#I needed to write this shower thought out

[elleaitch22]

Love on Fire

Chapter 5: Peanut

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: I don’t know if I can write a story without angst. I’m so sorry for this chapter. Please don’t hate me. I hope (somehow) you love it!! xx Elle (ps, remember there is still a lot more story to go!)

Warnings: Fertility treatment, medical procedures, medical symptoms, bodily fluid (yay morning sickness)

Word Count: 3.5k words

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Week 1:

The day after Azzi’s positive pregnancy test, she was back in Dr. Caldwell’s office. This time, her knee bounced with a quiet hope.

“Okay, hun. We’re just going to take a little bit of blood, and I’ll be out of your hair.” A sweet, Southern nurse stated.

For once, Azzi was happy to be suck with a needle.

“What are we looking for with the bloodwork?” Paige asked, standing next to their table.

The nurse retracted the needle and covered the wound with gauze. “Well, we just need her Beta hCG to be above 50. It should only take about ten minutes to get the results. Dr. Caldwell will be in with the results.”

The friends nodded as the woman walked out.

Their minds started racing.

Azzi thought about baby shower themes. She’d be six months around St. Patrick’s Day. Maybe something about being lucky. Should she find out the gender before the baby shower or let herself be surprised after birth. Maybe it could have pies. Like a little cutie pie?

She absentmindedly caressed her flat belly. Would she be one of those moody pregnant women? Gosh, she hoped that she wouldn’t have morning sickness, especially not the kind that lasted the whole pregnancy.

One thing she didn’t have to question was Paige. She’d been so patient over the last three months. She was always there with a snack or an uplifting remark, just to encourage her.

Paige thought about Azzi. She prayed that the levels would be what they needed to be. That this would be a healthy, happy, smooth pregnancy, giving Azzi the perfect little baby she deserved.

She thought about how gorgeous she’d be round with pregnancy. She wondered if she would get the same roundness in her face that she had when they were teenagers. She pictured her grumpy and glowing, trying to trick Paige into a foot massage, even though she knew Paige hated feet. But she would do it anyway. Because she was in love with her.

She pictured a little girl with big brown eyes and perfect ringlets, just like her mother. She pictured a toddler wobbling as she walked to hug Paige. A high pitched, perfect laugh. She would be perfect.

“So, I was thinking yesterday,” Paige started, breaking the silence, “If it’s a boy, maybe you can name him Kyrie or Klay. And for a girl, maybe Maya or Sue?”

Azzi slowly turned to her best friend, “You want me to name the kid after basketball players we’ve met once?”

Paige giggled, “Just wanted to lighten the mood a little. You seem like you’re in your head.”

A quick knock sounded at the door before it opened. “Congratulations Ms. Fudd!” The doctor smiled, the first time Azzi had ever seen the expression. “Your hCG is a 73, which is right where we want it to be. I’m not going to bother with an ultrasound today, because you won’t be able to see anything. You will need to come back in two days. So we can make sure your hCG is at least 146, alright?”

“Um, yes. Thank you. Is there anything I should be aware of?” Azzi questioned.

“Some of my moms are worried when they have light spotting. If you experience this, it is likely implantation bleeding. But it. should not be more than spotting. Call us if you have any concerns.” Dr. Caldwell answered.

Azzi nodded, “Okay. I’ll see you on Thursday. Thank you so much, Dr. Caldwell.”

“Of course. Congratulations, Mommies.” She said, heading out.

The room was quiet when she left.

Mommies.

Paige was reeling. Nobody had ever called Paige a mommy before. She didn’t know if she was even allowed to feel happy about being called that. It made her excited, hopeful.

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Week 5:

Azzi had been on top of the world, and nobody knew why except for Paige.

Even with her mood swings from her progesterone pills, nothing every kept her mood down for longer than a couple of minutes.

Except now she was nervous.

Today, she would be going in to see her baby. She was cautiously optimistic. For every blog she’d read about IUI success, there were three more about loss. It was most common that a loss came before ten weeks, so they just had to make it that far.

She was sitting on the table with a paper gown. She wished Paige was with her so badly, but somehow, they had scheduled the appointment during one of her shifts. She was supposed to get off in time to meet her at the clinic, but a few minutes before Azzi left the bakery, Paige called to tell her there was a car accident, and that she would miss it.

The ultrasound technician came in with a small smile. “Good afternoon, Ms. Fudd. I’m Fiona. Today, we’re going to do a transvaginal ultrasound. Hopefully this will be your last one for a while.” She giggled. “Since you’re only five weeks, we aren’t looking for body parts or a heartbeat. I don’t want you to get alarmed.”

Warm gel covered the wand before Azzi was examined. Fiona hit a few buttons on the machine before turning the screen to Azzi.

“I know it doesn’t look like much now, just an oval, but that’s the gestational sac.” She gestured to a tiny dot on the side of the circle. “And that bright little dot right there, that’s your baby. It’s tiny right now, but it’s growing fast”

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat. She beamed and looked to the chair beside her. The smile faded a little when she remembered she was alone today.

She tried to hold onto the smile, but it tugged at the edges. Paige would’ve loved this. The wonder in her eyes, the “wow” whispered under her breath, the way she always reached for Azzi’s hand during big moments. And now, all Azzi had was an empty chair.

“I know it’s not really showing much,” Azzi started, “But do you think I could a couple of pictures to show my friends and family?”

Azzi walked out of the clinic with a huge weight lifted off her shoulders and six ultrasound photos ready for her to send to the family members who knew she was trying for a baby.

She wasn’t really paying attention to where she was going, just riding the high of another successful doctor’s appointment. So, it wasn’t really a surprise when she wound up outside the fire station.

Unlike the last time she was here, there was no one outside. A peak inside the doors showed the engine, squad, and ambulance bays vacant. She decided to wait a little while for them to return. Caroline told her to take the day and relax, so it’s not like she had anything important to do.

One of the off-duty firefighters, Chet, was sitting at. The front desk. Azzi gave him a small smile as she made her way to the kitchen. She hated cooking at the firehouse. Most times, their ingredients looked like someone went shopping after smoking instead of going with a list.

There were lots of cup noodles and buldak ramen. Bags of hot fries and takis. There was a defrosted pack of chicken breasts. Azzi could work with that. The pantry had barbeque sauce and honey.  Some chicken broth that had probably been in there for years.

Thirty minutes later, honey barbeque chicken and broccoli simmered while she waited for the rice to finish.

She walked around the firehouse tired, choosing to take a nap until the crew came back.

When the crew returned an hour later, they all saw Azzi’s black Grand Cherokee parked in the front. While the other members in the squad truck clowned Paige, the blonde was panicking.

Azzi hadn’t said anything about coming to the station today. She had her doctor’s appointment today, and Paige cursed herself for not being able to be with her. What if something happened, and she’d been at the station to find Paige, and she wasn’t even there.

The truck hadn’t even come to a complete stop when Paige was out of the truck. She didn’t bother to take off her turnouts or her boots. Her footsteps were heavy as she rushed through the house. Peeking her head in every room she passed until her eyes landed on the brunette.

She sighed deeply, hands on her knees. Azzi was curled up on the couch, eyes closed and mouth open.

Her hand automatically reached out to touch her face, but when her eyes caught a glance of her dirty hands, she jerked them back quickly.

“Azzi,” She whispered. Her brows turned down a bit, but no real sign of consciousness.

Before Paige could call her again, a yell rang out through the house.

“Ayo P-Ski! Tell your wife thank you for lunch!” Edwards exclaimed.

Azzi’s head popped up, looking around confused until her eyes landed on Paige. “You’re all dirty.” She blinked lazily, a small smile on her lips.

“Is everything okay?” Paige whispered, almost scared to hear the answer.

One brown eye squinted open, “Yeah. What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t say you were coming over. And I wasn’t able to come to the appointment.” She sighed, relieved. “How was it?”

Azzi popped up full of energy. “Oh! I came over so I could show you something!” She reached into her back pocket, wide grin on her face.

A black and white picture what thrusted in Paige’s face. She moved her head back a little. Her eyes darted up. “That black hole. That’s the baby?” She asked, breathily.

The brunette giggled, “No. That the sac that the baby’s in.” She pointed to a small circle in the black hole. “You see that? That’s the baby. That teeny little bright dot. That’s the start of it all.” She said warmly.

“Wow,” She breathed. “It’s just a little peanut.” She knelt before she even noticed. “Hi, Peanut, I’m Paige. I’m your – I’ll be your Paigey.” She stayed like that for a second, silent, reverent.

Her stance reminded Azzi of her praying over her abdomen before she gave her the trigger shot. That thought was enough for tears to flood her eyes.

“Paige are you –” Stewie’s voice sounded from around the corner. The tall woman was in the doorway before they knew it. Her eyes darted from Paige, to Azzi, to the small slip held in Paige’s hands. Her eyes widened as she gasped, “Azzi! You’re pregnant?”

Paige stood, body slightly angled in front of her best friend. “She isn’t telling people yet.” Voice clipped, but still respectful. “She’s only five weeks.”

Breanna’s hands raised in innocence. “No worries. I won’t tell anybody. I remember how private Marta was about everything.” She smiled, “Congratulations!” She walked back down the hallway.

“Go shower, P. I’ll let you talk to the baby before I leave.” Azzi ran her hand over the sweat-slicked ponytail.

“Okay, Peanut.” Paige smiled. “I just got back from a fire, so I’m all dirty. I’ll talk to you in a little while.” She pecked the smooth, tanned skin, before standing. “I’m so happy for you, Az.”

Azzi flopped back onto the sofa, watching Paige leave. That was…intimate. Paige protected her from Stewie, one of the nicest people they knew. Paige kissed her belly. Paige talked to the little embryo that had no ears to hear her. She knew body parts hadn’t really formed yet, and she still talked to the baby.

She was just so sweet.

So pure.

So good.

So easy to love.

And maybe that was Azzi’s problem.

She didn’t know how long she could hold it all in before bursting.

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Week 6:

Azzi was six weeks and six days pregnant, only three more weeks until she stopped having to go to the clinic every week.

This time, Paige was able to be at the appointment, and she was practically vibrating with energy.

“Do you think they’ll do an ultrasound today or just bloodwork?” Paige questioned, pacing around the room.

Azzi’s eyes tracked her movements, stifling a laugh at her nerves. “No blood test today, just an ultrasound.”

Wide blue eyes locked onto brown ones. “I’ll get to see the baby?” Voice hopeful. “Like really see Peanut, not just a picture?” She questioned.

“Yeah,” Azzi grinned, cheeks red.

Paige’s whole body deflated. Not with disappointment, but quiet relief.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes before an ultrasound technician came in. “Oh, she’s back with you.”

Neither woman knew if she was critiquing Paige’s presence, but they didn’t care.

“Okay, you ready to see your baby?” She asked, rolling the ultrasound closer.

“Yes!” Paige exclaimed immediately, already leaning closer.

Azzi slid down the table a bit. She breathed in deeply as the woman inserted the wand. Brows twitching as she moved the wand inside of her.

“Hmm,” the woman said.

Azzi’s heart stuttered, “What do you mean?”

“I’m having trouble finding the fetus.” She murmured.

“What?!” Two voices called out.

Azzi shot up and Paige’s stomach dropped.

The ultrasound technician nodded absentmindedly. “Since the fetus is so small, it can be hard to locate.” She paused, moving the wand again. “Oh! There it is!” She said, cheerfully.

She pressed a few buttons before turned the screen to the duo. Another button push and –

Badum. Badum. Badum. Badum.

“Is that the heartbeat?” Azzi said, voice shaky. Tears filled her eyes. That was her baby’s heartbeat.

The tech smiled kindly. “Yeah, that’s your baby’s heartbeat.

“Oh my God.” Paige whispered.

Anything else the ultrasound technician wasn’t heard. Paige and Azzi sat, hands wrapped tightly around each other. They were just listening to the thud of a quick heartbeat and watching the future on that screen.

The woman gave the two women a few copies of the ultrasound without talking. “Dr. Caldwell will be in shortly.”

The room was quiet when she left. Both women started at the papers they were just given.

Paige played with brown curls absently, and Azzi leant into the touch without thinking.

“Good morning. Based on the measurements, your due date is June 12, 2026.” She said, plainly. “You are almost seven weeks, so we will forgo the eight week scan, and I will see you when you are ten weeks. Do you have any questions for me?”

Azzi was looking forward to graduating from the clinic so that she could have a different OB, one who wasn’t robotic. “Um, is there anything I should be looking out for?” She questioned.

The other woman shook her head. “Limit your caffeine. You are aware that you cannot have deli meats, unpasteurized cheese, raw meat or sushi. Make sure you are taking your prenatal vitamins, folic acid, and progesterone daily. Your uterus is expanding, so you make experience some cramping and even light spotting. That is not concerning unless it is constant or heavy. If either of those things happen, go to the emergency room immediately. No vigorous activities you weren’t already doing.”

Paige was already typing everything into her notes app. Azzi glanced at her and almost smiled.

“Thank you Dr. Caldwell, I’ll see you in a few weeks.” Azzi smiled.

As Paige and Azzi walked out to the car, “Do you think it’s too early to tell Bob and Katie?”

Paige looked at her quickly, “If you want to, I think you should.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, “You never give me a straight answer with stuff like this.” She pouted.

“Yeah, because if you end up regretting it, you’re going to yell at me.” She laughed.

“Whatever,” Azzi crossed her arms over her chest. “Can you take me to the store? I want to get a few things so I can make a surprise box. Then, I’ll give it to them whenever.” She huffed.

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Week 10:

Azzi’s boobs hurt. Her stomach hurt. She’d been cramping for the last week. Just light ones, nothing crazy, and no blood. She was always tired. She threw up all the time. She. Had no idea why they called it morning sickness if that shit can literally hit at any point in the fucking day. She was moody, and she couldn’t control it, so it made her sad.

But she was getting a little bump on her abdomen. Nothing crazy, but she noticed a tiny little mound on her previously flat stomach was she’d gotten out of the shower a couple of days ago.

She talked to her baby all the time, well, whenever she was alone, with Caroline, or with Paige. She talked about the dreams she had about being with Peanut. How she wanted to teach them how to shoot a basketball. How to bake cakes with a little extra love. How to read.

She talked about Paige. And how she didn’t know who Paige would be to Peanut, but that she would always be there. Always be Paigey. She talked about how in love she was with the blonde. How she would be the baby’s other mom in an ideal world.

She talked about everything with her baby.  Even though the baby couldn’t hear yet, the idea that she was talking to her baby was very comforting.

Azzi was doing light makeup in the mirror when she heard her front door open.

“Happy ten weeks Jazlyn!” Paige called as she walked in. Azzi heard her keys land on the kitchen counter and footsteps coming to her bedroom. “We’re going to be late.” She groaned.

Azzi was sitting on the floor in front of her biggest window, oversized hoodie hanging off her frame. “We still have ten minutes before we have to leave. You’re being dramatic.” She rolled her eyes.

It took her five minutes to pull on a pair of loose jeans to hide her bump a little. The cropped tank top was covered with a colorful pullover.

“See! I told you I’d be ready on time.” She beamed, walking into the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “I brought kumquats and tater tots for your ten week snack. I hope neither of these make you throw up.” Paige grimaced.

Every week, since week seven, Paige had brought a fruit or snack the size that Peanut was. It was sweet, dorky, cute, and absolutely perfect. And Azzi loved it.

She came to kneel in front of Azzi. “Okay Peanut! Ready to get your picture taken?” She asked.

The appointment went smoothly, and the pair went out to lunch to celebrate Azzi and Peanut’s graduation from Dr. Caldwell to an actual obstetrician.

“Now that we have a real ultrasound, I think I can tell Katie and Bob.” Azzi smiled, looking at the printout of the little Peanut.

Paige scooted closer so she could look too. “Peanut really looks like a peanut now.” She laughed. “Look at Peanut’s big ass head. Definitely your kid, Az.”

Azzi rolled her eyes at the teasing. “Shut up. That’s a perfectly sized head.” She paused. “Peanut has grown so much since the last ultrasound,” She finished proudly.

“When are you wanting to tell them? We can have dinner over there on Friday or Saturday.” Paige sipped her lemonade.

Azzi thought. She had already made the announcement box. She ordered a onesie off Etsy that said, “Mimi and Papa’s Favorite Arriving June 2026”. She got these little, white, knitted booties. And the ultrasound was going to be the perfect way to finish the surprise.

“I think maybe Friday? We can stay over there as long as we want since we don’t have to work in the morning.” Azzi was so excited to tell them.

Paige nodded, getting her phone out to text her dad. “Alright. You got five days to change your mind.” She joked.

They both knew she wasn’t going to change her mind. They knew she couldn’t wait to tell the people who had been supporting her since she found out.

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Week 10, Day 3:

Azzi woke up on Thursday in pain.

She’d been cramping for a few days now, but when she asked Dr. Caldwell, she told her not to worry about it unless it came with blood.

She’d been keeping an eye on how intense the cramping was, but this morning was much worse than she’d been experiencing.

The brunette took out her phone and texted Caroline and KK that she wasn’t coming in today, just to be safe.

She was nauseous. She didn’t know if it was because of the morning sickness or because of the nerves. Her boobs weren’t hurting as much as they had been.

Her cramping had spread to her lower back, and they ramped up in her pelvis. She took a hot shower, hoping it would help with the pain, but it didn’t.

She was heating up a muffin when she felt the first rush.

Warm. Like she’d just started her period.

She was numb, ears ringing as she walked to the bathroom.

Not just a few drop from spotting.

Bright red. Fresh. A flood.

She stayed, just sitting on the toilet unable to move. Ten seconds. Ten minutes. Ten hours. She couldn’t tell.

Shaky hands pulled the phone out of her hoodie pocket.

Princess 💗👸🏽👩🏽‍🍳: I’m bleeding. A lot

She sits there staring at the wall.

Paigey 💗🧑🏼‍🚒🔥❤️‍🔥: fuck. im otw

[randompiecesofwriting]

Your Side of the Bed

Summary: Robby finds himself in an arrangement of sharing the reader’s bed. Sleeping side by side in the most literal of senses. It was simply a way they could be there for one another, offer comfort on hard days. And yet he found himself wanting more.

Paring: Michael “Robinavitch” x reader

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: NO SMUT I don’t think it’s even joked about here lol so there’s no smut in here! Brief mention of suicide prevention measures in a joke. Reader gets a small cut and is freaked out by medical procedures.

A/N: Really this was born out of me just wanting to write some Robby fluff. I think I’m slowing down on my writing frenzy y’all so please don’t expect my previous schedule of nearly every other day story releases I’m sorry! All in all as always I just wrote what I thought I would want to read so I hope y’all enjoy it and as always let me know what you think!

You hadn’t expected the night to end the way it did when you left your job that evening.

And honestly there was no reason you should’ve, afterall you hardly knew the man.

Sure you’ve met Robby a few times before. Interacted with him enough to know what he did for a living but beyond basic elevator small talk you’ve never really spoken to the man.

So when you spotted him standing outside of his apartment, keys in hand, just staring down at them dejectedly you didn’t really have a plan when you opened your mouth. You just knew you recognized that look on his face, the way his hands shook, the way he stayed rooted in place even as the elevator dinged as you got out, and you wanted to help.

“Hey Robby” His head snapped up at the sound of his name, the way his eyes went wide at your voice telling you he truly hadn’t noticed your approach “just getting back?”

“Yeah” he sighed out the word, telling you more than you thought he really meant to, his gaze going back to his keys, reluctance on his face as his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Have you eaten yet?” The words basically tumbled out of you, the offer though made spontaneously was no less sincere “I’m just getting back too and was going to make something quick if you want to come in” and you could see the hesitance quickly building, the denial on every part of him but his lips “I was thinking pasta and I struggle to make anything less than four servings”

He seemed to pause at the joke, to take a second to reconsider. “It’s late I don’t want to impose”

You shook off the worry easily, moving past the man to your own door faking confidence he would follow “I promise you aren’t, besides I’ve kinda had a shit day so being alone doesn’t sound like a lot of fun right now”

It wasn’t a complete lie to be fair. Your day hadn’t been the best but more than anything you knew this man shouldn’t be alone right now and he wasn’t going to take help unless he could offer some in return.

“I should shower first” The implied acceptance had you smiling as he turned back to his door, you could practically see him hype himself up to go in.

“You can use mine” You offered, forcing a level of nonchalance you didn’t feel into your tone “no pressure obviously the dinner invitation stands either way  but since you’re going to be over anyways” you let the end of your sentence dangle purposefully as you shrugged “plus I don’t mean to brag but the landlord just fixed my plumbing so I have the best water pressure in the building”

Your attempt at a joke had him snorting as he cast one final look at his door before wordlessly turning away from it and heading in your direction, following you back to your place “If that’s true the landlord and I will be having words”

Trying to tamp down the odd mix of anxiety and excitement at having Robby listen to you, you kept your gaze ahead, focusing a bit too hard on getting your key into the lock as he stood behind you patiently “I had to threaten to sue and it still took months so good luck with that one, you’ll need it”

Opening your door you toed off your shoes and put them to the side in your entryway prompting him to do the same while you started turning on lights “Feel free to set your bag anywhere, kitchen tables covered in my work stuff so that may be your best bet” you instructed him as you set your own work bag down at one of the chairs at the table “in the meantime make yourself at home I’ll grab you a towel and some clothes you can use”

You rushed through the process of grabbing an extra pair of clothes you thought would fit him and a towel, knowing the longer you left him alone in your living room the more likely he was to back out entirely. Something that was quickly proved correct as you joined him with the stack back out in the living room, hesitation and awkwardness practically carved into his bones as he stood rigidly in the center of the room.

“These should fit but obviously let me know if you need anything else” you ignored the trepidation on his face as you handed him the stack, Robby blindly grabbing it as he already started to backtrack.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Please I want to” you interrupted him, walking back towards the kitchen forcing him to hold onto the stack as you got out a pot “besides I need someone to get wine drunk with. Can’t do it on my own, I think that’s when they call it alcoholism”

Still he stared at you silently, you could practically see him trying to think of a way to politely extract himself.

“Unless you don’t drink of course in which case I’ve got soda or water or-“

“No no” he chuckled though it sounded slightly strained, patting to top of the stack you had given softly “wine’s good”

“Good I’ll open the bottle then” you smiled warmly at him, gesturing with a nod back towards the hallway behind him “bathroom’s down on the left I’ll be out here if you need anything”

Still he just stared at you for a brief moment, silence stretching with words unsaid, before he finally accepted it and nodded, giving you one last thanks before he made his way to go shower, leaving you to start cooking and distract yourself from the death spiral of regret and anxiety your brain was trying to force you down.

You heard the shower start up just as you put the pot on the stove to boil, you’d honestly planned on doing as little as possible when it came to getting food in you tonight after work but with Robby here you figured you could at least put in a minimal amount of effort. All things considered though boxed pasta and jarred sauce was as far as you were willing to go tonight.

Deciding last minute to add at least a salad to the side you were chopping up vegetables by the time that Robby joined you once again, looking tired but clean and a little lighter at least.

“You weren’t kidding about the water pressure” he noted as he sat on the other side of the bar that separated living room from kitchen, watching you continue to chop.

“I know right” you grinned at him “I don’t know what they did but I’m considering letting all my other unanswered maintenance requests go as a thank you”

He chuckled at that, looking back out at your apartment appraisingly “do you need me to do anything cause I-“

“Sit down doc” you chided him harmlessly “have a glass of wine you look like you’ve had a long shift”

He took the glass you slid his way with a nod, a small huff escaping him as he shook his head “what about you what’s got you coming home this late?”

A part of you wondered if you should commend his effort to try and fix your shifty night in lieu of his own or condemn his clear avoidance of the conversation turning to him. For now you chose to do neither and instead just answer “parent teacher conferences”

He hummed at that, watching you carefully as you threw the salad together and checked on the noodles “they go that badly?”

“They didn’t but that’s kind of the problem” you shrugged as you stirred the boiling water.

He raised a brow at that, no question coming to his lips just a silent ask to continue.

“It’s always the parents of the kids I’m not worried about who show up” you shrugged, leaning your elbows on the counter in front of him as you spoke “The straight A students, or at least the students who are clearly putting in the effort and trying”

“Meaning the students who’s parent’s you want to speak to don’t come” he answered for you in understanding.

“Exactly” you nodded, grabbing out a colander to drain the pasta as you continued “Which I get it parents can be busy or can just not make the conference hours but given all the emails I’ve sent over the course of this semester that have gone unanswered…”

You trailed off with a shrug, dishing up two portions of pasta and salad without a thought and placing one in front of Robby before putting yours in front of the seat next to him.

He nodded in thanks, starting to eat as you did the same, a small silence passing over the two of you that felt infinitely more comfortable than the one shared earlier in the evening, before he broke it “do you know what you’re going to do about it yet?”

You nodded in answer, twirling your fork absentmindedly in your pasta as you thought “Yeah it’ll be another round of emails, maybe some printed notes sent home with kids offering to meet at other times, I’ll see if I can at least get some of them on a phone call or something”

He hummed in thought, studying you for a moment before his eyes cut back down to his plate “you’re a good teacher”

You snorted at that, furrowing your brow at the man beside you in response “what makes you say that”

“You care” he shrugged like it’s obvious “you’re going out of your way to try and set these kids up for success. That’s what a good teacher would do”

“Feels like the bare minimum” you chuckled slightly “it’s my job to make sure they leave my classroom set up for whatever comes ahead”

“The fact that you so clearly believe that proves my point” he smiled back at you “it’d be a lot easier to write it off, to say you tried and give up but you keep pushing, keep advocating for these kids. You’re a good teacher”

And truly you didn’t have anything to say to that, the words dying on your tongue as you looked up at him and saw the complete sincerity in his eyes. Instead you simply offered him a small smile that he mirrored back.

“What about you how was your day” the question was out of your mouth before you could think better of it, the action of asking him in return feeling too natural.

You could see him shut down at the question, could see his walls going up as his gaze cut back to his plate “Fine. It was fine”

And maybe you should’ve left it there but you were already in too deep to feel comfortable with letting it go “you’re a good doctor, you know that right?”

His gaze cut back up to you quickly with a furrowed brow, a shocked huff leaving him at your words “have I treated you before?”

“No” you assured him with a snort “but no matter what you claim I can see that you’re not fine” you watched him tense at your words, would’ve found it almost funny in any other circumstance “I just mean a good doctor wouldn’t have a day get to him like that. You clearly care about your patients. Like actually care not just pretend to care until you can shuffle them along to the next person, that’s what a good doctor would do”

He chuckled slightly at your words, a lopsided small smile tugging at his lips as he looked you over “Feels like the bare minimum””

“You throw my words back at me and my response will be the same as yours” you chided him good naturedly, relishing the sound of his laugh you got in response as he shook his head.

“touché”

You smiled at the concession, taking note of both of your empty plates and looking back out at your living room before making a decision “do you want to watch a movie?”

He raised a brow at you but you watched the corners of his mouth tick up in response making you smile back “Obviously you can tell me if you’re tired and would rather go to bed but I like a movie at the end of the day to wind down” you shrugged in response.

“Only if you let me do the dishes”

You tried desperately not to let it show how much his easy acceptance shocked you “Robby you can come over and do my dishes anytime”

He laughed easily at that as he took both of your plates and made his way over to the sink, collecting the various dishes you’d used to cook from around the kitchen.

“I hope you know this means I will be subjecting you to my objectively terrible taste in movies”

“I think I’ll live” and you tried to ignore exactly how it made you feel to see this man smirking at you from your kitchen as he handwashed your dishes. Instead you choose to make your way over to the couch and start looking at your options.

And that was how you found yourself seated comfortably next the neighbor you’d had maybe five conversations with before, watching a movie much too late into the night. And thus how you found yourself waking up the next morning to the light streaming in through your living room windows and a comfortable chest beneath your cheek, with an admittedly painful twinge in your neck but feeling more well rested than you had in months.

-

You didn’t see Robby for a few days after that. The morning after had been awkward enough you counted it as a blessing.

There’d been a brief moment of serenity, admittedly, right before you fully woke up where all you could notice was how warm you felt, how comfortable, how secure. You remember burying yourself further into the comfort, giving a soft wiggle as you pressed your face further into what you had assumed was your pillow, until you heard a chuckle.

Rather you had felt the chuckle first, could feel it ruminate up Robby’s chest beneath your head before it broke to the surface. You felt what you quickly surmised to be an arm thrown over your shoulder and wrapped around you pull you in tighter, hardly enough to notice but enough to send butterflies through your stomach, before you finally opened your eyes.

Robby had already been staring down at you, his eyes wide in clear surprise but still the corners of his mouth ticked up, you wondered if he noticed. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you as you looked back up at him, neither of you moving for a moment, almost afraid to burst the bubble before you spoke “good morning”

His eyes got almost comically wider as his gaze cut to the nearest clock, a verification of the time seeming to fully solidify exactly what position the two of you were in for him as he quickly retracted his hands, open palms coming up by his head as if to placate you in the situation as a million apologies spilled from his lips.

You had just barely pulled yourself off of him before he was on his feet and grabbing his bag, all but running out of the door before you’d even finished stretching.

So naturally the first time you would see him in days would be when you were drunk off your ass after a night out with friends.

You all but stumbled out of the elevator, heels as always were a terrible choice for a night out but you couldn’t help but love the way your legs looked in them. So focused were you on keeping upright as you exited the elevator that you completely missed Robby standing in front of his door.

Looking up from your feet finally however you noticed the man frozen in place, keys in hand, lips slightly parted as his gaze made a slow climb from your feet up to your face. You couldn’t have stopped the grin from growing on your face if you had tried “Dr. Robinavitch we have got to stop meeting like this”

You speaking seemed to have snapped him out of whatever daze he was in, a startled huff escaping him as his posture relaxed “Well you look like you had a good night”

“I had a great night” you affirmed, taking a wobbly step forward that had him surging forward to brace you by the forearm, a slight chuckle escaping him as he helped you steady yourself.

“And how many drinks did we have tonight?”

“Not enough” you shook your head, griping his hand in yours happily as you took another step “ohhh we should do shots”

He laughed much more freely at that, shaking his head in response “we absolutely should not do shots we should do carbs. When was the last time you ate something?”

“Fuck I love carbs” you hummed letting him lead you back to his place without a thought, leaning up against the wall while he put his keys in the door “French fries, we should do French fries”

“I can manage French fries” he smiled at you, pushing open the door before extending a hand to you, helping you into his place with a hand on your hip.

You leaned into him happily as you more pawed at the buckle on your shoe than actually tried to get it off, this going on for just long enough Robby was getting ready to help you with it when it finally slipped off your ankle and you fled the shoes where they dropped, making your way to his kitchen and going right for his freezer.

“Make yourself at home” Robby teased as he carefully picked up your shoes and set them off to the side alongside his, making his way next to you in the kitchen to start preheating the oven as you dug around in his freezer for the fries.

“yes you got the good ones” you cheered as you unearthed the bag, handing it to him without a thought as you immediately dipping into his fridge “we should do cheese on top”

Smiling in amusement Robby took the fries without a word and got out a baking sheet, dumping a good amount onto it before fielding the block of cheese you tossed his way without even looking to see where he was.

“Now you don’t have salsa but you do have tomatoes and onions and I can make that work” finally you shut the door to the fridge and turned to face him with the required ingredients clutched in your hands.

“Salsa?” he asked with a raised brow, putting the fries in the preheated oven.

“We can’t have loaded fries without salsa” you answered as if it were obvious, eyes skating around his kitchen looking for something “now where do you keep your knives”

“Absolutely not” he chided immediately, making his way across the kitchen over to you and grabbing the produce from your arms.

“No I swear I can do it” you tried to assure him even as you let him push you out of the kitchen.

“Swear all you want but I’m chopping the vegetables”

“You chop the vegetables I’ll chop the fruit?” you asked hopefully, giving him your best charming smile that Robby couldn’t help but mirror.

“Nice try now will you please sit down at let me do it” he shook his head as he led you around the bar to the stool on the other side, hands on your waist to steady you as you stepped up into the chair and plopped yourself down.

“But I could help!” though you thankfully stayed put you still tried to get involved, swinging your legs energetically in the air as you watched Robby start to dice “I could be like that person who hands you the scalpel”

He furrowed his brow at you with a smirk, looking up at you from his slightly bent position as he worked “person who hands me the scalpel?”

“Yeah you know in the tv shows. You go scalpel and hold you hand up like this” you demonstrated the proper movement to him, choosing to ignore his grin as you talked “and someone puts it in your hand without saying anything that could be me”

“You do know I’m not a surgeon right?”

“All I’m hearing is you don’t have a scalpel person and it could be me”

He laughed at that, shaking his head as he gathered up all of your fry toppings “why don’t you sober up first then we’ll talk about your career options”

With a disgruntled huff you rolled your eyes, resting your head in your palm as you watched Robby finish off your loaded fries, dutifully instructing him on how much of each ingredient was required before happily digging into the plate he set in front of you, a myriad of content hums coming from you as you ate making Robby smile.

“You know I like this way better” you pointed out without looking at him, taking the time to pick the perfectly loaded fry.

“Like this better than what?”

“Better than you being weird” if you noticed the way the room went cold around Robby at your words you didn’t let it show, instead snacking happily as you stole a glance at him from the side of your eye.

“I’m weird?”

“You acted weird” you corrected him with a shrug “after we woke up on my couch you basically ran away from me”

A tense silence followed but you watched him unabashedly, waiting patiently for a response Robby wasn’t sure he wanted to give “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable” again the words came out of you so easily, a part of Robby wished he could be drunk for this conversation too “in fact I was really comfortable until you moved”

A huff left him at that, a small smile growing on his face despite his inner turmoil “Really?”

You nodded in response, finishing off the last of your food and wiping off your fingers on a napkin, pushing the plate off to the side and finally turning your full attention to him “I mean the couch wasn’t the best but you make a comfortable pillow”

He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at that, an anxious hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as he laughed it off “well I’m glad I could be of service”

“I don’t think I realized how bad I had been sleeping lately until that night” you revealed softly, the carbs and the late hour clearly kicking in as you seemed to sober slightly “stress of parent teacher night ya know? But I slept really well that night”

“I know what you mean” the words slipped out of him before he could think any better of it, the way they put a smile on your face making it hard for him to regret them though.

You studied him for a moment, a comfortable silence blanketing the two of you before you broke it softly “you wouldn’t admit it but you were having a bad day. Did I make it better?”

Now it was his turn to examine you, to watch the lazy way you kicked your feet out from the chair, the way your hair fell half hazardly around your face as you tilted your head slightly at him, the soft curve of your lips as you smiled absentmindedly at him “yeah. Yeah you did”

“Good” and now you were beaming at him, spreading a warmth through his chest he wasn’t prepared for “we should do it again sometime”

“Pass out on your couch?”

“I’d prefer the bed but beggers choosers” you shrugged through the idiom with a chuckle “but no I meant be there for one another. It’s nice to have someone there, even if it’s just to exist next to them in silence”

“yeah it is” the admission again left him without much thought, a smile growing on him as he watched you perk up slightly at the response “for now though you need to get to bed and work on sleeping this off, you good to head home now?”

You nodded happily at the question, pushing yourself off the stool with practiced ease as you did so “Just need to grab my purse and I’ll be good”

He frowned at that “what purse?”

“Black tiny bag” you described it to him, looking around his apartment lazily “got my keys in it”

“You didn’t come in with a purse”

“no” you shook off the statement without a thought “I remember packing it before I left, got all my stuff in it”

“No I mean you didn’t come into my place with a purse” he explained slowly, watching as the news seemed to hit you, your shoulders dropping in defeat “You didn’t have it with you when you got off the elevator”

With a heavy sigh you cursed under your breath, the palms of your hands coming up to dig harshly into your eyes as you swore softly, the last of your fun drunkenness abandoning you fully.

With a huff Robby couldn’t help but smile at the move, gesturing back to his room with a nod “Go take a shower I’ll call the bar you were at and see if they have it”

With a grumble you nodded “thank you”

“Don’t worry about it” he shook you off as he pulled out his phone “bottom left drawer of my dresser should have clothes you can wear, take whatever you want”

Nodding you slowly pulled yourself off towards his room, tossing the name of the bar you were at over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Calling confirmed the bar did in fact have your purse and were willing to hold onto it until the morning so Robby made sure to inform Jack he would be running a little late the next day so he had time to go with you to pick it up. By the time he had finished his calls and cleaned up the kitchen you had joined him back out in the living room, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with dripping hair in sweatpants that were just slightly too long and a shirt you had no business looking that good in.

“I’m sorry I could’ve helped clean”

He shook you off again with a swipe of his hand, practically forcing his eyes away from you as he surveyed the space around him “don’t worry about it there wasn’t much to do” he assured you, offering you the glass of water he had gotten you earlier “drink all of that first but go ahead and go to bed, we can go pick up your purse tomorrow”

With a nod you took the glass with a small thank you, “will you-uh-“ you stuttered on the words, fidgeting slightly on the spot making Robby frown “do you think we can share the bed?”

His furrowed brow raised as he realized what you were getting at, already shaking his head “Oh don’t worry about it I was already going to insist you take the bed anyways, I’ll sleep on the couch”

You chuckled nervously at that, taping your fingers on the side of the glass as you shook your head in response “no I mean. Just it was really nice last time we-ya know-shared the couch. Would it be okay if we did it again?”

Robby was at a loss for words at the question, his entire mind going blank on the spot as you fidgeted beneath his gaze.

“The answer can of course be no” you quickly cut in with a small laugh “I just haven’t slept as well since so I figured”

“Yeah” the word all but slipped out of him without his head clearing it, Robby finding in the moment that he didn’t really want to walk it back anyways “yeah we can share the bed”

Finally your fidgeting broke as you smiled in relief, relaxing on the spot as you nodded “okay good”

“You go on ahead I’ll meet you in there” he instructed softly with a smile “just gotta lock up first”

Giving him a nod you heeded his instructions, slipping underneath his covers on one side of the bed and laying still, listening to Robby’s nighttime routine as he locked the door and brushed his teeth.

When he finally made it back to the bedroom you could practically feel the hesitance rolling off of him as he stood beside the bed for a moment, not moving an inch as he debated just taking the couch anyways, before he carefully peeled back one corner of the blanket and slowly lowered himself, careful not to jostle the bed too much in case you were sleeping, careful not to get too close to what he considered ‘your side’.

You, however, were having none of that. The minute he seemed to settle you turned around and moved yourself beside him, placing your head directly onto his shoulder with a soft hum.

A startled inhale sounded from Robby as you did so, the muscles in his arm all tensing beneath you the second you made contact.

“I warned you, you make a comfortable pillow” you whispered out into the room attempting to cut the tension in the air. Something you seemed to at least partially accomplish as he huffed out a laugh in response, his arm remaining tense nonetheless “unless you’re uncomfortable cause we don’t have to-“

“no no” he interrupted you softly before you could get too far, his voice slightly hoarse causing him to pause as he cleared it quietly before continuing “could you just lift your head for a second”

Complying quickly Robby slipped his arm beneath your head and wrapped it around you wordlessly, prompting you to drop your head back down onto his chest and wrap your arm around him in response, one leg naturally tangling with his as you buried yourself fully into Robby’s side with a content hum that made him chuckle.

Your mind stayed fixed on the soft patterns he was tracing on your arm with his finger, wondering if he was even aware he was doing it. “Thanks for saving me tonight Robby”

Another appreciative laugh escaped him, your head bobbing slightly as his chest rumbled with it “’saving’ is a strong word there, I just gave you a place to crash, basic human decency”

And you thought about arguing the point, pushing back on his refusal to properly accept your thanks, point out that he was doing a lot more than the ‘basic’ nice thing. But if you knew Robby, and you were starting to think maybe you did, that would just make things worse, would just push him further away, so you let it go, for now at least “and supplied the French fries. You can’t forget the French fries”

“You’re right I did save you didn’t I? Think they’ll knight me?”

“Pretty sure that only applies in England” you hummed back, enjoying the quietness of the moment, the simplicity of it, the lack of any expectation “maybe a key to the city?”

“Not nearly as cool”

“No. No it isn’t. We’ll get you something to make up for it” your next words left you in a sleepy whisper, your eyes already closed, your brain not conscious enough to fully recognize the weight of your words as they slipped out “you deserve nice things Robby”

His fingers stilled at the words, no sound escaping him as he went silent, staring at the ceiling above the bed, all while you finally succumbed to sleep.

-

Things changed after that.

It wasn’t quite as you hoped, you still went days without seeing one another but whenever you had a bad day you had someone to go to, someone you knew would be there for you without question, without comment if that’s what you preferred, and you knew Robby felt the same.

There was no dramatic change, you didn’t automatically start spending every night together but still you found your excuses to cuddle up every now and then.

Something that apparently wasn’t going unnoticed, at least on Robby’s end.

“You seem lighter lately. Happy almost” Dana’s comment came out of nowhere at the end of a fairly standard Thursday shift. As usual with the charge nurse there was no preamble, no beating around the push, no coddling of feelings, she went right to the issue. For the first time Robby found that he really wished she wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry?”

“No it’s good. It’s creeping out the med students, our number of charting errors have been cut in half” She smirked at him, a smile that foretold trouble he did not want to deal with.

“Ah then you’re welcome”

“So you gonna tell me about her?”

And there it was, the metaphorical shoe “her?”

“The woman who’s been making you happy” Each statement was said with such a level of confidence, of finality, it felt absurd to try and push back.

“There is no woman” And yet still he must.

“There has to be a woman”

An incredulous laugh left him at that as he finally lifted his gaze fully from the chart in front of him to look at her. “Is it so impossible to think I’m just feeling better lately” he knew how weak the argument would be before it even left his lips “Maybe I found inner peace”

And based on the glare Dana sent back at him she thought so too “Either there’s a woman or I’m asking Gloria to up suicide prevention measures on the roof”

“Ask her to hire more nurses while you’re at it”

Surely there had to be something else to do in the emergency department than badger him “Does she work here?”

Surely she had to accept his flat out denial eventually “There is no woman”

“There’s a woman” The two of them both tensed slightly at the emergence of a new voice, Purlah’s sudden arrival catching them both off guard.

Dana, however, recovered quickly with a wolfish grin “What do you know”

“I know a lot of things you’ll have to be specific” Purlah leaned on her forearms against the nurse’s desk as she settled eagerly into the conversation. Now was his time to escape.

“About the woman”

“The woman up front? Is there something to know?” The last question was directed to him as the two woman fixed him with their gaze, halting him mid tip-toe.

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about” Robby groaned softly, rubbing a tired hand over his face as he grabbed the first tablet he could see “now if you excuse me I think at least one of us should be doing thier job right now”

“Wait but the woman up front” Purlah stopped him before he could leave “She’s asking for you, says her name is Y/N Y/L/N”

A strange mix of panic and dejection filled Robby at the revelation, both feelings only growing as he watched Dana break out into a wolfish grin over Purlah’s shoulder as she watched his face drop before finally conceding “Yeah send her back”

Purlah nodded and took off and Robby knew news of your existence would be spread to every medical professional on the floor within the hour. So much for flat out denial.

“So there is a woman”

He refused to look at Dana as he switched out tablets “I promise it’s not what you think”

“Believe me I’m trying very hard not to think about it” she snorted, gaze pulling to the door to the ED as it opened and you scurried in behind Purlah, head ducked low and eyes planted firmly on the ground as you held a familiar looking kitchen towel to your hand “She’s cute”

“Not a word” Robby tossed the empty threat over his shoulder as he made his way to the room you were being placed in, choosing to ignore the cackle Dana let loose as he did so, instead putting all of his focus on your clearly panicked figure that sat up on the bed before him.

“Hey I’m really sorry”

“Don’t be sorry” he brushed you off easily, docking the tablet and pulling on a pair of gloves with practiced ease “What’s going on”

“I cut myself honestly a while ago and it hasn’t stopped bleeding” you held the towel wrapped hand out in front of you, offering it to him, speaking much faster than you normally did.

“Alright let’s take a look” he tried to slow down purposefully, to speak lowly and quietly, to put as much calm into his tone as he could.

“Again I’m so sorry to bother you at work and ask for you specifically I didn’t-“ Still you took off at double speed, not even making eye contact with him as you spoke.

“Hey you’re okay you should always come in with stuff like this” he cut you off with a reassurance, hand coming out to squeeze your knee in a small offer of comfort.

“Yeah I know I just feel like I used you to bypass the whole line and you guys probably have a whole system in place-“

“You’re rambling what’s going on” he cut you off again, a small frown as he watched you squirm on the spot, gaze never staying in one spot for long enough to be natural.

“I don’t really do hospitals well” you admitted shyly, the corners of Robby’s mouth ticking up slightly at your words as he shrugged.

“That’s okay me neither”

For the first time your eyes finally met him as you sent him a cold glare “you’re not helping”

He tried desperately to fight back his smile “Okay I’m sorry but listen, small cut, just a few stitches, we’ll have you out of here in no time”

“Right sure, few stitches” he let you all but talk to yourself as he gathered the suture supplies, tuning back in when he heard you voice raise slightly as you addressed him “I’m assuming that requires a needle”

“If you’d prefer I can hold the skin together myself until it starts to heal but I’ll warn you my hourly rate is incredibly expensive”

Another death glare was sent his way, he choked back a chuckle.

“Jokes’re really not helping got it.” He changed tactics with a warm smile, planting himself onto a backless stool a breath away from you, giving your knee a soft knock with his own “I’ve done a million of these it’ll be over before you know it”

Still you looked at him skeptically, a look that told him you were seriously considering his offer of simply holding your skin together himself.

“Hey you’re the one that told me I was a good doctor not that long ago, let me prove you right”

That finally got to you, a dramatic huff leaving you as you deflated slightly on the spot, a defeated “fine” slipping through your teeth Robby couldn’t help but chuckle at as he got the lidocaine ready.

“That’s the spirit. Now local anesthetic, small pinch and a burn” The words came out quickly, more one amalgamation of sound than individual words, his brain already starting to go through the motions when he paused “Imma need you to stop tensing, it’s just going to make it worse”

“Yeah I know I’m sorry” you sighed out the words, giving your shoulders a little shake to try and relax.

“You’re still tensing”

“I can’t help it I’m freaking out” the words exploded out of you as you tried to pull your hand back, Robby grabbing you by the wrist softly to try and direct you back into place.

“Hey hey look at me” he approached calming you down like dealing with a wild animal, entirely soft words and slow movement “sweetheart please I’ve got you. Do you trust me?”

With a huff you let him have you hand back, staring back at him blankly with an expression that told him the second he let go of you you were out the door.

“I’m going to pretend this hesitation doesn’t hurt”

With a roll of your eyes you sighed again, forcing a deep breath as you shook out the tension in your shoulders once more before refocusing your gaze, locking eyes with him and nodding softly “yeah I trust you”

Before you could even think of doing anything else he inserted the needle and depressed the plunger, pulling back quick enough to escape the way you dramatically snatched your hand back from him “Fuck did you just stab me with a needle without looking”

“I told you I’ve done a few of these” he shrugged with a smirk, already moving on to prepare the next step.

“Did you do each of them blind too?”

“The needle was already lined up” he motioned for you to give him your hand back, unable to keep the smile off his face as you glared at him.

“No I’m not listening I want a new doctor”

“What if I promised to look when I actually do the stitches”

“That should be a given?” The words came out in an incredulous shriek that had Robby fully laughing

"I'll give you a lollipop when we’re done”

You narrowed your eyes at him at the offer, hand on your injured wrist tightening slightly before you suddenly thrust it back at him with a huff “If I have a scar I’m suing”

“Deal” he conceded easily, threading his needle and inserting it before you could call it off again, the cut requiring just two quick stitches Robb had you done in minutes “See that wasn’t too bad”

Only when he had finished bandaging did you pull back your arm again, cradling it protectively into your chest as you sent him another glare “I want you to know I’m leaving this hospital with emotional pain as well as the physical pain I was already in”

“Oh that’s my specialty” Robby snorted as he started to clean up “Call it a two for one special”

“I’m demanding a red lollipop in recompense”

Robby looked surprisingly sheepish at that, hands tucked deep into his pockets as he swayed back on his heels “ah so about that we don’t actually have lollipops here. More of a family medicine thing”

You let the silence stretch uncomfortably as you glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest for an effect that pulled a small snort out of him.

“I can offer you a crisp five dollar bill for the vending machine though”

“And you lie to patients” you mused with an shake of your head and a condescending tsk “I’m adding this to my pile of evidence for the malpractice suit”

“My first name’s Michael just so you can make sure to get the right person on that”

You paused at that, cocking your head to the side slightly as you asked “is it really?”

“Yeah” he chuckled softly “you didn’t know that?”

“Always thought your parents just had a thing for alliteration” You shrugged it off with a smile, watching the corners of his tick up in response “seriously though thank you for this. I know I’m not the easiest patient”

“You didn’t get bodily fluids on me or try to hit me so that’s a win in my book”

“Damn so the bar’s low”

“Everytime I think we hit rock bottom someone shows up with a pickaxe to prove we can go deeper”

You let out an almost hollow chuckle, a sound more to fill the awkward silence following a statement you guessed held more truth than you could know.

“About what you said earlier” he hedged the words in, seemed almost hesitant to let them fall.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be held responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth for the duration of this visit”

He chuckled appreciatively at the break in tension, running his knuckles up and down across the palm of his other hand as he looked at you for a moment before physically shaking himself out of it “no I mean if you’re ever back here again, for any reason, tell the nurses to come find me okay? Don’t worry about messing up our system I promise it’s a myth anyways, just come find me”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him at that, the promise falling softly from your lips “I will”

“Good” he answered just a softly with a nod “now how are you getting home”

“Ah I walked” you answered sheepishly “Tried to delay the inevitable for as long as possible”

He shook his head at that but didn’t say anything to condemn it, reaching into his pockets to pull out his wallet “I get off in 45, here”

You furrowed your brow as he tried to thrust a few folded bills into your hand “oh you don’t have to”

“Please it was cruel of me to dangle candy in front of you without following through” he was brushing off your denial quickly, grabbing your hand to force the money into your fingers when you refused to grab it “Get yourself something from the vending machine and wait in the breakroom I’ll take you home”

“Its not that far” you tried again

“Let me anyways” and you could see the silent question in his eyes, the plea, it was a look not dissimilar to the one he wore when he showed up at your door late at night.

“Which way’s the breakroom”

He responded with a soft smile, making his way behind you and leading you forward with a hand at the small of your back, stopping just outside the door to point to a room across the way. “Just through there, I’ll come find you when I’m done”

With a nod you started to make your way to the room, not making it more than a step before he was calling back to you.

“Also if a blonde woman introduces herself as Dana you run in the opposite direction”

“You realize that just makes me want to talk to her more right?”

“It was worth a shot”

-

For perhaps the first time in his life Robby was ready to leave work on time, some may even say he was eager to do so. And if the smirk on her face was anything to go by Dana was certainly one of these people.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve checked your watch in the past five minutes”

Robby chose to ignore her teasing tone, bouncing on his feet lightly as he eyed the board with dread “My shift did end five minutes ago”

She snorted at that, shaking her head as she watched him avoid her gaze “I wasn’t aware you knew what time your shift ended”

Robby sent her a cutting glare “I don’t suppose you’re going to get on Jack’s case like this too for being five minutes late when he’s always twenty early”

She sent him a dangerous smirk and a shrug “Don’t have to Jack’s here already”

Robby furrowed his brow at that, casting his gaze over the bustling ED in search of the attending “He is? Since when?”

“Bout twenty minutes ago” there was a forced casualness to her tone that made him dread whatever she was going to say next “I sent him to the breakroom for coffee, weird he hasn’t come back yet”

Another sharp glare was sent her way she couldn’t help but grin under “You’re too invested in my personal life”

“What personal life” she snorted “thought you said ‘it’s not what you think’”

“I’m leaving” he declared with a nock on the desk “you should too”

“You going to offer to walk me home too” she called after him as he made his way to the bank of lockers, enjoying the pointed way he ignored the comment.

Grabbing his things quickly he threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the breakroom, barging through the door without a thought to see you and Jack sitting side by side, the corners of his mouth tipped up in as close to a smile as Jack got while your soft laugh rang through the air, your injured hand without any of the dressings he had so carefully applied half an hour ago cradled softly in one of his.

“Hey Robby” Your greeting snapped him out of his staring contest with your hands, his gaze meeting yours across the room as you offered him a soft smile.

“Hey” he greeted back, watching Jack slowly, deliberately, retract his hand from yours “is everything alright with your stitches?”

“Yeah they’re good” you affirmed happily “Jack just wanted to take a look at them”

Jack, not Dr. Abbot or even just Abbot, Jack.

“Can’t remember the last time you did stitches, gotta make sure you don’t horribly scar the poor girl” if the smirk on Jack’s face was anything to go by the man knew exactly what he was doing.

“And the verdict is?”

“I’ve seen worse”

He snorted humorous-lessly “high praise coming from a combat medic”

Jack sent him another smirk before turning back to you “let me get you another set of dressings and you’re good to go”

“I got it” Robby cut in before Jack could get up, not enjoying the amusement that danced in the man’s eyes as his gaze cut back to Robby still standing in the entryway.

“I don’t mind-“

“I said I got it” Robby forced a polite smile to his face, one he knew didn’t reach his eyes, a fact that only made Jack’s smirk deepen “Besides I heard you have a case of explosive diarrhea to take care of in south 7”

Jack chuckled as he leaned slightly closer to you, stage whispering while he kept his gaze on Robby “I think I’m in trouble”

You giggled back at him knocking your shoulder against his playfully as you stage whispered back “you better go before you get me in trouble too”

Standing up slowly Jack made his way out of the breakroom finally, sending Robby off with a mirth filled smile and a slightly too aggressive set of pats on the shoulder, finally leaving you and him alone in the breakroom.

“In my defense you told me to avoid Dana, nothing in there about Jack”

With a huff he shook his head, dropping his back next to you “My mistake clearly. Now lets get you some new bandages and get out of here before she has a chance to sink he claws into you”

“Ah you’re about thirty minutes too late for that” you giggled at the way he sighed dramatically at that, sitting down next to you to start applying a new set of bandages to your hand. “I like your coworkers though, they’re nice”

He chuckled at that with a shake of his head “nice is not the word I would go with there, try lacking any semblance of boundaries”

“The best of friends are” you shrugged with a grin, Robby unable to help himself from mimicking it as he finished off your bandage.

Finally free to leave the hospital the two of you made your way out, Robby doing his absolute best to avoid the gaze of everyone as he led you through the packed waiting room. Only when he was safely outside with you did he finally breathe easy.

The silence between the two of you as you walked stretched, blanketed the surrounding area, he couldn’t help but focus on it and yet it didn’t feel oppressive, didn’t feel awkward, he didn’t feel the need to try and break it.

This was the moment everything changed, there was a charge in the air you could feel, a weight to the moment that was palpable.

Robby looked down at you wordlessly, eyes dancing over your face as he just studied you for a moment, the corners of his mouth tipping up as you offered him a soft smile.

“Let me take you out” a simple offer, said on a shrug, followed by an endearing clarification “like on a date”

It wasn’t a grand declaration, wasn’t a cathartic clash, wasn’t a dramatic outpouring of emotion. It was quiet, casual, understated. A facsimile of that first time you spoke in the hallway. A simple hand held out, palm up. An offer for the taking.

“I’d like that”

You hadn’t known all that would result from that chance meeting late at night in the hallway. Hadn’t known all of the comfortable silences, awkward moments, and heartfelt conversations that would be shared in the weeks to come. And honestly you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[hcneymooners]

❀ my favorite fic writers on tumblr except my descriptions are oddly specific. ( pt. 1 )

@pbaz7: sleek, refined, luxurious. you always want to keep it on the tongue. you always want more, but you know better than to overindulge. the best way i can put it: every single piece takes the ordinary and deepens it. a conversation is never just a conversation. it’s about what you didn’t say, what you didn’t text, what you thought you mentioned but know you didn’t. it feels like night-riding: slowing down on the highway but going top speed, the world slurring into a blur of headlights and a pitch black sky, someone else driving you in the body of a dark black car. always looking in, a love that never asks you to look out. every word hits like a broken-off piece of dark chocolate. the world expands like a pupil under a drug. luxe, perfect, niche. writing that doesn’t worry about what you think of it; it just knows you will think of it.

@bucketsorbueckers: fucking lush. the exact feeling of going on a deep water dive—pressure, but gentle. perfect exploration of domination and submission without ever feeling cliché. it invites you in, but never lets you out. did you want to leave? maybe. but you know staying is better for you. cyclical. everything comes back around, everything is a lesson earned. feels like that girl you keep seeing in slips of light when you’re out somewhere: you keep looking at her, at her flash of teeth, her perfect outfit, her thrumming veins, her hip bones. makes you feel like it’s only you, and then you blink and it's not. it’s about attention. attention in every form: learning people, learning the rules, watching them, breaking them. reading is letting go, and when it’s over you feel hungover in the most delicious way. dark red, berry pink, burnt orange. a trust fall where you never land. so good. the exact experience of a contact high with someone you love, of chasing someone you need.

@elleaitch22: b.o.a.t by camila cabello. the feeling of being someone’s favorite baby—someone’s favorite anything. staying after everyone’s left just to get a moment alone. kisses in someone’s lap. secret smiles because you share an internal inside joke. stumbling through your twenties but being honest about it. hands in your hair as you dance in a dark room. roses—specifically thick and pink. the remnants of perfume on a sweater you can’t bring yourself to wash because you miss them too much. peonies. fingers clasped under the table. privacy screens on a cellphone. bella hadid bare face. airplane mode. that suspended feeling of safety when you’re with someone you trust. forehead kisses. friendship bracelets. talking into a kiss. hands around your hips. non-toxic possession. trying again because this time, you will get it right. happiness that’s earned. a quiet life. the city under a sunset bleed, light flashing off a skyscraper and blinding you for six perfect seconds. the shower after the beach. love as a tightrope. skinship. you made it. you knew you would. vanilla and amber.

@loeysoi: mariners apartment complex by lana. faded-out camera, route 66, bubblegum fondness, loose freshly washed hair. driving over bridges and backroads, forgetting to text back but the people who know you forgive you anyway. it’s that careless kind of affection, messy and soft, that song you never skip. reading lyra’s work is like sitting in a car with the windows down, sun slipping low, everything blurred at the edges but somehow sharper inside. poetic, lyrical, never trying too hard. she’s finding it and you’re looking with her, only to have a minute more of her time. she’s your woman, she’s your man. a kind of quiet recklessness: wanting to be seen but a little afraid to ask for it, loving without explanation or ceremony. humorous but never at your expense. tan lines and sun-freckled skin, random shit to keep a spot in a book, sun-bleached denim, the specific energy of someone trying to keep the smoke out of your face, the warm ache of trying to hold on while knowing you probably won’t. endlessly fragile, endlessly real.

@lupinqs: maddie’s work can’t be described as anything other than a vast emotional landscape. it feels like i’ve been let into a secret world i never want to leave—an outsider sitting quietly, watching someone else’s life unfold in great detail. her blog, both in content and aesthetic, is the equivalent of slipping outside during a night out and sitting in the haze of smoke, while the light refracts off of you and dusts across someone else. it’s effortlessly nuanced and emotionally mature, without ever begging you to notice. i can’t explain the correlation, but it gives cool, calm middle daughter who’s riotous and fun when you slowly cut into her like slicing into a cake. always lovely, always self-assured, always carrying a tone that acts like a calling card. you couldn’t mistake it for anyone else’s, but it’s sweet when someone says you remind them of her.

@azzibuckets: cessa is a snapshot. straight glitter down a throat. a million memories you keep guarded like a dog. the same perfect feel as being pressed close to someone in a photo booth. a sweet spot, a soft spot, just tenderness always spilling over, without the embarrassment of being so revealed. first love. a perfect crush. a bright summer that seems to last forever. the gentle nature of waking up after a sleepover tangled together, legs brushing. instantly recognizable, with its bright, bubbly beat. it’s laughter caught in a cup, the low hum of fizzy emotional texture, the safety of being known without having to explain. kissing a girl under the excuse of trying out her lip gloss. the sun caught under your tongue and deep in your belly. you’ll never die here. you’ll be alright here. writing that feels like holding hands without realizing you reached out first.

@luvergirl-535: honeymoon album by lana del rey, cherry soda fizz, the perfect lip combo made up of products you can’t find anymore. a slow, dulcet hum that’s both dreamy and daring. writing that drips with lipstick glazed by too much time in the sun, tongue-in-cheek with a wink caught just right in the corner of a smile, dimples, playful but never shallow, a streak of mischief with a quiet, certain knowing of what she wants. coachella when it was still fun. leaning on a shoulder. being picked up behind the knees into someone’s arms when you fall asleep in the car. sweetness with an edge: bubblegum kisses that sting a little, drifting close enough to taste. a private world, empty beaches, desire when it feels both tender and sharp. what you’re holding onto when you feel yourself growing up. stairway to heaven. soft, sly, and unforgettable.

part two coming soon. x

[synity]

I recently saw the video where s.coups showed his surgery scars on his knee (😔) can you write some fluff about reader taking care of him after surgery/after seeing the video ? Thank you so much and also , people will always accuse you of such things because they are jealous . just don't care about their opinions and keep on doing what you like ❤️❤️❤️

IT HURTS TO BREATHE

(Choi Seungcheol x FemReader)

*Slice-of-life, Emotional healing, Fluff, Idolverse, Comfort, Light angst, Vunerability, Romance, Domestic romance, Adventure, Contemporary romance, Light comedy, Emotional support, and Quiet resilience*

Warnings: mentions of injury/surgery recovery, emotional vulnerability, mental health (idol burnout, anxiety), crying, heavy emotional scenes, romantic fluff

I don’t know why that video hit me the way it did.

I’ve seen him perform, smile, carry his members like a leader made of steel but watching that clip of Seungcheol pulling up his pant leg and showing the scars on his knee…

It broke something in me.

It wasn’t the scar itself. It was the silence in the room when he showed it. The way the members looked away. The way he kind of chuckled, like he was pretending it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t ache every time he danced. Like it wasn’t a reminder of pain stitched into him.

And I guess the world saw it and moved on, like it was nothing. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how much he must’ve endured. Quietly.

The first night he came home from the hospital, he tried to smile. He really did.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, voice soft, brushing a hand through my hair. “I’m okay, really.”

But I could see the pain hiding behind his eyes the way he winced when he moved, the way he avoided sitting down fully, how he flinched when the blanket brushed against his knee.

“You don’t have to pretend,” I whispered.

That’s when he broke. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just… slowly.

His shoulders slumped. His voice wavered.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled. “I’m supposed to be strong. But all I feel is… small.”

My heart cracked open.

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” I said, kneeling beside the bed. “You just have to be real.”

He looked at me like no one had said that to him before. Not in that way.

The next few days, I took care of him.

I cooked simple meals. Helped him shower when the pain was too much. Cleaned around him. Reached for things he couldn’t. Changed his bandages when his hands trembled.

I remember the first time I saw the scar up close. My breath caught.

It wasn’t just a scar it was a story. Of every dance he forced himself through, every moment on stage where he smiled for the fans while he was screaming inside.

“You hate it?” he asked quietly, watching my face.

I shook my head. “I hate that you went through it alone.”

And that night, for the first time, he let me cry in front of him.

I didn’t sob loudly. I just sat on the floor with my head in his lap, arms around his waist, tears soaking into his shirt while he stroked my hair with his uninjured hand.

He didn’t tell me to stop crying.

He didn’t tell me to be strong either.

He just whispered, “I know. I know. I’m here.”

One night, around 3am, I woke up to him staring out the window.

The moonlight poured in like soft silver, casting shadows on his skin. His knee was slightly bent, elevated by a pillow. I saw his hand resting gently on the scar, as if he was still trying to accept it.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked.

He turned to me. There was something in his eyes like a boy who once thought the world would always see him as invincible. And now, all he could see were his cracks.

“I’m scared,” he said.

I climbed out of bed and sat beside him.

“Of what?”

“Being forgotten. Falling behind. Not being enough anymore.” He paused. “What if they stop loving me because I can’t dance the same? What if I’m not the leader they need?”

It hit me then, how heavy that weight on his chest was.

“I didn’t fall in love with your dance moves, Cheol,” I whispered. “I fell in love with how you give pieces of yourself to everyone, even when you’re empty. I fell in love with the way you love your members like family. The way you smile at fans like you see each of them. The way you hide your pain to protect others. I see you. Not your steps. You.”

He didn’t say anything.

He just leaned his head on my shoulder, and we stayed like that until dawn.

Some days are better than others. He laughs more now. He lets me trace his scar with my fingers like it’s a map, not a flaw.

“I think,” he said once, “I was scared of looking weak in front of you.”

I smiled, brushing his hair back. “And I think you’re more beautiful now than ever.”

He didn’t believe me at first. But over time, he started to see it. In the way I looked at him. In the way I loved him not despite his scars, but with them.

I don’t know why that video hit me the way it did.

I’ve seen him perform, smile, carry his members like a leader made of steel but watching that clip of Seungcheol pulling up his pant leg and showing the scars on his knee…

It broke something in me.

We made it a ritual: every night, before sleeping, I would kiss his knee gently. No words. Just a promise. That he is loved. That he is safe. That he doesn’t need to be strong every day.

And some nights, when he’s in too much pain to hide it, he falls asleep with his head in my lap, tears on his cheeks. And I hold him like he’s my whole world.

Because he is.

He’s not just the leader of thirteen boys. He’s not just a stage presence or a fan favorite.

He’s a man. A beautiful, soft-hearted man with scars, fears, dreams, and a soul that aches just like any of ours.

And I will love every inch of him.

Even the broken parts.

Especially the broken parts.

Because that’s where the light gets in.

The seasons changed quietly, and so did he.

Not all at once.

Some days, he woke up lighter. He’d joke about how “grandpa Cheol” needed his heating pad before breakfast. He let me put cute stickers on his crutches once hearts, tiny carrots, and a teddy bear holding a “you did well” sign. He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t take them off.

He started to trust softness.

And yet… even healing has its shadows.

It was the day of the company shoot.

His first time returning to a set since the surgery.

I was helping him put on his outfit. My hands grazed his thigh while adjusting the fabric, and I felt him stiffen.

“What’s wrong?” I asked gently.

He stared into the mirror. Then at his knee. Then at me.

“I don’t want people to look at me and only see damage,” he whispered.

I touched his cheek. “They won’t.”

He gave a dry smile. “You will. Eventually.”

I hated that voice in his head. The one the world gave him. The one that told him he was only worthy when perfect. Only loved when shining.

So I kissed his scar. Then again. And again.

“Every inch of you is worth loving,” I whispered. “Even this. Especially this. This is where you fought. This is proof you stayed.”

He turned his head away, and I saw it—his eyes glassy.

But he nodded.

And he let me hold his hand on the way out the door.

After the shoot, he came home quiet.

He barely touched his food. Barely looked up.

I sat beside him on the couch, waiting. Not pushing.

Eventually, he spoke.

“Someone asked if I regretted getting the surgery,” he said. “If I thought it changed me.”

He looked down at his hands.

“And I didn’t know what to say. Because… maybe it did. Maybe I’m not who I was.”

Silence.

Then, he looked at me.

“Would you still love me if I couldn’t dance at all?”

I could’ve cried.

“Cheol,” I said, “I’d love you even if you couldn’t walk. Even if you lost your voice. Even if the whole world turned its back on you.”

I cupped his face, and his tears started to fall before he could stop them.

“I’d love you through every version of you. Broken. Brave. Angry. Quiet. Soft. Still.”

That night, we didn’t sleep.

We stayed up listening to the rain tapping the windows, wrapped in each other like the world didn’t exist beyond our skin.

He let me trace every scar physical or not. He told me about the nights in the hospital where he cried alone. About the fear of waking up to a future he couldn’t recognize. About the guilt of feeling like a burden to his team.

And I told him this: “You were never a burden. You were always the heart.”

He buried his face in my neck, and I held him until his breathing slowed.

We built a new rhythm after that.

Morning coffees with jokes about who’s the better barista. Physical therapy sessions where I cheered him on like he was running a marathon. Lazy Sundays on the floor, lying in the sun, legs tangled, soft music playing.

We weren’t perfect. But we were present.

He danced again eventually. Softer. But he danced.

And when he stumbled, I didn’t catch him to save him I caught him to remind him that falling didn’t mean failure.

One evening, while folding laundry, he suddenly asked me:

“Do you still think I’m beautiful?”

I turned to him.

He was standing by the balcony, light pouring through the sheer curtains. His scar caught the light not hidden, not ashamed. Just there. Part of him.

I walked over, rested my head against his chest.

“You’ve never looked more like the man I love.”

He exhaled shakily. “Thank you… for staying. For seeing me.”

I smiled into his shirt.

“I didn’t stay despite your scars. I stayed because of them.”

He kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Then I guess I’m not so afraid anymore.”

He still gets quiet sometimes.

Still flinches when the pain creeps in.

Still stares at the scar like it speaks louder than his voice ever could.

But now, he doesn’t face it alone.

Now, when the silence comes, I take his hand and kiss the space where it hurts.

And he lets me.

Because love isn’t about fixing.

It’s about holding.

It’s about saying: “Even if the world only sees your scars… I’ll always see your soul.”

He hadn’t smiled in days. Not really.

That kind of smile that starts in the chest. That doesn’t feel forced. That doesn’t feel like he owes it to his fans, his team, his world.

He had been working again, pushing too hard again. That permanent ache in his knee had returned, like a whisper saying, “Don’t forget, you’re not whole.”

But he was whole.

He was mine.

And I wanted to remind him of that.

So one evening, I sat next to him on the couch, took his hand in both of mine, and said:

“Cheol… come away with me.”

His eyebrows lifted, tired. “Come away where?”

“Somewhere warm. Somewhere with blue water. Somewhere that doesn’t ask anything of you. Just… the sun, the waves, and me.”

He hesitated. “I can’t. There’s so much to-”

“You can.” I squeezed his hand. “And you should. You’ve taken care of everyone else. Let me take care of you now.”

He looked at me like I’d just told him the sky could fall and we’d be safe anyway.

And the next morning, we were on a plane to Punta Cana, República Dominicana.

The first day, he barely spoke.

He just laid in the hammock on the little terrace of our beach villa, one arm draped over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach.

I brought him chilled coconut water. Pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Sat beside him with a book I never actually opened.

He didn’t have to talk.

I just wanted him to feel peace. To let the ocean undo the knots in his chest.

That night, we watched the sunset in silence.

As the sky turned orange and soft purples, I glanced at him. His lips were parted, eyes slightly wet.

“It doesn’t hurt right now,” he whispered.

I didn’t ask what “it” meant.

Pain. Pressure. The weight he carried every day.

I simply leaned into him and said, “That’s all I wanted for you.”

We spent our mornings in the ocean. I would swim ahead and turn back just to see him laugh that soft, open kind of laugh, the one I’d fallen in love with.

He’d splash me. Call me a little menace. Let the waves carry him like a child again.

In the afternoons, we’d find shade and drink fresh juice while I massaged his knee with the softest touch I could manage.

“I’m scared it’ll always be like this,” he said one day, his voice barely a whisper. “That I’ll never be… free in my own body again.”

“You’re not alone in it,” I replied, still rubbing gentle circles. “And freedom doesn’t mean going back. It means choosing how to move forward.”

He nodded slowly, eyes fluttering shut.

One evening, we danced barefoot on the beach.

There was no music just the sound of waves, the breeze rustling through palm leaves, and his low hum against my ear.

He moved cautiously. He held me tighter than usual.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he chuckled.

“You’re doing more than that,” I smiled up at him. “You’re living.”

He kissed me. Not like the urgent kisses from before. This one was slow, warm, like the sea wrapping the shore. Like gratitude.

On our last night, we lay on a blanket under the stars.

He had his arm around me, and the scar on his knee caught the moonlight. This time, he didn’t hide it.

“Promise me something?” he asked.

“Anything.”

“If I forget what this felt like… remind me.”

I kissed his collarbone. “Every time.”

When we got home, things didn’t magically fix themselves.

His schedule was still demanding. His body still had limits.

But now, there was something new in him.

A memory.

A secret smile that said: I’ve touched joy. I’ve tasted quiet. I’ve been loved in the places I was most broken.

Sometimes he’ll pull me into the kitchen while I’m cooking, turn on a soft song, and sway with me.

Sometimes he’ll whisper, “Let’s run away again soon.”

And I’ll answer, “Just say when.”

Because the world can wait.

But healing healing can’t.

And love… love doesn’t ask for perfection. It just asks you to stay.

I hadn’t slept the night before.

The show was in a few hours, but my body wouldn’t let me rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him not dancing, not smiling but in pain, lying on the hospital bed, clutching his knee, saying “I’m scared I’ll never come back.”

And yet here we were. Hours away. He was coming back.

I sat quietly backstage, hidden behind the tech monitors and wires, while the rest of the staff bustled around. A pass hung loosely from my neck, but it wasn’t what gave me access it was him. He was my access. My home.

I could hear the crowd swelling beyond the curtains. Their voices full of love, hope, desperation. They’d missed him. They’d waited.

And so had I.

When the lights dimmed and the VCR started playing, I pressed a hand to my chest.

Every beat of the intro, I imagined him standing just beyond the wings. Breathing in. Out. In. Out.

“Cheol,” I whispered under my breath. “You’ve got this.”

And then he walked out.

He wasn’t sprinting. He wasn’t jumping. But he was there.

Walking confidently. Smiling with that same dimpled grin. His eyes searching the crowd, his hand on his heart.

The crowd screamed like they’d seen a miracle.

Because maybe they had.

He started rapping his verse smooth, controlled, powerful. There was a pause right before his footwork came in. A small bit of choreo, something light not too heavy on the knee.

He did it.

Not perfect. A little slower than the rest. But his version. His choice. His power.

And that’s when my eyes filled.

I didn’t cry because he was on stage.

I cried because I knew everything it took to get there.

I knew the nights he sat on the bathroom floor, icing his leg, refusing to let me see how badly it hurt. I knew the physical therapy sessions where he pushed himself too hard, then apologized for worrying me. I knew the breakdown he had in the car one night, whispering, “What if they’ve all moved on without me?”

And yet, here they were screaming louder than ever. Calling his name like it was a prayer.

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!”

I bit my lip and smiled through the tears.

You did it, baby.

When the lights went down for the encore, he disappeared from the main stage. I expected him to return with the others. He didn’t.

Instead, someone tapped my shoulder.

It was a staff member. “He’s asking for you.”

I blinked fast. “Now?”

She smiled. “Now.”

I found him alone in the greenroom, slumped on the couch, his chest still heaving from adrenaline and emotion.

His hair was damp with sweat. His knee was wrapped tight. His eyes were red.

He looked up at me.

And he broke.

He stood and pulled me into him like he’d been holding the whole world on his shoulders and finally let it fall.

“I was so scared,” he whispered into my neck. “I thought I wouldn’t make it. I thought I’d disappoint them. I thought-”

“You didn’t,” I choked out, gripping him tighter. “You didn’t disappoint anyone.”

He nodded, trembling. “But I kept thinking of you. Of that beach. Of your voice saying you’re not alone in it. That’s what got me through.”

I kissed his temple, tears spilling freely now. “You were never alone, Cheol. Never.”

Later that night, the group went out to celebrate. He didn’t stay long.

We ended up on the rooftop of our apartment building just the two of us, wrapped in one blanket, the city lights flickering like fireflies.

“I want to keep going,” he said softly.

“You will.”

“I want to do it for me. Not for pressure. Not for expectation. Just because I love it.”

I nodded, wiping his cheek. “That’s how I love you too.”

And as he laid his head in my lap and looked up at the stars, I realized:

The bravest thing isn’t getting back on stage. It’s letting someone see you fall apart, and still choosing to rise again.

And he did.

And I will always be watching Loving him, quietly. Loudly. Always.

I thought he was tired.

The tour had just wrapped, and I was ready to spend the next few days in sweats, ordering takeout, and massaging his knee every few hours while we watched movies.

But Seungcheol had other plans.

“Just trust me,” he said, grinning behind the wheel, his hand resting on my thigh. “Close your eyes.”

“Are you kidnapping me?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I’d never kidnap you. I’d ask you nicely and bribe you with iced coffee and forehead kisses.”

I sighed, already smiling. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.”

When we stopped, I opened my eyes and gasped.

He had set up a full picnic under a tall tree in a quiet park near the Han River. Blankets, cushions, lanterns, fairy lights strung through the branches above us.

But that wasn’t what got me.

What got me was the scrapbook that sat on top of the basket. And the small wooden box beside it carved with our initials. And a little folded card that read: “For every quiet day you stayed. For every time you held me when I couldn't stand. Let me give a piece of me back to you.”

I looked at him.

He smiled, a little nervously this time. “You always say I’m strong… but you’re the strongest person I know.”

He opened the scrapbook first.

Each page was hand-decorated with tiny drawings and messy glue stains. Photos of us silly ones, blurry ones, ones I didn’t even know existed. Captions like:

“She made me eat ramen three nights in a row but I still love her.”

“Taken 2 minutes before she cried watching a dog ad.”

“I don’t deserve her, but I’m never letting her go.”

Every now and then, a dried flower was taped in. Or a movie ticket. A Polaroid. A receipt.

“This is your love language, isn’t it?” I whispered, running my fingers over a photo of us at the beach.

He nodded. “It’s not loud. But it’s real.”

Then he opened the wooden box.

Inside: a pair of handmade pearl bracelets.

Simple. Elegant. One for him. One for me. Each with a tiny silver heart charm in the middle.

“I watched a dozen videos trying to learn how to tie them,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I messed up like seven times.”

I couldn’t stop smiling. “They’re perfect.”

“So are you,” he whispered.

Then came the final surprise.

He pulled out a small portable projector and turned it on against a white sheet strung between two tree trunks.

“A film?” I blinked.

He bit his lip. “something like that, yeah”

The screen lit up and I saw me.

Laughing. Dancing. Sleeping with my mouth slightly open. Painting. Walking away from the camera barefoot in the sand.

Clips from his phone. His camera. From months ago. From days ago. From nights I didn’t even know he was watching.

His voice, soft over the video: "I never say enough. So I made this. To say thank you. For not giving up on me when I couldn’t run. For seeing me when I tried to hide. For holding my heart gently, always."

He paused, his voice breaking.

"I love you. Not for what you do for me. But for who you are, when the world isn’t looking."

By the time it ended, I was crying. Like really crying. The kind that shakes in your chest and leaves your throat raw.

He turned to me, suddenly worried. “Too much?”

I launched into his arms, wrapping myself around him like the world might disappear if I didn’t.

“It’s everything, Cheol. It’s everything.”

That night, as we lay under the stars, his head on my stomach and my fingers in his hair, he whispered something so soft I almost missed it.

“I used to think performing was the best feeling in the world… But loving you like this? It beats every stage.”

And I whispered back, tears still quietly staining my cheeks:

“I’d sit in the crowd forever just to watch you smile.”

after 3 weeks, we were finally back in Korea. The tour was over. The surprise picnic had ruined me emotionally. And now… now Seungcheol was emotionally ruining himself trying to cook “breakfast for his baby.”

Keyword: trying.

“Why is the kitchen full of smoke?!”

I sprinted out of the bathroom, towel still on my head.

“I don’t know!! The pancakes attacked first!” he yelled from behind a spatula, flapping it like a fan.

There were exactly four smoke alarms going off. He had flour on his cheek, egg in his hair, and somehow… somehow… he had managed to set the banana milk carton on fire.

“How does banana milk catch fire?!”

“I DON’T KNOW, BABE, I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE IT CUTE!”

We ended up eating instant noodles and crying laughing while watching our old videos.

“I forgot I used to do that jump split move,” he groaned, rubbing his knee.

“You also used to wear those little suspenders. Iconic.”

He gave me the deadest stare. “Don’t bring that era up again. Please. I had trauma.”

“I’ll bring it up at our wedding.”

“What-”

“Nothing!” I sipped my soup innocently.

Later that day, we went for a walk, and he INSISTED on wearing flip flops. “Easy and breezy,” he said. “I’m a summer boyfriend.”

But karma came fast.

One of the straps snapped mid-step, and he dramatically collapsed like he had been shot in a K-drama.

“My life is over. Just go on without me.”

“You’re sitting on a squirrel path.”

“Let the forest creatures claim me.”

I had to drag him back home with one flip flop and one sock, while people stared and he waved like royalty.

“I am Choi Seungcheol, former K-pop legend, current nature spirit. I have ascended.”

That night, I caught him watching the video he made of me again.

“You’re obsessed with me,” I teased, flopping beside him.

“I really am,” he said, totally serious.

Then he showed me a picture of me sneezing and said: “Even like this, you’re the most beautiful human alive.”

I tried to get revenge.

The next morning, I woke up first, tied my hair back, put on the apron, and declared: “I’M making breakfast for my baby today!”

He looked nervous. “Have you ever cooked an egg in your life?”

“Emotionally, yes.”

“…No.”

Long story short:

I burned the toast. Forgot the stove was on. Set off two smoke alarms.

He walked into the kitchen wearing a cape made out of a towel and said:

“Fear not, my love, for your sick boyfriend-” “Boyfriend.” “for your BOYFRIEND will save this nation.”

And then he made pancakes from a box mix and acted like it was a Michelin-level meal.

Later, while cuddling on the couch with my head on his lap, he poked my cheek and whispered:

“You know what’s the best part of being with you?”

“Hm?”

“I get to be silly and serious. Strong and soft. I get to burn toast and still be your man.”

I looked up at him and grinned.

“You’ll always be my man. Even with one flip flop.”

[deltawrites]

𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 ㅤꨄ︎

Prompt: Words of Affirmation, Acts of Service, Receiving Gifts, Quality Time, and Physical Touch. These represent different ways people prefer to express and receive love

TW: second-person pronouns (gender neutral)

A/N: First time writing for Touchstarved! Lemme know how I do besties✌️

AIS - acts of service & quality time

Ais is someone who unexpectedly wears his heart on his sleeves. He’s very in tune with his emotions and is not afraid to let them show, even when it comes to matters of love and affection.

If he loves you, he will show you. Whether it’s a more obvious act such as protecting you from the random, heated drunkard or a voracious soulless, he isn’t afraid to put his life on the line in order to keep you safe if you've managed to win his heart. Your safety is now one of his top priorities, if not the top priority of his.

His less bloody acts actually makes him come across as quite the gentleman, and were likely the first signs that Ais may have a thing for you. Holding open doors. Pulling out a seat for you. Brewing you fresh tea during your odd visits to the Seaspring.

His acts of service are intended to lead to quality time together.

Granted, his pets will often appear during your times together with him, but who can say no to spending time with Princess??? She’s a darling!

His pets soon become yours. If he is ever busy or unable to be by your sides, expect them to take his place in the meantime. 

Expect him to outright carry you places later down the line. Doesn't matter your build, he’s strong enough to accommodate any weight!

VERE - gift giving & quality time

Vere isn’t ashamed to like the materialistic things in life. His tastes can run expensive and exotic, but why settle for anything less than the best?

However, if he is truly interested in you, expect to be on the receiving end and not the giver.

His mindset is that of showering the one who captivates him with the finest there is, cementing the idea to the object of his affections that to love him and him alone is to never be without.

Silken cloth, precious metals and gemstones, and the finest of cuisines. He loves you enough that the thought of you having anything but the best causes him worry.

Yes, Vere enjoys the finer things in life, even more so if he can share the joy of all that he has given you, together. 

Don’t expect him to let you be after he gives you a set of curated hair oils and skincare serums. Oh no, he intends to show you how good they truly are and how exactly to use them! 

Better yet, may as well make it a whole evening together! There’s also all those outfits he got you and he simply must make sure they fit you as intended, or he’ll have the tailor's head.

MHIN - acts of service & physical touch

Mhin is actually fond of physical intimacy, but their curse has made them a bit hesitant to pursue it out of fear of harming others, especially you, when it decides to take hold of their body without warning.

When Mhin cares for someone, they may forgo their initial concerns with a bit of reassurance. While cautious as always given the risks, even they can get swept up in the comfort of a warm hug or the comforting grip of your bandaged hand in theirs.

Most definitely, they are the type of person to press their forehead against your own, especially after a more tense situation occurs and they need to ensure that you are still here with them, safe and breathing.

When it's cold, they will scold you for not wearing weather appropriate clothing while also shrugging off their own cloak and bundling you up.

Ran into a steep incline and struggling to climb up? They may not look the strongest, but you’ll be surprised at the strength Mhin can muster in order to help you out.

If you are ever low on funds or worried about securing your next meal, you needn’t anymore. On top of feeding the various street cats in Lowtown, Mhin will take up an extra job or two to ensure you’re taken care of and never without a full belly.

Give them a kiss before their nightly patrols and you most definitely will be rewarded with them blushing profusely. 

LEANDER - physical touch & words of affirmation

Unlike Mhin, Leander is not at all hesitant about showing physical intimacy from the get go. You may even suspect he enjoys putting on a bit of a display in front of others. Especially in front of others.

In a way, his very open and handsy approach have marked you as off limits to nearly everyone in Lowtown. The only ones who would dare to make a move on you are either bold, stupid, or a blatant rival looking to stir up tensions.

From the moment you two met in the Wet Wick, he has always been smooth and purposeful with his words. It’s almost as if he can read your very soul. There are times you needn’t utter a word of complaint to him. Leander knows exactly when to give you comfort and how.

While he enjoys displaying his physical love for you to more watchful eyes, you’ll find that his carefully crafted words are reserved for you and you alone.

Those moments may be the only time where you witness him let down his walls a bit. Leander most certainly puts nothing but his best foot forward with his clients and the other Adderstones. Only someone who has truly gained his trust and stuck by him despite his well hidden shortcomings and secrets will ever witness such vulnerability.

If you have truly cemented yourself into his heart then congratulations, expect a ring and a heartfelt proposal within the next year. You will also gain some authority over his gang after exchanging vows.

He has an entire list of compliments and little nicknames he uses with various people in order to maintain his foothold within the lower districts of Eridia. They're superficial and corny at first, but as your relationship progresses they start to take on a much more impactful tone when he uses them on you. 

His favorites: Beautiful, Sweetheart, Love, My dear, My flower, My rose, My soul. 

KURAS - quality time and physical touch

One of the telltale signs that Kuras had a genuine interest in you beyond that of a patient is when he began to pet you on the head after your, now routinely, checkups at his clinic.

His ministries didn’t stop there. In a way, he was testing to see how far he could go before you would catch on. A simple head rub eventually turned into a bold but chaste kiss to the back of your bandaged hand, which in turn navigated its way to pressing his lips against your temple.

Honestly, it got to a point where the man himself had to stop and consider whether or not he was abusing his authority as your doctor when you seemingly didn’t respond to his signals like he expected you to. This isn’t his first time initiating the chase after all, so why wasn’t it working like before?

Kuras decided it best to take his affections outside of the clinic, which was most likely the cause for confusion given it is his place of business. Although he has no reason to eat, the same cannot be said about you. Expect frequent invites to small bakeries, cafes, and local street vendors some of which you question if you can afford without his generously offered coin.

If he takes you out eating then he will feed you small bites, although it begins to happen too much. It’s cute at first and he assures himself that this will surely win your heart when he sees how happy and fulfilled you look, but then you mentioned how parental his care feels one evening and he almost recoils his hand away out of shock. 

It’ll be a cute little moment to look back upon in the future, but in that moment he was truly at a loss for words and embarrassed for giving the wrong signals. This may be the one time you see him get flustered and trip over his own words. It’s rather cute!

He enjoys leisurely strolls by the river ways and will invite you if you indicate having some free time. Whether you two are engaged in deep conversation the entire time or simply wish to enjoy your walk in a comfortable silence, he can adjust to either. While he prefers to frequent quieter areas he is also not avoidant of more crowded and hectic areas like the Amaryllis district. You will be in safe hands there, as everyone knows not to push their wares or their luck when he quite obviously has a gently placed hand on the low of your back as you two engage with each other in your shared bubble.

requests are open!

[coco-loco-nut]

Real Gone

pairing: liam lawson x reader

summary: she’s american made, he’s got high-payed friends, and they are about to clash

a/n: i’m back and it’s a long one 😎

masterlist requests open

————————

“How are you going to spend your week break?” Nolan asks as you both walk into Christian’s motorhome, taking a seat on a couch. The post-race media is over, you’ve all showered, and it’s time for a debrief.

“The couch in my apartment and a few bottles of wine,” you subtly roll your shoulders in an effort to soothe your sore neck.

“Are we allowed to join?” Christian asks, sitting on the other side of you.

“Dude, that’s code for watching movies all day for like a month,” Nolan replies for you.

“I’ll have you know that I do train every day, and after spending all of may and most of June with you guys, I want a break,” you lean your head back, letting to cooler air wash over you. “All love though,” you add on.

“I thought we had something special,” Nolan pouts.

“I’m surprised you don’t have reserve driver duties this weekend,” Christian shrugs as he kicks his feet up on his coffee table.

“Stop, you’ll jinx it and I’ll be in Austria by Wednesday,” you glare, raising your middle finger to emphasize your words.

“That would suck,” Nolan agrees. You open your mouth to reply as your phone starts ringing.

“Aaaaaand you jinxed it. It’s Zak,” you frown.

“Ooo, put it on speaker,” Nolan leans in as you answer it, quickly abiding by Nolan’s request.

“Great racing today, Y/n. The whole team did great,” Zak starts.

“Thanks, Boss. I’ll let the guys know, I’m sure they will appreciate it,”

“Look, I’m calling to let you know you are needed this weekend. Lando is out for the race and you are in. Someone will send you the travel information shortly,” the line goes dead and you hang your head.

“We have a four race stretch after next week,” your dejection is clear to your teammates, who don’t really know how to cheer you up.

“We can fly over and support you!” Nolan offers. He doesn’t notice the look Christian gives him that says ‘I will murder you’.

“For the race, of course,” Christian accepts his fate as you pull them into a hug.

“Best teammates ever,” you whisper as your phone dings, letting you know the travel plans have been sent to you. “God, I better get to the airport soon so I can pack,” you stand up, taking a few steps to the door.

“We will see you Saturday night,” Christian calls out behind you as you rush to back and catch your flight back to Indianapolis. As you wait in your ride, you send a text to the marketing team asking for assistance in getting Nolan and Christian to the race. Their assurance that it will be handled helps you relax a bit and as you step into the airport it hits you.

“I’m making my Formula One debut,” you whisper before shaking it off and getting through security.

Thankfully, you go straight to the MTC on Tuesday to catch up and run some simulation before leaving with the team on Wednesday.

“Ready to go?” Oscar knocks on your hotel door.

“Can you make sure I have everything?” you ask as you open the door, eyes a little frantic.

“Sure,” Oscar’s relaxed voice and shrug puts more at ease as he runs through a quick checklist with you. “It’s just media day. I’ll write you a list for tomorrow, and it’s not that different from F2,” the last part he lied about, but it works for you.

“Cool, cool. Yeah, let’s go,” you grab your bag, triple checking you have your credentials, then follow Oscar like a baby duckling.

“Y/n!” a familiar British voice calls your name as you enter the paddock.

“Ollie!” you smile, jogging ahead to hug your former rival. Oscar smiles a bit to himself, relieved he isn’t the only person you know other than Jack.

“How’s Indycar treating you?” Ollie asks, leading you into the paddock.

“Great, I love it. Second in the championship which is much better than seventh,” you reply. “I was looking forward to my week off though. I’ve got four races back-to-back after this,” a shudder rolls down your body.

“Hey, who’s Ollie talking to?” Liam approaches Oscar who jumps a little.

“Y/n, our reserve driver. She races for the Indycar team,” Oscar tells him before offering to introduce Liam to you.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Liam notices black lines peeking out from the sleeve of your team shirt.

“Hey, Y/n, this is Liam. Drives for VCARB,” Oscar makes the introduction before being summoned away.

“Nice to meet you,” you shake his hand.

“How do you know Ollie?” Liam asks curiously.

“We raced together in F2. Jack was actually her teammate,”

“Ollie beat me for fifth by a few points, then I left for Indycar,” you smile.

“Weird question, but do you have a tattoo,” Liam asks, glancing at your right arm.

“Yeah, I do,” you turn slightly and lift your sleeve, displaying a sideways lightning bolt with a 95 in the middle.

“Lightning McQueen? I love Cars!” Liam lights up.

“I do too! I watch it probably once a race weekend, it’s my number too outside of Indycar,” you grin.

“I’m going to say hi to Kimi, I’ll catch you later,” Ollie leaves you with Liam.

“I could probably quote the movie,” Liam tells you as he leads you to the team motorhomes.

“I do, fans are always asking me to. It’s becoming a problem actually,” you laugh.

“Fans here will love you then, giving me a run for my money as the biggest Cars fan,” Liam joins your laughter. As you walk through the small crowd, conversation easily flows, so much so that you feel a bit sad when you part ways. Especially when your bonded over your dislike of the third movie.

“Made a new friend?” Oscar asks as you step inside. There is a hint of amusement in his eyes, almost like he’s a proud older brother despite only being less than a year older than you.

“Yeah he’s nice,” you shrug.

“Good, you were selected for the press conference. Liam and Jack are in your group,” Oscar informs you, watching your eyes light up. “Also, you may want to change shirts,”

“Why- oh fuck,” your eyes drift down to the words Indycar team. “I think I just grabbed the first one on top,” you feel the heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“There should be a spare in your drivers room. Once you change you can tell me how it feels to drive the Indy 500,” Oscar gently shoos you away before marketing films you wearing the wrong team kit.

“Okay, all better,” you return a few minutes later after having to ask someone where you were going.

“So I watched you place fourth, but how does it feel to be behind the wheel?” Oscar asks as you sit down, not realizing there is a camera on both of you.

“Crazy fast, the car is built specifically for ovals so it’s asymmetrical and that is a weird feeling at first. Might be one of the hardest cars to drive just because of that,” you try not to nerd out. “Wait, you watched the race?”

Oscar genuinely smiles at the way your eyes light up. He notices the team filming the conversation but acts like he doesn’t. The cameras shouldn’t take away from the authenticity of the conversation.

“Of course, it’s a monumental race and our sister team had a driver on the front row,” he downplays his words, like it doesn’t mean much. But it means a lot to you.

“Thanks, I really appreciate the support,” you try to mask the wave of emotions. Thankfully for you, your savior comes in someone telling you that you have to leave now to attend the drivers’ press conference.

“Right there between Liam and Jack,” a production assistant points to the middle of the couch. Jack stands as you approach to give you a quick hug.

“I heard you were in the paddock, nice to see you again, Lightning,” Jack squeezes you then sits down.

“Nice to see you too. Too bad we can be teammates this time,” you smile fondly and take your seat. A few moments later the crew indicates filming has started.

“Let’s start with you, Y/n. You’ve yet to drive an F1 car, how are you feeling?” the interviewer asks and you turn on the PR mode you don’t always need in Indycar.

“A bit nervous, yeah. I think anyone making their F1 debut would feel this way. I tested over the winter, but obviously I haven’t gotten an FP1 session yet. I’m hoping my skills from F2 and Indycar transfer well enough to get some points for the team,” your reply is exactly what the team would want you to say and it seems to satisfy your obligation until other journalists can ask questions.

“I have a question for Y/n. What are some things that your Indycar fans know about you that you think Formula One fans should know,” the words take a second in your mind to process before you answer.

“Um, I raced in F2 for a year with Jack over here and placed seventh before moving to Indycar where I currently race with Arrow Mclaren. I took home fourth in this years Indy 500. And, uh, I have a Lightning McQueen tattoo. I think that’s it, I’m sure you will learn more throughout the weekend,” you feel a bit awkward as there is a moment of silence while your answer is noted and journalists consider their questions.

“She might be a bigger fan than I am,” Liam adds lightheartedly, noticing your awkward demeanor.

“She definitely is. We watched it a lot on flights, like a lot. If it wasn’t a flight it was probably on her phone between sessions and meetings,” Jack laughs, poking fun at you.

“It wasn’t that often,” you retaliate but backtrack a little when Jack gives you a pointed looks. “Okay, god forbid a girl has a hobby of watching her favorite movie series,” shaking your head with a smile. you lower your mic so another question can be asked. Thankfully you are spared as time soon runs out.

“Let’s catch up a bit before your social team makes you film videos,” Jack says as you both stand up. Your respective team members linger behind you, offering a bit of privacy while doing their jobs.

“Definitely. How’s F1 treating you?” you ask as you both walk away.

“It’s rough, but that’s what happens when Flavio manages you and the team. How’s Indycar treating you?” Jack spins the question back on you.

“Great. Just got off of a double-header and next week starts a four race back-to-back stretch. So seven races in a row for me,” you shudder a little.

“Your poor neck. Maybe Mclaren should return the favor and send Lando or Oscar over to race for you,” Jack sympathizes. The paddock is a bit more alive this time, more fans and team staff members buzzing around.

“I think they’d put Kyle Larson or some random rookie in first,” you chuckle, letting a comforting silence fall between you and your former teammate.

“How is oval racing?”

“Wicked fast, more dangerous than you think too. I was shitting myself with nerves the first lap or two until i got the hang of it. Maybe I’ll take you on a hot lap next year,” your reply is met with a small hum and nod in agreement. “I did miss this though. Maybe I should’ve done a second year in F2,” you change the topic and Jack stops briefly to look at you properly.

“Don’t say that. You are doing great in Indycar, you are a reserve driver for F1, and you are making a debut this weekend as one of the best in the world. That’s more than a lot of drivers could ask for. You have talent and another year there wouldn’t change that,” Jack gives you a pep talk just like he would when you were teammates.

“Thanks, I needed to hear that. We need to stay connected after this race. I need my friend,” you nudge him lightly with your elbow.

“We will, maybe we can even go on vacation during the summer break,” Jack proposes as you near the Alpine motorhome.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you give him a smile before walking away. One of the Mclaren team members takes the spot beside you and gives you a run down of the day. Many sponsor videos, social media videos - including a rapidfire get to know you- meetings, and a track walk later, you are finally done for the day. Your phone dings with a text, but Oscar stops you before you can read it.

“I’m getting dinner with Charles and Max if you’d like to join?” Oscar offers.

“Can I let you know once we get back to the hotel? I need to get away from here before I can decide,” you stifle a yawn. A nap would also be preferred, maybe ordering in is the move.

“Yeah, let’s head out, it’s been a long day,” Oscar’s tone doesn’t sound annoyed, keeping you from worrying. One you get into the car you check your phone, seeing multiple texts. Some from Christian and Nolan asking about your first day in the paddock, and one from an unknown number. You open it up and a smile creeps onto your face.

Hey, it’s Liam. I got your number from Jack so I hope this is the right one. I’m at the same hotel as you and figured I’d ask if you wanted to grab dinner :)

Your reply is quick, asking if he doesn’t mind ordering in and watching a movie, to which he quickly replies yes. You send him your room number and tell him you will let him know when you’re back.

“I’m going to pass on dinner, maybe after the race?” you offer an alternative.

“That’s okay, I’ll ask them about Sunday. I know it’s a lot your first night,” Oscar reassures you.

Once you get back to your room you quickly make it look presentable and change into more cozy attire. Hopefully Liam doesn’t mind your laid back appearance. He shows up a couple minutes after you text with a pizza wearing an oversized tee and basketball shorts.

“I hope you don’t mind me bringing a pizza, Jack actually recommended it,” Liam says, setting it on the desk by the TV.

“I think I know why you are here,” you sit on the bed, watching Liam fidget like you’ve figured out his deepest secret. “You want an excuse to watch Cars,” at your words he visibly relaxes.

“Yeah, you caught me. I was betting on you watching it tonight,” Liam hands you a plate with a warm slice of pizza on it. It smells heavenly. You both sit at the top of the bed, backs against the headboard, as you log into Disney+ and start the movie.

“Okay, Here We Go. Focus. Speed. I’m speed. One winner. 42 losers. I eat losers for Breakfast. Breakfast? Wait, maybe I should have had breakfast? A little brecky could be good for me. No, no, no, stay focused. Speed! I'm faster than fast, quicker than quick! I’m Lightning!” you and Liam say in unison with the movie. You lock eyes and share a small shy smile.

“Lightning. Is that where Jack got his nickname for you?” Liam asks as the sound of engines and Sheryl Crow fills the room.

“Yeah. It’s kinda embarrassing but I say that to get in the zone before a race. Jack and the team caught me once when I left the radio button on,” you flush as Liam chuckles.

“That’s cute. I read somewhere that some lucky fans get you to recite it for them,” Liam’s eyes watch you blush deeper in embarrassment before you turn it around on him.

“Looking me up now on the internet, Lawson?” your eyes are filled with amusement as it’s Liam’s turn to blush and stutter an excuse. “Relax, I’m just joking,” you smile and settle back into the movie.

As the movie nears its end your eyes begin to get heavy. The dark room lit only by the television, the warmth of Liam beside you, and familiar sound of Cars all work to lull you into sleep. Liam notices the way your head seems to get heavier and your fight to stay awake, but he doesn’t mention it.

“Thanks for watching with me, and the pizza,” you yawn after the movie, escorting him to the door.

“Thanks for letting me crash your room,” Liam yawns as well.

The next night you find yourself inviting Liam over for the second movie and once again you are both laying on your bed with the television lighting the room. Only this time Liam sits closer to you, and you don’t mind.

“I heard you play guitar,” you say randomly, grabbing the attention of the blonde boy beside you.

“I do, who’s the stalker now?” Liam teases.

“It popped up on my feed,” you defend yourself before turning your attention to the movie. “Do you think Lewis watches himself in this, and if he does do you think it’s weird?” you ask, grabbing Liam’s attention again.

“I don’t know, but i’m sure it is weird to see yourself in car form,” Liam’s reply isn’t met with a response by you, instead you both get drawn in by the cheesy spy plot. You discuss track strategy for some of the races on the movie.

As the movie nears its end, Liam feels a weight on his shoulder. Your deep breaths tell him all he needs to know, you are fast asleep. The flutter in his heart is strange. He doesn’t want to move, he wants to stay in this spot the rest of the night. Maybe even wrap his arms around you and fall asleep himself. But you are just friends. So Liam turns off the movie and carefully puts a blanket over you, making sure he leaves quietly as to not disturb you.

You wake a few minutes later in a slight panic, confused where Liam went and why the television is off. The buzz from the text you just received answers your panic. With a yawn, you get comfortable again and fall back to sleep.

The next night you fall into the same pattern, only this time Liam falls asleep too. Your phones alarm wakes both of you up the next morning. Liam’s arm is around your waist, which he quickly pulls away when you both realize what happens.

“Shit, my phone is dead,” Liam breaks the silence, not even acknowledging that you were cuddling just a moment ago.

“It’s early, I like to wake up earlier than usual on race days,” you reassure him, sitting up as the early morning sun streams through the curtains.

“I feel like I should treat you to breakfast, make up for the skipped steps,” he scratches the back of his neck, looking guilty despite his lack of control over the situation.

“It’s not your fault you fell asleep, you don’t have to,” you attempt to refuse. Liam’s heart swells a little at the blush dusting your cheeks. How can you look so good this early in the morning?

“I insist, it’ll make me feel better,” Liam insists as your stomach growls.

“But we both are in no shape to be seen in public,” you give a last ditch excuse despite your inner pull to him.

“I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes so I can charge my phone and change,” Liam smiles and leaves your room after gathering his things.

As soon as the door clicks closed, you rush to get a shower and get ready. And as you stand in front of the mirror putting final touches on your quick makeup look, you wonder why it feels like a date and why you have that mix of nerves and excitement. The knock on your door tells you Liam has arrived.

You open the heavy door to see him in a well fitting button down and tailored dress pants.

“You look nice,” you can’t fight the blush that rises to your cheeks as you grab your small purse from the table beside the door.

“So do you,” Liam does a better job at hiding his blush. Maybe it’s because you want to stare at him but also feel like you might combust if you meet his gaze. It’s probably that.

Liam takes you to the cute restaurant attached to the hotel. Thankfully you are early enough to secure a table since breakfast service just started.

Neither of you notice fans taking photos, you are too immersed in your conversation. You swap random race stories and funny things you’ve had to do for social media. You get to know each other on a deeper level too. You share setbacks alongside your successes, the family that supported you, and the ones who said you wouldn’t make it beyond karting. Liam learns that you weren’t a part of any junior program and it was almost pure luck you got picked up my Mclaren. The only thing that takes your attention away from Liam is the sound of familiar voices.

“Y/n,” you hear Christian almost shout in your ear.

“When did you guys get here?” you shoot out of your seat and nearly tackle your teammates.

“Last night, we texted you that we were on the way to the hotel,” Nolan looks around you at Liam, trying to figure out what you are doing.

“I was probably asleep, I passed out while watching-“

“Cars,” Nolan and Christian finish your sentence.

“It was Cars 3 actually,” Liam adds from his seat.

“Guys, this is Liam. He races for one of the Red Bull teams,” you give a very basic introduction despite both of them knowing who Liam is.

“Ah, the F1 version of you. Wait, how does he know what you were watching?” Nolan asks and gasps when he thinks he connected the dots.

“Accidental sleepover, and not in that way,” you shake your head. Liam glances at his watch and stands up.

“I’ve got the bill, we need to get to the track,” Liam tells you.

“Thanks for breakfast,” you fight the urge to kiss his cheek and stand awkwardly before Christian pulls you away.

“You two are worse than middle schoolers with a crush,” Nolan says in the elevator back to your room. You guffaw at the statement until Christian gives you a look.

“It’s clear you both like each other. Fans are already pointing out the way you two are always together in the paddock and how you look at each other,” Christian’s words take you aback a bit.

“I’ve known him for three days,” your defense is weak.

“They are calling you McQueen and Sally, but Liam is Sally for some reason. Anyway it’s also, according to fans, a star-crossed lovers tragedy,” Nolan pulls up a Tiktok that highlights your apparent crush. Your mind starts to spin as you step off the elevator.

“Alright, enough of that. She needs to focus on the race,” Christian changed the topic to their flight. You notice a box outside of your hotel room door.

“We dropped this here when you didn’t answer the door. Marketing sent us with matching outfits,” Nolan explains and picks up the box so you can get into your room. Inside the box are cheesy t-shirts with your faces on them and sunglasses. They look like a cheesy Danny DeVito t-shirt you would find on Etsy and they are perfect.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, holding it up to show Nolan and Christian.

“Can we wear these to Mid-Ohio next week?” Nolan laughs with you, grabbing his.

“Absolutely,” Christians agreement is music to your ears. You put it over your sundress, tying it in the back with a hair tie to make it look better on you.

Nolan and Christian take turns in the bathroom to change while you finish packing your race bag.

“I’ve got the door,” Nolan says as he exits the bathroom, quick to answer whoever is knocking.

“Ready to- oh those are glorious,” Oscar laughs, noticing the three of you.

“They sent an extra if you want to match,” you reply.

“That’s all you. Lily is downstairs with the extra paddock passes,” Oscar tells you. Nolan and Christian follow you and Oscar like baby ducks.

“I love the matching outfits. How was your breakfast?” Lily asks you, almost ignoring Oscar.

“Really good, wait how did you-“

“I saw the new tiktoks. Fans are convinced you are secretly dating Liam. A lot are upset you won’t be reunited until COTA,” Lily shrugs.

“I don’t know if I’ll even be at COTA,” you shake your head as you all pile into the car. It’s a tight squeeze but you manage. Once you get to the track, Lily and Oscar go ahead of you, per Marketing’s instructions.

“I won the sprint race here in 2020,” Christian says as you scan in, demonstrating for Nolan.

“You know, sometimes I forget you guys raced the European circuit and not the American,” Nolan says once he successfully scans in.

“I’ll look into a hot lap experience for you on a European circuit,” you pat his shoulder.

“Nice shirt, Lightning,” Jack approaches, looking polished in his well-fitting tee and jeans.

“Thanks! Want one? I’m sure I can get you one,” you grin. “Guys, this is my former teammate, Jack. Jack, these are my teammates, Nolan and Christian,” your introduction is quick as both parties size eachother up.

“I watched Cars with her almost every weekend, and gave her her nickname,” Jack boasts as you fight laughter.

“I crash her couch and go to Disneyland with her to visit Cars Land,” Nolan attempts to show up Jack.

“Alright, enough dick measuring,” Christian shakes his head.

“Good luck today,” Jack pats your shoulder at walks away as you yell a quick ‘you too’ behind him.

The three of you continue on and make it to the McLaren motorhome before you are too late. The endless meetings, warm ups, and pre-race duties make the morning fly by and before you know it you are on a truck for the drivers parade beside Fernando Alonso and Liam.

“I drove Indy three times, very scary,” Fernando leans into you slightly like he’s sharing a deep secret.

“That’s what makes it fun. Nothing like getting shunted into a corner,” your eyes sparkle with amusement as Fernando lets out a small laugh.

“You are very brave,” his reply is enough to make you want to fangirl.

“You are too, um, everyone here is,” you awkwardly reply in an attempt to keep your cool.

“Smooth, y/n,” Liam smiles. Fernando slips away to talk to Lance, leaving you alone with Liam. Oscar is in deep conversation with Max and Charles on the other end of the truck, and Jack is laughing at something Pierre told him.

“I can’t help it. THE Fernando Alonso complimented me,” your body is a little jumpy, charged with excited energy. Someone reminds you to wave to fans as you pass a poster with your face on it. “Wow, look at that,” you point the poster out to Liam. As you lean in slightly, arm extended, someone accidentally bumps into you, sending you into Liam’s arms.

“Careful, don’t want you going viral for falling over,” Liam’s hands are warm as they hold onto your waist a second too long. His pinky brushes your bare skin as your polo rides up slightly. Your eyes lock with his, momentarily forgetting about the cameras and fans watching.

“Y/n,” Oscar calls you over, breaking the small spell you were under.

“I should go,” you stand up, subtly fixing your polo as you scurry across the vehicle to join your temporary teammate.

You don’t see Liam at all after the parade or race. There is a twinge of disappointment when you return to the hotel that you hadn’t received a congratulations about scoring points in a notoriously hard-to-drive car.

“Are your bags packed?” Christian asks as he lays on your hotel bed.

“Mostly. I just want to shower and change first. You guys should too,” you look up from your suitcase to find Nolan curled up on the hotel couch fast asleep.

“We can wake him later,” Christian shrugs as you take your things into the bathroom to start a shower. As the water runs he scrolls through social media, not realizing how much time has passed until he hears the buzzing of your hair dryer. He quickly pulls off his shirt and rummages through his bag to find a comfortable replacement.

A knock on the door makes Christian stop and head towards the small entryway.

“I’ve got it,” you emerge from the bathroom, dressed in a robe and hair still slightly damp. Christian stands awkwardly behind you as you pull open the door. “Hey Liam, what’s up?”

“Hey, I,” Liam spots Christian behind you and the state of dressing between both of you. “I just wanted to tell you to have a safe flight back to the States,” Liam takes a step away from the door, his eyes steeling themselves as he begins to walk away.

“Oh, okay. You have a safe trip too,” your voice is twisted in confusion as you back away from the doorway and close the door. Christian is tugging on a hoodie as Nolan snores softly. “That was weird,” you say to yourself before going back to the bathroom to finish getting ready for your flight.

The video of you and the boys wearing matching shirts goes great with fans, the shirts almost immediately selling out on the website. But what goes more viral are the video compilations of you and Liam over the weekend, more viral than before the race.

When you return to Indianapolis, your PR manager sets up a meeting to go over the weekend and the supposed relationship between you and Liam. Even better, following your successful stand-in, McLaren announces your participation in FP1 at Vegas and some races you’ll be attending as a reserve driver.

You do end up joining Jack on a mini vacation on an island beach soaking up the sun and slowing down for a few days. Oddly enough, you don’t hear much from Liam. He doesn’t like your posts or comment - much to the chagrin of fans - and you don’t receive many texts or replies. Even when you win a race you only hear from Jack and Oscar.

Nolan tags along with you to Vegas after you crashed his California residence for a week as a belated birthday gift. Unfortunately for him he got placed in a separate hotel, although it is beside the resort you were placed in. You split the drive, neither willing to play passenger princess for the whole trip.

“Remember, no gambling your life savings away,” Nolan reminds you as he drops you off at your resort.

“Same goes to you,” you fire back.

“I’m just barely enough to,” he gives you a lazy shrug and smile before pulling away. You aren’t really surprised that he called you old and left, it’s a very little brother thing to do.

“Welcome to Las Vegas, Miss L/n,” a concierge welcomes you and makes you jump slightly in surprise.

“Thank you,”

“Follow me to the front desk, we will have your bags placed in your room,” the concierge instructs. You watch your bags be taken away in a mix of surprise and delight. You’ve never experienced this kind of treatment, ever. This doesn’t even seem normal for anyone except for maybe Lewis.

“Hey, meet me back down here in half an hour. You promised dinner last time,” Oscar walks past you holding a coffee.

You barely settle into the hotel room before a ten-minute reminder text has you heading towards the elevator. You don’t want to chance being late, even in a city dedicated to lady luck.

“Ready to go?” Oscar asks, fixing the cuff of his button down. “You look nice, black suits you well,” he nods affirmatively, like you made the right choice. You walk into one of the many high-end restaurants housed in the resort to find you are the first two to arrive. Lando appears shortly after, taking a seat beside Oscar. Charles and Max follow with Carlos right behind, leaving one empty seat beside you.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” a familiar voice sounds from just behind you.

“You all remember Y/n, she drove for Lando earlier in the season,” Oscar reintroduces you as you try to look anywhere but the man beside you.

“Hey, thanks for letting me join,” you awkwardly smile and wave.

“It would be helpful if you replace Oscar this race, help me close up the Championship,” Charles jokes.

“Oscar said that you raced seven weekends in a row due to stepping in, how did that go?” Max asks and you feel every set of eyes on the table look at you. Mostly in a bit of shock. Heat rises up your neck in a sort of embarrassment from the attention.

“It was brutal in the best way possible. I won the 275 in Iowa, which was nice. The oval is super short, high-banked, and insanely fast,” your face lights up as you tell a quick story of recovering after almost spinning out into the wall.

“I think I would curl up in a ball and not leave my bed for a week if I did that,” Lando says before everyone starts to browse the menu and chat with their neighbors.

“So… how have you been?” Liam hesitantly starts a conversation.

“Now you care?” you don’t look up from the menu, voice laced with irritation and a hint of resentment.

“What do you mean?” you force yourself to look at Liam for the first time that night, his eyes filled with confusion.

“You show up at my hotel room and immediately run away, then you ghost me the rest of the summer other than a forced congratulations text every so often,” you take a deep breath to calm yourself, eyes softening with hurt. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are. I just didn’t want to overstep, especially with your relationship with Christian. I probably should’ve asked about that way earlier in the weekend-“

“Hold up,” you cut him off. “My relationship? With Christian?” you pause and rewind to that evening. “Oh my god. Nolan was there too, we were just getting ready to fly back here. All of us changed in my room and, oh my god you thought we had,” you run a hand through your hair as the dots connect.

“So you aren’t?”

“God no, I love them like my brothers and nothing more,” you fight off a laugh.

“Oh, well that’s good to know,” Liam shakes his head.

“Seems like our plan worked,” Oscar leans slightly towards Lando as they watch you and Liam make up.

“Better than Max’s idea,”

“What was his idea?”

“You don’t want to know,” Lando shakes his head.

“Young love,” Charles sighs. “It’s a shame they will be apart most of the year,”

“Buzzkill,” Oscar frowns. The plan was unintentional. They originally invited Jack, but he couldn’t make it and suggested Ollie, then Lando suggested Liam after watching the hundredth TikTok speculating what happened between you and Liam. It was a whole thing.

You leave the dinner first, citing a long day of driving. Liam follows after you, but only after everyone at the table gave him a pointed look and told him to go. He catches you just as you step into the elevator.

“Oh, what floor do you need?” you ask, reaching out to the control panel to press whichever floor he tells you.

“53, wait that’s not why I’m here,” Liam shakes his head as your brows furrow.

“Then why would you be in an elevator, if you aren’t going to your room?” you ask as the doors slide shut.

“To do this,” he steps forward, gently placing a hand on your cheek and neck as he pulls you close. Your eyes flutter closed, the warmth of his breath tickling your nose for a moment as he hesitates ever so slightly before you feel the warmth of his lips on yours. Passion and longing, regret, it’s all poured into the intimate act as you arch into him. He only pulls away when the elevator dings, signaling that you’ve reached your floor.

“Are you coming?” you ask as you step off towards your room.

“Yeah,” Liam quickly follows after you.

“So, how was last night?” Oscar asks as you sit across from him and Lando trying to enjoy your meal.

“It was good, Liam and I watched Cars after dinner,” you pause, watching Oscar and Lando’s reactions. The visible disappointment is satisfying as you look back down at your meal then at them again. “Of course that was after the sex,” your smirk sets them off, as much as they can celebrate without drawing too much attention to themselves.

“We did it!” Lando cheers, throwing his arm around Oscar and shaking him.

“Jack was equally happy,” you mention your friend who dragged you to a late breakfast earlier in the day. You returned the favor by making him join you for a spa day. Those pictures will be much appreciated by your Instagram followers.

“He knew before us?” Lando’s offended tone makes you chuckle.

“I’ve known Jack much longer than both of you, no offense,”

“Offense taken,” Lando says as Oscar replies “none taken.”

“Right, well I’m going to see my boyfriend before my practice session,” you take the last bite of your meal and stand up, hiding your laughter as both men’s eyes widen.

“BOYFRIEND?!”

[vandme12]

Ronin x Reader, where ronin puts on a personal show (Hehe, a LIL murder in alleyway) for reader because they need inspiration?

TW : BLOOD, GORE

Beauty of Rot, Beauty of Him - Ronin x Reader

You were dumb.

Like, really dumb.

"Hey, can anyone with experience killing someone with a crowbar DM me?? it’s really important!! tysm."

You posted that. On a dark web board. Like some beginner in need of a walkthrough.

An ask for how to kill a person. With a crowbar.

And as it turns out? The best fucking mistake you ever made.

Error: UNKNOWN. Error: Not So Unknown Now. Error: You Got a Boyfriend Out of It.

Because someone did message back.

Not just someone. The Butcher. Your Butcher. Now your boyfriend. Rotten God of Uptown’s back alleys, crowned in cartilage and martyrdom, crowned in blood.

They say he gores people like he’s stringing violins from intestines, splashes the brickwork with bone-shards and sin. Swings that crowbar like a conductor, splatters skull into halo, makes murder into gospel.

And now? He’s yours.

You still remember when he dropped a key into your DMs like it was a gift from the Devil himself — well, maybe it was. A server. A red room. A laugh.

Don’t be so Obvious smh you’re Gonna Get Caught — that’s what he said. Right before giving you access to a Discord/j full of serial killers.

Butchered usernames. Gutted profile pics. Everyone trying to one-up each other in filth and finesse. You, though? You got something better. You got Ronin.

It’s been ten months since that fateful crowbar moment. Ten months of selfies Ten months of late-night convos about blood viscosity. Ten months of soft-spoken I love yous whispered between ruptured lung sacs.

Romance is bleeding. And your boy wants to treat you.

No dinner. Just a murder.

goreboy: hopin to see ya darlin

You feel it in your bones — not fear, not nausea. Anticipation.

Your own personal red room. You joked about it once — and Now, he's gonna put on a show.

You don’t know who the target is. Might be a monster. Might be some guy who cuts lines at the bank's Ronin never tells you until the blood’s already pooling.

That’s part of the fun. Inspiration on impact.

You're wearing boots that can step through brain matter. You took a shower before this, which was stupid. You’ll be showering in blood anyway.

You turn the corner.

There he is. Leaning against the brick wall like some kind of death-dealing delinquent Cupid. Crowbar slung over his shoulder. Eyes bright, blackhole-shiny, grin split open across his face like a peeled fruit.

He’s all gore and glamor, all ruin and romance, a boy made of butcher cuts and fucked-up poetry.

"Heya, Darlin," he drawls, teeth white like an Angel's ruin

You smile. You’ve always been ready.

You DMed him first, obviously. No shame. No fear. Just that familiar static in your lungs, that high of being this close to something filthy.

you:

hey butcher boy u swingin that crowbar tonight or just compensating again

goreboy

oh look. it’s my favorite little freak. thought i smelled ink and desperation u comin or what? red carpet’s wet. might be brain. might be yours. let’s find out.

you:

damn do u flirt with all your victims like this or am i special

goreboy:

only the ones who write poetry about spinal cords and call me cute after i break a jaw sideways hurry up darlin. don’t keep the devil waitin.

He always knew just how to say I missed you.

And then it dropped. The real thing. No flirting this time, not exactly.

Just:

EXECUTIONER: "come to Purgatory. tonight. bring whatever weird notebook shit u scribble in. I’ll give you something worth writing about." "devil says hi, btw.

"lil mean tonight. love that. keep talkin shit and i’ll carve your name in someone’s ribs. wanna see?"

He always knew just how to say I missed you.

And then it dropped. The real thing. No flirting this time, not exactly.

—

You pack a bag.

Notebook

Pen

Knife (not to use. just in case.)

A dream.

You saw him before you really saw him.

The man—his prey, his canvas—was huddled near a dumpster, shaking like a leaf in acid rain. Eyes blown wide, lips parted in a silent scream, knees buckled in a prayer that wouldn’t be answered. Sweat clung to his brow. His hands were bound, taped in a trembling little bow, like a gift no one wanted to unwrap.

And then there was Ronin.

He wasn’t even touching him yet.

No, Ronin was pacing slow, crowbar dragging behind him like a leash, metal shrieking against the concrete just enough to set teeth on edge. His steps were too measured, too graceful—it was a dance. A fucked-up, symphonic ballet of menace.

He didn’t even look at you as you stepped into the scene. Just kept circling.

Like a shark in a kiddie pool.

"Oh God," the guy whimpered. "Please, man, I didn’t do anything—"

Ronin tilted his head, cracking his neck with a sickening pop. Still no words. Just a smile. That smile—the one that made your spine tighten and your thighs clench. Not out of fear. Not entirely.

You crept closer, notebook in hand, but the man saw you now—you, not Ronin—and his face twisted.

"You—you’re just standing there?! Help me! This guy’s insane!"

You blinked, like a deer caught in headlights made of raw meat.

"I’m with him," you said quietly. Then added, "Kind of a date."

The man screamed.

Ronin cackled.

"Fuck, Darlin.. he gasped between laughs. "You’re really gonna make me blush sayin’ sweet shit like that."

You felt your face heat up, but not with shame. Not even guilt. Just... thrill.

"You’re scaring the hell out of him," you muttered, crouching behind the safety of your notebook.

Ronin raised a brow, licking blood from the side of his thumb like frosting. "I am the hell. C’mon. Say that one again."

You scribbled, breath uneven. Quoting yourself like a freak. “You’re scaring the hell out of him.” Then added in shaky ink: He is the hell.

The victim whimpered louder, rocking side to side now, muttering prayers like they were protection spells. You honestly couldn’t blame him. You felt the tremble in your own bones too. But it wasn’t fear—it was awe. That knife-edge thrill of watching a master at work.

You looked up.

Ronin was closer now. He’d stopped circling and was crouched in front of the guy, crowbar in one hand, the other under the man’s chin, lifting it with casual gentleness. It was obscene, the contrast. Like a lover about to kiss.

"Tell me a story," Ronin whispered to him. "Tell me why your blood’s gonna be special."

The guy was sobbing now, babbling nonsense. Ronin leaned in closer. "No? Then I’ll tell you one."

He turned to you, eyes glinting.

"You wanna write this down, Darlin"

You didn’t say yes. You didn’t have to.

Pen kissed page. And Ronin began.

"Once there was a man who liked to lie. Said he never hurt nobody. But lies?" He brought the crowbar up and rested it against the man’s cheek. "They rot the tongue. They rot the heart. I’m just the gardener."

CRACK.

You jumped.

The guy screamed. Blood bloomed across the bricks, painting the wall in fast, arterial strokes.

You’d never seen anything more horrifying. You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

You wrote that down too.

Ronin didn’t stop—not for a while. He moved like a conductor, crowbar rising and falling to an unheard symphony. The victim’s screams grew hoarse, then wet, then stopped altogether. The sound of metal on bone filled the air like church bells.

By the end, it didn’t look like a body.

It looked like art.

Red. White. Pulp. A rose garden of gore.

Fuck the guy's still alive.

Ronin finally straightened, shirt soaked, crowbar slick. He looked sated. Not tired. High.

And then, impossibly—he turned to you. Soft.

"You alright?"

You stared at him. Then down at your notebook. At your handwriting—jagged, fast, shaking. At the sketches in the margins. At how much you’d written. How inspired you were.

He steps back into frame like it’s stage left. Wipes the smile off his face and puts on something worse—an expression that’s all serenity. Peaceful. Reverent. Like a man praying before he wrecks something holy.

And that poor fucker on the ground? He’s trembling so hard his bones might rattle apart. You wonder if he even knows what's coming. Or if Ronin’s already told him. Whispered it sweetly in that honeyed voice, dripping rot like nectar, how he was going to make him into something worth remembering.

Ronin lifts the crowbar.

Not like he’s about to kill a man.

Like he’s about to paint.

CLANG.

It smashes into the ground beside the guy’s ribs again—just a tease. A wet warning. You watch as blood speckles the concrete. Not even from the hit—just from the fear. He’s bleeding from the nose now. A stress rupture. Ronin looks delighted.

“There it goes,” he says softly, watching the crimson dribble down. “Like clockwork.”

You find yourself breathing harder.

And you’re writing.

You don’t even realize it at first, not consciously. The pen scratches across the page like it has its own mind:

“He doesn’t kill for fun. He kills for structure. For design. For detail.” “Each bruise has placement. Each scream has volume.” “He doesn’t kill people. He erases them, makes meaning of them.”

Ronin kneels again. Cups the guy’s chin like he’s posing a doll.

“Don’t pass out now,” he hums. “We ain’t hit the chorus yet.”

You whisper, half-joking, “Tell him it’s for art.”

Ronin doesn’t even glance your way this time. Just smiles wider.

“It’s for art,”

The scream that rips out is pure animal.

You flinch. And then—you don’t. Because it’s addictive. The sound of it. The feeling of being here.

Watching Ronin twist something alive into something raw. Something else.

You’re starting to wonder if this was always inside you. If it just needed the right person to peel the skin back and expose the nerves. You look down at your page.

You’ve drawn him.

Not the man on the floor. Ronin.

Sharp cheekbones. Bloody hands. Wide grin like a god with no church but his own red room. There’s a halo of crowbars around his head like a saint of carnage. And beneath it, you’ve scrawled:

“I think I love him.”

You almost laugh at yourself.

But you don’t tear the page out.

Ronin’s looking at you now. Not saying a word. Like he knows what you wrote. Like he could taste it through the air.

He stands slowly. The guy’s still breathing—barely. He’s not dead yet. You think Ronin’s waiting on you.

“Darlin’,” he says, voice slick with mirth and menace. “You wanna pick the finishin’ touch?”

Your breath catches. He’s offering you the last stroke.

You stare. You blink. You swallow.

Then you nod.

“Yeah.”

You don’t know what you’ll choose yet. But you know you’ll write about it after.

You’ll write all of it. Every inch of this living nightmare.

Because you were never the hero of this story.

You were just looking for a muse.

And you found him—in blood and concrete, in screaming men and the lullaby of breaking bone.

You found him.

Your devil. Your butcher. Your art.

At first, just to remember. A little scratch of ink, a reflection. Something poetic to keep the nausea away. But it didn’t stay poetic, not really. Your hand cramped from the speed, from the need, and the page bled black with words the way the floor bled red.

You weren’t just watching anymore. You were documenting. You were translating murder into metaphor. Gore into gospel.

“He paints with pain. That’s the medium.” “He composes screams like violin notes, each snap of the bone a crescendo.” “His hands aren't hands. They're brushes. He doesn’t kill. He curates.”

You glanced up from the notebook and saw it again—how Ronin tilted his head just before he struck, admiring the posture, the pleading, the panic.

And you got it.

The way the crowbar slid through air—how clean it sounded, the whistling hush before impact. The way he didn’t grunt or pant. Ronin didn’t labor. He moved like he was dancing, like his body already knew where the final stroke belonged.

“He kills with rhythm.” “He kills with grace.” “He doesn’t need a reason. The act is the art.”

You looked at the man he was killing—not the man. The canvas. The collapsed figure with his face bent inwards and his ribs shifting like a broken accordion. And somehow, some rotten part of you—

—you thought it was beautiful. You understood him. You thought, “This is how he loves.”

And still, you wrote.

“I saw the art.” “I saw the beauty.” “I saw how he kills.” “He kills like a lover—softly at first, with admiration. Then all at once, with devotion.”

Ronin turned to you again. Bloody, heaving, smiling.

“You writin’ sonnets over there, Darlin?” he asked, tilting his head as the body gave a last twitch behind him. “Wanna read me one when I’m done cleanin’?”

Your mouth was dry. You licked your lips.

“I’m trying to keep up.”

He laughed. Low and pleased and ruinous.

“Darlin, if you keep writing like that, you’re gonna make me fall for you all over again.”

You looked down.

Your notebook was nearly full.

It was done.

The body lay still, sunken into itself like it was praying to the wrong god and got exactly what it asked for. Blood pooled like a frame around the chaos. Art, in the Butcher’s gallery. A ruined masterpiece.

You closed your notebook with a little snap, pen still trembling between your fingers.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. Honest. Like someone just cooked for you, and you meant it.

Ronin dragged the crowbar down the wall with a lazy scrape, shoulder slouched, chin lifted—swaggering toward you like a wet saint. Blood dripped from his chin like it was meant to. His eyes flicked over you with that look, like he was checking if you still breathed the same after watching him do what he was made for.

“C’mere,” he said, voice sticky with play. “You wanna help me sow ‘im up?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Nah.”

His brows raised. “Aw, how mean, Darlin’. I put on a show for ya, and you fuckin’ mean?” His voice pitched mock-wounded, but the grin was sharp, wicked—flirting. “Y’ain’t even gonna stitch the finale?”

You laughed, stupidly charmed. Your stomach was still a mess, your knees weak, but God—

Even if the Devil's scary, he can be cute.

He can be romantic, in that rotten way that makes your heart thump for all the wrong reasons. He’s the worst kind of sweetheart. The kind that calls you “Darlin” with a mouth still stained from slaughter. The kind that murders and flirts in the same breath.

He really is the god of gore.

He shrugged, licking blood off his bottom lip. “Next time, then. I’ll make it extra messy. You can pick where I break ‘em.”

And despite the stench, despite the twitch in your gut, you smiled and tucked your notebook closer to your chest.

“Deal,” you whispered.

[asoftsighh]

hello!! i just wanna say that i love your writing sooooooo much like you’re literally a poet??!!??

was curious if i could request a remus lupin x reader where they’re sitting together on the couch late at night and they’re in a warm and comforting setting and just like lots of coziness and domestic fluff? thanks!

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ remus lupin x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you and remus enjoy a cuddly night on the couch

609 words

a/n: thank you for requesting gorgeous! this is also my first time writing for remus so i'm a bit nervous♡♡♡

The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting a warm, orange hue across the living room and the pages of your book. It’s late, late enough that the noise outside is hushed and blanketed in darkness. But here, wrapped in a thick blanket with your feet atop Remus’ thighs, everything is still and calm and safe. 

A few chapters ago, his free hand had slipped beneath the blanket to find your calf, his palm warm against your bare skin. His other hand holds his book, a classic, if you were to guess. Your own book is held up in front of your face, its spine digging into your chest. You and Remus have been here for quite some time, so long that the words on the pages have started to blur together; you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve had to go back and reread a paragraph. Your eyelids start to droop once more when there’s a squeeze at your ankle. 

“Are you reading or are you sleeping, love?” His voice is low and warm, soothing enough to make you want to go right back to dozing. You tent your book on your stomach to look at him. His hair is still damp from his post-dinner shower, the ends starting to curl above his ears. If you weren’t as comfortable as you are, you’d tuck yourself into his neck to smell his body wash. 

“I’m tired,” you say in lieu of an answer. 

He hums, the sound low and affectionate, and shifts his hand up to cup the inside of your knee. “You could’ve said something,” he murmurs. “Let’s go to bed.” He’s already giving your legs a gentle nudge to move off his lap so he can stand. 

You yawn, somewhat unattractively, and don’t have a second-thought about it. It’s Remus, the boy who irons all your clothes when you need it and who rubs your back to help you sleep. The last thing you need to worry about is him getting thinking you are anything but beautiful. (He tells you everyday, anyway.)

“But I’m so comfy,” you say, curling up on your side for emphasis. Your movements cause your book to topple off and land on the ground. Your hands, now both underneath the blanket, curl beneath your chin. You watch him put his book aside in the corner of your eyes. 

He chuckles softly, the kind of laugh that makes your chest warm. He leans over you to pick up your book from the floor, putting it on the coffee table. He straightens with a resigned sigh. 

“Alright, alright,” he says, pretending to sound exasperated despite the smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “Scooch over, dove.”

You move closer to the edge of the couch, letting him fit his lean body between the back cushions and you. He lets out a deep sigh as he settles, his arm winding around your waist to pull you back against him. His breath tickles the side of your neck; as if reading your mind, he presses an absent-minded kiss beneath your ear. 

Closing your eyes, you focus on his chest expanding and deflating with each breath. Soon enough, your breathing will be in sync, like twin tides pulled by the same moon.

“Better?” He hums, nudging your shoulder with his nose. 

You nod, too close to sleep to speak. Your hand covers his against your stomach. 

You feel the stretch of his lips against your shoulder, where your shirt must’ve slipped down. His voice is low when he says something else, most likely a goodnight or an I love you, but sleep has already taken you. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[oldermenfucker]

Hi, I love your writing!

Maybe you could do 18 or 19 from the prompt list with Robby?

18: complicated sex with an ex / prompts / Aaaaaa I’m glad you love my writing!!!🥹🥹🥹

You shouldn’t be here, no, you really shouldn’t, but after a mass casualty and a hectic day shift on top of it, you sure as hell need this release.

You are pressed to the wall of Robby’s shower, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as he fucks you with his fingers while hot water runs over your naked bodies.

You shouldn’t be here after how you ended things with him, but you can’t keep away especially when he knows you like the back of his hand, not when he knows when to curve his fingers and go faster and make you come with his name tumbling your lips.

You want to claw at his skin, pull him close and kiss him, but if you do, you’ll be damned, you’ll take him back and everything you fought for would come crashing back into your life.

So you are quite content with just having him fuck the unnecessary thoughts out of your head for now.

[stellargh0ul]

I've been thinking about Copia and Perpetua giving each other nice gifts for their shared birthday. If you wanna write something like that, it'd melt my heart, thank you <3

oh this is such a cute prompt!! thank you for sending it, this was really fun to write.

-

his birthday is, all things considered, an awful occasion. it’s not something to look forward to, nor something to be celebrated- in fact, if everyone forgot all about it, Perpetua would be far happier just letting it pass in quiet mundanity.

but he’s Papa now. so that doesn’t happen.

Haze knows his preferences, of course, so her gift- a hand-crafted mirror with a spelled backing that will let him see himself and make putting his paint on easier- is given to him in the anonymity of his bedroom.

but that’s the only peace he’s afforded, because a Papa’s birthday is a special occasion that the whole church needs to celebrate. there’s a party planned later that he needs to preside over, and a ritual sacrifice of some of the unholy goats they keep, and the whole thing just makes him want to go back to bed and miss it all.

his birthday was never celebrated in the orphanage. and when it was, it was the older children mocking him for ever thinking someone would go through the trouble of getting him a gift.

so there’s really only one reason Perpetua hasn’t put his foot down and shut himself in his chambers, and it’s the fact that it isn’t only his birthday.

he’s standing in front of Frater Imperator’s office with a small wrapped package in his hands, having knocked at least a minute beforehand and gotten no reply. hesitantly, he knocks again, a bit louder.

“Frater? do you have a moment?”

there’s another long pause. Perpetua is sure he’s in there- he can hear the scribbling of a pen across paper and someone breathing- but perhaps he’s too busy to take a visitor. or he just doesn’t want to see this particular one.

both seem equally likely.

he’s turning to go when Copia’s voice comes from inside the office, barely audible.

“come in.”

Perpetua pushes the door open and enters, noting that his brother looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days. there’s dark circles around his eyes that rival those of his facepaint and a specific sheen of grease in his hair that means it’s been a while since Copia had a shower.

he knows because his own hair does the same thing.

“forgive the interruption,” Perpetua says, and Copia looks up at him with a start, as if he hadn’t realized who had entered his office until that point.

“it’s you.”

“…it’s me.”

they stare at each other for a long moment.

“I thought you would be celebrating,” Copia says eventually, glancing away.

“I could say the same of you.”

“bah-“ his brother tosses his head. “too much to do.”

Perpetua chuckles.

“always.”

silence between them again. Copia’s gaze falls to the wrapped package in Perpetua’s hands and he squints.

“is that…”

“it’s just a little thing” he hurries to say and goes to put it on Copia’s desk. his brother reaches out for it after a moment, as if it might bite him. when it doesn’t come to life, he takes it in his hands and carefully undoes the wrapping.

the wooden box inside opens to reveal the head of a cane: a rat with teeth bared, carved from wood, with eyes inlaid with star sapphires.

Copia just looks at it for a long moment before he looks back at Perpetua, face unreadable.

“…it’s lovely.”

he thinks there’s a note of genuine thankfulness in his brother’s voice and feels a smile break out across his face.

“i’m glad you like it. I won’t keep you long, we’re both… busy.”

Perpetua turns on his heel towards the door, nearly back out into the hallway before he hears Copia call out after him. he stops, looking back at his brother, to find that there’s yet another plain wrapped package sitting on the desk.

“…Frater?”

“it’s just a little thing,” Copia mumbles, looking away again. Perpetua has to stop himself from running across the room to take it.

inside is a bottle of lotion, expensive looking, with a label in french that he cannot read. he looks up at Copia, questioning.

“it’s for your skin,” Copia explains, unable to look Perpetua in the eye. “the paint, it… dries out your skin. if it’s- if yours is anything like mine, anyway. this is what I use. used.”

“thank you, fratello.”

he can’t stop the word from crossing his lips, though it makes them both flinch.

is this what it was to have a brother? someone whose hair greased in the way yours did when they went too long without a shower? someone who wondered if you had dry skin after painting your face night after night?

someone to get you a gift on your birthday?

Perpetua wouldn’t know. he’d never had one before.

but this was nice.

[bewitched-hours]

Noobador x GN! Reader crumbs? Reader catches Noobador at the end of his shift at his engineer job and they have a lovey dovey moment together and then he literally picks Reader up and takes them home with him hehe. I need a T-shirt that says "I ♡ Fluff" on it. (Also sorry for being such a frequent on your inbox. I love your writing way too much and you literally pull off every scenario I think up into a perfect fic. I should totally write something up for you on the Discord since you do so much for me?? Just let me know who you yumship with and I'll do my best!!) - Luminescent Anon

Dw, I love getting asks and having frequents in my inbox just makes it all the more special! Sorry for how long this took but as I mentioned in the server, I wanted to make sure I knew more details to make it more lore accurate... (⸝⸝⸝-﹏-⸝⸝⸝)

READER'S GETTING THEY/THEM AS REQUESTED-

You were originally just planning to show Noobador your new shirt and maybe see Red & Blue on the side...

How could you not? The twins were adorable and you've grown really close to their unc- Boss...

Regardless, you had agreed to meet him at his last station where he was fixing up some damage left behind by a couple bandits again.

If you had known they were there, you would've rushed to help but you weren't told until after it happened because Noobador wanted you to know why he was working a bit late.

Of course, you planned to scold him because with all the swords you've collected already, you'd easily turn those bandits into flies.

But you never did, because when you arrived it was eerily quiet.

You were subtly grabbing the Venomshank and looked around to see if maybe someone else was waiting for you...

... Until he suddenly appeared behind you and you were quickly thrown up onto his shoulder.... Classic.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you turned your head to look at his face and give him a gentle kiss. He made sure to enjoy it before chuckling.

"I saw you coming, sweetheart. 'I love fluff'? Really?" You could tell his mockery was a joke and dramatically played along.

"Ugh~ How could I think you would ever understand~?" You spoke with such sarcasm, hatred could've gagged. But to Noobador it was comical.

"Alright, alright, let's get home so I can shower and get the oil off my clothes." He was proudly keeping you on his shoulder like a prize as he jumped off to bring you home with him.

You were a little glad to see Red & Blue there too. You were practically an aunt to them with how Noobador and you act. And you would take that title to your grave with pride.

Noobador was luckily in the shower while the twins bombarded you with questions. Not like you minded, you were glad when the two acted more like children. They deserved to have at least the taste of normalcy.

"Why does your shirt say 'I love fluff'?" Red would ask.

"It means I like fluffy things! Like you both!" You'd chuckle as if it was obvious and panted them gently.

"But we don't have fur!" Blue would giggle at your affection.

"Maybe not but you two are fluffy with your personalities and words! And that's the softest fluff I could imagine!" You were really getting into it. It would be funny to anyone else.

But to Noobador, who was now watching from the doorframe with a soft smile on his face? He found it adorable, surprisingly enough.

You were so ready to take care of the twins like they were your own and something about that was when Noobador had first fallen for you. When that spark in him was first lit on fire and revealed a side to him that you'd never thought to see.

By the time you even noticed him sneaking up on you, he already lifted you up and spun you around with a hearty laugh. Much to the amusement of the twins...

At least until he gave you a loving kiss on the lips, earning a "Ewww" from Red & Blue. You had to stifle a laugh but Noobador had no trouble just continuing to show you love with the twins turning away.

"How about we just watch a movie and train a bit afterwards?" You eventually suggested, getting Red & Blue's attention like a charm.

Needless to say, the rest of the day was spent with an action movie and teaching the twins some sword tricks to copy...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[whisperofaflame]

I need to ask cause I think it’s so funny every time I see it. Why is there a “possible trigger warning for Brazilians” tag on the fic? 😭

-🥊? 19 (he/they…maybe she?…)

Omg haha this is ancient lore at this point, because it happened so long ago! Basically, a couple of chapters into Collision Course I got some lovely comments from readers in Brazil, and once one of them shared their feedback that Reader was not taking enough showers there were multiple users agreeing with the sentiment 😅 Turns out showering often (three times a day, apparently?) is very, very important to Brazilians. So, out of respect for their culture, I thought it best to provide a little warning in the tags for them 😌 (the next tag reads #apparently there isn't enough showering)

To any Brazilian users reading this, I send my love! Please know that as I write I am imagining many unseen shower scenes which are definitely occuring multiple times a day during the events of Collision Course, just for you 🫡 ♡

And that boxing glove is all yours! Thank you for the question, it made me smile to remember it 😂♡

[glowettee]

✧・゜: how i'm learning to trust my creative intuition :・゜✧:・゜✧

hey lovelies! ✨

i've been thinking a lot about creative intuition lately, that quiet inner voice that nudges you toward certain ideas or projects. for the longest time, i was absolutely terrible at listening to it. i'd get these little sparks of inspiration and immediately talk myself out of them. "that's been done before" or "you don't have the skills for that" or my personal favorite: "who do you think you are?"

sound familiar? thought so.

the thing is, i've slowly been learning that my intuition actually knows what it's talking about. those random ideas that pop into my head at 2am or while i'm in the shower? they're not random at all, they're my creative compass trying to guide me toward what truly lights me up.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ recognizing intuition vs. fear ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

the first big challenge was learning to tell the difference between my intuition and my fear. they can sound weirdly similar sometimes!

my intuition tends to feel like excitement mixed with certainty, like "yes! this!" even when it makes no logical sense. it feels light and expansive, like opening a window in a stuffy room.

fear, on the other hand, feels heavy and contracted. it comes with a lot of "shoulds" and worrying about what other people will think. it's the voice that compares my chapter 1 to someone else's chapter 20.

i started keeping track of when these different voices would speak up, and slowly got better at recognizing which was which.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ creating space to listen ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

intuition doesn't shout. it whispers. and in our noisy, constantly-connected world, those whispers can get completely drowned out.

i realized i needed to create actual space to hear myself think. for me, that looks like:

morning pages: three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing before looking at my phone

solo walks without podcasts or music (just me and my thoughts)

intentional boredom: staring out windows, lying on the floor, letting my mind wander

reducing input before trying to create output (no scrolling before creative sessions)

it's amazing what starts to bubble up when you're not constantly drowning it out with other people's voices and ideas.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the "stupid idea" notebook ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

one of the most helpful tools has been my "stupid idea" notebook, a judgment-free zone where i write down every creative impulse, no matter how ridiculous it seems.

the name is intentionally silly to remind myself not to take it all so seriously. some ideas truly are stupid, and that's perfectly fine! but some turn out to be the beginnings of something meaningful.

the rule is simple: write it all down, evaluate later. this creates a safe space for intuition to speak without immediately being shut down by my inner critic.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ small intuition experiments ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

trusting your intuition is like building a muscle, you start small and work your way up.

i began with low-stakes creative decisions: which color to use in a drawing, which topic to write about in my journal, which route to take on my walk. when something felt intuitively "right," i'd go with it, even if i couldn't explain why.

gradually, i started trusting my intuition with bigger choices: which project to pursue, which opportunities to say yes to, which creative direction to explore.

with each small win, my confidence in my inner guidance grew stronger.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ embracing the "wrong" turns ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

here's the thing about intuition: sometimes it leads you down paths that seem to go nowhere. i've followed creative impulses that resulted in projects i never finished or ideas that didn't work out.

but i'm learning that these aren't failures, they're necessary detours. every "wrong" turn teaches me something i needed to learn or leads me to connections i wouldn't have made otherwise.

intuition isn't finding the most direct path; it's finding YOUR path, with all its twists and surprises.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ letting go of external validation ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

perhaps the hardest part of trusting my creative intuition has been detaching from external validation. when you follow your intuition, you might create things that don't immediately resonate with others or fit neatly into what's trending.

i'm still working on this one, honestly. but i've noticed that my most intuitive creations... the ones that felt most aligned with my inner voice, are ultimately the ones people connect with most deeply, even if the audience is smaller.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ a gentle practice ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

trusting your creative intuition isn't a destination, it's an ongoing practice. some days i'm better at it than others. sometimes fear still wins. but each time i choose to listen to that quiet inner knowing, it gets a little louder, a little clearer.

if you're struggling to trust your own creative voice, start small. create tiny spaces of silence. write down the whispers. follow the sparks of excitement. and be patient with yourself when you forget.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[enigmaticexplorer]

Another reblog immediately brightens my day! And seeing you apologize for writing such lengthy comments makes me know I'm in for a VERY good time!

(And now I must give my obligatory apology for writing so much. But I was having so much with fun your comments--and this was such a big chapter in regard to taking next steps forward in their relationship!)

Wolffe coming to take her out. And being so prepared for all of her questions and protests. I love him. He knew exactly what he needed to square away beforehand so she would be willing to go. He pays such close attention to her, I love it.

I like to think that he runs through possible Kazi arguments in his head, prepares multiple counterarguments, and then approaches her. 😂

They're so similar, studying each other, trying to figure the other one out, what makes them tick, etc. It's like part of their love language, noticing things, being observant, caring about each other.

Exactly! They're both hyper-aware, and Kazi especially likes to watch other people for their "tells" because she doesn't trust her emotional judgment. Wolffe is much more emotionally intelligent than Kazi, at this point in the story, so his observations about her support his working thesis that she's in love with him. And Kazi is the opposite: because she notices these small things about Wolffe and really knows him, but then when it comes to figuring out how he feels about her, she just tosses all those observations out the window because she thinks she's over exaggerating or making them up haha.

Was he going to say something about how he's cared for a lot longer than that? Maybe even that's he's loved her longer than that?

You nailed it! What I love about your reblogs (other than seeing your thoughts!) is being able to reread parts of this story and remember the little cues from Wolffe.

And again...was he thinking about her? Being there with her has made him feel more alive than ever before?

Yes! It's a bunch of things! He's starting to realize that he can have that life that he always wanted (fall in love, share his life with someone), and that his misguided belief that he'll never amount to anything more than being a clone is untrue, and that he can rest, that he doesn't have to keep fighting.

I interpreted that as Wolffe is now part of her family. Maybe they were meant to be two separate thoughts, but I like thinking that she considers him family, so that's what I'm going with. ;)

You're absolutely right! Kazi views Wolffe and his brothers as family!

We already know that Wolffe had told her she could join him for a shower anytime she wanted. (I think I'm remembering correctly, right? That already happened at least once, when he offered that...)

Yes! This is a continuation of that! Wolffe is just constantly dropping shower hints haha. But I also like to think that he viewed the shower as a more "safe" space. It's not a bed, so there's no "expectation" for sex. A shower is one step forward: being naked with each other. You can have sex, or you can not have sex. But there's still this progress forward in the physical relationship of being able to be naked with each other without putting that expectation of sex that might make Kazi take a step back.

And he was NOT going to fuck around and waste one more second! Yes, king!

Emphasis on not wasting another second! I've said this before, but Wolffe wants to have sex with Kazi. It's something he's really interested in. (And I want it to be clear that he's not only interested in her for sex. It's just something he wants to experience with her, and he's been looking forward to experiencing that level of physical intimacy with her because it's a more proof that she trusts him--which is what he wants: her trust.) Anyway, I like to think that in this moment, he's overcome with relief and excitement and general happiness that she's trusting him with this next step. And he is not going to waste any time! He wants to be touching her, and kissing her, and being able to explore her body in this new way and he has to do it now.

The way he just looked at her as she was on the bed...ADMIRING! And I feel like I recall her thinking or mentioning at one point that maybe she thought her body wasn't as appealing as maybe some other women's bodies. Hers was more muscular maybe, slender, maybe not curvy. So I feel like she had some body image issues (I'm sorry if I'm remembering incorrectly and putting my own shit into this.) But she's probably a little surprised at how he's looking at her. HER body. Not some other woman's body, but hers. As if it was all he ever wanted, no one else, just her. And he loved the way SHE looked.

YES YES YES. You remembered correctly about her body insecurities! And I'm also glad you like the word "admiring" because it's my favorite thing to imagine in this moment: that look on Wolffe's face! Every person deserves to be looked at that way! And, I like to think that Kazi is doing the exact same to Wolffe: admiring his appearance, too! And from Wolffe's perspective, she's probably blushing from arousal and utter admiration for him, and staring at him in a way that's obsessed and practically drunk with affection.

The "I understand" was HUGE. It was almost like he didn't even care. I know, you are not ready for sex. I know that. But how about THIS. Can I fuck you with my fingers?

This is probably my favorite sex scene I've ever written because of how communicative Wolffe was! Asking these questions without assuming what she wanted, understanding that she would have some reservations--I really, really wanted to emphasize the communication in this. I enjoy fics where sex is this easy, intuitive thing where everything goes right! But I wanted something just a bit more close to home, for me, and that was the communication and checking in and establishing boundaries and still taking things slow even when they're naked together.

It's huge. But he's trying to keep it casual for her. They're just hanging out here, making out, nothing big to worry about, like he was trying to keep her calm and at ease.

Yes! And keep her out of her head! By asking these questions, by showing interest in getting her off, by taking "control" in a way, he's really showing her that she can trust him. That she can turn her brain off for this moment. That everything will be fine and they'll figure things out. Whatever happens, if it's not enjoyable or they need to try other things, they're going to figure it out.

And when she realized he was jerking off...I couldn't breathe and I had chills. He was so turned on by her and making her feel good, he couldn't help but find release.

I know that in lots of fics, we want men who can last a long time, and those stories are great. But I really, really like it when men come fast because they're so turned on by their partner, or when they're so attracted to their partner's pleasure that it gets them off. I can't remember where it happens, but at some point in this story, I talk about Wolffe coming in his underwear after going down on Kazi, and I get it--it's not everyone's cup of tea--but it's my favorite thing. And I liked for this scene that Kazi was watching him for a moment, and it turns him on even more that he sees how attracted she is to him finding pleasure. And that she wants him to teach her what makes him feel good. All around a good time haha.

And then sometimes, it's Kazi. Is it Kazi when he's feeling more emotional or more intimate, more personal? Or is there not a deeper meaning to that other than sometimes he says one and sometimes he says the other?

Wolffe likes to call her by her last name as a nickname! No one else calls her that, and at first, he used it as a distancing tactic. Back when they were not friends and she was using her fake last name (Lucien). He was mad that she'd lied to him and his brothers (this was back when they mistrusted each other) so he used her real last name to show that he knew it, and that she hadn't outsmarted him. And then it became this affectionate thing, like saying "sweetheart" or "darling." He loves calling her "Ennari." But, in very vulnerable moments, he likes to use "Kazi." So you were right--there is a deeper meaning to when he uses it!

And I'm glad you liked the ending! Their teasing, Wolffe understanding her need for space--always taking baby steps forward!

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter XX

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 6.1K

A Like without a Reblog will result in an automatic block.

24 Relona

A sprout, so pale in its orange it looked white, crested the soil of the pot—a burst of the sun before it began a new day. Sometime between this morning’s watering and this evening’s, the bud decided it was time to experience life outside the comforting coolness of its soil. 

Kazi thumbed the little sprout. “Hi, buddy.”

The sprout mushed, its fuzzy bulb tickling, and she slowly retracted her hand, not wanting to accidentally kill it. She watered the soil, mindful to hydrate the sprout without drowning it, and then leaned back on her haunches. 

A look through the sunroom’s windows revealed her sister on the wraparound porch. She wanted to show Daria her sprout. Out of anyone, her sister would understand the significance of this moment. 

However, Daria was enjoying the comfortable heat of the evening, peeling beans for tonight’s dinner. Matches sat beside her, helping. Based on Daria’s stained cheeks, the demolitions expert was telling her a crude story. Kazi decided not to interrupt. It was more amusing watching her sister’s strained smiles and encouraging nods as Matches laughed at something he said. 

Beyond the porch, seated among an elder tree’s roots, Nova and Hound talked. Tree foliage provided ample shade to hide their expressions. Based on the article she found Nova reading yesterday, she assumed he would be working with Hound for the foreseeable future.

A sharp command rang through the cracked-open windows. 

“Again,” Fox said. 

Wiping at her forehead, Neyti glared at Fox. 

“Don’t give me that look.” Fox crossed his arms over his chest. “You can do better—you will do better. Again.”

Huffing her frustration, Neyti faced Cody, lifted her balled fists, and lunged for the man’s hand. One jab with her left hand, a quick feint with the right, and a final punch with the left. Her knuckles collided with Cody’s palm. His smile was soft with encouragement. Neyti looked to Fox.

“Better,” Fox said. He assessed Neyti for a moment and then motioned to the table where Daria and Matches sat. “Get some water.”

With a satisfied nod, Neyti waltzed through the backyard’s ferns, plopping into an open chair and accepting a glass of water from Daria. Another glass went to Cody, who squeezed Daria’s shoulder. 

Kazi looked Neyti over once, confirmed the little girl was well, and then returned her attention to Fox. His black shirt clung to his skin, and sweat slicked his curls back. He’d spent the entire afternoon working on his project, the fallen tree finally taking shape.

Its shape bewildered Kazi, though. She didn’t understand why Fox was building a—

“You have a nice set up.”

Kazi flinched, glancing over her shoulder. Court stood beneath the sunroom’s partition, still dressed in the same black jumpsuit the men had found him in. At least it looked tighter and crisper, freshly washed.

“Thank you,” Kazi said, regaining her feet and dusting her hands together. Court regarded her, his head tilted in assessment. Nonplussed, she cleared her throat. “You know, you don’t have to stay inside, if you don’t want to. There’s a lake, and the jungle is full of hiking trails.”

A dismissive nod preceded his approach, and he surveyed those outside. “How often do you work?”

Studying his side-profile, the reddish hue of the setting sun set the whites of his eyes on fire, Kazi hedged, “I work a normal schedule.” 

He was silent, unblinking, and she glanced at the elder tree where Nova sat, wondering if Court needed to talk to someone. Needed…help. Then again, he held himself with a stable composure, seemingly collected and unaffected, rather than a man facing a potential mental collapse. 

“Are you interested in getting a job?” Kazi asked.

His lips twitched. “We’ll all need one. What do the former commanders do?”

She waved toward the windows. “They work these missions.”

“And their income? Where does their pay come from?”

“Most likely their contact.” Moving toward the game table, she pretended to tidy Wolffe’s puzzle, an attempt to create distance. Maybe she was being rude, too wary, but she couldn’t muster the shame to care. “But I don’t actually know. If you’re interested in joining them, I would talk to them about it. I can get Wolffe—”

“I’ll talk to him later.” Court twisted away from the windows. Those deadened eyes fell on her eyes, sharp and probing. “Wolffe said you work for the government. What do you do?”

“I’m an analyst.” Tension curled in her stomach, uncertain as a fog descending on a harbor. “I track military exports.” 

Court didn’t need to know about her private work for the magistrate: the intel she continued to analyze concerning the missing and deserted clones. With the men’s help, Fox’s expertise in slicing especially, the scrubbed and manipulated data had protected their missions. So far.

“You must have a high security clearance.”

“Somewhat.” Kazi shrugged. “The Security Institute was founded less than two years ago. It’s still rudimentary compared to Imperial governances in the Mid and Inner Rims.”

“You work with a band of rogue clones, yet you serve in Imperial forces.” Court took a step in her direction. “Why do they trust you?”

“I may work for the government,” she said slowly, “but that doesn’t mean I support it.”

A twitch overcame Court’s face and he opened his mouth. Soft footfalls interrupted, however, and a moment later, Wolffe appeared. A black work shirt replaced his usual white, the sleeves rolled to his forearms; his usual gray poncho was nestled in the crook of his elbow.  

Inclining his head to Court, Wolffe faced her. “We’re going, Ennari.”

Kazi frowned. “Where?”

“Out.” Wolffe extended his hand. “To dinner.”

“Neyti?”

“Daria said she’ll watch her. Cody is making dinner. And Nova’s setting up his telescope for Neyti to use tonight.” A satisfied smirk, similar to the one Neyti had sported a few minutes ago, completed his smug demeanor. “Any other questions?”

Smiling, she placed her hand in his palm. “Where are we going?”

The red sun burnished the wooden flattops of Hollow’s Town, the sky spired with brilliant orange and creeping navy blue.

Kazi and Wolffe wandered the Marketplace’s walkways, the colorful canopies withdrawn to allow the evening sunshine to warm the stalls. Small crowds loitered on the streets. Wolffe, with his hood drawn, blended in well. 

He was on edge, though, his tells noticeable only because she had studied him so closely for months. A rigid set to his shoulders. A forced casualness to his stroll. An occasional flex in his fingers, even though they were clasped behind his back. 

The Imperial presence was confined to Canopis, at the moment. But Kazi knew, from the blaster strapped to his thigh, Wolffe didn’t trust them to remain in the capital, and he wanted to be prepared. Since he was as obstinate as he was mistrustful, she didn’t suggest they return to the house. Instead, she reached for his hand. 

Warm fingers curled around hers, slow and tentative. A thumb smoothed a light circle to the back of her hand. 

Their stroll slowed and they rounded a corner. 

Strong spices wafted through the air, as palpable as the steam from roasting meat. The crowds here were louder, busier. Kazi leaned into Wolffe, resting her other palm against his bicep. His muscle bunched; his fingers twitched in her hand.

“Neyti spoke to me,” she said. They paused near a stall selling Elucan wine, and Wolffe looked down at her, his eyes widened in surprise. She’d spent the last few days debating whether or not to tell him, but his opinion mattered, and she needed to share it with someone. Someone who understood the importance of this moment without turning it into a lecture or demands for the future. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

“She trusts you,” Wolffe said, eyeing an expensive bottle of white wine. “Has she said anything else?”

“No.” They moved to the next stall. “She was looking at my adventure book when she spoke. That’s how I knew she wanted to go flying the other day. She told me.”

A splinter of darkening sunlight lit Wolffe’s face and the slight curve of his mouth. Her eyes narrowed.

“You have an adventure book?” he asked. A hint of amusement softened his tone.

“Yes.” He huffed a quiet chuckle and she rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to smile. “My mother got it for me when I was young and I filled it with a bunch of photos from my trips at sea.” She paused. “My parents called me their ‘adventurous’ kid. Hence, the name of the book. Real original, I know.”

Ahead, the walkway ended and they exited the Marketplace, aiming for downtown. 

Wolffe kept their pace slower, more idle, as if trying to delay their arrival at the restaurant. “You don’t think you’re adventurous anymore?”

Kazi laughed. “No.”

“Why not?”

“It happens when you get older—you lose interest in stuff like that,” she said. “You mature and realize life is different.”

“Would you think differently if you still lived on Ceaia?” Wolffe’s tone was inscrutable, assessing.

“No, and it doesn’t matter.” She gestured to their surroundings. “I live here now.”

“Do you want to live here?”

“What I want doesn’t matter.” His hand stiffened in hers, and she pursed her lips, sighing. “We’re safe, that’s what matters. And Daria’s medicine and healer are here, and getting Neyti adopted is easier—”

“What?” Halting in the middle of the empty walkway, Wolffe stared at her, brows furrowed and mouth parted. “You’re putting Neyti up for adoption?”

Kazi winced, releasing his arm. “It’s…been one of my goals since we first arrived here.” 

Bewilderment wrinkled his features as he searched her face, and she gritted her teeth, berating herself for being so careless.

“Her application has been processed,” she said. “Now it’s simply a matter of when a family shows interest.”

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Wolffe straightened, his jaw clenching. “You love that little girl, Ennari.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He started to protest and she cut him off. “It doesn’t. I was never meant to be a mother, and Neyti needs someone who is.”

“Why.” The word was flat, harsh like the press of his lips and the glint in his eyes. 

“Because.” Her cheeks warmed and she averted her gaze, shrugging blasely. “I’m not the affectionate, loving type that Neyti needs—that any youngling needs.”

“You’re not…” Wolffe scoffed, his grip around her hand clammy and tight. His face lowered to hers. “Who told you that shit?”

“Wolffe—”

“Who.”

“Stop it.”

The things her mother told her—the things she knew were true—weren’t his concern. And she wasn’t in the mood to humiliate herself in front of him tonight. But Wolffe scowled at her, his demand unwavering. 

“You weren’t here those first two months,” Kazi said stiffly. “You didn’t see her. She lost her mother and that relationship isn’t replaceable.” 

“I’m not arguing it is,” he hissed. “But she needs a mother—”

“Yeah. She does. And I’m not that woman.”

“You can’t give her up—” 

“I’m her caretaker, and I decide what’s best—” 

“And if I want to step up?”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped. His nostrils flared and she gritted her teeth harder. “Neyti is my responsibility, and mine only. Not yours.” She swallowed. “Anyway, we haven’t even been together for a month—” 

“I’ve cared l—” Wolffe faltered. Working his jaw, he regarded her for a long, stilted minute, and then he shook his head. “Don’t be rash.” He clutched her hand harder. “That’s all I’m asking. Something comes up, we talk about it.”

For a pent breath, she considered him. “Fine.” 

Anger still clenched his jaw, and annoyance pinched his mouth, but Kazi refused to cave. 

She meant it, what she said. Wolffe might want to fill a role in Neyti’s life, a role that was needed, but his missions were his primary concern. They came first; she had learned that lesson the hard way. And she wouldn’t allow Neyti to form an attachment only to lose another parent. She wouldn’t allow another little girl to lose her papa. 

Kazi continued along the walkway, and Wolffe fell in step beside her, their hands still interlaced.

“Please don’t tell the others,” she said after a few paces. “Daria doesn’t know. Neyti doesn’t even know, and I don’t want it to get out. It’s possible nothing ever comes of it.”

A heavy sigh heaved from Wolffe. His thumb continued to circle the back of her palm. An instinct. Or afterthought. 

The sun had finally set, the dark blues and grays of a tumultuous sea bathing the horizon.

A group of males, loud and rowdy, strolled toward them. Wolffe tugged her closer and they crossed the street, evening’s shadows casting him as a more imposing figure. 

Stilted silence yawned between them, nearly physical in its discomfort. 

Surveying the darkening sky, Kazi broke the silence. “Why are your brothers teaching Neyti to spar?” 

Wolffe released a low chuckle; some of his tension ebbed away. “We all learned when we were young.”

“Your upbringing was quite different.”

“Learning how to protect yourself is a good skill for anyone to learn.” He gave her a pointed look. “You should learn too. You and Daria.”

“Daria? The one who’s getting weaker and weaker with each passing month?” Her smile lacked mirth, and Wolffe winced, a silent apology in his squeeze of her hand. “I agree it’s a good skill to have. But it’s ultimately pointless. A real soldier will always be able to overpower me.”

“You don’t learn self-defense to win a fight,” Wolffe said. “You learn it so you have a chance to escape and run. To survive.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Frustration roughened his voice, and they paused on the edge of a walkway, waiting for an aircar to pass. “You’re acting too flippant with your life. I don’t like it.”

She sniffed. “I understand what you’re saying. And I think it’s good that you guys are teaching Neyti.”

He observed her through narrowed eyes, as if debating whether to believe her. “Promise me you’ll fight. If it ever comes to it—promise me you’ll survive.”

“Wolffe—” 

“Kazi.”

The seriousness in his face, the tightness of his grip, told her he wouldn’t drop this. That he cared about this, and that she owed him a truthful answer. 

Holding his gaze, she said, “I promise.”

Signs flickered to life, buttery yellow and warm. People enjoying a meal or drink busied the restaurants and cantinas’ patios. 

They walked in silence. While Wolffe’s quiet was contemplative, Kazi was second-guessing their conversation about Neyti. 

And if I want to step up?

The words were a kindle to that soft glow within her. Dangerous, if she truly analyzed the situation. But she didn’t, avoiding the glow steadily escaping her control, and instead concentrated on tearing apart the question.

Because, really, he had no business suggesting it. They were friends, and they were trying this thing between them, and he didn’t even realize the hurt he would cause when he—

“Do you feel alive?” 

The question yanked her from her thoughts, and she blinked at Wolffe. He was staring straight ahead, the neutrality in his features forcibly apathetic. 

“Do you?” Kazi asked curiously.

Rolling his shoulders back, he shrugged. “Growing up, we were told we were soldiers. Nothing more. Nothing less. We were soldiers. That was it.” 

They paused outside the restaurant, its sign lucent white, and he faced her, his expression guarded. Vulnerable.

“I’m not convinced I’ve known what it feels like to be alive. Outside of basic instinct to survive. I didn’t know that feeling. Even as a boy,” he said, his voice lowering. Hoarsening. “But being here—seeing my brothers safe, the lot of us doing what we want…” His fingers flexed around hers. His gaze remained guarded, and yet it grew softer. Gentler. “I think I’m starting to.”

“You deserve it,” she said. Because he did, and sometimes, she wasn’t convinced he believed it. “To rest. To put yourself first. To go after what you want. You deserve it all, Wolffe.” The evening’s darkness enveloped his face, soft hands holding him, though the restaurant’s white light sharpened his scar. She brushed a finger across his cheek. Just beneath his scarred eye. “You deserve to live.”

He twisted, his lips grazing her palm. “You do too.”

Her smile was weary, similar to the exhaustion he couldn’t seem to shake. They were both trying. 

“Eluca was supposed to be safe,” Kazi muttered.

Setting aside her datapad, she lifted her face to Wolffe. He was hovering behind her, one hand braced on the back of her chair, the other flattened to her desk, while he read over her shoulder.

Both the local news and her private comm line with Fehr and Carinthia lacked information. 

Dinner had been a quiet affair. An assortment of sauteed vegetables, steamed rice, and freshly baked bread filled their stomachs; a glass of whiskey and a mug of Elucan chocolate mush further emphasized the ease of the early night. Whatever tension had survived their conversation on the walkways soon winked out, replaced by blue-white stars winking into existence.

Their soft laughs and relaxed demeanors were ripped away, though, when a military vehicle arrived. Stormtroopers leapt from the vehicle. They stormed the cantina across the street. 

Within three minutes, it was over. Two bloodied males were dragged away.

Kazi had loosed a breath of relief, grateful the two males were the stormtroopers’ targets. Because the moment the black vehicle rumbled onto the street, she’d feared for Wolffe’s life. 

Thought a passerby or patron had reported him. 

Sat, trembling, as she tried to determine a plan of action so he could escape.

The dinner revealed one thing: if it came to it, she would sacrifice anyone to keep her family safe.

Leaning back in her seat, Kazi scowled at her ceiling. “Eluca was the safest option compared to other planets. It was never supposed to be like this.”

Gods, she sounded pathetic. Complaintive and whiny, ungrateful. At least they didn’t live in Canopis; at least Hollow’s Town remained relatively safe and free of Imperial oversight.

Wolffe perched himself on the edge of her desk, folding his arms over his chest. He regarded her with a carefully even expression.

“Do you think it’ll get worse?” she asked.

“Can’t say.” He frowned at the files on her ‘pad. “But things can change quick. I know that firsthand.”

She dropped her gaze to the hands wringing in her lap. “I just want to feel safe. And I know how ignorant and unfair that sounds coming from me when you—”

“You deserve to feel safe, Ennari.” A firm steadiness hardened his voice, a mountain weathering the strongest of winds, unmoved. Quietly, Wolffe added, “We all do.”

Deciding it was too late to dwell on the increasing danger of their situation, Kazi started to untie her braids, a necessary distraction from the thoughts whirling inside, and instead, chose to watch Wolffe.

He was studying her room: the gray, folded sheets of her bed and the matching quilt; the bookshelves along the opposite wall housing her adventure book, a cactus from Daria, and a charcoal sketch Neyti had drawn of the ocean; the white curtains tucked aside, revealing the jungle’s rolling hills. 

“Your shelves could use some personality,” Wolffe commented.

Judgment underscored his tone, and she frowned. “I didn’t know you’re an interior decorator.” 

He threw her a bored look and pushed away from her desk, approaching the shelves. “Why’s your dragon downstairs?”

“She doesn’t match my aesthetic.” At the roll of his eyes, she chuckled, glancing at her closed door. Though her dragon remained downstairs, she swore she could feel its unblinking gaze, observing her in its uncanny way. Sobering, Kazi said, “She’s too much of a reminder of life before.”

Wolffe wandered to her bed. “Before what?” 

“Before everything.” Setting aside her hair ties, she combed her fingers through her hair. “Before my father died. Before Daria and I stopped liking each other. Before the Purge. Before all of this.” Her voice had grown colder, bitter, and she cleared her throat. “I tried to get rid of her but I couldn’t. So she sits downstairs. It was a compromise.”

Reassessing her room, as if she was looking through Wolffe’s eyes, Kazi grimaced. Her bedroom was nothing more than utilitarian: bare, clean, tidy. Lifeless. The only sign someone had recently lived here was the lack of dust. Even her cactus could survive without her. 

The rustle of dried paper interrupted her musings as Wolffe lifted a seed packet from her nightstand. He arched a brow at her.

Her cheeks warmed. “It was a thoughtful gift.”

“This is trash,” he deadpanned. It was her turn to roll her eyes, and Wolffe shook his head, replacing the seed packet back where it belonged. Another slow survey of her room commenced, and then he straightened. His head angled toward her refresher. “Can I use your shower?”

Kazi blinked, momentarily rendered speechless. It was such a random request. And yet there was something bedded into his words, scrupulously layered, guarded: a question, no, a suggestion.  

Perplexed, she gestured to the ‘fresher in acquiescence, and, after a prolonged search of her face, Wolffe disappeared. A few seconds later and the spray of water, a gentle patter, spilled through the cracked door.

Kazi returned her attention to her ‘pad. 

Keying into the datafolders Fehr passed along every month or so, she searched for Ceaia. 

A foolish idea, really. Ever since her arrival on Eluca, she’d avoided the network’s reports on Ceaia. To her knowledge, they were mere assessments of Imperial presence in the Outer Rim. Simply a means to remain informed. Anyway, she would never return to her home planet, so updates were pointless, a dull fingernail reopening a flesh wound. 

But tonight…

The first datafile inside the Ceaian ‘folder presented an overview of the planet: Most of the information detailed the small Imperial force in the capital and the Empire’s disinterest in the planet. Imps bolstered the central government on the eastern continent. Rebellion was nonexistent. Kazi knew all this.

However, the further she read, the more bemused she became.

The rebel network had suggested planet-level analyses of Ceaia’s continents, major cities, and even certain harbors. For some reason, the network was interested in Ceaia.

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Kazi scanned the report closer, but any mentions of the network’s plans were properly redacted. Still, she skimmed the analyses.

Searching…

There were individual files on specific cities and harbors. 

She scanned the list. 

Familiar names flitted past.

She scrolled further, searching for—

Outlook Harbor. 

Her heart stumbled at the familiar name; a cold sweat clammed her palms. 

The rebel network had investigated her harbor—a harbor in the northern continent lacking any connection to Imperial accusations and the Purge. Opening Outlook’s file, she read through it.

Sensitive information redacted—information that clearly detailed the network’s plans—Kazi could only theorize the network’s goals. But there was one line that caught her attention. One line, in the Overview section, that demanded her attention.

Empire rumored to abandon shortly.

The sentence replayed in her mind, a broken holofilm repeating over and over. 

Because, if the Empire abandoned Ceaia, Outlook Harbor would be safe and maybe—

Shoving away from her desk, Kazi massaged her temples, pacing the length of her room. 

It was too late. Things were in motion here, and finding hope within a rumor, a fucking rumor, was asinine.

She had chosen to run, and Ceaia was in the past, and she couldn’t dwell on it any longer. She wouldn’t.

A sudden quiet seeped into her room; a creak told her that Wolffe had exited the shower, and she stilled. 

Everything within her went silent.

A distraction, she wanted a distraction. No, she wanted comfort: She was still running, and she was tired, and her soul was so sore, and she wanted to pause for just a moment to feel something. 

Alive, she wanted to feel alive, and she wanted to feel it with Wolffe. 

Fingers trembling, Kazi removed her sweater, untied her trousers, tossed her clothes and underthings into her hamper. She moved across the bedroom; the resolved beat of her heart, steady, unflappable, complimented her soft rap on the ‘fresher door.

Steam warmed her face, licked her bare skin.

“You’re late.” One of her white towels covered Wolffe’s lower half—tiny around his waist—and he looked down at her, amusement breaking through his practiced composure.

“You showered too fast,” Kazi said.

“Yeah.” His hands bracketed her jaw; his face lowered to hers. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Soft lips were on hers, and Kazi ran her hands up his chest, still damp, delectably warm, wrapping her arms around his neck. Wolffe groaned against her mouth. Tangled his fingers in her hair. Gripped her waist and stroked her spine. 

The heat of his hand to her bare skin, the softness of his touches compared to the desperation in his kiss, the way he held her and touched her, sparked her body to life. Need throbbed in her clit, and gods, she needed something—needed him.

Mouthing beneath her jawline, Wolffe rasped, “Tell me what you want.”

Her thighs hit her bed and she didn’t resist as Wolffe lowered her. As his forearms surrounded her head and his toweled lower half settled between her legs.

“To feel something,” Kazi said. Water dewed his curls and she rested a palm against his chest, basked in the hard, rapid beat of his heart.

He leaned back, just slightly, and let his gaze wander the length of her body. His pupils dilated, the dark brown of his eye and silver of his cybernetic giving way to black. A shiver breathed down her spine, tightened in her nipples, and she could only lie there, appreciating the way he took her in, the same way she had seen him study the bioluminescent flora during their night swims: admiring.

One moment Wolffe was perusing her body, and the next, his mouth was on her breast. 

Gasping, Kazi arched into him, clinging to his bicep. His mouth was hot and wet to her sensitive skin, and she ground her hips against him, desperate for any stimulation. Wolffe choked at the contact. His teeth grazed her nipple and—

“Oh gods,” she whimpered.

“This?” Wolffe flattened his tongue along the underside of her breast and licked to her nipple. “This good with you?”

She released a shaky exhale. “Yes.”

A large hand cupped her breast, and a calloused thumb scraped her nipple. She started to tremble. The clench in her cunt was hard, demanding, and she could only stare at her ceiling, trying to quiet her breathing, calm the racing beat of her heart. 

And, fuck, she thought she might actually come from this—from him caressing her nipples, biting gently into her breasts. Her cunt fluttered at a particular scrape of his thumb, and she bit back a whimper. 

A dazed look darkened his features as Wolffe focused on her breasts. She didn’t understand the appeal: Her breasts were small, small enough his hands easily engulfed them, and yet he seemed unable to look away. Unwilling to abandon them as he dragged a long lick across her nipple and sucked on it. 

Panting, she gripped his shoulder, dug her fingernails into his skin, wavering between pushing him away because the sensation was overstimulating, or holding him closer, giving into the pleasure humming through her nerves and tightening her insides.

A finger brushed through her labia and she tensed, glancing between their bodies. Wolffe circled his finger around her cunt. Light, unhurried circles. 

“This?” Wolffe asked. His eyes were on hers, and the dark brown swirled, drunken with desire. “This good with you?”

“No sex,” she whispered hoarsely. Her labia were so sensitive from his circling, and she swallowed a rising moan. “I can’t—” 

“I understand.” Wolffe tapped her cunt and she could feel her arousal slickening him. “But this? Can I fuck you with my fingers?”

“Yes.”

“What about my tongue?” He licked along her breast again, nipping at her nipple. She shuddered beneath him. “Can I taste you?”

“Wolffe.” Need buzzed beneath her skin, burned in her blood, and she was so fucking sensitive, so desperate for any touch between her legs or her nipples, but he needed to know, first: “I take so long—”

“Good.” He removed his hand, and her hips jerked their protest, her legs trembling with restraint. Satisfaction carved a smile on his face. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time, Kazi. Take your time. I’ll enjoy it.”

Before she could dissuade him, Wolffe was kneeling between her thighs, and he was propping one of her legs on his shoulder; and all she could do was watch, her nipples tingling and her clit aching, shaking with want as Wolffe breathed her in. As he flattened the head of his tongue to her cunt. He licked her.

Pleasure swelled deep inside her and her head fell back. Another slow lick followed and Wolffe groaned against her. The noise was low, guttural, and she gasped, bucking against his mouth. His hands flexed around her thighs, holding her open, restraining her against the bed. 

Sweat thickened the heat beneath her skin and she panted harder; her blood ran fast and hot. Wolffe traced her labia, the tip of his tongue so light it tickled, and then he was sucking her clit, his pleased groans rumbling against her.

Breathy, uncontrollable moans hissed between her teeth. A finger circled her cunt once. Twice. It pushed into her and her hips jerked.

“Wolffe.” Kazi lifted her hips, a silent demand for more, but Wolffe kept his strokes languid, his finger curling upwards and massaging such a sensitive spot she fisted her sheets harder and groaned. 

A second finger slid inside, and she whimpered at the pressure, at the stretch of his fingers. It was so much; more than her own fingers. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Wolffe hissed, stilling his fingers inside her. His eyes snapped to her face. “Am I hurting you?”

Breathing through her nose, she shook her head, blinking dazedly at the ceiling. “It’s just…a lot.”

Wet heat encased her clit the moment Wolffe’s two fingers massaged her upper wall. Massaged a spot that had her panting “More, please more” and her hips gyrating against his face.

Tightness coiled in her lower stomach, and the muscles in her legs bunched. She was shaking; her fingers were curled desperately in her sheets. Her breathy exhales were moans, and the pressure inside her bordered pain. 

Wolffe sucked on her clit harder; he curled his fingers and rubbed that spot over and over and over. All of her tightened, and her legs stiffened, and she felt as fragile as thin glass—

She shattered. 

Honeyed pleasure oozed through her blood, seeping into the cracks of her coiled muscles and soothing them. She was trembling, and she couldn’t move, left to blink at her ceiling as a wet tongue lapped at her, its strokes long, slow. 

A sharp flare in her labia made her pull away. Wolffe gripped her thighs harder, his scowl displeased, but at her sharp look, he released her, gently lowering her leg from his shoulder. 

A little tired, a little sore, Kazi lowered herself to the floor, leaned into Wolffe, and kissed him. He grunted against her mouth, seemingly surprised, but she didn’t bother to stop, pressing lackadaisical kisses to his jaw. Licking the muscled length of his neck. Basking in the way he held her weight as he panted against her ear.

It took her too long to realize he was fisting himself. Fisting and stroking his cock. She leaned back to watch him, beads of cum glistening his tip. It took her even longer to realize the wetness he was using to stroke himself was her own arousal—her own release. Wolffe met her gaze, his eyelids hooded. 

Grazing her palm along his thigh, the muscles shivered beneath her touch, Kazi smiled, cupping his balls and squeezing.

“Fuck.” Wolffe’s forehead fell to her shoulder. His breaths grew ragged, pained.

“Show me,” she said, massaging his balls. “Show me how you like it.” 

Roughly, he guided her hand to his base and fisted himself; the heat of his cock burned and her eyes widened in surprise. He tightened her grip and stroked. A groan warmed her neck.

“That’s it,” Wolffe rasped, using her hand to stroke himself faster. Harder. “Fuck, that’s it.”

Bracing a palm on the bed behind her, Wolffe hissed between his teeth, his hips jerking uncontrollably. 

Kazi traced light, teasing circles to his inner thigh, kissed behind his ear and nipped at his earlobe. Wolffe choked. His body stilled. He bit into her shoulder, and then he was spilling onto their hands, onto his stomach. He rutted into her hand, his semen hot and thick, his moans low and hoarse. 

As his thrusts eased and then stopped, Wolffe released her, his fingers trembling as they ran along her ribcage, like he was reassuring himself she was here. She was with him. Indolent kisses warmed her shoulder, soon followed by gentle licks to the mark he must have left.

Eventually they cleaned themselves and returned to her bed, still naked: soft brushes of fingers to skin, languid kisses to knotted muscles. At one point, Kazi laid atop Wolffe, her cheek nestled to his chest, his hands slowly tracing the knots of her spine.

“This,” he murmured, grazing the center of her back, “I’ve been thinking about.”

Trailing a finger along his own scars, she smiled. The line-drawn dragon tattoo was tiny and simple, her sole tattoo.

“Any significance?” he asked.

“I got it as a reminder,” she said. “That the only person whose got my back is myself.”

Pensive silence enveloped Wolffe as he continued stroking her spine, like he was counting each dent. Soon, though, those wandering hands shifted to her hips, her ass, her ribcage. Curious, lackadaisical touches ensued. Kazi wasn’t any better: feeling his scars, the tightness in his muscles, the fat toning his body. 

They were clay, formed from stardust and molded into individuals: to be appreciated, revered.

Later, the moons casting her bedroom in a bluish tinge, Kazi scanned Wolffe’s side-profile. 

“You can smell my soap? From feet away?” she said, disbelievingly. “Even after a couple of hours?”

“Yeah. And when I’m close to you, like this”—he gestured between their bodies—“I can smell you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I can smell when you’re bleeding.” A nonchalant shrug succeeded her appalled blink. “And when you’re aroused.”

“No, you can’t,” she whispered.

“I can.” Amusement was woven into his frankness. “We were engineered to be exceptional.”

“Huh. I don’t know if I’m impressed or mortified,” she said. Wolffe chuckled, and she smiled, brushing her nose to his shoulder. “So, enhanced smell, sight, and hearing. What about taste?”

A devious glint darkened his eyes, and he edged closer, playing with a strand of her hair.

“You taste”—a wet tongue licked the length of her throat and Kazi gasped; Wolffe pulled back—“divine.”

Laughing, she tried to shove him away, but he resisted, grinning down at her.

“Divine?” she said, scoffing. “All you tasted was my body oil.”

“I was talking about your cunt,” he drawled, smirking at her exasperated shake of her head. Returning his face to her neck, he kissed just beneath her jaw and murmured, so quietly she wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it, “I won’t ever get enough of you.”

Minutes later, with Wolffe sucking on her collarbone in a way she knew he had no intention of stopping anytime soon, Kazi glanced at the chrono on her nightstand. She grimaced.

“Wolffe.” He grunted his acknowledgement. “I’m tired.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m gonna go to sleep.”

He lifted his head. “You kicking me out, Ennari?”

A tiny, glowing fist pounded against her chest but she ignored it. If she asked him to stay, then she would grow accustomed to his presence. Rely on it. On him. And what if…

Rubbing her chest, she offered him an apologetic wince. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

Understanding gentled his expression, and he inclined his head, reaching for his trousers, forgoing his long-sleeve. 

At her door, Kazi pressed a swift kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for dinner and for…”

“The orgasm?” he supplied.

“Good night,” she said, unable to stifle her smile. 

Amusement crinkled his eyes and he tapped the underside of her chin. “Sleep well, Kazi.”

Masterlist | A Muse | Chapter 21

A/N: To see how I imagine Wolffe going down on Kazi, check out this artwork (18+/nsfw). If you take a look, please show love to the artist by reblogging. The artist deserves it. The artwork has no relation to Star Wars, but I stumbled across it one day and it reminded me of the scene in this chapter. Please enjoy. (Again, if you view it, please reblog it. Liking a post on Tumblr without reblogging does nothing to support the artist.)

[antiterf]

"Gender identity and feeling a certain gender isn't like sexual orientation. We know what attraction is!"

Okay but can you explain the feeling of being attracted to someone? Can you do it without using symbolism? Can you do it without objectification? Without the "feeling" because feelings aren't objective? We have the term sexual attraction to describe sexual orientation, and we have gender identity to describe being transgender. Both have been neglected by psychology and other sciences in regard to LGBTQ+ people and most of the time, it is, at the end of the day, multiple different theories and not a single explanation.

It took me longer to recognize romantic attraction than it did for me to recognize my gender identity. I assumed that certain things were sexual attractions when they weren't. Many gay, lesbian, and ace people go through that second one because sexual attraction can never be objectively described.

I eventually figured out romantic attraction as the feeling I get when I think someone as cute, not from aesthetics but as a person. That is not exactly specific enough for most people to understand. When combined with sexual attraction it becomes a constant yearning for the person to be next to me, the feeling that part of me is missing when they leave. I cannot separate sexual attraction from romantic, but can separate romantic from sexual. If we're going blatantly then sexual attraction would also be my want to have sex with the specific person because their body alone gives me feelings of euphoria (oh we love the oxytocin), but when comparing that to gender, that would be a sexual expression like how pronouns and clothing are gender expression.

On top of that, I can only speak for myself. Others can and will report feelings that do not match mine, but they still use the same terminology because those feelings will still fall under attraction. Trying to restrict what is and what isn't a form of romantic or sexual attraction by personal experience isn't helpful and likely more harmful.

Gender identity was the feeling that something was off and that I had one foot in the door and one foot out. That something was missing until I put the key into place. It was the feeling of euphoria when hearing my preferred name. It's the comfort I get when there's some compression on my chest because I associate binders with relief and happiness. But wait... wouldn't that second one be instead feelings of transsexualism?

I don't fucking know dude! I don't feel these things separately! Separate orgasm from pleasure and see how that works out for you!

When trans people talk about our experiences with gender identity because someone wants some sort of description, when a cis person who has never had to examine what gender identity feels like, there's not going to be much of a way to describe it where someone completely understands unless if they've experienced it before. We as trans people can go "oh yeah that sounds accurate to my experience" or go "oh no, not me, for me it's a little more like ____" but there's not much of a way to objectively describe it.

What is a woman, anyone who claims that they're a woman, is as circular as a definition as:

Sexual attraction: attraction that makes people desire sexual contact or shows sexual interest in another person(s). Romantic attraction: attraction that makes people desire romantic contact or interaction with another person or persons.

So neuroscience is used to try and find Where the Gender is Stored but the brain is such a complex organ that the shape of your brain can be used to identify you like a fingerprint. Oxytocin is what we have for attraction but which one? Does it matter? There are studies that show that the brains of trans people are different in some way but I kind of stopped caring about them years ago because I don't care! I don't care!

I'm trans, we keep trying to explain what gender identity is, why we transition, but there's always some issue on it being too vague or reinforcing stereotypes (men having flat chests with binding even though not all men do for instance).

So when you get a way to describe all of what you feel objectively that everyone can relate to you can get back to me and I'll fucking applaud you.

[featherxquill]

The thing about me is, I’m so rejection sensitive, at least where friendship is concerned, that I have learned to completely ignore the part of my brain that tells me that someone is mad at me or hates me and wants rid of me, essentially granting myself cockroach levels of resilience to passive-aggressive social rejection and ghosting. So yes, I will be That Person. I have absolutely no shame and I will send you 32 things that made me think of you even if you haven’t replied, I will persist in asking you to hang out. Like I choose to believe that everyone is just busy or forgetful or has their own shit going on, it’s the only way I can be a functional human being. So if you want to get rid of me that’s completely fine, but I will take none hints and I’m going to need you to Set Some Clear Boundaries, Ma’am.