#x autistic reader

"Obviously, Rafey, what if I forget later?"

He rolled his eyes and groaned before reluctantly nodding, flopping dramatically back onto the bed. "Shiiit," he rubbed a hand over his face, "you know I can't fuckin' ever say no to you, princess."

"Thank you, you're the best!" You pecked his lips before sitting back up, wriggling excitedly on top of him, making his cock twitch inside of you. "So earlier I saw this…" Your words faded into white noise in his ears as he stared up at you, his eyes roaming freely over your body as you spoke. God, he loved you, but did you really have to do this now?

He let you ramble on for a few minutes, a rare tender smile on his face as he watched you talk, so animated and happy he didn't want to stop you. His hands were stroking up and down your thighs, a gentle and soothing touch that comforted you and let you know that he was paying attention.

However, each little shift of your hips, each excited wriggle, brought him back to the present and reminded him of the situation, reminded him of his need. Fuck it. He sat back up and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw before he spoke. "You done, baby?"

"Not yet I— o-oh Rafe—"

"Yeah, sounds like you're done t'me." He'd started to fuck up into you while you were talking, his cock rubbing your G-spot just right which caused your mind to go momentarily blank with pleasure, your train of thought completely erased. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him as your pussy clenched around him "Good girl, she's grippin' me so hard, sweetheart."

Rafe leaned his head down, capturing one of your nipples between his lips while he kept up his brutal pace inside you, the lewd sounds coming from between your legs making your skin heat up in embarrassment — you were just so wet. A breathy whimper escaped your lips as he flicked his tongue over your hardened peak, the way his teeth lightly grazed it sending a shudder through your body.

He could tell you were getting close, your pretty moans becoming breathier, your hips grinding against his, your back arching, pushing your breasts closer to his face. "You close, sweet girl? Want you to come f'me, cream on my cock, baby."

"R-Rafey, fuck—" your hand suddenly smacked down on his shoulder, your movements on top of him stopping. He pulled off of your nipple with a wet pop, a flash of annoyance crossing his face when he looked up at you. "I remembered this other thing I wanted to say, you know, the thing I was trying to tell you about earlier that I forgot?"

"Fuckin' Christ," he muttered under his breath. He let you talk for a minute, pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply as he counted to ten before he looked up at you. He cupped your face between his hands, his touch gentle, his thumbs sweeping across your cheekbones. "Sweetheart, baby, princess, the love of my life, I fuckin' adore you, but can you please tell me later?"

You stopped talking immediately, your body deflating, your hands dropping off of him to your lap where they started to fidget nervously. Your gaze left his, your eyes flicking down as you sniffled, quiet but still loud enough that he heard. "O-okay, I'll tell you later. 'M sorry I didn't mean to upset you."

Seeing you so sad made his heart break a little — he never wanted to hurt you, he was just a little frustrated at getting interrupted so much. But he never wanted you to be upset, especially not because of him, and he really would do anything to make you happy. So he brushed a stray strand of your hair back from your face, nudging his forehead against yours to get you to look at him, your teary eyes meeting his.

"Fuck that, princess, I wanna hear."

"No, Rafey, it doesn't matter, I'll just tell you later—""

"Nah, sweet girl, I wasn't asking." He rolled you over in one fluid motion, making sure you were comfortable settled onto the mattress before he kissed you, pressing his body against yours. He started to roll his hips against yours at a languid pace, slowly building the heat back up between you. "New rule, you stop talking and I stop moving, yeah? I wanna hear that pretty voice."

You giggled and he smirked at you, gently wiping the tears from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs. "You're so silly!" you said through a laugh, smacking his bicep lightly before wrapping your arms around his neck, one of your hands moving up to scrape gentle nails against his scalp.

"Yeah but 'm your silly, sweetheart, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Taglist: @eugenesallerton @mousebitesmel @vittoriaxcx

Lmk if you want to be added or removed <3

burn out is something you’ve dealt with multiple times in your life, it was something you just couldn’t avoid living in a world that was so far from accommodating for your disability. but this time it was different, cause it was the first one you’ve had since getting with Dex. life had become too much, everything running you down until you crumbled under the pressure, and now, you were in bed all day, your mind and body too overwhelmed with it all. and Dex was beyond concerned, it was one big meltdown, and after that, you were different, almost empty. you cried, you were constantly tired, sleeping all day, couldn’t get yourself to the bath, to change your clothes, it was all too much. but Dex was patient, he had to be, or else you could shut down even more. he stayed by your side through it all.

he’d help you to the bath, helping you wash your hair and body since you were just exhausted to even think of it yourself, he was careful, making sure not to set off any sensory issues, all the while being thorough so it’d last longer. giving you breaks whenever you’d get overwhelmed, quietly praising you “you’re doing so good sweetheart”, and comforting you when you’d suddenly feel uncomfortable, “i know, we’re almost done, i promise” he’d wipe your quiet tears, rinsing your hair, getting all the shampoo out so you wouldn’t feel the sting as it dried. drying off your hair and brushing it for you, making you feel nice and clean without the usual exhaustion that’d burn into you if had done it yourself.

the burnout had made everything way more difficult, your sensory issues going haywire, becoming even more sensitive to sound, light, smell, and touch. so much so, that the simple feeling of anyone brushing against your skin hurt, that was something Dex found the most difficult in this time, him simply touching you could hurt you. he couldn’t help but get insecure about it, the way you’d recoil at his small casual touches, and he knew you didn’t mean to hurt him with your reaction, having tears in your eyes, your face filled with confusion and discomfort, but he couldn’t keep that part of him deep inside from thinking that you hated him, that you despised having him around. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean—“ choking on his words, eyes burning with tears as he watched you try and fix your pain, shaking your head wanting him to know that it wasn’t his fault; but being too overwhelmed to speak. hugging him tightly once you’ve calmed down, “sorry” being the only thing you could mutter as you took his hands, placing them around you in a way that didn’t hurt, Dex understanding immediately and did as instructed, thankful that you were able to show him how he could touch you without being harmful.

on the good days, you’d try and help out around the apartment as much as you could, hanging out the laundry, sweeping the floors, the simple things at first, but when you tried something that took a little more effort and thought, you just couldn’t. then you realized that your ability to do things (that you could’ve easily do before) had regressed, you felt like such a failure, and the self loathing came down on you like a load of bricks, “so stupid— i hate it, hateithateithateit” your fists pounded against your head as you cried in frustration. hyperventilating as you started to see spots in your vision, you felt Dex hastily wrapped his arms around you, restraining your arms. the vague sound of his voice moved through your ears like a fog, raw cries ripped from your throat, your mind drowning in a delirious disgust of yourself, “so fucking useless—!” your voice broke, strained and painful as you just cried into the air. he pressed his face into your back, you could feel the vibration of his voice against your ribs but all you could hear was your own desperate gasps for air. he held you as you crumbled into the floor, and just sat with you, his forehead resting on your shoulder blade, quietly whispering unheard comfort to you, letting you just cry it out until you just became a whimpering mess with your face buried in your knees. quietly sniffling as you felt his thumb gently caressing your knuckles, your ears sore from the pressure in your head, “shh shh sh… you’re not useless, you’re perfect..” he whispered into your aching heart, leaning into his touch, letting out a small whimper as you turned into him, burying your face into his neck, “there you are honey..”

seeing your state, the way you felt so empty from exhaustion, losing your sense of self to the searing tension in your nervous system, it was horrible. Dex couldn’t bear it, it tore at him every second, it was as if there was an invisible force torturing you for months on end while he just had to stand there and watch. he’d do anything, anything, to end this pain. so if you needed him to hold you and take care of you, that’d be nothing, being more than happy to do that and more if it made your day even a little better. gladly being your caretaker, he just wanted you to feel happy and secure again.

even your speech was different, and you knew it. suddenly getting brain fog and just completely forgetting words you’ve previously known in that moment, often getting frustrated with yourself as your words just come out scrambled, put together completely wrong from what you had in mind, and of course, the feeling of your tongue being all wrong, your manner of speaking becoming clearly off, feeling as if you had become tongue tied over nothing. it was so exhausting, so much so that you didn’t even want to speak anymore, just to avoid that humiliation your tongue gave you every time you opened your mouth. Dex seeing and hearing your frustration, he’d keep coaxing you to speak, not wanting you to completely shut down, “i understand baby, i know it’s hard” murmuring into your hair as you laid on his chest covering your face, embarrassed. looking for any excuse to get you talking, his eyes fixated on one of your books, remembering how much you’d ramble on about it in the past. he kisses your head, catching your attention, “could you tell me about it?” he’d ask softly, brushing his finger over the cover, you moved your hands off your face and saw what he was talking about and almost instantly, your heart spiked in excitement, nodding your head before slowly stuttering into your vocal essay, still stopping here and there when you’d mess up your words, but the pure joy forcing you to continue on as he listened intently.

your days blending together as you end up doing the same few things everyday so you wouldn’t get overwhelmed with any sudden changes. Dex would make you dinner and breakfast every day, the same food every day, though he’d always ask if you wanted something else just in case, but the answer always remained the same. while he was gone at work, you’d spend most of your time in bed, on your phone, or in the living room watching movies and tv, the same thing every day like a routine. it was comfortable, but brain numbing, which was exactly what you wanted for a while, until you didn’t. waking up one night feeling restless, Dex being woken from the feeling of you getting up from bed, padding over to the dresser putting on one of his hoodies then walking out of the bedroom, “honey— whatareyoudoing..” he grunted, eyes squinting as he sat up. then he heard you put on your shoes and he shot up, fully awake. “baby where..” he walked up behind you, watching as you struggled to tie your shoelaces in your pjs, “what are you doing?” he asked carefully, “want out” your sleepy murmur being barely audible, Dex sighed softly, getting down in front of you, taking your hands, kissing them before tying your shoes for you, “it’ll be cold out” he reminded you, making you hum, “how about we put on some warmer clothes and i’ll go with you, ‘kay?” you nodded your head to his suggestion, getting on a warm sweater under his hoodie and then your jacket as he got dressed too, going on a late walk in the cool spring night, Dex smiling to himself as you had finally gone out for the first time in weeks.

the quiet moments after Dex came home from work was when the two of you were the most at peace, enjoying each other’s company without needing to fill the air with words. sitting cuddled up on the sofa, the tv on low volume, or just relaxing in bed, as he laid beside you, eyes fixed on you as you sat there, watching you rock your body back and forth with your headphones on, your face completely peaceful. he loved seeing you like this, mind resting, calm.

slowly feeling like yourself again, the constant tension in your body dissipating with time, feeling relieved that it didn’t last as long as you knew it could’ve, remembering that your previous burnout had lasted years. but with Dex and the constant support he’s given you; helped you get ‘out’ of your burnout faster than you’ve ever before, being able to live normally again after only half a year or so, now holding back on your masking a lot more, only doing it if you have to, living unmasked and free, being able to deal with your struggles with a lot more ease.

being so grateful for Dex, him having dealt with it every day, not making you feel bad for your condition, not once. even as you screamed, cried your lungs out, and hurt yourself. or the opposite, when you just shut completely down, shutting him out. he stayed, waiting by your side no matter what. he wasn’t someone who’d just abandon you when things got tough, he sticked through, which is a lot more than a lot of others would have done.

Every tone shift.

Every sigh.

Every pause that lasted a second too long.

Sometimes Alysa forgot how observant you really were.

Especially during skating season.

Because after returning to competitive skating, Alysa's life became chaotic again quickly.

Training.

Travel.

Media.

Recovery.

Sponsors.

Then Stars on Ice rehearsals layered on top of everything else.

Some days she came home physically exhausted.

And while she still loved you endlessly-

She occasionally got things wrong.

Like forgetting to warn you before changing plans suddenly.

Or accidentally overwhelming you after long practices because she talked too loudly without realizing it.

And every time she messed up, Alysa apologized immediately.

But lately she'd started looking tired afterward.

Not annoyed.

Not angry.

Just tired.

Unfortunately-

Your brain interpreted exhaustion differently.

Because your entire life, people eventually got tired of accommodating you.

Teachers.

Friends.

Family.

Especially your family.

The second they found out you liked girls, things got worse somehow.

And eventually the distance between you and them became permanent.

So now every tiny shift in Alysa terrified you.

Because deep down, part of you constantly waited for people to realize loving you was too difficult.

And lately?

You thought Alysa was realizing it too.

The worst part was that Alysa genuinely didn't notice what was happening.

Because in her mind, she was simply overwhelmed balancing everything.

Not falling out of love.

Never that.

But one bad week turned into another.

Then another.

And suddenly every interaction felt heavier.

One night after practice, Alysa accidentally snapped while trying to help you through sensory overload after the grocery store became too overwhelming.

Not cruelly.

Not aggressively.

Just exhausted.

"Baby, I'm trying, okay?"

The second the words left her mouth, Alysa regretted them instantly.

Because your face fell immediately.

Like something inside you cracked quietly.

"I know," you whispered softly.

Alysa immediately moved closer.

"No no, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay."

But it clearly wasn't.

And somehow that hurt worse.

Afterward Alysa apologized repeatedly.

You told her it was fine.

But your brain wouldn't let it go.

Because now every exhausted sigh sounded loaded.

Every tired expression looked painful.

And you noticed all of it.

Too much of it.

You always noticed too much.

Eventually the thought settled painfully into your chest:

I'm becoming too much for her.

So one evening while Alysa was still at practice, you packed a small suitcase quietly.

Not much.

A few clothes.

Your headphones.

Your favorite oversized sweater.

You stared at the apartment afterward feeling numb.

Alysa's skate guards sat near the doorway.

One of her hoodies still draped over the couch.

Your favorite mug beside the sink.

You cried while leaving.

Not loudly.

Just silently.

Because despite what your brain kept telling you-

You loved her more than anything.

You just thought leaving might make her life easier.

Unfortunately, you had nowhere to go.

Your family barely spoke to you anymore.

Most old friendships disappeared years ago.

So eventually your feet carried you somewhere familiar instead.

The flower patch.

Hidden deep in a quiet section of the park hardly anyone visited.

You discovered it months ago during a bad sensory day.

Wildflowers everywhere.

Soft wind.

No loud people.

No overwhelming noise.

Just quiet enough to feel safe instead of lonely.

So now you sat there curled beneath a tree with your suitcase beside you while night slowly settled around the park.

Meanwhile across town, Alysa finally got home around 10 PM completely exhausted from practice.

The second she opened the apartment door-

Something felt wrong.

It was too quiet.

Painfully quiet.

Even when you slept, you always kept something playing softly in the background.

Music.

Rain sounds.

A TV show.

Anything.

But tonight?

Nothing.

Alysa's stomach dropped instantly.

"Baby?"

No answer.

She checked the bedroom first.

Then the bathroom.

Then finally noticed the half-empty closet.

And the missing suitcase.

Panic hit immediately.

Not anxiety.

Not concern.

Panic.

"No no no no-"

Alysa grabbed her phone instantly.

Multiple calls.

Straight to voicemail.

Texts after texts after texts.

Where are you?

please answer

baby im serious please answer me

im sorry if i upset you

please just tell me youre okay

Nothing.

Alysa felt physically sick.

Because suddenly every exhausted moment replayed inside her head all at once.

Every sigh.

Every missed cue.

Every time she looked too tired.

"Oh my god," she whispered shakily.

Then immediately grabbed her keys again.

She ignored how badly her body hurt from practice.

Ignored exhaustion completely.

And drove everywhere she could think of.

Your favorite coffee shop.

The bookstore.

The quiet convenience store you liked.

Nothing.

By the time Alysa pulled into the park parking lot nearly an hour later, desperation clawed painfully at her chest.

Please be here.

Please.

Then finally-

She saw you.

Curled quietly near the flower patch beneath dim moonlight.

Safe.

Relief hit Alysa so hard she almost cried immediately.

You looked up hearing footsteps approach.

The second you saw Alysa, guilt flooded your face instantly.

"Alysa-"

Before you could say anything else, Alysa dropped to her knees beside you and pulled you into her arms so fast it almost startled you.

"Oh my god," she whispered shakily into your shoulder. "Don't ever scare me like that again."

And that was when you realized-

She'd been crying.

You pulled back slightly in surprise.

"Alysa..."

"I thought something happened to you."

Her voice cracked badly on the last word.

You stared at her silently.

Then quietly-

"I thought you were getting tired of me."

Alysa froze instantly.

"What?"

Your hands twisted nervously in your lap.

"You always look exhausted trying to help me lately," you admitted softly. "And I know I'm difficult sometimes and-"

"Hey," Alysa interrupted immediately.

Firm.

Gentle.

"Don't do that."

You looked down instead.

"But it's true."

"No," Alysa said quickly. "I'm tired because skating is exhausting sometimes. Not because of you."

You blinked uncertainly.

Alysa moved closer carefully.

"Baby, I need you to listen to me okay?"

Slowly, you nodded.

"I'm still learning," Alysa admitted honestly. "And yeah sometimes I mess things up. Sometimes I get overwhelmed balancing everything."

Her eyes softened painfully.

"But none of that means I don't want you."

Your throat tightened immediately.

"I just thought..." you whispered shakily. "Eventually you'd realize loving me is too hard."

Alysa looked heartbroken hearing that.

Then gently, she grabbed your hands.

"You are not a burden to me."

Tears filled your eyes instantly.

"You don't have to leave every time you think you're making my life harder," Alysa whispered softly. "You're my favorite part of my life."

That sentence shattered something painful inside your chest.

Because she sounded so sincere.

So certain.

Alysa leaned her forehead against yours gently.

"I need you to tell me when your brain starts lying to you like this," she whispered.

You laughed weakly through tears.

"My brain lies a lot."

"Okay," Alysa said softly. "Then we'll fight it together."

Together.

Not alone.

Not abandoned.

Together.

The wind moved softly through the flower patch around you while Alysa held your hands carefully like something precious.

And for the first time in weeks-

Dr. Frank Langdon has two secrets, although the first secret certainly has sub-sections. 

Secret one. 

He wasn’t on medical leave or at some administrative level following him being extremely rude to Santos, like the others suspect. He was in rehab. And now he gets pulled to the side not to get consults but for random urine testing. And he’s stopped going out for drinks, not because he’s more aware of his liver but because it happens to fall on his N.A. meetings.

Secret two. 

He’s been divorced for a while now. Long before his issue with drugs had come to light and he was sent to rehab. It’s been, officially, three months, but it’s been a year and three months. Pittsburgh has a mandatory one-year separation law, and he spent that year trying to win his wife back. But… it clearly didn’t work. He sees his kids every other weekend, the judge said he should consider himself lucky. Between his hectic hours and the recorded drug abuse, he was going to lose his rights altogether. 

But he’s clean now. He’s been clean since the day after PittFest. Each of his random tests comes back negative. He doesn’t even take Tylenol or ibuprofen anymore. 

Okay, he lied a bit back there. 

It’s not two secrets, it’s three. 

Secret three. 

He’s bisexual. And he has a crush on his fellow resident— although that resident has finished his final year while Frank was in rehab and is now in a flexible fellowship. Two days in the OR followed by two days in the Pitt. That is totally not the point. 

“Hey, Don,” You call, slapping his shoulder on your way to the locker room. He flinches, his jaw tightening at the sudden contact before he relaxes. It’s just you. Just the man he had been thinking about. “Missed me?”

“Like I miss high school,” He gives a sarcastic smile, and you huff a laugh, pushing into the locker room. His eyes shift to the floor, there are two patients so far— one is waiting to have their tox screens, and another is being treated for a 30/70 burn. Neither of which he wants to handle. “McKay, any new patients?” Langdon asks, holding onto the counter and stretching, his head down to ease the tension in his body. 

“Not yet,” She shakes her head, pulling her lips into her mouth. She grabs the clipboard and flips through it. “About to call in Emily Cotton, bitten by her chihuahua. Want that?” Something good, that’s all he wants. 

“No, give it to Mohan.” 

“Alright.” 

“I think Dr. Langdon has it,” Robby steps into his line of view, arms crossed. He doesn’t look at Langdon, his eyes only on McKay. “Don’t you, Langdon?” 

“Yes,” He grits, ever so slightly shaking his head. “Yup, send her to me. I’ll be in 5,” McKay looks between the two of them but nods, sending Mateo to call Ms. Cotton into the ED. You’re leaving the locker room as Langdon walks by, rubbing the back of his neck with both hands, and his ears are a little red. 

“You alright?” You whisper, changing directions and following him into the room. 

“I’m fine,” He lies, lips pressed into a thin line. “Can you turn the light all the way on?” Someone had dimmed them earlier, something about a patient seeing white spots in their vision. Not exactly great for inspecting small dog-inflicted wounds. 

“Yup,” Stepping back, you flick the lights on and look Langdon over. He's upset, he usually is when Robby assigns him a case. They are always cases that Robby hates, boring— mundane cases that come and go a million times a day in the ED. “Anything else?”

“Uh, no.” He shakes his head as he turns to you. “Unless you want to take over?” Crossing your arms, you rock back and forth before shaking your head. 

“My favorite resident could use the experience,” You tease. 

“Excuse me?” He laughs, standing up from the small rolling stool. He crosses the room over to you, and you raise your eyebrows. “We were residents together.”

“That’s how the cookie crumbles,” You drag out. “God, that was corny.” Pinching your nose, you close your eyes and try to take back the past five seconds. 

“It was,” He agrees through a small laugh. “Your age is showing, Chip.” He whispers, trying desperately not to let his eyes wander. To not falter and give in to the urge to be closer to you. Closer than normal for a pair of colleagues— friends. 

“We’re the same age,” The door opens, and the professionalism slips onto the two of you. 

“Emily Cotton?” Langdon asks, and she nods, looking back at Whitaker, who’d walked to the room. “Have a seat, please. I’m Doctor Langdon, and I’ll be your doctor today.” Nodding, you leave the room without a word, softly closing the door behind you. 

“Anything for me?” You ask Dana, ever thankful that she hadn’t actually quit. She did take a needed vacation, though. It cleared her head and allowed her the space to reflect on the job. 

“We just got a call; a teenage girl accidentally shot herself in the stomach. They’re about two minutes out.” She relays, and you have to stop yourself from showing if you are excited or annoyed. 

“Alright, I’ll need Dr. King, Collins, Perlah, and Silva.”

“Wait, no!” Langdon calls, his head peering out of the room. “King is mine.” His eyes dart between you and his favorite resident. 

“Too bad, Don,” You call. “Take your twin, Santos.” Santos looks up from her current patient, someone who’s about to leave. Meanwhile, Langdon drops his head, his free fist balling for a second. He reaches out to you, but you ignore him. 

“Ha-ha, gimmie King,” With two fingers, he motions for Mel to head to him. She looks between the two of you, and you give her an apologetic look. 

“Don, Donnie, Ding-dong— you can go one hour without Mel. Scrub in, Dr. King. You can go back to Dr. Langdon after this surgery.” Pointing to the operating room, she gives four strong nods and rushes past with her head down. 

“You’re cruel,” He says before you can walk by. “Santos,” He whispers, looking at her over your shoulder. She quickly looks away before they can make eye contact. 

“You guys are the same person, just she’s younger and a woman.” You whisper back, your head close to his ear. “And it’s for like five minutes. You got this,” 

If Langdon is allowed to be honest, he didn’t hear a single word you’d said. He just blindly nods, watching as you pull away from him to help get the room prepped. He takes one last look out, watching as the girl is wheeled into the ED before he resigns himself to his task.

“Dr. Santos, come on!” 

— 

For reasons you will not divulge to anyone other than people you do not work with, Santos is your unofficial mentee. Robby has Mohan and Whitaker, Langdon has Mel, McKay has Javadi, and so on. It’s just how things had naturally clicked into place after the first couple of days of them working at PTMC. 

There’s usually some teachable moment with the manatees to their mentors. Whitaker allows Robby to relax, Mel shows Langdon his way isn’t always the right way- that he can be wrong, and Santos helps you in other ways. 

“He did mention you,” She spills as soon as the two of you enter a room. You’re waiting on a patient, not using an empty room to gossip. That would be ridiculous and unprofessional. “Three times.”

“Was it good?” You squint. “Was it about me taking Mel?”

“Once,” She nods. “The first time. The second time he said you should've called him into the OR, and the third time he asked me about my opinion of you.”

“And what did you say?” You squint harder, leaning back on the wall. She shrugs, putting her hands into her pockets. 

“You’re cool, you buy me lunch sometimes— I didn’t mention that you use me to get information on him when you’re gone.” The door opens, and Princess hands you the new patient's chart. The conversation is effectively over as you introduce yourself and Santos to the patient with…

“And how did you put a tube of Christmas ornaments up your rectum?” You ask, and Santos makes a face behind his back. The man grumbles as he tries to find a comfortable position, refusing to take a seat. 

“I fell on it,” He answers quite stiffly. “My wife wanted me to take them down, and when I was climbing down the attic ladder, I slipped.” Raising your eyebrow, he looks away and down at the bedsheet. It’s going to be one of those, then. 

“Alright, Mr. Franco. I’m going to ask you to take your bottoms off and then put your feet into the holders while we step out. Okay? The blanket is for your privacy.” He grunts a nod and you close the curtain as Santos wastes no time walking out of the room. 

“How did he look when he mentioned me?” You whisper, your back pressed to the door, while she has to mentally prepare herself for her first object removal. 

“He looked how he normally does, I guess,” She shrugs. “Do we need a local anesthetic?”

“Maybe,” Scratching your forehead, you think about what you’re going to need. You’ve done enough removals during your time as a doctor that you’re basically a pro at this. She lists the items and goes to retrieve them while you work on finding Langdon for a quick moment. 

“Wanna switch?” You ask, holding him by the crook of his elbow. He looks at you, eyebrows raised. “I take your child with a broken ankle, and you take my rectum removal.” The offer is horrible, you know that and, more importantly, he knows that. 

“You’re funny,” He laughs. “Good luck, Chip.” He pats your shoulder and enters his room. Groaning, you go back to your room and knock on the door. 

—

You need him. You need him carnally. You need him biblically. You need him in ways that are sacrilegious. You need to jump Frank Langdon’s bones. 

Splashing your face with water, you try to compose yourself. You just finished up another emergency surgery— a woman fell from her fifth-story window, her femur was completely out of the skin, her elbow was twisted in gnarly ways, the works. It was the usual crew in the operating room, plus you and Langdon. 

It was technically his; he had called dibs on surgery while you were finishing up with the ornaments guy, and he asked you to join. He just had this look on this stupid face, and you couldn’t say no. Not that you ever could to him. 

But— and HIPAA forgive you— but the way he looked, stitching that woman back up was… something. You won’t say what, in fear of coming off as too crass. But it was life-changing. Pants were changed and not just because they got blood on them. 

“You okay?” The man of the hour asks, pushing into the bathroom. 

“Yeah,” You breathe out, having drowned yourself for a little there. “Totally, ‘m fine.” He’s not totally convinced, every doctor in the Pitt knows that when there’s water splashed on a face, something is definitely not fine. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking you up and down. He licks his lips, just a little so that his tongue pokes out from between them as his eyes trail up your body. 

“Just a little in my head,” His eyes land on your face by the time you look at him. 

“King has these grounding exercises,” He starts and you smile, looking down at the wet sink. 

“I know, we go over them together sometimes.” He stops, making an oh face. 

“So, you and Dr. King are…close?” He asks, rocking back and forth on his feet. “You talk often?” Shaking your head as you grab some tissue, you press your back against the marble countertop. 

“We talk in passing, usually when we need a break. We both decompress on the same staircase, funnily enough.” There’s a small laugh in your tone and Langdon nods. 

“Yeah, she-she mentioned you that a couple of times.” Before you could respond, there were two sharp bangs on the door. Robby. 

“Langdon, your patient is coding. (L/n) your patient's parents are here.” He huffs and leaves in a hurry while you make the short walk to room 13 longer than it needed to be. The parents are completely disagreeing with the treatment of their daughter. The mother is for the treatment, while the father thinks the vaccines and medications are going to lead to autism or gayness in the future. 

“Fucking Qanon’s man,” You grumble before plastering a pleasant look on your face as you enter the room. 

—

“Oh, I get it,” Abbott whispers as he, Dana, and Robby lean against the workstations. They have a clear view of two of the on-call rooms. One with Langdon and King, and the other with you and Santos. 

“Get what?” Robby looks up, his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He follows Abbott's line of view and rolls his eyes. “Oh, those four. Yeah,”

“Surprised it took you this long,” Dana snickers, flipping through some paperwork. “Like father, like daughter,” She looks up, catching how you and Mel both make the same head motion as the patient says something undoubtedly stupid. And then, at the same time, Langdon and Santos look away to give an exasperated look. 

“It’s freaky,” Abbott leans forward, his chin on his fist. “Do they know?”

“Not a damn clue,” Robby responds. They watch for a little while, and there’s one breakthrough with each of your patients. You and Langdon nod and leave the room. You and Mel walk out first, fixing your glasses out of stress rather than necessity, and then Langdon and Santos walk out, both of them slapping the top of the doorframe. 

“Freaky as fuck,” Abbott has to hold back a laugh. “Oh my god, like father, like daughter.” He agrees. 

“I’m telling ya,” Robby shakes his head, waving at the four of you as you walk by. “They didn’t even do it on purpose.” He adds in a hushed tone. 

“It’s like they don’t know it’s legal yet,” Mohan comments as she walks up behind the group. They turn to her, and she holds her hands up before walking away. 

Langdon parks himself at a separate workstation, watching as you do the same with Santos across the floor. 

“They’re doing this on purpose,” Abbott shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

“Switch to the morning shift,” Robby offers. “You’ll see,” 

“It’s entertaining,” Dana agrees before she smirks. “Want in on the betting pool?”

“There’s a betting pool?” His eyes seem to sparkle with glee and mischief at the idea. 

“I already lost,” Robby leans back in his seat, running his hands down his face. “I gave them six months. It’s been two and a half years.” 

“I predicted a drunk confession,” Dana frowns. That can’t happen anymore, considering Langdon can’t touch any drug or alcohol until he’s off his probation. 

“I think King is going to tell (Y/n) or Santos is going to slip up and tell Langdon.”

“That’s already a bet, believe it or not,” Abbott claps his hands together as if that was proving his point. 

“Alright, guys, I’m off! See you!” You call, and their head snaps to the locker room entrance. As you’re walking out, you’re relief is right behind you, ready to start their shift. 

“Right, night shift time,” Langdon mutters, pushing off from the workstation. “Wait for me?” He’s not begging— he doesn’t beg, but he is gently asking as another relief enters the ED. 

“Sure,” You nod, messing with the straps of your bag. He thanks you and rushes to gather his stuff as Abbott quietly sighs. There goes his entertainment for the night. He wonders if he could get access to the parking lot cameras. 

“Okay,” You inhale the cold air as the two of you head towards the employee parking lot. “Don’t laugh—“

“I won’t,” He promises without hesitation.

“One of my patients made a joke that I didn’t understand. It was something like; Doctors always have band-aids. They’re wonderful.” He’s heard that one a handful of times and shakes his head, glancing up at the sky. 

“Wound-erfurl,” He corrects with a small smile while you squint. 

“Oh,” You groan as it clicks. “Wound. Fuck, I should’ve gotten that.” For a moment, just a singular moment, Langdon watches as you hide your smile behind your hand. You look almost annoyed with yourself, but you’re mostly embarrassed that you hadn’t gotten the joke. And had this been anyone else (save Mel, Robby, Abbott, Dana, or Gloria) he would’ve made fun of them in some way. 

“It’s a hard one,” He agrees through a simple shrug. 

—

“What do you see in him?” Santos asks as she hangs onto her stethoscope, watching as Langdon gets blood sprayed on his face. Rogue vein, apparently. 

“He’s pretty,” You grin. She scoffs and looks away, turning towards the TV, hoping there would be a case soon enough. There are a million people waiting, so why doesn’t she have a patient already?

“You’re not supposed to be down here,” Robby notes as he walks past you. He’s checking someone’s chart and he hasn’t looked up once, how he knew you were there is beyond yourself. 

“I’m on my lunch break,” You reply, holding up the empty apple juice carton as proof. Although he’s still not looking at you and you’re not looking at him. You’re watching as Langdon leaves the on-call room, his face has a clear expression of disgust on it. 

“I’ll get some new scrubs,” The offer makes his shoulders relax, and he looks at you, his expression softening. 

“Thank you,” While he heads to the bathroom, you head to the scrub exchange before remembering. Exchange. Walking into the bathroom, Langdon looks up from the sink, bloody water dripping from his face. 

“I need your old scrubs first,” You tell him and he grunts, he’d also forgotten that small detail. 

“Fuck, right, yeah.” He nods and scrubs his hands before grabbing the collar of his scrubs. He pulls it off in one motion, the grey short-sleeved shirt rising a little with the motion. Against your better judgment and perhaps morals, your eyes can’t help but wander to the exposed skin. Feeling like a Victorian child because you’ve never seen Langdon showing that much skin. 

‘That’ being below the naval, but above the V line. Barely three inches of skin and it’s like your brain shuts off. He neatly folds the blood-stained shirt and then looks at you, his thumbs under his waistbands. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks, to which you shake your head. 

“We’re doctors,” You mutter as he lowers his pants. “I’ve seen worse than a man in his boxers.” You continue. 

“Worse!” He shouts a laugh. “I-I like to think I look good in them, thank you very much.” He kicks the scrubs off and you look at him through the mirror. He’s looking at you already and you remember he’d been talking. 

“You do,” You reach to take the folded scrubs. “Your wife sure is lucky.” Cringing, you head out of the bathroom and to the scrub exchange. You know his employee ID and he knows yours, the two of you have worked nearly every patient together and run to get the others scrubs over a hundred times before. 

“You look strange,” Santos squints as you type in his PIN. Huffing, you shake your head before looking at her. 

“I don’t want to even think about it, Santos. Do you have any patients waiting?” 

“Uh, yes. Room nine. Twenty-one-year-old man with signs of testicular t. He also has mild asthma, and the caregiver is adamant that the man is faking.” Blinking, you nod and start your way back to the bathroom. 

“Alright, good luck with that one.. Start working on him, get McKay if you need an extra pair of eyes while you wait.” She nods and heads to the on-call room. 

“I’m back!” You call, pushing the bathroom door open with your shoulder. 

“I’m divorced.” Langdon says as soon as you do. You blink, handing him the fresh pair of scrubs. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” God, you have horrible timing today. 

“Don’t be,” He shakes his head before scratching his eyebrow. “I didn’t mean to blurt that out and thanks, for the scrubs.” 

“Anytime. Do you need anything else?” Checking your watch you have five minutes left on your break. 

“No, nope. I’m good.” You start to turn around when he calls your name. Pausing, you look at him and he presses his closed fist to his mouth. “Do you have plans after this?” He strains out and you smile, shaking your head. 

“I’m free unless I get called into an emergency surgery. I'm not reading this wrong, right?” You trail off, looking between his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m asking you on a date,” He nods and you promptly nod back. 

“Dr. Langdon, your patient is requesting an enema!” Whitaker says as he peers into the bathroom. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Void and queasy. That's exactly how you felt. The bar gathering was nice and all, but it was getting far too loud for your liking. It started off just dandy too! You weren't speaking much, but at least you weren't dissociating.

You weren't sure when exactly it started. All you knew was out of nowhere you began to feel uncomfortable. It was too loud. Your eyes began to drift away from the Z-team and everything began to feel like just like the bass boom when you're in a club. Soon, you were only staring at the amber liquid in your glass as if in a trance. Not a single thought in your mind. It was like your brain couldnt conjure a single thought in your mother language, or you couldn't hear your own mind over all the noise. The feeling of being out of your body, vunerable, overstimulated and suffocated all at once grew and you couldn't tell if your heart was racing or stuck in place, nor could you tell if anyone was looking at your or noticed your distress. However, Robert did. He had noticed something was off from the moment your face fell into a blank expression and your eyes appeared to be off in other realm. Snapping out of it was not something you even managed whenever he set his hand on your shoulder and began speaking. Wait, what did he say? "Hey, (name), you there, buddy?" You heard him, but you weren't able to respond nor process. "Let me guess.. Bar's too loud?" When you didnt respond, he shifted to lean against the counter and kept talking in an even tone. "Yeah.." He answered for you with a sigh, "I get it. Me too.. You wanna step out for a second?" He asked. When your eyes stayed fixated on the glass still- he added, "might help you." While your eyes didn't exactly meet up, your body knew what you needed and stood up out the seat for you. "There we go.. Don't worry, I gotcha." Robert encouraged softly. The Z-team were too busy messing off anyways, so he just gave them a look over his shoulder before leading you out the doors and sitting you down outside. "Here just breathe for me, okay? Need you to come back, alright?" He instructed gently, taking a seat by you. "I mean.. We can just sit in silence, I don't mind." He added, not wanting you to feel rushed. You felt something simular to guilt for him sitting out here with you instead of enjoying his time inside, but you couldn't quite communicate it out yet. "It gets to a point with those guys anyways.." He mumbled and took a sip of his drink. It took you a hot minute in all honesty. You began to realize your surroundings and the feeling of your ears being clogged faded away (yet nothing actually being stuck in your ears) as well as the buzzing in your head and the simmering unidentified emotions under your skin that were making you want to rip your human flesh off and curl into a ball. "Thank you." You managed out quietly. "Mm? Uh.. Yeah.. No problem." He murmured. "I take it you're back?" He added calmly. You nodded in response and let silence fill the air again. "Oh. Actually.. I think I have something for you." He said upon sudden thought. You didnt turn your head, but your eyes shifted gaze to his side. Robert fished something out of his pocket- a little make shift bicycle fidget toy made with a few cogs and scraps. He gave the cogs a few spin around to show how it worked before handing it over to you. "I usually use it during shifts, but I think you could use it right now." You glanced at his cheek for a few moments before carefully playing with the toy in silence. "This is pretty cool.. How'd you make it?" You inquired in a soft tone. "Uh.. That? I mean.. Just some scraps from working with Royd.. And.. Spare spinny parts from my suit... Its.. Pretty easy to make, I think you should keep it." "No, it's okay." You replied. "No.. Keep it.. Its not a big deal.. They're easy for me to make, It takes me not even an hour." You nodded and fixated back on the toy in your hand. He knew you weren't in much of a mood to talk, so he didn't bother trying to push you to talk while you came out of that distant mindset. You gave him a slight half smile in which he returned and said, "Cmon.. Let me take you home, you've had a long night." Robert stood up shortly after and waited for you to do the same. You took a few seconds before standing up with him. "Okay.."

"Thanks for helping me.." You said and it really did mean a lot to you. Espically in a time where it was still rare for people to show autistic individuals kindness like he did, but he just made a "pshh" sound in a light hearted manner. "Cmonnn.. Raise your standards... Its.. Really.. The bare minimum."

"Im just doing what anyone should do for a friend... You don't gotta ask me to be nice to you.. Im just gonna do it... Now cmon.. I'm not gonna let you go home alone like this.. " Surely the Z-team could handle themselves while he took you home anyways.

I NEED TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO END ONESHOTS

It was a light summer evening, one where the worst of the heat had finally passed and the breeze was picking up to dry the sweat. A few of the neighbours were out in the Rueben's backyard, the smell of barbecue and grass and a sprinkler filled the lazy air, not a trouble to be had.

Take it Easy by The Eagles was playing when Joel sauntered across the street, bringing over a plater of frozen watermelon to the gathering. He wasn't much of a chef, but hopefully his efforts would be appreciated.

You were playing with some of the younger kids, helping them fill up water balloons from the leaky spout off the side of the house. Joel had to smile. They loved you — of course they would — and you were so good with them. He watches you tie up an orange balloon and toss it to the Cooper's girl. She catches it carefully and then turns, launching it full force at her brother who shrieks when water bursts across his back.

"Joel!" Mrs. Reuben greets him, her southern drawl as thick as honey. "You made it on out!"

"That I did, ma'am. Brought somethin' with. Where should I set it?"

"Oh, the kids will just be thrilled!" She clasps her hands. "There's a free spot at the end of the table there." She points to the spread of food and sides contributed by the neighbours to the shared dinner. "Grab a plate while you're at it. Rob's got ribs and burgers on the grill. Go on, eat your fill!"

Hayley Rueben had to be one of the most cheerful people that Joel had ever met. She had a charm that could rival an angel, always helping out the church and organizing bake sales for this and that. She had a penchant for feeding people and clearly she thought he was incapable of providing for himself since she was always sending her kids across the street to deliver left-overs. Her food always tasted incredible, but sometimes he felt a little insulted by her well meaning.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Reuben. Will do." He tips his head with a polite smile and carries over his addition to the potluck. Like promised, he gets himself a respectable portion of food and settles at a table on the well kept patio. Home built plant boxes lush with herbs perfumes the air and someone's pop was left forgotten on the ledge, pink sugary liquid drooling into the wood and having attracted a wasp to hover nearby.

It's not long before your dad is parking himself next to Joel. He nods, always keeping it civil and holding his tongue. No need to start anything, as much as he wanted to. It would only come back on you.

"I envy you, Miller." Your father settles into the plastic lawn chair next to him with a long suffering sigh.

"Why's that?" He returns, not particularly interested in his reasons.

"Your kid's off at collage like they should be at that age. Not skipping around the garden like she's twelve." He scoffs, gesturing to where you're still facilitating the waterballoon fight and no doubt preventing any real bloodshed from occurring. Joel tends to avoid conversations with your dad for this very reason: there's always something to complain about, and oftentimes it's you.

"She's keeping everyone in line." Joel defends after swallowing a mouthful of potato salad. "Not an easy task, child mindin'."

"You're telling me." He guffaws. "Must be a blessing to have Sarah out of your hair now. Grown up and gone."

"Not really." His response is clipped, a roll of hurt curbing his appetite. "House gets real empty without her."

"Like I said," your dad completely steamrolls the point, "I envy you."

"Then feel free to send her over to me next time you need a little quiet." Joel snaps, tossing down his plastic fork. "Instead of hollerin' till your lungs give out and disturbin' the whole damn street."

He stands abruptly, thighs knocking into the table. No way was he gonna sit here and listen to this. You were a good kid, plain and simple. Always had been and yet your dad refused to see it. He splutters, watching Joel leave as if the outburst was completely unfathomable to him. If he stuck around any longer there'd be a scene he'd regret causing, so he decided to head over to you, instead.

The fight was over now. The neighbours children were crawling through the yard to collect the bits of colourful rubber left in the wet grass when the balloons popped, but you were nowhere to be seen. Somehow, in the span of time it had taken him to restrain himself from throttling your father, you'd vanished.

He finds you around the side of the house, sat with your knees up and your head down. For a moment he stands there without you noticing, watching to see if you're alright. He worries you might have caught your dad's unkind words, but thankfully it doesnt seem like you're crying; just taking a moment to yourself.

"Hey." He calls softly, announcing himself before nudging your foot with his boot.

"Hm?" You lift your head. "Oh, hey."

"I was lookin' for you."

"You found me." You say, sounding pretty tired.

Joel lowers himself down beside you with a grunt, knees protesting slightly.

"Whatcha' hidin' for?"

You shrug.

"Too many people?" He asks softly. "Y'done?"

He gets a nod this time. It wasn't uncommon for your social battery to drain before everyone else's. Especially if you didn't know the company that well or if you weren't comfortable with the crowd. Besides, some of the kids on this street were little terrors to keep in line. Joel could empathise with that.

"Let me walk you home." He bumps your shoulder with his own. "You had a big day, c'mon."

You move out of his touch not because it wasn't welcome, but because you were already overwhelmed. Extra sensory imput was not what you needed right now.

"Don't you want to stay?" You check, concerned.

"No honey, I'm good to go." He assures you. He was definitely not interested in hearing anymore illspeak towards you. Tonight or ever. "I'll go say goodbye for us. You just wait here and I'll come back to get you. Sound good?"

You nod, head thunking back against the side of the house.

"'Kay. Sit tight now." He braces himself on the siding and pulls himself upright.

After excusing himself from the barbecue he returns to your side, trying to decide if he's meant to be a gentleman and offer you a hand, or let you get up on your own since touch wasn't what you wanted right now. In the end his mother's teachings instilled into him won out, and he offers his hand just in case.

"Ready?"

You take it, squeezing tight as you stand. Your fingers linger in his as if you're reluctant to let go, but he's happy to let you hold him as long as you need to.

The walk down to your place was short and silent, neither of you feeling the need to fill the quiet. The conversations and children's laughter fade as you stand at your doorstep, glancing up at Joel and then away again.

"You go lay down." He tells you, eyes fixed on your face even though yours aren't up to meeting his right now. "Don't go worryin' about anything else for a while but getting some peace and quiet. Can you do that?"

"Mhmm."

"Need anything before I go?"

Your eyebrows scrunch and you look up quizzically. 'Like what?' you're saying without a word.

"Like... if you need me to– to get you water or something." He rubs at the back of his neck. "Hell, I don't know. Anything."

A soft smile blooms at that and you look back to your feet, shaking your head. You'd manage.

"Right. So you're all set then?"

You nod, biting your lip. It's painfully endearing how he looks out for you so thoroughly in the ways that you need. Even when you were younger, he just seemed to understand in a way that your own parents did not. You used to envy Sarah for her relationship with her dad, but she was happy to share him with you. Contenment quickly replaced the jealousy you once felt, and now, all you can feel is grateful.

The words to express your appreciation stick in your throat and your tongue is glued to the roof of your mouth. Talking wasn't an option at the moment, so you do the next best thing to show him how thankful you are.

Before he can react, you steady yourself with his bicep and lean up to kiss his cheek. His beard is scratchy and rough and part of you wants to spend hours just rubbing your cheek on him like a cat. He might think that was weird, though, so you step back on your heels, dropping your hand from the firmness of his arm.

Joel's hands raise as if to keep you close but drop back to his sides without actually touching you, his fists clenched. He swallows hard, nods once and clenches his jaw. He wasn't uncomfortable. Just flustered.

"Take care, kiddo." He says, rougher than he usually was. He takes another step down off your porch before turning and pointing a finger to your door. "Go lay down."

The silence that fills Steve's room as you waited for him to finish his shower was a comfortable contrast to the chatter that had filled the basement of your friend's house earlier that night. You'd stayed longer than usual, caught up in the moment, which definetly came around to bite you now, your social battery as good as dead as you flopped onto Steve's bed, your dayclothes long gone and lost to the floor, replaced by clothes from Steve's closet.

You lost time of how long you laid there, mind snapping back to reality only at the sound of Steve entering the room, hair damp, stray droplets dripping onto the towel around his neck. "You look like a corpse." He notes, tossing his towel onto you. "I feel like a corpse." You mutter, ignoring the towel that chose your face as its resting place, he perks his eyebrow up at that.

He lifts the towel off your face, "Tired?" He questions as he tosses the towel into a corner. You let out a noise of aknowledgement. "Gotta get your makeup off before you knock yourself out" he beckons, trying (and failing) to get you into a sitting position.

You feel the weight of the bed change as he gets up, yet not bothering to open your eyes as you hear him opening and close drawers. Only when the bed sinks down at his return, do you open them, in his hand he holds cotton pads and makeup remover.

He dunks a cotton pad, placing the bottle on his nightstand before starting to remove your makeup, a comforting silence falling between you two.

"You're like an anti-mortuary cosmetologist." You state as he works. Steve furrows his brows, "what?" "You know." "I don't know." he says, raising his eyebrow. "Mortuary cosmetologists put makeup on corpses." He was clearly not impressed with the level of elaboration, "yes?" "They put makeup on corpses and you sneak into the grave after the funeral to remove the makeup." You pressed out, speeding up as the sentenced progressed and your eyes trailed elsewhere.

«So I dug you out of a grave?» Steve stopped his movements, causing you to lock your vision back onto Steve, letting out a small hum, denying Steve the satisfaction of any more elaboration as he continued his work in removing your makeup. «You have such a way with words.» he muses before the two of you fall back into the familiar silence and letting the events of the day come to a close