good thank you i 🫠🫠🫠🫠#their meeting by the pool🫠 big not being used to being looked at like that 🫠help #ask #anon #kinnporsche #kinnporsche fanfic #kenbig #bigken #big kinnporsche #ken kinnporsche #big kp #ken kp #kinnporsche fanfiction

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geddy-leesbian · 3 months

Text

some Leon taking care of an injured Luis I dug out of the deepest depths of my drafts

Set after the end of CODE:Veronica, in an AU where Luis met Leon and Claire during RE2, and when Claire left to look for Chris, Luis went with her because he felt like he owed her a favor. Leon stayed behind with Sherry. Same universe as How Do You Talk To Girls? but that's just how they met and doesn't get into any RE2 or CV stuff, so this can be read standalone, you're not missing too much.

(Also Leon gets to keep Sherry and isn't extorted by the government because she didn't get infected and before leaving Luis coached him on what he should say so he comes off as a potentially useful idiot instead of someone who "knows too much.")

Luis's heart is racing the second he wakes up, because Leon isn't in bed with him. He's pretty sure he didn't just dream Leon picking him up, but far from certain. All his memories of the night before are hazy. He vaguely remembers taking a painkiller after getting to Leon's apartment, or at least what he thought was Leon's apartment, so that's making the memories even more clouded. He at least knows he didn't dream getting out of Rockfort; there isn't a tracking collar around his neck.

And because he's clean. Well, not clean. Slightly less dirty and disgusting than before is a more accurate description. And he has clean pajamas on. Not the once white shirt that ended up dyed red with blood. Not the pants that had gone from skintight to loose and baggy over the course of his time as an inmate.

But none of this is evidence that the Leon part wasn't a dream. Someone else could have cleaned him up and changed his clothes.

Then he hears something, and everything is okay again. Leon's voice from the other room. He doesn't know who Leon is talking to, and tunes the conversation out because he doesn't particularly care. All he cares about is that he is with Leon.

No longer on the verge of a panic attack, Luis closes his eyes again. Leon comes back into the bedroom a few minutes later, and starts putting a hand on Luis's wrist. His eyes flutter open. Leon lets go of his wrist.

“Hey, sweetheart, I'm gonna bring you something to eat. Be right back,” Leon says softly, and kisses his forehead. A couple minutes later he returns with a basket of snacks. “Sorry I don't have a meal for you. I wanted to get back to you right away. I'll cook something later, but you should have something now.”

“I heard you talking to someone? Sherry?”

His memory really is fucked. He knows he asked about Sherry last night, but can't remember any of what Leon said. He's pretty sure there wasn't any bad news at least.

“Oh, no, I was on the phone. She's not home. I was supposed to pick her up today, but that didn't exactly pan out, so she's staying there another night.”

“Didn't pan out?”

“You. You've been asleep for like 16 fucking hours. I was worried sick. Kept coming back in to check your pulse to make sure you weren't dying on me. Didn't want to pick her up and get her worrying about you too.”

“Oh. So that's what you were doing before getting me food. Sorry for worrying you. I guess I just need to catch up on good sleep. Been a couple months since I slept feeling safe, and clean. I guess I showered last night? I don't remember much…”

“It's okay. I mean I knew it was just something like that, or I would have taken you to the ER or something, but you mean so much to me that I still felt worried,” Leon says. “God, you were annoying last night. I love you, but you were horrible. You wanted to shower before going to bed, but I told you no, because you'd taken a pill and were kinda out of it and I didn't want you falling and cracking your head open on my bathroom floor. But you argued with me and said you were too dirty to sleep in my bed, and then you started crying too, so I finally just gave up and compromised and let you take a bath. With me watching you, so you wouldn't drown. Of course after like 3 minutes you fell asleep in the tub and I had to dry you off and carry you to bed.”

“Shouldn't have asked. I was definitely better off not knowing I did that. But you were watching me in the bath? Did I at least say something inappropriate about it to you?”

“Surprisingly, no. You did when we were arguing though. A lot. You just kept listing various sex acts and saying you'd do them if I let you shower,” Leon chuckles, and then pecks Luis on the lips. He's trying to be careful because he knows touching Luis could hurt him, but all he wants to do is wrap him in the tightest hug. He really thought Luis was dead, and still struggles to wrap his head around Luis being alive and here. “But whatever, how do you feel? You need another pill?”

“I feel a lot better, actually,” He doesn't feel better. He actually feels worse. But he hates that the pill fogged his memory up so badly. He'd rather deal with physical pain than mess his mind up again. “Maybe if you have something over the counter, but I don't want to take anything strong again.”

“I know I said you were annoying, but it's really not a big deal. I'd rather have you be annoying than be in pain.”

“Seriously, Leon, I don't want it. Even before you told me about last night, I was planning on stopping it in the next couple days. I want to be in my right mind so we can start our life together right.”

Leon frowns for a second, then gets up and kisses the top of Luis's head, not minding how disgusting his hair is. “I'll see if I have anything over the counter. Eat something while I'm gone.”

Nothing is appetizing to Luis. But he knows he needs to eat, and he knows eating will make Leon happy, so he manages to choke down a couple packs of fruit snacks.

“Ibuprofen,” Leon says, handing Luis a glass of water and some pills. He smiles when he notices the empty wrappers. “Glad you're eating. Got a hot bath ready for you. Figured you'd want a real one, so you can actually get clean instead of falling asleep immediately.”

“I do want to get clean, but why a bath? It's basically sitting in your own filth.”

“It's not that bad. It's like doing the dishes.”

“What the hell does that even mean..?”

“You have really nasty dishes, then to get them clean you let them soak in hot water and soap. Then you just have to rinse ‘em off. But it's not just about the cleanliness. The hot water will be good for your pain.”

“You make compelling arguments. Bath it is.”

“You're not going to ask for me to watch?”

“I'm genuinely so excited about just getting all this grime off me that I don't feel like making a joke. But if you want to watch… I certainly won't object.”

Despite his protests, Leon insists on helping Luis walk to the bathroom, and he does stay in the room after helping him into the bath. Not even for an inappropriate reason, he's just missed Luis so much, to the point he hates the thought of leaving him alone, even if it's just in the next room.

“Leon? I need– uh, I need your help,” Luis hates asking for help, so he decides to finally add a joke to put himself a bit more at ease. “Not for anything perverted, so don't get too excited. Just– Can you wash my hair for me? Don't know if I can even bend like I'd need to.”

“Of course. Should be last though, when you're done,” Snapped out of his idle mind, Leon starts to pay more attention to Luis, and he's kicking himself for not doing so sooner. When he's just laying back and just soaking, the hot water is soothing and he looks content. But every square inch of Luis's body either has dirt, blood, or both, and needs scrubbed. And Luis winces almost every time he has to bend in a new way, to reach a new unwashed spot. That explains why he'd phrased his request like he couldn't be able to wash his own hair at all. He wouldn't ask for help if it would just hurt. Leon scoots to sit on his knees beside the tub, reaching a hand out to Luis's hand with the washcloth. “Don't like watching you hurt yourself. Let me?”

Luis does hesitate to hand the washcloth over. For over half of his short life, he's been fiercely independent. The day his grandfather died, he was alone in the world and it was trial by fire. He made it out of Valdelobos himself, armed with nothing but maps, a bit of food, and a guitar. Then when he made it to civilization, there was so much more he had to learn, and quickly. He learned where not to sleep. He learned where pity would buy him a full belly, and just how often he could exploit each bleeding heart before their generosity would be stretched too thin and they'd stop feeding him. He learned to listen to his gut instincts and avoid any situations that he had a bad feeling about.

Actually, cross out that last one. Eventually he wanted to do more than just beg, so he started playing guitar on street corners to scrounge up enough to keep him fed. There was a woman who stopped by everyday. She struck up a conversation, asking about his life, why he was on the streets, if he had any family, etc. Despite the nagging feeling in his gut that something was wrong, he spoke freely, bragging about everything he had done all by himself. And then she asked if he'd heard of Umbrella, if he'd be interested in taking some tests to see if he'd be a good fit for a special boarding school…

Even at the boarding school, he was alone. They were all kids, but Umbrella buttered them up with compliments about how mature they were. They were expected to act like adults and treated like they were, never being given any slack. There was no being taken care of, ever. If you got sick or hurt, you were expected to just grin and bear it and keep working, or else…

So needless to say, being taken care of is very foreign to Luis. Letting anyone take care of him is weird, and uncomfortable. But he does give in, and surrenders the washcloth to Leon and closes his eyes.

“All clean, from the neck down,” Leon eventually says. “You want me to wash your hair now, or soak longer?”

It's a tough call. Luis wants to, but isn't sure it's a good idea. Mostly because the water feels too good, and he had been so exhausted that even those 16 hours weren't enough. It makes him worry he'll doze off. Of course Leon would prevent him from drowning, but it would be embarrassing, and apparently he still has a tiny scrap of dignity left that he doesn't want to give up.

“Just do my hair.”

“Be right back.”

Leon comes back holding a pitcher. And without pants on.

“I didn't take my pants off for anything perverted, so don't get too excited,” Leon grins as he parrots Luis's words back to him. “Just relax and sit in a way that doesn't hurt. All I need you to do for me is tilt your head back so I can rinse without getting water in your eyes.”

Luis slides more towards the middle of the tub. Leon sits on the edge of it, one foot on the bathroom floor, the other in the tub. First he has to go through the tedious process of getting Luis's hair untangled. He doesn't get frustrated or annoyed by how long it's taking, he just keeps gently untangling knots with his fingers. Eventually he reaches for the faucet and turns it on just long enough to fill the pitcher.

“Wish I had a nicer bathroom, with a detachable shower head,” Leon mumbles, as he starts pouring the pitcher to wet Luis's hair, being careful to make sure all of it is saturated enough, and none is dripping down his forehead. Luis has no complaints. Something about the way Leon pours the water feels nice on his scalp. “Should have just gotten us a hotel really. Could’ve had a tub big enough for both of us, would have made it easier to wash you.”

“This is fine,” Luis says. “It's good. I don't think I would have been willing to swallow my pride and ask for help if there was a chance you would get into a tub full of dirt and my blood.”

“Guessing you want to shower for a couple minutes to rinse all the soap off, so I'll go get you a towel now while you do that?” Leon asks when he's done with Luis's hair. “Put one in the dryer when I got the cup, so it would be warm for you.”

“Wait, Leon, can you…” Luis trails off. Leon has already done so much. He was thoughtful enough to go out of his way just so Luis's towel would be warm. “Nevermind.”

“I'm not getting up until you tell me what you were going to ask me to do.”

“I was going to ask you to rinse me. Something about the way the water felt while you poured was relaxing. But that would take forever, I'll just shower.”

“I got all night,” Leon says, reaching for the cup again. “I really don't mind. Actually like getting to take care of you. You deserve it. Remember in Raccoon City, how you'd be demanding to look at me and thoroughly clean so much as a paper cut. Just let me return the favor. Please.”

Please really is a magic word. At least it is when Leon says it.

“Okay… And you can help more with my hair, after I'm rinsed. Blow dry it. I'd usually braid it or wake up with knots, but just pulling it up into a bun should be fine.”

“I can braid it for you!" The way Leon's whole face lights up with excitement over the fact he can help Luis… Yeah, he can get used to this, he can learn to let himself be taken care of, if it means Leon keeps giving him looks like that. “Sherry doesn't have a lot of good memories with her parents, but she did miss her mom doing her hair. I got Barry and one of his older daughters to start teaching me that kind of stuff. I'm not great at it yet, but I'll try.”

“Well, I'm perfect for you to practice. I don't care how it looks, just don't want knots.”

“You are perfect for me. In a lot of ways. Wait, did I ever tell you that I fucking hated you when I first saw you?"

“You definitely did not. I would never forget hearing something so heartbreaking!” Luis says over dramatically. He'd be dramatically clutching his chest if moving didn't hurt so much. “But seriously, what? You were the one looking at me first! I went to talk to you because you were giving me serious bedroom eyes. I didn't even hesitate to leave the woman I was talking to, because I thought I was going to get to have sex with you instead.”

“I mean, you did get to have sex with me. Eventually. But I wasn't even interested in you at first, I just wanted to know how you looked so stupid and still got a girl.”

“You're telling me you thought I looked stupid? Do you think I forgot about how I was doing my best to be patient for once in my life and not try to sleep with you right away, and then all of a sudden you forgot you were shy and asked me to suck your dick in the parking lot! You liked me!”

“Jesus Christ, Luis,” Leon says. “Just shut the hell up and let me finish the fucking story!”

“You're so mean to me, Leon. Telling me you thought I looked stupid, telling me to shut up, it's like you don't even love–” Luis cuts himself off with his own laughter. It's a laugh that hurts his ribs, but he's not sure he cares too much. Poor Leon just looks so baffled. “I'm sorry. I just wanted to kiss you, but I couldn't reach you without hurting myself. I knew you would kiss me if I sounded sad and said anything about you not loving me, but I just couldn't keep a straight face because you've been sitting here pouring–”

This time Leon cuts him off, with a kiss.

“There. If that was what you wanted, all you had to do was ask. You didn't need to go crazy like that,” Leon gives Luis one more kiss, on his forehead, before going back to rinsing. “You got what you wanted, so now you can shut up and let me finish rinsing you and telling you the story.”

“What I kept trying to get to is that I hated all that shit about you, until we were closer. You fucking broke me, I swear. I'd only ever been into girls, and then I got up close, and saw that your stupid tangled hair was actually just beautiful curls, and your stupid tight pants showed off your stupid hips.”

The phone rings before Leon is done rinsing. He murmurs an apology and says he'll be right back. Luis starts to come to an upsetting realization: He’s not as fine as he thought. The hot water was doing some heavy lifting. Now he's cold, and every piece of his body aches.

“Shit, Barry, bad time. Can you give me like half an hour, and I'll call back? Just let Sherry stay up 'til then.”

“Oh no, he's actually awake now! Sorry, didn't even realize how that would have sounded to you. Just bad timing because he needs some help with his hair. Got too caught up in the relief of him waking up to realize it was getting close to Sherry's bedtime, or I would have called already.”

Sherry. Luis wishes he didn't fucking hurt. He puts his arms up, to try to stand up again and shower, so that Leon wouldn't have to waste time rinsing Luis with a fucking pitcher. But he can't do it. Everything hurts.

“Thank you so much. Go ahead and tell Sherry he woke up, but don't say anything about him being ready to talk to her. I know he wants to, but obviously he's still not great, so I don't want her to be disappointed if he falls asleep or doesn't feel up for it tonight. I'll still talk to her, of course.”

Luis starts crying.

“Sorry, that was just–” Leon stops when he sees Luis's face. “Luis, what's wrong?”

“I… I heard what you were saying. I wanted to get up and shower myself so you could call Sherry sooner, but I'm worse than I thought I was. Tried to a couple times, couldn't get myself up.”

“It's okay. I'll do this faster, if you want to hurry?” Luis nods. Before Leon had gently poured, slowly and methodically making sure that water would reach everywhere it needed to, and feel good for Luis. Now he pours quickly, almost dumping it on him. Luis isn't upset at all, he wants to get to Sherry. The hairdryer cord is long enough that Leon blow dries it while Luis is still sitting in the tub, so that he can get Luis straight from the tub to the bed. Once his hair is mostly dry, Leon is reaching into the tub with the warm towel, scooping Luis up in it. “I got you, Luis. Always will.”

It's not at all difficult for Leon to lift Luis, which Leon has mixed feelings about. Leon wasn't even as strong as he had been in Raccoon City, having given up on all the police training. He had still been going to the gym, but wasn't as serious about it. Picking Luis up should be doable for him, but not easy. But Luis had lost enough weight while gone that Leon didn't need to be that strong to carry him. He sets him on the bed as gently as he can.

“I'll go get your medicine.”

“No, Leon, still don't want it. I want to talk to Sherry.”

“Luis, please,” Time for an experiment: Can Luis resist Leon saying please? “You told me yourself, you're worse than you thought. You're in pain, you need your medicine.”

“Compromise. Let me talk to Sherry first, read to her, then after I'll take the pill without arguing at all,” No, he cannot resist it. “I promise. I'll even let you take me to another doctor for a second opinion tomorrow…”

“… Okay. I'll be right back," Leon returns with the phone and a book he sets down on a night stand. He keeps the phone wedged between his face and shoulder, so he can talk to Barry while he puts a shirt on Luis and tucks him under the covers. “Hey, Sherry. Sorry I'm late, but I got a surprise for you.”

#luis serra #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #luis sera navarro #twink era serrennedy #serennedy #serrennedy #resident evil fanfiction #re2 leon #i hate doing tags

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gumnut-logic · 1 year

Note

I've got a cold. It's taken me down rip flyboy but anyway, which brother do you think would say 'bless you' every single time someone sneezes? Which brother does that kind of AGHCHOO that makes them sound like they're being murdered?

I've been on an Indiana Jones binge 'cause that's what I watch when I want warmth and death to embrace me. What do you think the boys would watch? Apollo 13? Indy? Finding Nemo?

T Protocol

Okay, I wrote and this happened. I don't think I answered all of it, but most of it. I hope you feel better soon ::hugs you ever so tight::

Warnings for sick!fic and an off-screen injury, but mostly fluff and comfort, I promise.

I hope this helps at least a little.

-o-o-o-

It’s a special protocol. Reserved for only the blanket situations.

In both uses of the word.

There are times when a bug gets loose on Tracy Island and takes them all down, or when the ratio of injured family members to uninjured family members gets skewed in the wrong direction.

This is the protocol that Grandma calls.

This time it is after a flood in Bangladesh. It wasn’t the first time a protocol was called after a flood in the remains of that country, but this time it was complicated by a broken leg and a sprained wrist, both sported by Scott who had flown into a tree.

Virgil had had so many words on the matter, there was a current ice age in progress between the two eldest brothers.

Once the virus reared its ugly not quite alive head in three of the four other brothers, Grandma did not hesitate more than a diagnostic second to shut down IR.

Scott, being Scott could not keep away from any of the snotty brothers despite Grandma’s warnings and before long there were five brothers producing mucus at a disgusting rate.

It was at this point a sneezing Virgil kicked Grandma out of the picture and confined everyone else on the Island to any other place other than where the brothers were. Which was currently the main comms room because Virgil was a softy who couldn’t resist Gordon’s whining.

Okay, technically it wasn’t whining, more a valid plea for time with each other to get through this together. It was possibly a tactic to get Scott and Virgil talking again, but it was definitely designed to torture Virgil’s aching head with b-grade movies that had Alan and Gordon arguing about aliens and sea life for eternity.

‘Can you just…please!” Virgil curled up into a ball on the couch he had stuffed with pillows and begged the painkillers that he had thrown back not minutes earlier to please do their job.

“Sorry, Virg.” Alan’s voice was an octave higher than usual and the words were closer to ‘sowwy, Birg’ but close enough.

Virgil grunted.

John sneezed.

“Bless you.” Three of them said it at the same time. Virgil out of habit, Gordon out of mysticism, and Alan because Gordon said it.

Their youngest brother did have some kind of hero worship for Gordon after all. Gordon never took advantage of it. Well, not since Dad and Scott had ripped him a new one for terrifying Alan enough to induce insomnia in the entire household.

Alan had been too terrified to sleep and had kept everyone awake in the process.

Virgil suspected that the ten-year-old Gordon hadn’t meant to provoke such a reaction in his four-year-old brother, but it had. So telling your little brother about the dreams you might not wake up from, had not been a great idea.

Despite this, little Allie had been wide-eyed about Gordon for most of his life. Not as much as he adored his biggest brother, but enough to get himself into Gordon’s schemes.

They weren’t called the ‘terrible two’ for nothing.

A groan from near Virgil’s feet had him opening one eye.

He shot his big brother a glare. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Scott frowned at him over his leg brace. “Getting a drink.”

“Move another inch and I’m stapling your clothes to that chair.”

That activated his brother’s blue lasers enough to scorch the Earth and Virgil’s t-shirt. “I’m fully capable of looking after myself.” It was followed by a sneeze.

Virgil rolled off the lounge to his feet. “Bless you. Now shut up and stay put. I will get us some supplies.” He steadied himself as his abrupt change in orientation was protested at by his brain.

“I brought stuff!” Gordon protested.

Virgil didn’t bother to look at him. “Real food and drink, Gordon.”

“This is real and super healthy!”

Virgil grunted and climbed out of the sunken lounge. Technically Gordon was correct. Sports drinks and celery bars were good stuff, but Virgil’s stomach roiled at the thought. He needed comfort food.

Or whatever he could manage right now.

Behind him, Scott sneezed again and a chorus of ‘bless you’ sung out from the lounge.

Virgil made his way carefully down to the kitchen and dove into the refrigerator.

The wave of cool air was pure heaven.

He sighed. His fever must still be in play. Explained the headache at least.

“Need a hand?”

Virgil looked up to find John standing at the counter. His brother was a sight. His red hair and pale complexion always conspired to make Johnny look the worst of them when they were sick. His eyes were red and puffy. His nose was in the Rudolph stakes, and honestly, the man looked miserable.

Virgil fought the urge to hug him.

John had been the one to pull Scott out of the river. Virgil and the rest of his brothers had been rescuing a family from a barely floating house. Scott had been in-bound and John had been in Two, as Virgil was needed on the ground.

Bangladesh always took all five brothers. Hell, Kayo had been the lucky one this time having been tied up with hunting down a lost climber in the Pyrenees.

She had been successful. Bangladesh had been mostly successful.

Virgil sneezed.

“Bless you.”

He grunted and rolled back onto his heels. “Screw this.” He shoved the refrigerator closed. “This needs ice cream.”

“God, yes.”

The two of them wobbled their way to the walk-in freezer and loaded up on frozen desserts. A carton each of their favourites and some soda for extra sugar.

“T Playlist?”

Virgil looked up at his little brother. “Definitely. Top Gun it.”

John rolled his tired eyes before thumbing his collar. “Eos?”

“John, you should not be standing up. Your vitals are depressed and you could fall over due to-“

His space brother’s eyes widened. “Eos! I’m fine.”

Virgil frowned at him and if he hadn’t had his arms full of ice cream, he’d have his scanner out.

John must have sensed that. “Really, I’m fine!” He glared at Virgil. “Eos, could you please queue the T protocol playlist on the holoplayer in the lounge. Start point ‘Top Gun’, follow it up with ‘Finding Nemo’ and Dory, ‘Need for speed’, and throw in one of the ‘Fast and Furious’.” He smirked at Virgil. “Top it up with the 1990’s Mummy series.”

So, sue him, he loved a good Librarian adventure.

Virgil glared at John and cut him off. “Eos, chuck in ‘Apollo 13’ and ‘2001: a Space Odyssey’. There would be so much space debate sparked by that last one. “Actually, throw in all the Star Wars movies.”

“Just the twenty or did you want the branching series as well?” Was that glee in her voice?

“Just the movies. Oh, and ‘The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy, extended version.”

“Are you intending on sleeping at some point?” Eos had obviously been taking notes from John, her tone was pure parent.

John’s smirk proved everything.

Virgil gave him a flat stare in return. “I have no doubt there will be sleep.” Especially his own. ‘Top Gun’ was far from his favourite.

Together they stumbled back up the stairs, arms laden with all the goodies, to find the sunken lounge full of rugs, pillows, cushions and all the comfy stuff. Gordon’s doing, no doubt.

His fish brother already had Allie half asleep under one arm.

Virgil and John stepped carefully into the pile of comfort and handed out their goodies as the first strains of the movie bounced around the room.

If Scott’s eyes lit up at the sight of his favourite ice cream, Virgil wasn’t going to say anything because he was still supposed to be pissed with his brother for colliding with that tree and scaring all Virgil’s hair colour off his head.

But honestly, he loved to see his big brother happy.

Which was why ‘Top Gun’ was queued first, why he handed Scott his fudge-monstrosity of a flavour to him, with his favourite spoon, and why he sat down next to his big brother regardless.

There followed a couple of hours of old Air Force zooming and nooming about, and strutting their stuff for the girls.

Scott’s grin was massive. But ice cream is full of carbohydrate and fat, and enough was consumed that about halfway through the movie, Scott began to wilt.

Virgil was already half asleep, but alert enough to let his head drop against Scott’s shoulder in just the right position…and yes, Scott’s head dipped to lean against Virgil’s and his breathing evened out.

Yes, he was pissed with his brother for taking a risk that possibly could have been avoided and then falling in the drink and giving Virgil a heart attack when he couldn’t respond.

But he was still Scott, and Virgil had fallen asleep to ‘Top Gun’ playing in the background so many times in his life, it was almost automatic.

Across the lounge, John was murmuring something to Alan, and Gordon was already snoring on his side.

Really, they rarely got past ‘Top Gun’, it was a definite sleep inducer.

Someone gently took the carton of melting ice cream from his hands, but his headache was finally going down under the painkillers and he was comfortable, and his big brother was safe, and Tom Cruise really was a bore.

He was sleeping before he knew it.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott‌ ‌tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #nuttyfic #flyboytracy's fault

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twodancingzombies · 2 years

Note

Hi I have a request, could you write how Otis Driftwood, Michael Myers, and Billy Loomis are when their s/o tries to take care of them when they're sick? I know you wrote how the guys would react to their s/o being sick, but this time it's the opposite way around! I just love fluff, it's so adorable! 💜

of course xx

Michael Myers

Have fun dealing with an even more miserable Michael, he's the type to completely ignore the illness, say he's fine and make it 10X worse then crash despite what you say and somehow he is strong enough to fight back and win any physical attempt of keeping him in bed

You'll have to do some serious begging for Michael to stay in the house, he's still incredibly miserable and refuses any help you give him but since he's weary and delusional with sickness you can sneak some painkillers into his food but there's still a 50/50 chance he'll notice

The only time you're able to treat him properly is when he's asleep, then if you're careful you can give him hot water bottles and check his temperature, you can try leaving water or orange juice on the side table but he may not drink it

Don't try to lock Michael in or tie him to the bed like he would to you if you were ill, he will escape and leave for days and make the whole thing worse, depending how mad he is, he might tie you down instead while he's gone

The only thing Michael will allow without much of a fight is you laying on his chest, he likes the weight of you on top of him and you keep him warm plus you can sneakily take his temperature so take advantage of it

Billy Loomis

Despite what anyone says, this man turns into a child when he's accepted that he's ill and he can get incredibly clingy and whiney on top of it all, you might as well take the week off school because no matter if you do or don't Billy wont let you leave him

Billy is a menace when it comes to taking medicine, he can't stand it and will make a huge fuss about taking it, beg and negotiate all you want, the only thing that will make him take it is if you manage to straddle his waist and force him to take it, cue the bad mood

Billy hates not getting kisses when he's sick and thus demands he have your attention, if you put on a horror movie marathon, he'll grab you to him to watch them together, play with his hair during this and he will fall asleep

You'll have to ban all ghostface activities until Billy is better and surprisingly you'll get more whining from Stu about this, Billy is actually pretty content to lay in bed with you all day having horror movie marathons and ordering junk food and takeout

Despite how Billy acts, he is genuinely grateful that you take care of him and he loves you so much for it being ill is just the main time Billy shows just how much he appreciates you, his 'bad boy' persona will come back a few days later

Otis Driftwood

Another one who argues over and over that he’s ‘not fucking sick’ and he doesn’t need your help until he’s collapsing and Mama is yelling for you to deal with her stubborn son

Otis doesn’t take medicine out of spite, he’ll go on long rants about how his mind is killing him only they’re a lot more delusion while tugging you around to look at him

Otis is ‘not clingy’ but when you leave the room he either demands he’s coming with you and puts up a fight if you try putting him back to bed or he yells ‘are ya gonna leave me alone in here to rot or what’ so much for ‘not clingy’

He gets a lot more compliant with you when he is sick though, it’s one of the only times you can haul him off to the shower without bribing him with sex and he doesn’t hide the fact he likes having his hair washed by you very much either

However Otis is very grouchy and snappy with everyone but he finds it funny how much you’re caring for him despite being least to deserve it, he appreciates it though you can tell

#michael myers headcanons #michael myers x reader #Michael Myers #billy loomis headcanons #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #otis driftwood headcanons #otis driftwood x reader #otis driftwood

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iamyourdailydoseofbi · 2 years

Note

The hobbit

Love interest- none

Age of the reader 21 turned 4

Prompt

Being pulled from are world to there’s was something of an adventure. Being in in the company was fun, but after being in there world without your birth control and not wanting to face the horrible sickness that comes with your period you ask Gandalf if there’s a spell he can cast.

Well the company now has a 4yer old human to take care of for 7 days with no memory of who they all are.

Gandalf, balin and Oin treat you like a granddaughter (Balin is a huge softie to you)

Fili, kili and ori play with you and call you a little princess, with ori also making you a big sweater

Dori acts like a mother hen like always

Dwalin is also a softie to you as well, play fighting you and you “wining”

Taking naps with Bifur and snacks with Bombur

Bofur and you make toys

Gloin takes every chance treats you like a daughter

Thorin and bilbo you have dubbed “your uncles” and you constantly say that there married but you also get “mad” at them for not inviting you to the wedding :)

When you turn back with no memories the company all have little drawings you made them, and are even more protective of you.

Bonus if you add kili fake marrying you because you say “ I can’t be a princess, I don’t have a prince :(“

NEVER TRUST A SPELL ( The Hobbit x Fem! Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! It makes me so happy to know that you requested my writing! So I think I'm going to turn this into a mini series, because I feel like there is so much and it would feel cramped to squish it all into one. <3

pairing: The Fellowship x Fem! Reader

prompt: Spell goes wrong and the Fellowship have to deal with the 'special' side effects.

word count: 300+ words

It was every fangirl's dream. Waking up one morning and seeing that you were in your favorite book. Being able to meet your favorite characters. Join them on their adventures. Potentially change the outcome of your least favorite moments.

But, waking up in your fandom that didn’t have birth control or really any treatment for your period was a little stressful. The pain was already unbearable. Add not having any painkillers on hand, it takes the excitement away from waking up in your favorite book.

“Why couldn’t I fall in with some tylenol?” I whimper, clutching my stomach.

Everything was cramping up. My stomach. My legs. My lower back. It hurt to even stand. Why I had stupidly thought that throwing away my brith contorl was a good idea, I don’t why? It was really really stupid of me. And now I was suffering because of past me.

“Gandalf, you're a wizard. Is there no cure for the pain?” I whine, holding my stomach.

“There is one..” His voice trails off at the end, “But it is not the best and there are many side effects.”

“I am in pain. I’ve run out of herbs. I will do anything.” I whine, giving him my best puppy eyes.

“But, the risks..” He argues.

“I can handle the consequences. I just need this pain to go away.” I beg, “Please just make it go away.”

⎯¤⚔️¤⎯

Opening my eyes, I blink a few times wondering where exactly I was, the fluttering of the wind keeping me awake. I didn’t remember falling asleep. I also didn’t know where I had fallen asleep. Rubbing my eyes with my hands, I let out a loud yawn, sleep calling me back. Maybe I should go back to bed? It was really soft and comfy. The growling of my stomach fills the air. Nevermind, I want food.

Standing up from the ground, I find that my clothes were really heavy, suspiciously heavy. Staring down at my shirt, it was practically swallowing me whole. Furrowing my brows together, I rub my eyes, praying that this was just a really bad dream. Opening my eyes, everything was the same, extremely baggy clothing.

“Um..guys?” I call out, my voice coming out much more squeaky.

Covering my hands with my mouth, I froze, that was me? Peeling my hand away from my mouth, I shake my head, either this was a really realistic dream or I was somehow a child again. But, that’s impossible.

Picking up the ends of my now large shirt, I freeze as I see the size of my hand. It was a lot smaller than before. Lifting up my shirt, my legs were now a hundred times shorter than before. Was I?

“Oh, shit.” I whisper, gulping.

#the hobbit x reader #the hobbit

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fangirlstorycreator · 1 year

Text

Terry X Reader

Context: Terry is sick and his girlfriend takes care of him 🥺

Your at home when you get a phone call from John. "Hello Y/N, are you busy right now?" "Hi John, nope I'm just doing some cleaning right now, what's up?" "Well I think Terry needs to go home, he's hear at the dojo and he really isn't well. He's pale and sweating, and he's thrown up twice already" you cant believe what your hearing! Terry, sick?! "Oh God! That's awful, I'll get in the car now and pick him up, thank you for telling me John, I'll see you in 10 minutes" you drive to the dojo, walk in a see Terry slumped over on a chair with John by his side. "Terry? Babe? I'm hear to take you home ok?" Terry raises his head to look at you, and John was right, he's as white as a ghost and when you put your hand to his forehead, he's running a temperature. "No sweetheart I cant go home, i have work that needs doing" you give him a stern look. "Terrance Silver you are coming home and that's final" he doesn't argue back, to be honest he looks to tired to argue, even if he wanted to. You help him up and take him to the car. You sit him in, and turn to face John before you go. "Thank you for telling me John, I'll take care of him" "no problem Y/N, I'll hold down the fort hear" you say your good buys and drive Terry back home. He even falls asleep on the way there. Once your home, you take him by the arm and gently lead him inside. However, he looks like he's going to be sick again, so you take him to the bathroom and get him to the toilet just in time. Once he's finished, he just sits on the bathroom floor, looking drained. "Oh.... what's wrong with me.... I hate this feeling baby" you sit on the floor with him and gently stroke his back. "I know you do Terry, the stomach flu gets to all of us eventually, even fit and healthy karate teachers like you" Terry really isn't used to feeling unwell, the flu is a horrible thing to get. And it seems to be getting to him a lot more, even a little tear runs down his cheek. "Aww Terry, come here" you give him a comforting hug, and he hugs you back, more tightly. "I tell you what. I'll run you a luke warm shower to help bring your temperature down, I will get you some pain killers for the aches and make you some plain toast, so you can have something in your belly" he manages to muster a smile "thank you sweetheart" you give him a kiss in the forehead. "No problem babe" you help him up and run him his shower. You leave him too it, setting a set of comfortable clothes out on the bed, grab some pain killers and start making some toast. When he's finished and changed you bring the painkillers, toast, a bucket (just in case) and a glass of water to the bedroom and set it on the table. "How was your shower Terry?" "It was good, I think its helped" you walk over to him, and check his foreheads temperature. "I think your right, that's good that your temperature is coming down" you take his hand and sit him on the bed with you. "Now, do you feel like having just a little something to eat? You dont have to if your not feeling it yet, but I do have a glass of water too. We need to keep you hydrated. Little sips remember" " thank you, I'll give the toast a try" he only manages about 1/2 a slice, but that's still progress. "That's really good babe, I know that eating isn't something anyone wants to do when their like this. But I'm proud of you" he looks at you and smiles "I love you Y/N" "and I love you too terry" you give him a sweet kiss on the forehead. "Y/N, could I ask a favour of you please?" "Of course Terry, anything" "could you hold me for a while?" This makes you feel so happy hearing him say that. You lie down on the bed and take him in your arms. Resting his head on your chest and he wraps his arms around you, snuggling up close. "Thank you for everything sweetheart, I dont know what I'd do with out you" " your welcome Terry, anything you need, I will always be there" you stroke his hair as you both slowly drift off to sleep.🥺

#thomas ian griffith #cobra kai #sensei targaryen #terry silver

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blessedshortcake · 2 years

Text

Rant about school

I am so fucking tired of teachers not giving a shit about students. I am tired of them treating us like shit and you may say I am dramatic but just this week my math teacher told the class twice that he does not care what we do in class because he is both getting paid and gonna retire anytime he wants to. That it does not matter to him if only 1 kid graduates or the whole class because his pay is the same. Our class average was a 2 (that's a D for you Americals out there) last year, most of us are barely passing.

I am tired of teachers treating their classes as the most important one out there. I AM IN CULINARY SCHOOL I DONT CARE ABOUT HISTORY. Yes its important to know but its not the MOST IMPORTANT out of my classes. Stop giving us 4 pages of homework for a class thats tomorrow. Stop telling us to put more time into your class when you know we have 8 other ones. I had 9 classes today I barely have the energy to exist right now let alone sit down and study for my classes coming up.

I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. Teachers tell us to come in while ill because they can handle it so we can too. "Just pop a painkiller". I want to cry. LITERALLY half of my class is sick right now because we can not stay home without being shamed for it or falling behind. Its our what? Second week? And I already had 2 tests. What the fuck.

Back in 5th grade I was told, no, yelled at by my classmaster that the death of my grandmother does not entitle me to fall behind with my classes. Back in 5th grade where I had just been told that my grandfather is also ill and that my father is also ill (stuff i wont detail). Back in a grade I can not remember because it was so fucking stressful and traumatic. I don't even know if it was actually 5th grade! Could have been 6th but hell that does not make it any better does it? I was what? 13 at the VERY most? How do you look a 13 year old in the face and fucking yell at them about that?

Its so frustrating to hear teachers talk about how there is a teacher shortage and its so hard for them to find people to educate us then turn around and spit in our faces that they dont give a shit. This country already has an outdated teaching system that makes getting an education harder than it should be. There are no help for kids with disabilities of ANY kind. I am just tired of having to fight every single day just to be treated a liiiiitle better than human garbage by adults who regret their life decisions and have no other outlet to take it out.

I have been burnt out for years and its bad again. I keep messing up basic shit about my life like my own grade. I am in class B not class C yet i argued to a teacher that i am in C. I keep forgetting things that people tell me minutes before I move somewhere. I physically cannot focus no matter how hard I try. I cant even talk about it to my teachers since they will just tell me I should rest then turn around to tell me I need to stop being lazy and push myself more. ALL my friends are either at home and sick or come to school while sick. (Hell I dont know how I am not sick yet with my immune system being weaker than a tomato.)

They don't care about us they care about their pay checks. I feel like crying.

#i will likely delete this later but i needed to get it out SOMEWHERE #rant #school #cake rants #illness tw #i dont fucking know

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 21 days

Text

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 24 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Julian Hart

"Julian, are you certain?" Halloran asks, leaning over me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you certain it was the Shadowlands you saw?"

I raise my head just enough to glare at him and immediately regret the effort as pain lances my eyes.

"No, I'm not certain," I groan, rubbing my temples.

"I only know it wasn't anywhere earth-like, and it didn't look like Faerie either... what I've seen of it, anyway."

"Can you describe it?"

With a sigh, I dredge up a few words to convey the impressions I'd received.

"It was... grey."

"Grey?" Halloran frowns.

"What was grey?"

"Everything."

I sigh again and lean into Dane, who sits at my side on the picnic bench.

"It was like a... perpetual twilight, beneath these huge trees. Some were as wide as buildings at the base and so tall I couldn't see the tops. They were endless... just a wall of grey in every direction. The ground was grey, too... choked with fallen logs and dead branches and big... rocks."

I gesture with my hands, trying to convey a sense of scale.

"Boulders?" Dane suggests.

"Yeah, boulders. It was really dark under the trees and I got the sense that there were... things... watching me."

A shudder convulses my body and Dane rubs his hand up and down my back.

Halloran nods.

"That sounds like the Shadowlands, all right. Anything else?"

I shake my head.

"Just that Stephanie had been there a while. She was... starving and terrified. But she was more afraid of him than anything else. She knew swimming through the tunnel was risky... he'd told her there was no way out... but she had to try. She'd rather die than stay there another minute, waiting for him to come back and..."

The memory of horror clouds my mind and I bolt to my feet as nausea chokes my throat and makes my salivary glands sting.

Staggering to the nearest clump of shrubs, I bend over and puke.

Dane catches me before I faceplant in my own vomit and holds me up as he murmurs soothing promises of the bottled water waiting for me in the car.

"Lords. Is it always this bad?" Halloran asks, standing back a bit with a look of mild disgust.

Dane answers for me while I continue to cough and retch.

"No. Only when the impressions he gets are especially unpleasant or intense."

"And you say the... er... 'fainting' is new?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting. I wonder if it's the Fae connection or..."

Ignoring him for the moment, Dane turns his attention to me.

"Can you walk?"

I nod and we set off through the trees towards the car.

My stomach is still unsettled and the taste of sickness lingers in my mouth.

At the car, Dane gets me settled and grabs my kit from the back seat.

It's just a small black bag packed with a blanket, bottled water, painkillers, dark glasses and a protein bar but it's been my standard psychic after-care package for years.

Dane hands me a bottle of water with the cap off and I rinse out my mouth before taking a few careful sips.

When I'm sure I can keep it down, I swallow the single aspirin Dane places in my palm.

As he slips the dark glasses over my eyes and drapes the blanket around my shoulders, I grumble half-heartedly.

"I took care of myself perfectly well before I met you, you know."

"Says who? I've heard the stories."

I shut my eyes and lean my head against the seat, too tired to argue for the moment.

A cool hand touches the side of my throat, too light and slender to be Dane's and Halloran's voice sounds distant and muffled in my ears.

"Don't go to sleep yet, Julian," he says and then speaks a string of words I don't understand.

Even so, I get a sense of meaning and a measure of alertness returns.

Opening my eyes, I find Halloran watching me with a line of worry pinched between his brows.

"That's better," he says, his expression easing.

"I think you're alright, now but it's important you tell me everything you can while the impressions are still fresh in your mind. Is there anything else you recall? Even a tiny detail might tell us something useful."

I frown but take a deep breath and cast my mind over the memories again... from the glimpse of the Shadowlands, to the plunge into cold water, to the moment Stephanie realized something was wrong and that she hadn't come out under the shops.

There'd been a sharp, awful pain as her eardrums burst from the pressure, followed by darkness, confusion and panic.

Finally, she'd oriented herself and shot for the surface but by then, it was too late.

She was out of breath and even as she saw the sparkle of light another few meters above, despair, a searing pain and a rush of cold water brought the darkness that ended everything.

I try to focus on what had happened in the moments before she made the final decision and took the plunge... on what she thought and felt and on any other impressions I had gleaned.

There's something there.. like a shadow I can see in the corner of my eye but which vanishes the moment I look directly at it.

After trying too hard makes my headache worse, I shut my eyes and sigh.

"I'm sorry. There's something but..."

"Never mind," Dane says with gentle gruffness.

"It'll be clearer once you've rested."

I nod with my palms pressed to my eyes.

It's true that I need some time to process impressions.

Maybe in a few hours, the scrambled images and emotions flooding my brain... someone else's final thoughts and feelings... would make more sense.

"Can we go home now?" I groan.

"Sure we can, sweetheart. Just as soon as I'm sure you're okay."

Halloran sighs.

"He's not in any real danger... never was. Let him sleep it off and he'll be fine. Meanwhile, let's make a bargain, Hunter. Call me if Julian remembers anything else and I'll let you know what we find here. Provided the chief doesn't send me packing back to Ireland, that is."

"That was a risky stunt you pulled," Dane says.

"Someone could've been hurt."

"But no one was," Halloran replies.

"That's the important thing."

Dane shakes his head.

"You got a lecture on expensive equipment and taxpayer dollars coming. Coleridge takes that shit seriously."

"As she should," Halloran agrees.

"But lives are worth more than money, in my book and I want to stop this monster before he takes another one."

Dane grunts.

"On that, at least, we agree."

The mention of a book reminds me why I was already tired before I even got close to the body and I tug on Dane's sleeve.

"Rhiannon," I murmur and nod at Halloran.

"Tell him."

He frowns at me, clearly unhappy but obeys and relates Rhiannon's midnight visitation and theft of the runic book.

Halloran listens with a curious and troubled expression and shakes his head when Dane asks if his sister is mute.

"Not the last time I spoke with her, no but that was many years ago. It may be the result of an injury or simple trauma. Who knows what might have happened to her in the Shadowlands? It's not the most pleasant place, you know."

As the shadow of what I'd seen flickers in the corners of my mind again, I shiver and have to agree.

It is not a pleasant place, at all.

Back at home, I brush my teeth, shower and crawl into bed, passing out the instant I shut my eyes.

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reidsaurora · 2 years

Text

"Dopamine" ~ S. Reid

GIF by teenwolf-theoriginals

Summary: Just some snippets of what the author thinks it would be like to take care of Spencer when he got shot in the leg (and didn't get any cookies)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Wife!BAU!Reader

Word Count: 2,152

Content Warning: based around Spencer's leg injury in S5, one scene takes place in a hospital, mentions of Spencer getting shot, sexual humor/references (sorta implied smut), mentions of alcohol and food, a light mention of painkillers, pretty sure that's it?

Genre: lotsa lovey-dovey Fluff... and a lil implied smut 😶

Extra Notes: AU where JJ became a profiler sooner than S7 lol // this started out with Y/N being Spencer's girlfriend but i changed it to wife since they probably wouldn't give Y/N FMLA time if they weren't married so if it says girlfriend anywhere, i apologize!

Based On: these headcanons by @radiant-reid

Takes Place: during Spencer's medical leave between 5x01 and 5x02

Originally Written: 04/18/2022

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

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"𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐲, 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬." - 𝐁𝐨𝐣𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐜

"Spencer!" Y/N shouted upon entering Spencer's hospital room. "What are you doing walking around?"

"I needed to use the bathroom," he answered, hobbling back toward the bed.

She placed her hands on her hips, knowing he was lying.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "OK, maybe I just wanted to stretch my legs."

Y/N sighed annoyedly. "Spence, you know you aren't supposed to be up on your leg without crutches."

"Well, maybe if that stupid doctor would stop taking all day to bring them in here," he grumbled under his breath.

"He's not stupid."

"He told me that 300 people in America get shot daily."

"And?"

"It's specifically 321," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, well, sorry, Mr. Statistics," she chuckled.

"It's not funny!" he argued. "If you're gonna give your patients statistics, at least make sure they're correct."

Y/N held in a laugh as she sat down on the bed beside him. "Well, statistics aside, as soon as they bring your crutches, you're free to go."

"Yes!" he rejoiced, "The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I get the best medicine in the whole world."

"Which would be?"

He leaned in, placing a delicate peck on Y/N's lips. "Cuddles. But not just any cuddles, your cuddles."

"Can't argue with that," she smiled back as she ruffled his hair, silently praying for the doctor to walk in right then.

☆☆☆

"Did you know cuddles actually play a big part in not only your mental health, but in your physical health as well?" Spencer asked, looking up at Y/N.

Though she'd already heard this spill multiple times before (generally when he was sick), Y/N happily obliged anyway. "How's that?" she replied, continuing to play with his somewhat tangled, curly hair.

"Well, the first and most well-known benefit is oxytocin, known as the -"

"'Cuddle hormone'," she finished his statement.

"Correct. It's actually been known to help in many healing processes, and in times of stress, it's been known to balance out cortisol levels," he gladly informed her. "Cuddling also releases serotonin, which affects anything from your mood to your gut to your circadian rhythm. Having a balanced circadian rhythm is an essential part of the healing process since your body needs extra rest when you're sick or when you're healing."

"Mhm," she hummed, leaving a small kiss on the top of his head.

"Next is dopamine, which affects pretty much everything across the board. Now, in this case, it's good to release dopamine since it plays a big role in pain processing. Dopamine is sometimes called the 'pleasure hormone' since it plays such a big part in our brain's reward system. Now, one of the most commonly known ways to produce dopamine is-"

"Through sex," she answered, knowing exactly where this was about to go.

"Bingo," he snickered, looking up at Y/N with raised eyebrows and a suggestive smirk.

"Nice try, lover boy," she kidded. "I liked your serotonin fact better. You could use some rest."

"That'll work one day," he told his wife, almost matter-of-factly.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Not when you're sick, it won't."

"Well, anyway," Spencer commented, changing back to the previous subject, "It's good to make sure your dopamine levels are balanced and not too high, seeing as high levels of dopamine have been suspected to cause schizophrenia."

Y/N noticed a small frown appear on his lips as the room went silent for a moment. Quickly, she pecked his temple before mentioning, "Don't you wanna tell me about that last happy hormone?"

Spencer nodded, the frown slowly shrinking away. "As you mentioned, there's one last happy hormone. This one is endorphins. Endorphins are actually the molecules in the body that function as painkillers. Endorphins are most well-known for being produced through exercise, like running. The phrase 'runner's high' actually comes from the fact that running releases so many endorphins in the body that it starts to feel euphoric," he explained. "Now, another way of exercising that releases endorphins is…" his voice trailed off as his eyebrows raised once more.

"Spencer Walter Reid, you just got shot in the leg less than twelve hours ago. You need rest," she rebutted.

"We don't have to…" he stopped himself, opting instead for a hand signal instead of saying the words.

Y/N face-palmed, rubbing the stress lines on her forehead. "Thanks, Spence, I really needed the visual."

"Well, we don't," he argued. "We could always…" The reason was unbeknownst to Y/N, but he once again chose to not say the words. Instead, he opted for holding up two fingers with a grin.

Laughing out of sheer embarrassment, she replied, "Not after those visuals, we can't."

"But-"

"Come on," she pouted, patting the bed beside her, "My circadian rhythm is off and it's all because you won't let me get some sleep."

"Fair point," he replied, finishing his statement with a yawn. Spencer moved from between Y/N's legs to his own side of the bed, careful not to hurt his leg.

"Good night, dopamine," she giggled, giving him a short kiss.

"Good night, oxytocin," he smiled back, leaving another, longer good-night kiss on her lips.

☆☆☆

"Oh, you guys should probably bring clothes for all types of weather," Y/N informed all the team members present on the conference call. "Alabama weather is crazy this time of year. Highs in the mid-80s, lows in the lower-60s. Rain or shine. The heat index has been known to get up to over 90 degrees this time of year."

"Will do, Y/N," she heard Emily reply on the other end. Though Y/N couldn't see it, Emily's eyebrows furrowed as she asked, "Was that water splashing?"

"Uh-"

"Hey, make sure you get my scalp," Spencer's voice could be heard faintly over the BAU's end of the phone.

Not even bothering to move the phone which was wedged in-between her ear and her shoulder, Y/N sarcastically commented, "Thanks, Spence, I can always count on you to keep a secret."

"What's so secretive about washing your significant other's hair?" he rebutted. "By the way, you forgot to tell them about the humidity."

Blinking her embarrassment away, she mentioned, "Oh, yeah, Spencer wanted me to tell you guys that the average humidity this time of year in that part of Alabama is 72 percent," she informed the team, internally chuckling at what she must look like right now.

"Remind me to bring a raincoat," Rossi joked.

"Wheels up, guys," Y/N heard Emily say as she also heard the sound of her straightening her papers. "Thanks, Y/N."

"Hey, pretty boy! Don't have too much fun or you might strain that leg even worse," Derek giggled.

"She won't let me," Spencer pouted jokingly.

"Why are we having this conversation?" Y/N asked sarcastically, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Besides, shouldn't you be getting ready for the flight?"

"Ah, yes, gonna get me some of that southern hospitality." Y/N was sure Derek had a stupid grin on his face.

"I'm hanging up."

"B-" was all he could get out before Y/N actually hung up on him.

Spencer looked up at Y/N with an almost suggestive smile.

"What?" she asked, confused by his expression.

"Will you do that thing after we dry it where you massage my scalp while you braid my hair?"

She giggled, knowing how much he loved that part of their new routine. "I'll humor you since it always makes your curls look pretty," she commented, leaving a small kiss on his damp head.

☆☆☆

"OK, so they were out of those granola bars you like, but-" Y/N stopped mid-sentence after turning around to face the rest of the apartment. She nearly dropped her keys at the sight of their apartment.

It was then that Spencer came around the corner, carrying himself on his crutches.

"Spencer, you know you're supposed to stay off that leg as much as possible."

"I did. I used my wheelchair," he smiled hesitantly.

Y/N once again stopped to take in the scene: their apartment lit by dimmed lights and candles, champagne and pasta on the kitchen table, old music playing softly on Spencer's most-prized vintage record player, and finally, Spencer, who was dressed in Y/N's favorite button-down and his favorite tie.

"What's the occasion?" she blurted out.

"Nothing. I just figured it had been a little while since we had a proper date night that wasn't Chinese take-out or a drive around the city," he answered.

Y/N marched over to him, giving him a delicate but long kiss. "Spencer Reid, I don't know how I did it, but I ended up with the best man in the whole wide world."

"Really? Where is he?" he joked, pretending to look around the apartment.

She rolled her eyes as she bit the inside of her mouth. "If I wasn't afraid of somehow accidentally hurting you, I'd slap you right across the butt."

He pouted. "Come on, don't tease me like that!"

She giggled before changing the subject. "So, what's on the menu?"

"What I could salvage of the breadsticks because I got a little carried away, and chicken alfredo."

"You're gonna lie and say you made it when it's really that stuff I had in the freezer, aren't you?" she kidded, her hands on her hips.

He looked to the floor, hiding the red tinge that had just appeared on his cheeks.

"And somehow, you're the profiler," she laughed.

"JJ always said liaising required just as many profiling skills as being an actual profiler," he pointed out.

"Just means I'm good at my job," Y/N grinned, kissing him once more. "I'm starved."

"Me too."

And with that, the two walked off toward the kitchen, ready for a delicious dinner and a much-needed date night.

☆☆☆

As Y/N exited the bathroom, she found herself looking over to the bed. Sprawled out in a starfish position was Spencer, who appeared to be already asleep.

Y/N silently laughed to herself as she finished pat-drying her hair, tossing the towel back in the bathroom before finally climbing into what was left of the bed. "Spence," she whispered.

"Mmm?" he mumbled, looking somewhat in her direction.

She giggled quietly before asking, "Can you scoot over?"

He obliged, scooting over as quickly as he could without hurting his leg. "Thank you," he mumbled, still in his half-asleep state.

"What for?" Y/N chuckled.

Spencer rolled over to face her, a smirk plastered on his face and his eyes still shut. "For finally giving in," he grinned.

"Well, I figured I might as well. Think of it as a reward for your medical leave ending tomorrow, which by the way, I'm really sad about because I didn't ever want this month to end," she told him, placing a kiss on his lips. As she changed the subject, her eyebrows creased. "Hey, how come you're the tired one? I was the one that did all the hard work."

"Hey, my fingers got tired after a while," he answered, earning him a slap on the chest from Y/N.

"On second thought, maybe I'm ready for you to go back to work," she kidded.

Spencer reached up, leaving a lazy kiss on Y/N's jaw. "Good night, my love."

Y/N sighed contently, leaving a soft kiss on Spencer's head. "Good night, beautiful boy."

☆☆☆

"Welcome back, pretty boy," Derek smiled as Y/N and Spencer walked into the round table room. "And pretty girl."

Y/N smiled as she placed her things down. "It feels great to be back," she laughed, "You know, I never thought I'd get tired of our apartment until I looked at it for a month straight."

"How's your leg?" Derek nodded toward Spencer.

"I'm OK. Definitely wouldn't be as good as I am if I hadn't had this beautiful woman taking care of me," he said, kissing the top of Y/N's head before sitting down.

As Y/N moved Spencer's crutches, she turned to Derek to jokingly ask, "So, how was that southern hospitality?"

Derek smirked with a chuckle. "Got plenty of it, that's for sure." He looked over to Spencer with raised eyebrows, as if he were implying something.

"What?" Spencer inquired.

"You get any of that southern hospitality while you were gone, pretty Ricky?"

Y/N hid her face in her hands, afraid of where Spencer and Derek were going to take this conversation.

"Well, unlike Garcia, Y/N did bake me plenty of cookies and she took really good care of me so I'd say yes, I received plenty of hospitality while I was away," Spencer explained.

"Uh-huh," Derek replied, still smirking.

"However, I believe the answer to the question you're looking for is…" Spencer hesitated, just to annoy Y/N, "No, no southern hospitality. Though, I did get very acquainted with dopamine."

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞?" - 𝐒𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐡 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚

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As always, small lil shoutout to @bfunsolvedboys for beta-reading and giving me all her input 🤗❤️

Also, I give full credit to Cate for this idea! This is based fully around her headcanons and I take no credit for that. This is just my fun lil twist on things but the credit goes fully to Cate!

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