#x disabled reader

Max Verstappen

Pays for the highest level medical care for you

Whatever helps your pain the most, braces, medications, straight up weed, you've got it in abundance

He'll always give you massages, or run hot baths for you whenever you need

When you start to get fatigued, and lean on things more than not, he's instantly at your side

He's more than willing to spend a whole day in bed with you if you just don't feel like getting out of bed

Advocates more for disabled people, beyond paralysis, looking into the Chronic pain that racing can cause like the back pain Fernando and Lewis have ended up with

Lewis

Funds a lot of research into your condition and similar other conditions

Speaks out about it a ton

Pays any fees necessary (I mean if mental health is included ig?)

Finds acceptable fashion, things that don't snag on your mobility aids or clash with your braces

Helps you do pt exercises

Considers training Roscoe to be a service animal for you

Decides on getting you a pretrained breed of your choice instead

Fernando Alonso

Makes sure his drivers room always has everything that helps you

Let's use use his body to support your joints

Will massage your joints as long as you agree to massage his back later

Or not, hes not too pressed

He likes buying fun gadgets that are supposed to help

He hates seeing you in pain, so he figures that whatever money can buy you will have

Valtteri Bottas

Encourages you to bike for pt, or to just to move

Finds/designs braces that fit your esthetic so you never feel uncomfortable wearing them

Always brings you to the sauna when yall are in Finland so that your joints don't get too cold

Is also perfectly ok vacationing wherever is best for you

Spain? Sounds good

America? Sure

Japan? Wonderful!

He's also very adaptable day to day, if you need to cancel because of pain he'll never complain

Taglist (Comment or DM to be added)

'God~' Joe thinks. 'The codependency, you NEED me. Who else would take care of you? Drive you to your hundreds of doctors' appointments, pick up your meds, and carry you as much as you need AND know your medical history like the back of their hand. Who? Who else would be as generous as me? I mean... I was even kind enough to give you a job at Mooney's. Gave you a damn apartment. Be honest with yourself, sweetheart. I don't mean to sound like an asshole but come on, someone like you wouldn't be able to do all this on their own.'

Ow!

Joe's daze on you breaks when your wheelchair knocks into a shelf. "...I'm okay!" You inform for about the dozenth time today. You have asked Joe to rearrange the store to be more wheelchair friendly. "Of course, what a wonderful idea!" He always replies with a warm-hearted smile. However, he only seemed to move things at the front of the store. Trying to get to the back in your wheelchair was always a challenge, leading to you needing his assistance.

Joe pops his head around the corner to see you trying to get to the back of the store. "Need help?" A familiar melody always followed by your defended sigh. "Could you get my cane?" Joe nods and heads to the little break room to retrieve your cane.

"Hey, you go, sweetheart." You thank him while taking it. The cane's rubber bottom hits the floor and shakes as you lean on it to stand. God, it was painful. Not always immediately, but you knew the pain would inevitably come. It always did. Some times with in 5 minutes, sometimes ten, and on bad days immediately. Recently, the pain has seemed to be getting worse. It was almost a joke to have legs when they screamed at you like a spoiled teen when you're trying to make them work. Joe watches as you make your way deeper into the back of the store, leaving your wheelchair abandoned by the counter.

"Did you take your pain meds today?" Joe questions, standing close by in case you are in assistant. "Yeah... I think I need a higher dose... I don't get it. I've taken those pills my whole life and never had a problem." Joe frown. "That's concerning, y/n. Have you talked to your doctor? Hopefully, your condition isn't getting worse." You stumble your way to a shipment box and sit on the floor to open it. Groaning on your way to the ground, you replied, "Not yet... but I have an appointment a few weeks... Do you mind driving me again?" Joe smiles. "Not at all." He turns away to head back to work before remembering something. "Oh, um, y/n before I forget. I'm going away for the weekend to a cabin -" You cut open the box of books. "You need me to cover the store while you're gone?" You asked without looking up. "Um, no, actually... I was gonna ask if you wanted to come with me?" That made you stop. "You want me to go away to a cabin with you for the weekend?" He smiles innocently. "Yes, I do... It'd just be us. The house is big, three floors... more of a mansion than a cabin, really. One of my many homes... what do you say?" What you wanted to ask is why the hell your married boss was asking you, his younger employee, away for the weekend? Of course, that's not what you asked. "Who will work the store?" It was enduring to him that you were worried about the shop. "I can afford to close it for one little weekend. Don't worry, you're pretty little head about it, and hey, I'll give you a paid leave. So you'll still make your usual money." It was so tempting, but so many things played in your mind. Why would we be alone? Does his wife know? Are you making this innocent act into something it's not? "Why wouldn't your wife be coming with? Seems odd to just be us...isn't it?"

Joe stopped for a moment. Pausing to think of his response, a usual quirk of his. "Kate wanted to come, but something last minute came up at her work. She told me to go anyway and get some time off... even told me to take a friend if I wanted..." You look at him from your spot on the floor. Having never directly met his wife you were unsure if she was that trusting of Joe or not. Joe can see the uncertainty in your mind and gives a casual chuckle. "It'll just be a fun little trip. I don't have many friends, so.. I thought you might enjoy a weekend trip. If not, hey, I get it." Joe's heart flutters as you chew your lip subconsciously. "...I guess a small trip would be nice..." He smiles down at you. "Trust me... you'll love it."

☆

When the weekend came, Joe couldn't stop smiling to himself. Just you and him finally alone without worry of the outside world bothering you. Pulling to the house, you gasp at the sight of it. Cabin did not do this place justice. It was huge. Two maybe three floors. Four if there's a basement. Surrounded by woods. Modern but not the soulless modern with all white everything that made a hospital look more living. No, it was modern in the sense it was updated on all the new tech out their, smart everything with light grey paint to complement the green forest. "What do you think?" Joe asked with a shit eating grin as he pulled his car into the long gravel driveway. Your hands grip your pharmacy bag that you picked up on your way. "It's... Holy shit..." He chuckles. "Yeah, seems about right..." You pull your eyes away from the house to look at him. "You said it was a cabin." His smile never faltered and shrugged. "I mean, I guess it technically is... Kate mainly calls it that because it her 'forest' house." There a beat of silence as you nod and look back at the home. "You want your wheelchair?" Your eyes fall to the front door. A single grey door with one step on to a huge patio that you have to climb onto with... 1, 2 3... about 6 or so steps. Oh, and don't forget the gravel driveway. "I'll take my cane..." You try to hide the annoyance. Joe frowns a little. "Are you sure? I thought your pain was worsening?" You sigh, not wanting to start a rant about the bullshit design of the entrance and how rich people only think about how things look. Instead, you say this: "It is, but... It might be easier for our unpacking if I just use my cane..." Joe nods and steps out of the car. Hoping the back open, he grabs your cane before coming to the passenger door. "For you, madam~" His voice silly while opening the door like a valley. You chuckle and take his hand to step out onto your weary legs. "Here, I can take that." Joe takes the pharmacy bag. You swallow the pained groan and take the cane. The gravel made walking every harder. "...I could carry you if you want. I dont mind." You did. You wanted to feel capable for once. "No thanks. You can go ahead and unpack while I walk..." he hesitates, still holding your hand and arm. "You sure?" He questions, searching your face. "Yea, I can do it." Joe had to stomach his mocking laugh with a kind smile. "Of course. I'll unpack."

By the time you make it to the patio steps, which was roughly 15 ft from the car, you wanted to cry from pain. Sitting on the bottom step, you hear Joe come out of the house for another load. "You made it! ...you okay?" It had taken you 10+ minutes to walk 15 feet, no you weren't 'okay'. "Yeah, I'm fine." Joe watches you quietly for a moment, taking in your tears that your pride failed to hide. "Alright... but again, just let me know if you need help..." You nod and give a forced smile till he went back to get the second load. When he disappeared inside, you stood with a small sob to wobble up the 6... no... 7 steps... 8? How many steps does a damn patio need? Making it to the top you think about your meds. You needed them badly, but Joe had them. You curse yourself for handing them over on accident. Sitting at the top of the stairs, you are waiting for Joe to come back out. He had to be taking every up to the rooms. Why else would he be taking so long? By the time he's back, you don't hide your tears. His face melts with concern and hurries to you. "Are you okay? Does it hurt? I bet it hurts so bad, doesn't it?" Crying, you can only nod in response. "What do you need? You need me to carry you inside?" His eyes sparkle. You shake your head, dimming the light in his eyes. "M...my pills." Joe rubs your head. "I already took your pills all the way up to the master bathroom on the second floor..." You sob. "...here... let me carry you there. It'll be better than waiting for me to go and come back... what do you say?" The pain was too much, so you nod, making him smile. "Good girl. Let me help you." He takes your cane from your hands, setting it on the wooden patio before scooping you up. It wasn't the first time Joe's had to carry you. You didn't like how frequent it seemed to feel. Tears blur your view of the big rich house. Pain throbbed louder than the beautiful birds around the woods. Joe didn't hurry while he took you to the master bedroom. God, the long staircase was daunting. Each step he took up was another step closer to your relief. Once up the stairs, through the maze of halls and to the master bedroom, he sets you on the bed. "There you go. Nice and safe here. Try to get comfortable, and I'll grab the pills." Joe strokes your hair before disappearing into the bathroom to return your new bottle already opened. He probably just opened it into the bathroom. "Here, sweetheart." Two pills and water. Desperately, you down them while Joe supervises. His eyes overly fixed on your lips and throat. Your pill felt softer more dissolvable... but they've felt like that for the last few months, so it must just be your pain messing with you or the stupid recipe of the medicine has been "updated" without notice. Shit maybe it was that. If it was, the doctor was going to get an ear full. Joe sits on the edge of the bed. His large hand rubs your leg while you try to calm yourself. "Better?" He asked. You shake your head. "Mh...well, give it some time and relax... I'm gonna go grab your wheelchair out of the car, okay?"

You nod and sniffle. Joe kisses your hand before getting up to leave. His foot steps echo into the distance. As the pain softeness from rest, your eyes wounder the room and land on the pile of bags. With yours and his where in here. Why? Surely you weren't both staying in here? This place was huge and would have to have like a dozen bedrooms. Then something shinny in Joe's man sack catches your eye. Is that... a gun?

Mean while joe smiles big to himself as he descends the stairs to the front door. You were so warm in his arms. He cluld still feel you. God and the way you softly cried for his help only conformed that you need him. He practically struts to the car. All the bags and suits case were already inside. He purposely left your wheelchair for last. That beautiful cheap little wheelchair. 'Darling, once you're mine, I'm going to buy you the best wheelchair money can buy. One of those electric ones that you'll be able to control, that roll on any terrain, but most importantly, one he can control from his phone.

☆

The weekend was spent in Joe's arms. No, not like that. As grand as the mansion was, it was inassemble to you. Too many stairs and levels. Seriously, why did every room on the first floor have an unnecessary step? Joe occasionally Joe would give you a small apology about not realizing how difficult the house would be for you, but it started to just feel like empty noise. You saw the small smiles he'd tried hard to hide when you asked to be carried or honestly for any help.

Sunday night came, and you're reading on the couch with Joe when he excuses himself for the restroom.

Ding

Subconsciously, your eyes flicker to the noise. It was Joe's phone sitting on the coffee table. A new message from his wife Kate.

"I know she's with you. If you hurt that poor little girl, I'll..."

The rest of the text was cut off. The screen goes black after a few seconds. Surely to read that wrong. Leading forward, you click the lock screen on and read it again.

"I know she's with you. If you hurt that poor little girl, I'll..."

You had read it right. Was she talking about you? She's says that like she wasn't told you would be here with Joe. Had he lied about her telling him to bring a friend? Was she even talking about you? Then you read the second part again, 'if you hurt that that poor little girl' ...it had to be you, considering you were younger than him and his wife. Not to mention, many people saw you as a 'poor little girl' just on disabilities alone. You mind swirls as you let the screen go black and sit back on the couch.

Ding

Another text

"I found your stash of her pills. I've had enough.."

Her pills?... your pills.

The isolation, the gun, the text... the pills? He wouldn't? Why would he-

The text is cut off again before fading to black. Your pills? ...your...pills?! No nonono. Kate isn't talking about you. It's someone else. 'I know you're with her' 'poor little girl' 'stash of her pills' ...shit... it was you. The sound of Joe flushing breaks your thoughts. The faucet turns on as you take a deep breath. Joe comes out and plops on the couch and picks up his book. "You um... your phone dinged while you were in the restroom..." You mumbled, looking at the words on your page. "Oh?" Joe leads to the coffee table and picks up his phone. He huffs at the notifications before typing away. You stare at the words on your page, not reading. Joe pauses to look at you. You pretend not to notice. A minute passes off his cold but protective gaze on your face before he types away again with heavy fingers. "Are you okay?" His huffs and scoffs were hard to ignore. His dark face lightens at your voice. "Of course, sweetheart. Just keep reading. I have to make a call really quick." Before he can leave, you stop him. "Wait... um... could you carry me to bed? I want to get ready for the night." His face softens with a frown. "Already? It's only 8:30." You nod and make an excuse. "The weekend has worn me out..." Joe nods, understanding, and picks you up, bride style. The ride tonight wasn't dragged out like normal. Joe hurries at a reasonable pace to get you to bed with your book.

"Thank you..." You say. "Mhm." He responds, his mind else where. Joe turns to leave without a word. "Wait..." Joe stops his groan from escaping. "Yes?" His smile is annoyed but soft. "Could you um.. get my wheelchair? In case I have to pee in the middle of the night?" Joe smiles a little more genuinely. "Of course. I'll be right back." Hurried footsteps echo throughout the house. Down the hall, down the stairs, around the corner, fades away before retracting his path back to you, carrying the cheap wheelchair to the master bedroom. "Here you go, sweetheart." Unfolding the the chair and brushing off the seat. "Thank you." Taking a moment, he looks over you with kind eyes. "Anything else?" You quickly shake your head. With that, he was gone with the door closed behind him.

Joe thankfully ended up staying in the room right next to the masters. Although now questioning Joe's intentions, him hanging out on your bed with you late into the night to "talk" didn't feel so innocent anymore. Setting your book, you scoot to the edge of the bed and take a painful step into your wheelchair. Then, you make sure to grab your phone and wheel your way to the restroom. Shutting and locking the door behind you, pills became your priority. Joe's voice from the next room was slightly muffled. Although evident he was angry. You grab your pill bottle off the counter and pop it open. They look the same. Till you poor one into your and really took your time to look at it. Really look at them. Your normal pills were white... just like this. They were coated, same as these, and had the pills first few letters craved into it... not like this. You pour a few more pills into your hands and check. None of them had the pills lettering. "You have no idea what I'm feeling!" Joe's voice defends from the bathroom vent. You bottle the pills and set it in your lap before wheeling over to the air vent and opening it. Joe was upset. "No... no! I'm doing what I have to, Kate. You have no idea what this kind of love feels like. If you did, you'd understand why I'm doing this." There's a pause before he replies. "You venous little bitch. I tried giving you my heart. I did! And you throw it away as soon as it got to much for you... but y/n won't do that. She's different from you, Kate. She's the one." You gasp, head spinning, and you open the pills again to look at them. "No! She does love me. She will. After all I do for them its the least she can do." Again there was no lettering on any of the pills. 'Shit... what the fuck is happening?' You think and cap the bottle before wheeling to the bathroom door but stop when something caught your eye. There was a pill on the floor next to the toilet. Kneeling out of the chair onto the floor, you pick it up. It looks like your pills. Flipping it over there, there was lettering. You look in the toilet. 'He fucking flushed them...' you groan as you get back in your chair and roll as quick as you can to your bags. 'Why would he do this? Am I going crazy? No. Yes! No! Were they really fake pills? What has he been feeding you for months?!' As you reach for your bag, you pull the gun out of his and hide it under the bag in your lap. You roll backward a little when joe opens the door. "Hey, I was gonna make some -" he stops seeing you in your chair with your bag in your lap. "What are you doing?" You freeze having not thought your escape all the way through. "I um... I got a text from a friend that I um they need me to come home right away... some kind of emergency so I have to go." Joe looks you up and down and doesn't move from the doorway. "What friend?"

"Um... Jacob..." He raised an eyebrow and slowly walked to the bathroom to peer inside. You start rolling to the door. "You know..." He starts. "You don't have any friends named Jacob..." You don't stop wheeling toward the bedroom door. Joe turns to you. "You can't get down the stairs without me." You stop. "Could you um... help me..." he smiles. "I'd love to~" but instead, he sits down on the ottoman next to the reading chair. "But you don't need to go anywhere." You turn to Joe "Yes I do. My friend -" Joe cuts you off. "Isn't real?"

You blank. "Of course they're real... why would I lie about that?" The forced sweetness in your voice rooted a cavity in Joe's mouth, causing his jaw to clench. "You tell me, sweetheart." There's a heavy pause. "...I'd like to go home..." The dial volume broke halfway through your sentence. "Home?" His echo vibrates your head into a nod. Joe's scoffed laugh broke a crack in his act. "Why?" He pokes. "Im not feeling well," you counter. "You're a crippled. You never feel well." His arrowed word wounds deep. "Don't call me that..." He softly smiles as if he called you an embarrassing childhood name. "But that's what you are... isn't it? A crippled?" Stoicism becomes a watery grave. "It's okay, sweetheart. I still love you." Love. How did that word hurt more than a slur? "Love? ...you're married... you're my boss -" Joe softens back into his pride. "I'm your savior." It was your turn to scoff. "Oh, come on. What's with the sudden distance? I've done nothing but care for you-" He moves to stand.

"Get back!" You shout at him, pulling his hand gun out to point at him. He sighs and sits back down. "Y/n... you're not thinking straight. I would never hurt you -" You cut him off. "You've been giving me extra pills... different from my meds... What is it? What the hell were you feeding me?" Joe takes a breath, studying your face for a moment. You sat in your wheelchair with his hand gun in your perfect shaking hands. "Tell me!" You shout inpatient. "...They were just your pain meds -" You fire a shot near his feet. "Bullshit! I've been taking those pills my whole life. I know the difference." You recock the gun. "Try again." Joe's jaw locks. He should have known you'd know the difference. "...they were just sugar pills... I dump your real meds and feed you fake ones..." There's a pause and a record scratch. As you look at him, confused and scared. "Why? ...you want me in pain?" Was there a point in lying anymore? Joe hated too, especially to you, but the truth will make you hate him more. "...yes.." Joe's voice is quiet and small. Your heart shattered even more. "Why?" The child in your soul pleds to know. Joe also looked heartbroken. You couldn't fathom why. He was the one who made sure you couldn't take pain meds. He needed the chronic pains and wanted you to suffer, yet he had the audacity to look heartbroken. "Because... you won't admit the obvious." His voice was stern with a fluffyness around the edges. "You're a weak... fragile, cripple and somehow, you believe you're not. Like you aren't going to break at a moments notice... But I see you for what you are.. a glass heart filled with innocent blood. One crack on you'd spill into this cruel world." Tears prick your eyes. Your grip on the gun shakes as conflictions wheel up in the back of your mind. "Deny it, love... go on.. tell me how strong you think you are... tell me im wrong..." Your grip retights, but he doesn't flinch. "You're wrong..." Joe chuckles quietly. All the laughs over the years from every boy in grade school, every doctor, every friend, from everyone exudes from the single small chuckle. "Sweetheart... your smart... so be smart."

"Weak is not without value." Joe nods. "Of course... but what value did you have without me? Who looked out for you? Who took care of you before me?" He sighs and leans on his knees. "You were scared of me. I ... I can see that but now I think you're more scared of the absence of me.." You shake your head as he holds your eyes. "You don't have to be scared... I'll give you the pain meds back... I will... just... let me care for you... you need me, baby... put the gun down." The gun waves slightly. "... I'm serious. Put it down." His patience was wearing making him scoff as you keep the gun pointed at him. Slowly, he stands and pulls your phone as well as his out of his pocket. "What are you?" He tosses them out the open window into the wet grass below. "There... shoot me, baby... Let's see how long it will take you to go get one of our phones back? I carried you up the stairs and your wheelchair. Your cane is downstairs on the opposite side of the house. So tell me, how are you going to retrieve a phone? How are you going to leave this cabin without me?" Joe almost chuckles at the idea like it was ludicrous. "You'll be sobbing in pain with five minutes of using your legs. It's probably sooner, considering you haven't actually been taking your pain meds for... well... since you've had me pick up your meds the first time..." There was a gittyness to his voice. That was a few months ago. You've been in a lot of pain since then. Even crying in the middle of work about the pain just for joe to come running to care for you. Feeding you a sugar pills whispers siren songs of comfort. He was right. As much as you wish, he wasn't. You be in a hell of a lot of pain if you try to crawl all the way to the phones. You won't win... not now... It's not like this... he has to live. "Fuck you." You lower the gun making Joe released a breath. "I'm only looking out for you, baby." You scoffed as he approached and grabbed your wrist before you could change your mind. The one protection you had ripped out of your hands. He takes the mag out and sets it up on a high dresser top. "You had me going their, baby." He smiles before walking back towards you. You wheel your chair back a little before he lends down to lock it in place and kneel in front of you.

Your last appointment was with a doctor that was a man who didn’t take your chronic illness/disability seriously. You’re asked if you’re on your period and then have to awkwardly tell him you’re not because you know you can’t say what you want to. Then once again you were just told to keep exercising, healthy food, get eight plus hours of sleep a night etc. and just as you knew he would, you were sent off with a prescription of paracetamol, something that never even made a slight difference in your pain. 

When you have a flare up you don’t need to worry about medications! Misty has an array of different pain medications, anti-nauseants, migraine medications etc. all that she’s slyly stolen from work! You’re able to take pain meds if you choose to, which are all carefully monitored by her. 

When you’re feeling unwell she doesn’t push you beyond your limits, she’s thoughtful with her care and never makes you feel bad for not being able to do something. She’s happy for workarounds or chill nights in, Misty is honestly so happy as long as she is with you. Your symptoms are listened to and she takes you more seriously than anyone else you’ve ever known. You’re able to stay in bed and hide from the world while overwhelmed with pain and fatigue and not deal with the guilt others would make you feel. Misty seems to get that, there’s things about the other that you both seem to get that you’ve never felt like anyone else ever would. 

Misty will make you soup and bring it to you in bed telling you that Caligula helped and then she’ll chuckle with a joke about how he obviously couldn’t do that and it wouldn’t have been hygienic in the first place. You’re put on bed rest and completely pampered by Misty. Covered in heat pads and wrapped in soft blankets when you need and a cold compress on your forehead that is being changed periodically, Misty will regularly check your temperature too. 

Misty will smile after she’s done another temperature check, she’ll sit in bed next to you and put on pro-shots of The Phantom of the Opera and any musicals you want to watch. Even if she needs to sleuth online for a slime tutorial that isn’t shaky. You can cuddle Misty while you feel sick and it’ll make her blush that you feel safe around her, that you need her like she needs you and the simple fact that you’re choosing her. 

Misty will push up her glasses at the side in that cute way, and it’ll make you smile, even when your body is in pain and weighed down with exhaustion and your brain is in a cloud of brain fog, her mannerisms will still charm you. Misty enjoys this quality time, she honestly enjoys looking after you, more than she probably should. But you’re looked after much better than any other hospital admission would have.

You wake up alone in bed. As you stare at the ceiling, you consider the possibility that John got a call to action. It's just as likely that he fled the instant he was awake enough to realize he did this again, you remind yourself as you ease onto the floor and start your morning stretches.

Oh, well.

You try not to think about it as you roll out your hip flexors. You'd never claim you didn't enjoy yourself, and maybe the astronaut can say the same, you reflect as you transfer into your wheelchair and leave your bedroom.

Yawning, you pass the living room, where John's on your couch with a cup of coffee and a large paperback book. You register what you've just witnessed and reverse, baffled, to demand, "Are you reading my wheelchair manual?"

"Yes," he replies without looking up. "Do you have one for your smart drive?"

"I bought that off a friend, so it's on my compu—" You cut yourself off by shaking your head and start over. "Wait, wait— Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" John repeats, looking up to frown at you. "I don't know how to fix it yet."

"Why would you—" You stop talking, blink at him, and echo, "Yet?"

"Were you looking for coffee?" John asks, setting down the manual.

"Yes," you remember, shaking your head and rolling away.

You might not be awake enough to process this turn of events, you realize as you enter the kitchen. As exciting as it is for him to be here, the man's fascination with contraptions is a little worrisome. Spending time around you would definitely be a convenient way to expand his knowledge base but hopefully, that's not the primary benefit. You try not to spiral further as you set a mug beside your coffee machine and blink at it.

Does it look... different?

You can't possibly be distracted enough to have forgotten how your coffee pot looks.

At this point, you realize that John followed you into the kitchen because he leans onto the cabinet beside you. You look up at him to find him watching you with a strange mixture of pride and concern.

"So, you see..." he starts before trailing off for a moment, evidently considering his next words. John clears his throat and summarizes defensively, "I put it back together."

"So, you took apart my coffee maker," you prod.

"It was making a noise," John protests.

You pour a cup of coffee and slide the pot back into place. Now that it's moving smoothly, you realize that the corner where the glass attaches to the drip lid had been snagging on something in the chassis every time you moved the pot for the past several days. Still frowning, you glance up to find John watching you closely.

Ah, shit.

You might be the worrisome thing in this equation.

You smile up at him with a sincere, "Thank you."

"Hmm," John mumbles, frowning at you. "Really?"

"Let me check." You take a theatrical sip of your coffee and realize you have no idea if there's any difference. Yawning, you look back at him and admit, "Tastes the same. But it sounds better. Good work, handsome."

John ducks his head, deflecting your thanks with, "Is that sticking around as a nickname?"

"The truth is barely a nickname," you scoff. "Would you prefer dream boat?"

John frowns, rubbing his ears, and complains, "That's much worse."

You've begun to suspect he pairs that motion with verbal protests to avoid getting embarrassed in front of people. It's a theory worth testing.

"Absolute stud muffin," you inform him, setting down your mug and rolling closer.

"That's awful," he mumbles, the corners of his lips tweaking.

"Delicious hunk of a man," you gush, running your hands up under his shirt.

"Why are you keeping up the food theme?" John protests.

"Because you're the definition of a beefcake," you reply enthusiastically, running one hand up his lats while you stroke his abs with the other.

"That's close enough to good that you can stop now," John claims, trying not to laugh.

"Smartest eye candy in the Corps," you praise.

"Okay, thank you," John chuckles, squirming under your touch. "Knock it off."

"Total fucking knockout," you growl, grabbing his waist firmly in both hands.

"I hope you're swearing because you're running out of these."

"You're such a goddamn eyeful, you've gotta give me another minute," you croon, resting your chin on his stomach and gazing up at him like you'd like to eat him.

"Quit looking at me like that," John complains.

"How can I, when you never quit?" You tease.

"That's horrible," John groans as you kiss his abs and praise, "Showstopping intellect; heartstopping pecs."

"I'll let Guy know my pecs got namedropped," he attempts, batting ineffectually at your hands as you rove up his chest.

"You wanna share credit for how those make me—"

"You're done," John interrupts firmly, trapping your hands under his shirt with both hands.

"You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen," you growl, going to bite him.

"I'm not a thing," John scolds, running a hand through your hair. "I'm a man."

"Man of my dreams," you coo into his stomach.

John grabs your hair and pulls you off him, murmuring, "Say that again, honey."

You freeze, realizing that he's blushing furiously at the same time you understand how badly you've stranded yourself down a blind alley. You give up and sheepishly inquire, "What'd I say?"

"You called me the man of your dreams."

"Oh, good." You sigh in relief and smile up at him, adding, "I was afraid it might be something embarrassing."

John strokes his fingers through your hair and groans, "You're killing me."

"You know you're an all-time catch," you scoff. "Can't I enjoy your time in my bed?"

"Wh—"

"Have you had breakfast, or did you find my wheelchair manual while you were still annoyed with the coffeepot?"

"I don't know how I feel about either of those questions," John grumbles, opening the refrigerator and squinting at you around the door.

"Eggs?" You offer calmly.

He passes you the carton, grumbling, "All-time?"

"Are we playing coy, now?"

"No." John closes the fridge and leans against the door, scratching the back of his neck as he mutters, "I've never gotten that before."

"Your bashful act kinda sucks, Lantern," you tease, setting the carton on the counter so you can reach for him. "You know how people react to you."

John smirks, covering your hands on his hips with his own, and admits, "I hide behind Hal."

"Gotta go through Guy," you giggle.

"Definitely," he agrees. "He's much worse at blocking beauties than blows."

"Bad news, John."

He frowns down at you, pulling your hands off him and holding them in his own. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." You smile up at him and clarify, "He's been telling us to take a shot."