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asxgard · 2 days ago

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Companionship | pt. 3

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

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Summary: A few moments where Michael is finally honest and a few where he is not.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: y’all are so lovely!! I’m so glad that you guys are enjoying this as much as I am lol Thank you for all the likes, comments, and reblogs!! and shoutout to all my new followers, like omg hi💜

I caved and posted to AO3 with a f!oc so I could explore a character more in depth without imposing too much on the reader, so if you’re interested: AO3 Companionship

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, death mentioned (a patient), Robby still trying to bottle up his feelings, alcohol

not beta read

that damn smile

The days passed slowly considering how busy they had been. Between projects, homework, the office, and your half-assed chores, you were beat. That Friday morning was uneventful, a foggy start where you ran from your two classes, hoping it wouldn’t rain. You regretted not signing up for online classes, foolishly thinking being present would make you more productive. Maybe it did, but you longed to be home. As selfish as the thought was, you missed the time when you worked from home.

A weird thing happened around lunchtime: you were sitting at you desk with a homemade sandwich, lunchtime ticking away far too quickly. Your phone rang, and half expecting a scam call, you were surprised to find Michael’s name lighting up your screen.

You swallowed a bite of your sandwich before answering, “Hello?”

“Hello, hi.” His warm voice greeted her.

“I’m sorry. Did I forget we had a call right now?”

“No, no.” He suddenly sounded awkward again. “I, uh, I only have a few minutes, but I was hoping we could talk tonight? My shift should end at 7, but they never end on time.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You said without thinking about it. “Usually you text me.”

A moment of silence passed. “I usually don’t have time to check my phone, and I just wanted to make sure you could talk tonight. You know, make sure you had a decent amount of notice. I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped, clearing your throat, “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

In his silence, you picked up on the array of beeps that grew louder on his end.

“I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you tonight? 8:30, maybe?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “That works.”

“Good, uh, okay. Yeah. Talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later.”

—

In a rare lull of the Emergency Department, he had had his phone out before he had even thought about it, stepping into the staff lounge, and clicking on your contact. Usually it was a quick text sent in between patients, but then the phone had been ringing, your voice on the other end.

Michael stared at your contact after the call ended for a long moment, the chaos around him that had been quiet while talking to you slowly becoming louder and louder. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket and ignoring the feeling churning around his stomach, he jumped back into it. Dana had been the one to alert him of a car crash incoming, and he hoped she had not caught him staring at his phone.

Despite the fact that his shifts usually blurred together with how quickly they seemed to go, this one had seemed to slam on the brakes. It was no less busy than normal, but each minute ticked away like an hour, driving him mad.

It was a relief when Jack Abbot walked into the ED to take over. Not wanting to seem too off, Dr. Robby lingered, helping out with a few more critical patients before Jack finally shooed him out.

His watch read 7:39 when he collected his things from behind the charge desk.

Part of him really wanted to open up to you — the anonymity was tempting, but so was your voice — but the other part hated being so vulnerable. Not talking about it had worked out pretty well so far, but it left his chest feeling so tight and made his nights nearly always restless. Or maybe it was the grief. Or the stress. Or the loneliness.

Maybe not so much the loneliness anymore, Michael thought to himself.

Michael walked into his apartment and discarded his backpack by the door, along with his shoes. His entire body sagged, exhaustion running through his system. He realized how hungry he was and knew there was not much in his apartment to eat.

Before he knew it, it was 8:31, making his heart jump. Reaching for his phone, his finger hovered above the call button before he took a deep breath and pressed it.

You answered after two rings, ever reliable, “Hi.”

His lips turned upwards at the sound of you. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

He digested the question. From your handful of calls, it seemed to be your way of judging if he wanted to talk or just listen.

“It wasn’t a bad shift,” passed his lips before he had the chance to think about it. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad or stressed about it.” You said, not missing a beat.

“I lost a patient.” He told you. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

You went silent on the other end and guilt ate away his insides. It wasn’t about this patient in particular, or how he lost them, not really. Sure, that weighed on his mind, but nothing compared to Adamson, or the pandemic.

Despite the fact he didn’t want to talk about it, he kept going, “There was nothing we could do. I tried—we—”

“It’s not your fault.”

That struck down his spine, making him sputter. Maybe he was looking for a reason it was, maybe it wasn’t about this patient at all. He had a hard time distinguishing sometimes.

“I’m sure if you could’ve saved them, you would’ve.” You told him, and everything around him was completely silent. “I won’t pretend to understand the weight you carry, or how hard that has to be, but I know you did everything you could. You’re a good man, Michael, and god forbid anything were to happen to me, I know I’d be lucky to have a doctor like you.”

You said it like it was nothing, like the weight of your words did not scoop up the weight on his shoulders and carry it for just a moment. For a single minute, he felt okay. Then, the thoughts crept back in: but you don’t know me.

But maybe I want you to. He shook that thought off just as quickly as it came.

“I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“What?”

What? echoed in his own head, and he quickly started rambling, “You know, maybe talk in person. Might be nice. Only if that’s okay with you? We don’t have to, I—”

The weight of it burned heavily in his mind, churning his stomach. Would you want more money for that? Would you just consider it your weekly talk? Would you—

“That would be nice.”

His racing mind screeched to a halt. “It would?”

“Yeah, did you have a place in mind?”

Fuck! “...no.”

“Well, dealer’s choice.” You told him, your tone light like you were smiling again.

He sat on that for a minute. Did he take you somewhere fancy? Someplace miles away to ensure no one caught you? He still wanted to make sure you stayed far away from his professional life, and he certainly did not want to answer any questions if anyone he knew saw you.

“There’s this Italian place just outside the city. I’ve been meaning to go back.”

“Italian sounds good, actually.”

He smiled.

—

This isn’t a date. This isn’t a date you repeated to yourself over and over again, trying to quiet the anxiety raging through your system. You weren’t all that surprised when he had asked to meet in person, it had been part of the conversation at the cafe. Phone calls had just been easier for him to fit into his schedule up until this point. Or maybe it was easier for him to talk when it wasn’t face-to-face.

According to Google, the Italian restaurant was more of an upscale place, which led to your anxiety on what to wear. Their menu was on the expensive side when you browsed their website. You felt guilt rise in your chest, knowing he was going to be paying.

How the hell did Erin do it? Let those men spoil her with things much more expensive than a nice Italian restaurant with zero feelings of owing them?

Erin’s arrangements are different, you told yourself, sighing deeply through your nose. This is still well in line with what we agreed to. So why on earth were you overthinking it?

Staring into your closet, you weighed your options. There was the knee-length navy blue dress you had worn to the interview for your job, or the pretty black dress that complimented your figure that you wore to graduation, or your most recent splurge: a dress in your favorite color with a flowy skirt. It wasn’t fancy by any stretch, but you certainly would not wear it out for a casual night either.

It seemed like a happy medium between something modest and something you would wear out with your friends.

After fixing your hair, you started your ‘get ready for a night out’ routine. Your mind wandered to what he would wear; would he dress up? Simple shirt and slacks? Would he wear cologne, or—

This isn’t a date, you reminded yourself, why does it matter?

Taking a long look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes took in your appearance. The dress was flattering in all the right ways. You took a breath, smoothing out the dress.

You took your purse from the table by the door, putting on your black heels and light jacket before walking out the door. You left early, stuck between wanting to be early and not wanting to be there first.

The drive did little to soothe your nerves, traffic proving to be as frustrating as usual. You tried to coach yourself through it. This was two acquaintances getting dinner, nothing more, looking to simply talk. Your standards were not high — he would either want to talk or listen, and you had plenty you could still tell him about your week. This was just going to be like a phone call…just in person.

When you pulled up to the venue, you parked your car and sat there — anxiety eating you up. You debated waiting a little longer, eyes flickering to the time: 6:25. Biting your lip, you gathered your purse, tucking your phone away before getting out of the car.

Michael was waiting for you once you reached the lobby, greeting you with a warm smile. You drank in the sight of him in the dim lighting of the restaurant, your cheeks heating. He was wearing brown chinos, a soft grey-blue sweater and a blazer — and your heart nearly stopped just looking at him.

The host walked you both to your table. As you walked past, you took notice of several of the other women, noting you were not overdressed and relief washed through you. Your table was tucked away near a corner of the restaurant, next to a window.

When you were seated, you looked over at Michael across from you and smiled. The lines on his face were softer in this lighting, but he was remarkably handsome regardless, with his lips in a soft smile.

“How—”

“I—”

You both laughed, before Michael gestured for you to start.

“How are you?” You asked, figuring it was as good a place as any to start.

“I’m okay,” he told you, but it looked like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “Uh, how was your day?”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, so used to hearing it on the other end of a phone call. It did so many things in person.

You sipped the ice water in front of you. “I’m well, thank you.”

“How’s that fraud project going?”

You smiled, finding it nice that he remembered some of your ramblings. You had wondered how much he actually listened to vs just needing a voice on the other end of his call.

“It’s going really well, actually. I’ve been really enjoying the course.”

“Good, that’s good.”

The waiter came by to take your drink order, and Michael surprised you by allowing you to order for both of you.

“I’ll have whatever the lady is having.” Michael said, turning his attention back to you.

“Do you like reds?” You asked, deciding wine would be the safest bet, shoving away the thoughts of him not liking wine at all.

He gave a simple nod, and you turned back to the waiter to order a simple pinot noir for each of you. You waited for any sign from him that you had made the wrong choice, but he was sitting happy as could be across from you. You looked down at the menu, weighing your options. You could try to be cheap and order something simple, or forget about the price next to the dishes and allow yourself to be spoiled.

“Tell me about your day.” He said.

That felt as easy as breathing, “I slept in, a rarity for me, but then I got caught up on studying. Between that and some of my reports, that ate up most of my day. My laptop is on the fritz, but as long as it’s plugged in, it’s been fine. Not an impossible work around, but thankfully I didn’t really need to be anywhere with it today. I bring it to classes with me sometimes, but hand-written notes are just as reliable, though they sometimes just look like chicken scratch.” You chuckled.

“Oh, please,” he laughed, “I bet yours are worlds better than mine. There’s a stereotype about doctors' handwriting for a reason.”

“At least I’m the only one who needs to read mine.” Smiling, you continued, “Why’s it so bad anyways? Is legibility an offense to you, or something?”

“The name of the game is speed, unfortunately. I’m so busy I’m lucky to sit down at all. Charting on the computer helps, but those physical files are not going anywhere.” He laughed. “You get used to it.”

You continued like that, jesting and enjoying the company of each other. The waiter came back to take the food order, Michael settling on a pasta ragu — you quickly glanced at the price of his item and found your second choice was just below how expensive his was. It made you feel better when you ordered it.

When dinner came, you settled back into small talk, trading conversation about the cooling temperature and the most recent Penguins game. After taking a sip of wine and placing it back on the table, you let your left hand rest next to the glass. Absentmindedly, you brushed your fingers softly against his, his hand beside his own wine glass. Your mind halted, your eyes taking in your hands touching — his fingers were warm beneath yours.

There was a clang! of his fork hitting his plate and your hand quickly retreated from the tabletop back into your lap with a jolt. Your eyes looked up, catching his flustered face, and anxiety invaded your stomach.

You swallowed, “Did you want to talk about your day? Or work, perhaps?”

He blinked at you, before clearing his throat lightly into his fist and grabbing his fork again. His eyebrows furrowed inward, but he was silent as he slowly chewed his food.

“Yeah,” he started, finally meeting your eyes. “I finally got some pesky chores done around the house that I’ve been putting off.”

With each word he spoke, he sounded like he was avoiding anything with substance. You accepted it regardless, mildly frustrated that he had a hard time opening up — but who were you to demand any more from him?

Taking in your raised eyebrow, he sighed, “I’m not good at this, I’m sorry.”

Blinking several times, “Why are you apologizing? You’ve no need to. I’m enjoying our conversation. I’m just ensuring I don’t talk your ear off.”

His lips flicked up, “Definitely not.”

You laughed, “Good.”

After several more bites between them, Michael sipped his wine, “Actually, I would like to be honest.” A long sigh escaped his nose while he avoided eye contact. “My job is…my job is stressful. I used to think I was good at compartmentalizing, but...” He shook his head, shrugging, “I don’t know. It’s been tough lately.”

You waited, watching him.

“You know, most days, it’s just trying to keep our heads above water. Some days there’s hope…others…” He was shaking his head again, taking a careful sip of his wine. His eyes looked far away, his face scrunched together.

Your thoughts flickered back to the other day when he had mentioned losing a patient and your heart ached. He was struggling to carry the weight of all of it, what possibly could you say to make it better?

You sat like that for several minutes in tense silence. You kept overanalyzing what to say, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

He suffered a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been nice to talk to someone outside of that environment, you know? To talk about anything else, or listen to you talk about your days, even when I don’t say anything.”

A tiny smile graced your face, “I’m glad I can do that for you. I’m glad I haven’t been boring you.”

He exhaled, lips turning upwards, “Not at all. I’ve enjoyed our conversations.”

“I have too.”

You held each other’s gaze for a long moment, before the waiter came by to offer dessert. Your gaze lingered on Michael’s face before you glanced down at the dessert menu. You thought perhaps dessert was too much, so you went to say “I think I’m just too full.” but Michael beat you to it.

“Make it two of whatever she wants.” He was grinning again, mood slightly lifted, watching you with an amused glint to his eye.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but did not question it, quickly deciding on one of the options.

Dessert came with coffee, decaf for him, and lighter conversation. As the night wound down, you found you wished the night had been longer, enjoying his company. You wondered if you would be seeing more of him in person after this. You hoped so.

He paid the bill without allowing you to even glance at it, which after a few seconds of thought, you were thankful for. You knew it was not likely to be an outlandish amount, but you were glad to not have a number in your head to overthink.

Getting up from the table, you walked close together, arms brushing until you made the split second decision to grab hold of his arm. To avoid bumping into any tables or other patrons, of course. He had not been expecting it, by the way he glanced at you, but you kept your eyes forward. He didn’t say anything. Once back in the lobby, you loosened your hold, but he did not let you go.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You walked in the direction of your car, anxiety bubbling back up. This was usually the bit where your past dates tried — or succeeded — in kissing you. This isn’t a date this isn’t a date this isn’t a date, echoed loud in your head. Did you hug him? Just say goodbye?

“This is me.” You said awkwardly, stopping in front of your car.

He nodded his head, turning to look at you again.

“I’ll—”

“I—”

You smiled at each other, and you gestured for him to go first.

“This was…nice. Thank you.”

“Thank you, I had a good time.”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Have a good night, Michael.”

“You too.” He said, turning to go, before turning quickly on his feet. “Let me know when you get home safe, yeah?”

Opening your car door, you looked back at him and grinned, “Yeah, I will.”

Offering a final smile before you got into your car, Michael walked in the opposite direction.

The drive home was much better than the drive to the restaurant. You felt warm on the inside, going over the dinner in your head again and again. You smiled the entire drive.

Walking into your apartment, you set your things down before pulling out your phone and pulling up Michael’s contact.

Home safe :)

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want to join the taglist? shoot me a message!

Companionship Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @cannonindeez @gabsgabsvaz

All Dr. Robby content: @cherriready

that damn dinner scene gave me trouble for some reason — sorry it took awhile!

Also?? Hozier’s Too Sweet is so Companionship coded

#michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch/you #michael robinavitch/reader #the pitt #the pitt x reader #companionship series #asxgard writes #dr robby x reader #dr robby

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corroded-hellfire · 2 days ago

Note

imagining luke comforting eliza about no longer being the baby of the family when the twins arrive🥺

I managed to merge this with some ideas I’ve had jotted down so thank you for sending this in! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: pregnant!reader

Words: 3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The house has had an aura of chaos over it this past week. It’s only been this past week that you’ve been living in the house as well. You never thought moving would be so hard. When you moved into your apartment for college, you only needed to box up some things from your bedroom at home and lug your clothes over in a suitcase. Then, moving in with Eddie and the boys at their apartment was also a breeze. Most of the furniture didn’t need to come with you since Eddie had his own, so it was left to Jess, who stayed in the apartment.

The move from the apartment to the last house was a little hectic, you have to admit. You’d only been responsible for your belongings before, but now there were four people who needed to get organized and packed up. When two of those people are Ryan and Luke Munson, it adds a whole other layer of insanity. Plus, that was the first time you needed to get a proper moving truck. It felt like your first real move as an adult, all the furniture coming along with you for the first time.

But this latest move puts all of the others to shame. Packing up the house was especially rough when the ones who had to do it were a grown man who works a full-time job, a pregnant woman carrying twins who continually exhaust her, one teenage boy who seems to always be at SAT prep, another teenage boy who has a different sport’s practice every other day, and a feisty little girl who was very particular about which of her stuffed animals could go into boxes with other stuffed animals. Oliver the Otter and Penelope the Pig could not be close to each other, according to your daughter. Not until Oliver apologized for hurting Penelope’s feelings, anyway.

The stress wore on each family member differently, in different degrees. Coping mechanisms–or lack thereof–also varied from person to person. School and all its extracurriculars and obligations kept both boys pretty occupied with other things. Especially Luke, since he could use any of his athletic endeavors to release any irritation or melancholy. The physical demands of Eddie’s job also gave him a good outlet to work out any stressors. Your husband tends to take on your stress, though, as he knows your body is already going through a lot before this whole moving ordeal. He makes a point of doing small things for you every day, like rubbing your back or running out to get the flavor of ice cream you’re craving. Occasionally, he’ll ask Ryan to make the ice cream run while he’s busy rubbing your back. Ryan doesn’t care one bit; he’s still in the glee stage after getting his license and being able to drive around on his own.

The little girl in the house is too young to have any solid coping mechanisms. You try to give her as much attention as possible to get her through this stressful time, but you’re not physically able to do as much as you’d like. Her father and brothers do a great job whenever they’re home, though. Still, Eliza has her moments that seem so overwhelming.

An unusually free Saturday afternoon for Luke allows him to stumble upon one of these times. He’s heading from the living room to the kitchen when he notices his little sister sitting on the top step of the staircase, her back to him.

“What’s up, tiny-size Elize?”

Luke comes to a halt when he sees his sister’s hunched shoulders. The carefree smile slips off his face as he leans in closer and sees her hugging her tight-clad knees to her chest. Her head is bowed, and her curls are falling against her cheeks.

“Hey…” He trots down a few steps so he can sit on the top stair right next to her. Now that Luke can see her face, he takes in her pinched frown and furrowed brow. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head brusquely, wild halo of curls bouncing with the motion. Her silence only adds to Luke’s concerns. The words “Eliza” and “silent” are never used in the same sentence without a “not” in between them.

“Is it the new house?” Luke tries.

Again, she shakes her head. Luke twists his lips to the side as he tries to come up with other possible irritants.

“Is one of your stuffies missing again?”

He knew that would get a head shake even before she made the motion—there would have been colossal tears if a beloved stuffy was lost.

“Daddy or Mama say something that upset you?”

Shake of the head.

“Did Ryan do something? Wait—did I?”

Another shake of the head and Luke sighs.

“Does it have something to do with the babies?”

Luke doesn’t think she’s going to respond at first. There’s a long moment of hesitation before Eliza finally nods her head.

“What is it?” Luke asks. “What’s bothering you about the babies?”

Eliza turns her head and looks up at her big brother with wide, worried eyes. Luke can’t remember the last time she seemed so concerned or downtrodden.

“I’m not gonna be the baby no more.” There’s a slight wobble in her voice.

“Ah.” Luke nods in understanding. “What about it makes you sad?”

The little girl lets out a deflated sigh, and her arms fall to her sides.

“I like being the baby! I don’t wanna be a big sister, I wanna be the little one.”

“Hey, c’mere.” He wraps his arm around her shoulders and jostles her gently. “You’ll always be my little sister. And Ryan’s.”

“But I won’t be the baby,” she sighs.

“Well, no.” Luke gnaws on his bottom lip, now at a loss. He wracks his brain trying to think of something comforting to say to her before she can stew too long in the thought. His back straightens as an obvious memory comes back to him. “I know how you feel. I was the baby before you came along.”

Eliza’s brow furrows, and an adorable pout puckers her lips.

“You didn’t want me to be born?” Her voice shakes, and it sparks a panic in her older brother’s mind.

“What? No! I mean, of course, I wanted you to be born.” Luke leans in and squeezes her against his side. “You remember how excited you were when you realized there were gonna be new babies? I was just as excited when I learned you were going to be born. Maybe more! You know, Ryan and I actually asked for a little brother or sister years before you came around.”

“Really?” The fear in her eyes has faded into interest, and Luke internally sighs in relief.

“Really.” He nods. “I couldn’t wait for you to be here. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t get kind of sad about not being the baby anymore. I had been the youngest for, like, ten years.”

“That’s long time.”

“I know,” Luke agrees. “As excited as I was for you to be born, it was still a big change and change is scary. Like moving to this house and now having two new babies around is change and it’s scary. Right?”

Eliza nods, letting her body slump against her brother’s.

“And I know you’re excited for the twins even if you don’t like the idea of not being the baby anymore. Huh?”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

“And you’ll see, soon you won’t be able to imagine your life without the twins. I can’t imagine my life if you hadn’t been born. It would be so boring!”

That brings a small smile to Eliza’s face. There’s the adoration she knows and loves.

“And I think you’re kind of lucky,” Luke continues. “You’re going to be the only one who has two older siblings and two younger siblings.”

“I get to be a little sister and a big sister,” she says softly.

“Yes! It’s kind of like a club you and I get to be in.” Luke nudges her playfully. “I guess technically whichever twin is born first will also have an older and a younger sibling too, but it’s mostly just you and me! We’re the coolest ones.”

“I thought twins was born at the same time,” Eliza says, confusion pinching her cherubic face.

“I mean…yeah.” Luke taps the fingers on his right hand against the step he’s sitting on. How does he explain this without getting into where babies come from? He can’t even fathom the reactions from you and Eddie if Eliza started asking questions about the birds and the bees because of him. “They’re born very close together,” Luke tries. “Like, Ryan was born two years before me. But the twins will be born minutes apart. And they’re in Mama’s belly at the same time.”

“So,” Eliza starts, her mind trying to put the pieces together, “you and Ryan weren’t in Mama’s belly at the same time?”

“Well, remember, we weren’t in Mama’s belly. Ryan and I were born to someone else. But no, Ryan and I weren’t in her belly at the same time.”

“Right.”

Luke thanks God she doesn’t continue down that road either. She knows the basics of how her older brothers were born to a different mom, but it’s just a part of her normal everyday life that it hasn’t occurred to her that this doesn’t happen in every family.

“Oh!” A thought pops into Luke’s head. “Remember when we went to get Patch for the first time? How there were lots of puppies there with their mom?”

“Yeah. Five.”

“So, all of those puppies were like the twins. All born together but not at the exact same time.”

“What if Mama has five babies in her belly?”

Eliza’s eyes are as wide as they can physically be, Luke thinks. He laughs and shakes his head.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “Remember we saw the picture of the babies in Mama’s tummy? And there were only two?”

“Oh yeah. Why I don’t have a twin?”

“Because God knew we couldn’t handle that,” he jokes, chuckling at her furrowed brow. “Because twins don’t happen a lot. It’s like when we go to the pizza place, and you put the quarters in the gumball machine. You always want the purple one, but most times you get other colors.”

“So…I’m the pink gumball then.”

“Yes!” Luke breathes a sigh of relief that his analogy made sense to her. He didn’t have another one in his back pocket ready to go. “And I’m the blue one and Ryan is the green. Sometimes those ones come out, and sometimes the purple does. Sometimes there’s one baby and sometimes there’s two.”

“Like Chip and Dale,” Eliza says.

“Or Zack and Cody.”

“It gonna be two boys?”

“We don’t know,” Luke answers with a shrug. “Could be two boys, two girls, or one of each.”

“Thing One and Thing Two!”

“Phil and Lil! Wait. Oh my God, I think I have to tell the old folks about that one because I love it.” Luke grins.

“I told Mama if there’s a girl, she should be named Aurora like Sleeping Beauty,” Eliza says.

“Ooh, I like this game.” Luke picks Eliza up and sits her in his lap so he can lean against the stair railing. “Ryan picked out your name so we should come up with some good ones for the twins.”

“Yes!” Excitement brightens the four-year-old’s face, and she clasps her hands together under her chin. “Aurora and Ariel!”

“Are all of these names going to be princesses?” He quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Maybe.” She shrugs, a devious little smile growing on her face.

“What about the princes? Philip and Charming? Or Beast!” Luke’s hands wrap around Eliza’s middle, and he digs his fingers into her ribs. She squeals in laughter and squirms around on his lap.

The shrill noise has you popping your head out of the laundry room to see what’s going on. The sight of the two siblings laughing together makes your heart as warm as the clothes you’re pulling out of the dryer. You load up the laundry basket and hold it on your hip as you approach the two.

“What’s going on here?”

“We thinking of names for the twins!” Eliza kneels on Luke’s thighs to look at you properly. The pain makes Luke wince, and he lifts the small girl off of him.

“Oh yeah?” you ask with a chuckle.

“Yeah!” Eliza taps her chin in thought as she takes one step up to be on the level floor with you. “Tweedledee and Tweedledum!”

“Nah,” Luke says as he pushes himself up to his feet. “Dad calls me and Ryan that.”

Eliza huffs and you shake your head in amusement.

“Okay, well, come help me fold these clothes and I’ll listen to your ideas.”

Both of your children follow you to your room where you dump the clean laundry out onto your bed. Eliza climbs up on your side of the bed and crawls over to the warm pile. You know that whatever she folds will need to be refolded, but you appreciate her effort. Luke snatches up one of his own t-shirts as he stands at the foot of the bed.

“I like Phil and Lil,” your son tells you.

“Hmm, what? Your dad doesn’t call you guys ‘Rugrats’ enough already?”

“They’re great names,” Luke defends with a shrug. “Or you can go more formal with Philip and Lillian.”

“Philip and Charming!” Eliza echoes her brother’s previous joke.

“Thief,” Luke says. “Oh! What about Luke and Leia?”

When your fourteen-year-old looks at you with pure excitement in his eyes, you put down the maternity dress you're folding and stare at him. The expression doesn’t leave his face, so you raise an eyebrow. He raises his eyebrows in return, in question of why you’re staring at him.

“Luke. You want to name them Luke and Leia?”

His eyes fall closed, and his hand comes up to smack against his forehead. Eliza is so tickled by her brother’s blunder that her small body falls against your pillows from laughing so hard.

“No one tells Dad or Ryan.” Luke’s jaw tightens as his eyes burn into yours, then Eliza’s.

“Tells me what?” Eddie asks as he strolls into the room. He takes in his son’s pink cheeks, his daughter burying her face into the bed to smother her ferocious giggles, and his wife biting her lip to keep from laughing herself. “What’d Luke do?”

“Nothing,” the boy answers instantly.

“It’s what he said!” Eliza squeals.

Luke throws an Indianapolis Colts hoodie at her, which covers most of her body.

“Anyway,” Luke announces, voice loud and strained.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you, and you subtly nod your head at him, letting him know you’ll fill him in later. Little does Luke know that his father made the very same error a few weeks ago when discussing baby names. They really are the same person.

“We’re coming up with names for the twins.” Luke hopes the reminder will get Eliza back on track.

“What? Like, Mary-Kate and Ashley?” Eddie asks, picking a pair of jeans out of the laundry pile.

“Who?” Eliza asks as she pokes her head out from under the cerulean sweatshirt.

“Jesus, way to make me feel old,” Luke groans.

“What about Fred and George?” you joke.

“Oh, are we going to have ginger siblings?” Luke asks in an exaggerated British accent.

Eliza gasps and flops back against the few items of clothes that she’s “folded.”

“They’ll look like Mia!” she squeaks out. “Or Aunt Max!”

“All redheads don’t look alike, you know.” Now you toss something at your daughter, her own pink skirt plopping down right on her face.

“I know!” She yanks the article of clothing away so she can tilt her head to stick her tongue out at you. You reply in kind, which makes Eliza smile.

“Name them Wanda and Pietro,” Luke suggests, struggling to fold the bath towel in his arms.

“Who?” Eliza asks again.

“They’re superheroes!” Luke explains.

“Which ones?” Eddie asks, his forehead scrunching as he tries to remember the names. He feels as if he’s failing in his nerd knowledge.

“Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver.”

“Scarlet is the first thing to come out of your mouth that I actually like,” you say.

“Oop, let me add that to the list.” Eddie finishes folding the pair of boxers in his hands before pulling out the top drawer of his nightstand. His tongue pokes out from between his lips as he takes out a notepad and a pen. He scribbles something about halfway down the paper.

“What’s that?” Luke asks.

“We’ve got a list of names going,” you explain.

“We’ve got a bunch here since we don’t know if we’ll need two boys’ names, two girls’ names, or one of each,” Eddie adds.

“Is Aurora on there?” Eliza pushes herself up onto her knees and cranes her neck in an attempt to see what’s written on the paper—never mind that she is just learning how to read.

“Yes, it is.” Eddie turns the pad around and taps the name with the pen to prove it to your daughter.

“Good.” She nods in approval.

From your bedroom at the end of the hall, you hear the front door squeak open. The jangle of Patch’s leash lets you know it’s Ryan home from walking the dog. Though he’s still a puppy, Patch’s paws have grown to give you a glimpse of how big he’ll be when he’s full-grown. Those large paws make a racket as they thump up the staircase and towards your room. Having the advantage of a running start, Patch leaps into the air the moment he passes the threshold into your room. He lands smack dab in the middle of the clean clothes, sending stray items everywhere.

Eliza laughs and lurches forward to bury her face in Patch’s fur. Still worked up from his walk, Patch doesn’t stay still for the display of affection. He spins around and licks all over Eliza’s face. Her laugh only becomes louder as she squeezes her eyes shut.

Eddie chuckles and drapes an arm across your shoulders.

“Can you believe we’re adding twins to this circus?” he asks.

Though the question was pointed at you, Luke answers.

“No, I can’t. What were you two thinking?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie Munson imagine #AYW #AYWS #request

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cod-bin · 1 day ago

Text

when the walls crumble down

simon riley x reader

genre: angst to fluff

a/n: reqs are open! no smut yet but im bored so pls put in one if you want 💋

The door slammed shut behind Simon, rattling the picture frames on the wall. You flinched at the sound, your heart already fragile from the weight of his words. The fight had been coming for days—bubbling under the surface like a storm just waiting to break.

And now it had.

“You don’t get it,” Simon growled, pacing the room like a man caged in his own mind. His voice was rough, raw, laced with something dangerously close to desperation. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into fists as if trying to contain something inside himself. “You sit here, safe, while I’m out there, watchin’ mates drop left and right, wonderin’ if I’ll be next. And I come back, and it’s like—it’s like you don’t even realize what could happen!”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “I realize, Simon,” you shot back, voice shaking. “Every time you leave, I don’t sleep. I don’t breathe right until I hear from you. You think I don’t know what could happen?”

His eyes were wild, dark with something deeper than anger—fear. “Then why do you stay?” His voice cracked on the last word. “Why do you put yourself through this?”

You stared at him, chest tight, nails digging into your palms. “Because I love you, you idiot.”

Silence.

For the first time, Simon was still. His breath came in ragged pulls, shoulders rising and falling like he’d just taken a hit. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, eyes darting away like he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Love me,” he scoffed, voice hollow. “You love a ghost, then. ’Cause that’s all that’s left.”

Your throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, innit?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, something broken clawing its way out. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The blood on my hands. If you did, you wouldn’t—” He stopped, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shouldn’t love me.”

The air between you was thick, suffocating. You took a step forward, but he flinched—like you might burn him if you got too close.

“Simon,” you whispered, heart aching. “Look at me.”

He didn’t. His jaw was locked tight, fists still shaking at his sides. The man before you—this wasn’t Ghost, the hardened soldier, the unshakable force. This was Simon. A man so used to losing people that he’d rather push you away than watch you be another name etched into the gravestones of his past.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, fingers brushing against his wrist. He tensed—but didn’t pull away.

“I know who you are,” you said, voice steady now, because if he couldn’t believe in himself, then you’d do it for him. “And I know you think you don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve me. But you do.”

His breath hitched.

“You are not just what you’ve done, Simon,” you continued, stepping closer. “You’re the man who makes me coffee even though you hate the smell. You’re the man who tugs me closer in his sleep, even when he doesn’t realize it. You’re the man who comes back to me, every time, no matter how much it hurts.”

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitched beneath yours.

“You think you’re a ghost?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper now. “Then why can I feel you?”

Simon finally—finally—looked at you. And for the first time, the walls cracked.

His face crumpled, and before you could say another word, he broke. His body folded into yours, arms coming around you like a man gripping onto his last tether to life. His breaths were shaky, uneven, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as if he was trying to hide.

You held him, fingers threading through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances into his skin. “I’ve got you,” you whispered. “I’ve always got you.”

And in that moment, Simon Riley—Ghost, the legend, the soldier who never faltered—let himself be held. Let himself believe, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t lost.

That maybe he was finally home.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley angst #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod x you

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frostiexavier · 2 days ago

Text

⎯⎯ ୨ Spill Your Guts ୧ ⎯⎯

☆ pic credits: unknown, found on pinterest ☆

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

ੈ♡ summary: You introduce Caleb to your friends at the hunters association over a group dinner. You end up drinking a bit too much and saying more than you should.

ੈ♡ warnings: fluff, consuming of alcohol, drunk mc, sober caleb, mc and caleb both confess, mc gets embarrassed, idk sorry if i missed anything

ੈ♡ word count: 4.7k

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You: What time is your train supposed to arrive?

You text Caleb, you have to pick him up from the train station later.

Caleb: 5:30pm sharp :) I’ll see you then pips, can’t wait!

You smile and lock your phone, placing it face down on your desk as you focus back on finishing your reports.

“Were you texting Caleb?”, Tara asked me and I nod, confirming her question.

“I can’t wait to meet him and see why you have been talking about him nonstop since we met”, she says poking fun at you.

“Guys seriously don’t mention anything to him”, you say to Tara and Simone. They both look at each other then at you.

“We may like to tease you but we won’t out that you are head of heels for him”, Simone winks at you. You roll your eyes and try to focus on your work and not their teasing.

You can’t lie to yourself or them, you have had a crush on Caleb for as long as you have known him. But he never showed any interest in you so you just go with the flow. You don’t want your feelings to ruin the friendship you both had so you kept it to yourself. You didn’t want to lose him.

“He could like you back, you never know”, Simone says while finishing her reports.

“You guys he calls me pipsqueak, that's the most childish and friendzone nickname there is.”, you say and they take a moment to meet your gaze.

“Well we will get a good idea tonight at dinner”, Tara says and quickly types away at her keyboard, trying to finish her report on time. After some time Tara speaks up again.

“It’s 5 o’clock let's go friends”, Tara says as she stands, going to clock out. You and Simone follow suit after logging out of your computers for the day.

“We will get a table at the grill, text us when you guys are on your way”, Simone says and you nod.

“Okay, he said his train should arrive at 5:30 so it shouldn’t take us too long”, you smile at them and they nod. Once you all clock out and take the elevator to the ground floor, you wave your temporary goodbyes. You start your car and head to the train station to pick up Caleb.

Once you arrive at the train station you notice it's very busy. You park the car and walk down to the terminals. Multiple people are walking around on their phones or waiting for the next train to arrive. You look around to see if Caleb is waiting for you anywhere but you don’t see him. His train should have arrived by now. You go to text him but a familiar voice breaks your concentration.

“Hey Pipsqueak”, you hear Caleb’s voice from behind you. You turn around and he is lightly jogging toward you with his suitcase in one hand and his jacket in the other. He is wearing a long sleeved shirt with a zipper down the middle and what seems to be a strap connecting his arm, across his chest to his other arm. He is also wearing blue jeans and black sneakers, a typical Caleb outfit. Even though its typical, he still looks as handsome as always.

As he finally makes his way to you he sits his jacket on top of his luggage and embraces you in a hug. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and he lifts you up for a few seconds hugging you tightly and letting you down with a grunt.

“I’ve missed you”, he says, patting your head. He is smiling ear to ear. You try not to blush from his sudden embrace.

“I’ve missed you too Caleb! We can catch up on the way to the grill.”, you smile and he nods, following you to your car.

“Wait, let me hold your hand so I don’t get lost. There are a lot of people around ya know?”, he says and you quickly grab his hand. You both make it around the crowds of people saying your “excuse me’s” and “pardon me’s”.

Once you reach your car you let go of Caleb's hand. You help him get his things settled in the trunk, he closes the trunk with a single hand. You take your place in the driver’s seat as he takes the passenger side.

“I have to text Simone that we are on the way”, you say, pulling your phone out of your pocket and texting her.

“Who are we meeting again, sorry it slipped my mind”, he says and you look up at him.

“Tara and Simone, they are my friends at the association, remember?”, you say and he nods, remembering their names.

“Oh okay, so no one else? Just two girls?”, he asks and you roll your eyes at him.

“Yes Caleb, I only have two friends other than you. You don’t have to rub it in that I’m a loser”, you say starting the engine.

“I’m not inferring that pipsqueak, just relieved it's not guys I’m meeting”, he says, placing his elbow by the passenger window and placing a finger on his chin as he looks at you. You raise your eyebrow and pull out of your parking spot.

“Guys? You mean like men?”, you ask him with a chuckle and he replies in a serious tone.

“Yeah like a boyfriend or something, but you would have told me about that right?”, he asks, waiting for you to respond, he hopes it's a quick answer.

“I think you would know if I were talking to a guy waaayyy before I would make someone my boyfriend. Way to add salt to the wound Caleb”, you say and he lightly chuckles.

“You’re right, sorry”, he laughs and you shake your head in a playful way. You both converse about his travels in the deep space tunnel and how he is happy he has some time off to visit you in linkon.

Soon enough you both arrive at a bar & grill joint in downtown linkon. You walk in and see Simone waving her hand in the back corner of the restaurant. You point at the table and Caleb follows suit. You both reach the table, Tara and Simone stand up to greet you both.

“Caleb this is Tara and Simone, guys this is Caleb”, you introduce them. Caleb smiles and hugs them both and introduces himself. Simone and Tara smile and hug him back briefly before greeting him with a small “hi”.

“It’s nice to meet you guys. If you don’t mind I am going to wash my hands real quick. Pips you know what I like so you can order for me if they take our order before I get back”, he smiles and you nod, taking a seat across from Tara. Caleb leaves to wash the germs of the train away and you meet the gnawing gazes of Simone and Tara.

“Oh god he’s hot and like I mean, hot hot. Why didn’t you tell us he looked like that?”, Simone says and your eyes grow wide.

“Seriously Y/N! He has the prettiest purple eyes I have ever seen and the hug! He is so charming!”, Tara squeals, putting her hands up to her mouth.

“Guys please chill. Remember we are just friends, nothing more”, you say as they look at each other with a questioning and disbelieving look.

“We’ll see about that”, Tara smirks and you give her a glare.

“Here he comes”, Simone says and they both immediately shut up about him.

“Sorry about that, what’d I miss?”, he says taking a seat next to you and across from Simone.

“We were just talking about how you guys are so close, she told us how you both met as kids but you guys seem closer than friends”, Simone says with a hint of mischief in her words. You give her a small glare and she avoids your gaze, looking at Caleb for his response.

“Well we have known each other so long, I guess it’s only natural for us to be so close. She’s my best friend”, he smiles looking over at you and back to the girls.

“Didn’t people think you two were dating like in highschool because you were so close? I could only imagine the rumors”, Tara asks tilting her head at Caleb. You can’t believe them, you want to melt in your seat. Your face was heating up at these daunting questions.

“Yeah it's funny actually, pipsqueak here helped me stay away from girls’ attention by pretending to be my girlfriend a couple times.”, he laughs and pokes your cheek. They both look at you with wide eyes.

“You never told us that” , Tara says in disbelief. You nod slowly and look at them. You shy your face away, a little embarrassed since you enjoyed pretending to be his girlfriend, even if it wasn’t real.

“It was just to wean off the several girls that wanted Caleb’s attention in school. It wasn’t a big deal”, you say, the darkened lighting in the atmosphere around you hides the embarrassment that's obviously plastered on your face.

“Why pretend you were dating? Why not give those girls a chance?”, Simone asks Caleb and you can sense his body stiffen, he looks down at the table before deciding what to say.

“I was focusing on my studies and basketball at the time. I didn’t have time to date if I wanted to be accepted into the DAA”, he says and Simone nods slowly, his answer being valid. She opens her mouth to ask another question but is interrupted by the waiter.

“Hey guys, sorry to interrupt but I’ll be taking care of you lovely people tonight. Can I get some drinks or apps started for you?”, the young waiter asks the table. You mentally thank him before they could ask Caleb anymore embarrassing questions.

“I’ll have the grillhouse burger with fries and a craft beer please”, Simone says and the waiter nods while writing her order down with pen and paper.

“Oh I’ll have the same!” Tara smiles and the waiter smiles back.

“And for you two?”, he asks, looking between you and Caleb.

“I’ll have water and she will have a strawberry lemonade.”, Caleb says, ordering drinks for the both of you.

“Do you want to share chicken wings like we normally do?”, Caleb asks looking at you. You nod and he orders that as well as fries on the side.

“Actually could I also get a beer please?”, you ask the waiter and he nods, writing your order down as well.

“Will that be all?”, everyone nods and the waiter takes the menus from the table. He then leaves to place the order. After his departure, Caleb immediately turns towards you.

“Since when do you drink beer?”, he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I casually drink sometimes, they are drinking so why not”, you say referring to Tara and Simone, who are looking back and forth between you and Caleb. He chuckles and nods.

“Okay, I will be the designated driver then”, he chuckles and Tara looks as if she is swooning. Simone smirks at you.

After some conversations about the hunters association, the drinks and food arrive at the table. You and Caleb share your chicken wings and fries, drinking your strawberry lemonade with your meal.

After you all finish eating you sip away at your beer until you reach the end of the glass.

“Should we play never have I ever? If you have done something that someone says you have to chug your drink for 5 seconds”, Simone says. Her mischievous grin makes you feel uneasy.

“Y/N needs another beer then”, Tara says and orders another round for the table. You dread what is about to happen.

“I’ll go first, never have I ever had a crush on someone”, Tara smiles and looks between you and Caleb.

“Tara that is so tame”, Simone says as she takes a drink of her beer.

“Well it's the first one, you can’t start off crazy”, she says while taking a drink of her own beer. You follow suit taking a drink of your beer, you can feel Caleb’s eyes on you as you sip your drink for 5 seconds.

Caleb grabs his water and proceeds to drink his water for 5 seconds. You watch his adam's apple bob until he stops and sets his drink down on the table. He has never told you about a crush before. You hate the fact you immediately got jealous of the thought.

“Oh you want to play too?” Simone asks and he shrugs his shoulders.

“Sure, I don’t have alcohol but I can drink water. This is fun”, he says, moving his eyes to you with a smirk. You feel like the whole table is staring at you but Simone speaks up.

“Never have I ever lied about something to be closer to someone I like”, Simone states and she watches as you and are the only two to take a drink. Drinking for 5 seconds at a time is making the beer deplete quickly, how long are they going to torture you?

“Never have I ever been caught making out with someone I work with”, you say and Tara gasps.

“That was cruel and obviously directed toward me”, Tara takes a drink and Caleb chuckles at the banter between you both.

“Alright my turn. Never have I ever been jealous because of someone you like”, Caleb says looking briefly at the girls then focusing his gaze on you. Tara sighs and takes another drink. You don’t dare to look at Caleb as you also take another gulp. He smirks then also takes a drink of his water.

You and Tara run out of beer but she quickly orders more for you both. A couple more rounds go by like this and your head starts to feel dizzy. You feel disoriented and the grill is starting to look like a blur.

“I think they have had enough”, Simone states looking at the drunken state of you and Tara. Caleb chuckles at you both and stands up from his seat.

“I’ll pay the check, make sure she doesn’t vomit”, he says to Simone and before she could protest he walks away. She looks over at Tara and gently shakes her awake and helps her stand up. Caleb returns to the table and helps Simone get Tara to hang onto her.

“I will get us a cab and take her home. Just take good care of y/n alright?”, she says and Caleb nods looking over at you giggling with your head on the table.

“Okay, you two get home safe. It was nice to meet you both”, he smiles and Tara starts laughing.

“Bye bye pretty boy”, Tara giggles waving goodbye to Caleb and Simone grabs her hand.

“Okay that's enough let’s go, see you”, she nods at Caleb and heads for the exit of the restaurant.

“Alright come on pipsqueak, let’s get you home”, he helps you get on his back as he carries you outside to your car. You giggle as he walks towards it and opens the car door, he sets you down in the passenger seat and closes it, making sure to buckle you in first. He makes his way to the driver's side and gets in. He looks over and you continue to chuckle. He smiles and turns on the car's ignition.

“What's so funny silly girl?”, he asks as he starts to drive toward your apartment.

“You look just like my Caleb. Mister, do you know who Caleb is?”, you ask him. He laughs but decides to play along with you.

“Oh yeah I think so”, he says and you smile looking over at him.

“Caleb is amazing. He takes such good care of me, you know? I never ask him to but he just does, he is so nice”, you admit and he can’t help but admire you in your drunken state.

“Really? He sounds like a good guy”, Caleb states, taking a turn, getting closer to your apartment.

“He is such a good guy. He is sooooo smart too. He was number one in our class and he used to help me study even though it was hard to.”, you say, slightly slurring your words.

“Oh, why was that?”, he asks, pulling into your apartment complex.

“He would always look at me when I was studying. It was hard to focus because it made me nervous. Could you study when someone is looking at you like this?”, you put your elbow on the middle console, resting your chin in your hand, while batting your eyelashes at him. He parked the car and looked over at your expression. His heart could melt, you looked adorable like this with your rosy cheeks and half lidded eyes.

“I could see why it would be hard to focus”, he says admiring you and you sigh.

“Right? Who could focus like that, I blame him for my bad grades”, you say and Caleb tries to hold back his laugh. He exits the car and helps you out of the passenger seat, carrying you on his back again.

He walks with you up to your apartment and he sets you down so you can enter your passcode. You blink a few times and try to press the buttons but the light on the door turns red with each attempt.

“I can’t see it, can you type it in mister?” you ask Caleb and he agrees.

“Alright give it to me”, he says listening to you and finger ready to press the passcode in.

“It’s 0613, Calebs Birthday”, you smile and lightly chuckle. He pauses for a moment, he tilts his head and puts the code in, the door glowing green and unlocking. He grabs your arm and opens the door, helping you inside. Once inside he picks you up bridal style, he looks down at your face. You smile and wrap your arms around his neck, laying your head on his shoulder.

“Caleb is also a good cook, he makes me yummy food all the time. He makes me my favorite meals when he comes back to see me.”, you continue and he lightly smiles, carrying you to your bedroom.

“It seems you only want him to visit so he can cook you yummy meals”, he says, placing you on the bed. He proceeds to help you take off your shoes and places the duvet on top of you, sitting on the bed to tuck you in.

“No no no no, you got it all wrong”, you chuckle and Caleb smiles, pushing a few hairs out of your face.

“Okay, I’m wrong then. You should get some sleep. I will be back to check on you when you wake up”, he smiles and you grab his arm.

“Wait mister I have to tell you a secret, come here”, you say, patting the area beside you. Caleb takes his own shoes off and lays down beside you for a moment.

“What is it?”, he says, tucked another hair behind your ear.

“Okay but you have to promise you can’t tell anyone especially Caleb, promise?” you ask and Caleb is reluctant to say yes. He debates in his head whether he should agree but decides to, you won’t remember this anyways.

“Okay I promise”, he says, wrapping his pinky around your extended one. You scooch closer to him.

“I have a crush on him. I have liked him since highschool but I can’t tell him so you can’t tell him either. Remember you promised”, you say and Caleb looks at you with his widened eyes. His body freezes as you say just confessed to him.

You have liked him this whole time? Why didn’t he notice? He immediately starts to rack his brain of all the moments you both shared together to try to piece together how this is possible. He didn’t know you reciprocated his feelings and especially for this long. Your voice breaks him out of his internal panic.

“You look alot like Caleb mister, can I ask you another question?”, you ask him and Caleb blinks a few times, still in shock of your statement a few seconds ago.

“Anything”, he says, barely getting the single word out.

“Will you kiss me?” you ask, looking at Caleb's lips. He starts to panic even more. This is wrong, he shouldn’t be hearing this, not when you are drunk. He watches as you get closer and close your eyes, leaning towards him. He is frozen but his hand is able to grab your shoulder and gently push you back. His willpower is so low, he has waited so long to kiss you but not like this. He can’t give in when you are vulnerable and intoxicated, that would be wrong and he doesn’t want to take advantage of you.

“I’m sorry but you shouldn’t kiss me. You should wait to kiss Caleb instead”, he says and you whine, feeling rejected and upset.

“I can’t kiss Caleb you dummy. He doesn’t like me like that. It’s so hard being around him when all I want to do is grab his cheeks and go " mwah mwah mwah”, you say, pretending you are grabbing Caleb's face with the air and moving your lips all around in a circular motion.

Caleb’s heart feels like it is about to explode with joy. He can’t believe you have feelings for him too. He finds you so adorable and cute at the moment that it's killing him that he can’t stay. He doesn’t trust himself enough to stay, the fear of giving in to you.

“Why don’t you wait until the morning and maybe you can tell him then. I’ll even help you tell him”, he states and your eyes light up.

“Really? Mister you are so nice, okay I am going to go to sleep so it can be morning faster”, you say pulling the covers close to you and smushing your eyes together tightly. Caleb giggles and stands up.

“Goodnight pipsqueak”, he says softly, smiling while making sure you are comfortable.

“Goodnight mister”, you yawn and immediately doze off into slumber, snoring slightly.

THE NEXT MORNING

You wake up to the sun blaring in your face. Your eyelids are heavy and you can feel a pounding in your head. You groan and sit up slowly. You rub your eyes and reorient yourself to your surroundings. You were in your room with your shoes off. How did you get here? Did Caleb bring you home?

“Caleb? Are you here?”, you called out but there was no answer. Did he leave?

You grab your phone from your jean pocket, you had a text from Tara and Simone in your shared group chat.

Tara: Y/N that man is in love with you. I could see it in the way he looked at you all night. I better be invited to the wedding. Also, I hope you are feeling okay :)

Simone: I have to agree with Tara on this one. He definitely has feelings for you, send me an invite too ;)

“Whatcha looking at?” Caleb's voice breaks you away from your phone. You quickly lock it and set it on your nightstand. He is holding a bottle of water and some hangover pills in his hands. He makes his way toward you and sits beside you on the bed.

“How are you feelin’?”, he asks while handing you the pills. You take one and flush it down with a sip of water. You take a few more sips and reply.

“My head is pounding but I’m okay. I can’t remember anything after the game we played last night”, you state and Caleb’s body stiffen next to you.

“Really? You don’t remember anything?”, he asks, studying your face. You shake your head slowly and he looks down at his palms. You grab his shoulder suddenly and he meets your gaze once again.

“Why? Did I do something crazy? Did I throw up on you? I’m sorry Caleb”, you say in a worried tone. He laughs and pats your head.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t throw up on me pips”, he says softly, somewhat relieved you don’t remember.

“What did I do then? I must have done some-“, you state and then your memory floods your brain like a tsunami. Everything you said last night comes flashy back and you start to panic. Everything from your confession to forgetting it was Caleb you were talking to last night. Caleb watches as the realization hits you and he grabs your hand, pulling you out of your trance.

“Oh my god Caleb, I’m so sorry I- I didn’t want you to find out like that. Oh my god, this is so embarrassing, can you leave? I’m sorry but I can’t look at you right now”, you say, pulling away from him and hiding your face. Your cheeks are burning from embarrassment and fear. You feel like disappearing and crying. You can’t believe you let yourself get drunk and spill your guts to him.

“Hey, it's okay. Talk to me”, he says, trying to grab your arm but you jerk away.

“Caleb I can’t, I’m devestated. How can you even be here right now after that? I can’t believe I did that”, you say pathetically. Suddenly Caleb grabs your face from your hands and makes you look at him.

He looks at you for a moment, unsure what to do. But before you could move he places a kiss on your cheek. He then places one on your forehead, then your nose, then your other cheek. He pulls back to find any discomfort or disgust in your reaction but he only sees your cheeks turn a light side of red and eyes wide.

“What? Isn’t this what you said you wanted to do to me last night? Or do I need to go mwah mwah mwah too?”, he smiles and you can’t help but look at him in complete shock. Did he just kiss you?

“Sorry, I just didn’t want you to push me away. This isn’t ideal but I like you too. Actually, I’ve liked you pretty much since the first day we met. I just didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d like me back. I didn’t want you to think of me as weird and shut me out so I stayed quiet. I wish I had told you earlier if I would have known that you-“, he says but pauses looking at you.

“Caleb I- I don’t know what to say.”, you say, genuinely not knowing what to do with all this new information.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, examining your features. You pause and slowly nod looking away from his face, embarrassed again.

He places one hand on the side of your face and leans in. He gently places his lips on your and moves slowly. His lips melt into yours like a perfect harmony. Your eyes flutter close as you let yourself go and enjoy the kiss. After a moment Caleb pulls away, holding himself back and making sure you are okay.

“I have waited so long to do that”, he says breathlessly.

“Caleb”, you say softly and just as breathless.

“I know it's sudden and you don’t have to agree but would you want to go on a date with me? Like a real date, as a couple”, he asks, looking between your eyes and lips.

You feel like you are in a dream, how is this happening? You want to smack yourself for getting drunk and confessing but also want ro hug yourself for doing it as well.

“I would love that”, you say and he smiles.

“Okay but be prepared. I’m going to make sure to be your first and only everything”, he says and pecks your lips once more. You blush at his comment and he stands from the bed.

“I made us some breakfast, come out when you feel up to eating okay?”, he says and you nod quickly. He leans down and places another kiss on your lips.

“Sorry, just needed one more”, he says and quickly leaves the room leaving you astonished.

Once he leaves the room you quickly grab your phone and text the group chat. They are never going to believe this.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

a/n: DID YOU GUYS SEE THE NEW CALEB MYTH TRAILER AAAAAAHHHHHHH!! I AM SCREAMING ABOUT IT!! I know I’m a Xavier girl but the way I would let this man-

Okay sorry thats too much but OMG CALEB! I’m super excited and I can’t wait to pull for them and get the new pose omg and all the free stuff like okay infold thank you for feeding us!

However, me and my fellow Xavier girlies are in a drought, ugh stay strong guys there will be more for him soon hopefully!

Anyways, this is getting too long but I hope you enjoyed the fic & I hope it didn’t suck :) Thanks for all the love on the last Zayne one <3

#love and deep space #love and deepspace #lads #lads x reader #caleb x fem reader #caleb x mc #lads caleb #lads fluff #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb #lnds #lnds x you #caleb fluff #fluff

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marauder-misprint · 2 days ago

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hello hello tis me again, the regulus fanatic. im not aware if you saw my message yet but i ADORED your regulus fic and so i’ve prepared another if you’d like

get this, regulus x (once again, im obsessed) whimsy slytherin reader where she’s touchy and affectionate towards everyone especially close friends and one day regulus finally works up the nerve to ask her iut and shes just like ‘sure😃’ thinkings its just a normal day and reggies just acting weird

cut to like a week later when regulus leans in for a kiss and readers all like ‘WHOA😲’ cue awkward conversation about how they’ve been dating fir a week then readers rushes to tell everyone because she’s been pining for him for YEARS

sorry if thats a lot and have a wonderful wonderful morning evening and night!

Hello again! I had so much fun writing this! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎Still getting used to whimsy!reader so I hope it's okay that reader is highkey a yapper. They are both pining in this and just, augh! Fluff.

My turn to yap: I had a similar situation to this when I was younger. Fully convinced I was dating this guy for a few weeks before finding out that he had a girlfriend and he thought we were just "hanging out" despite going to very date-like places.

This story is nothing like my experience - Thank you for this very cute request ❤︎

Mr. 'Allergic to touching'

Regulus Black x Whimsical!reader

4k words

cw: fluff, pining,

Personal space isn’t a concept you’re familiar with. Well, it is but you like being in everyone’s, especially those you are close friends with. You’ll lean over the backs of chairs and couches as your friends sit in them, often reading or occasionally doing homework. You are always holding hands with your friends as you walk to class together. When you are relaxing somewhere, you are either draped over someone’s lap or pulling them into yours. That is just the edge of it too. You greet everyone with a hug, even if you are meeting them for the first time. It is just how you are. And you are blissfully unaware of how it bugs some people.

Regulus, however, isn’t one of those people. Everyone expects him to be with his cold demeanor, how he snaps at first years for being too loud, and the fact that he doesn’t tolerate that amount of touching from anyone else. There is something about your touch that makes Regulus feel warm and content. That’s why he doesn’t mind it, but he won’t tell anyone that. Barty and Evan would call him ‘soft’ if they heard that. It would be even worse if they knew how Regulus fully feels about you; they know that he’s friends with you and tolerates your touches, but that’s all they know.

Still, the idea of having your gentle touches and words of affection to himself makes Regulus smile. It’s a vice, he tells himself. He’s supposed to keep a plain expression, to be indifferent toward frivolities of his peers and their petty drama. You have a knack for breaking his resolve, especially when it’s lap you’ve laid down in or his chair you’re leaning over to see what page he’s on in his book.

“Oi, Regulus, you coming?” Barty calls from across the common room.

“Yes,” he replies dryly from where he is sitting near the fireplace.

Your friends are going to the library in an attempt to study and actually get something done. A group of third years playing exploding snap in the common room wasn’t allowing any of them to focus. Dorcas had been the one to angrily slam her hands into her book and swear at the younger students, and then you suggested the library. At least Dorcas would be able to study there. Regulus assumes that he’ll end up sitting across from you, or next to you, and he won’t be able to focus.

Regulus follows behind the group. You’re in the middle holding hands with Pandora. You have a floral print tote bag slung over your shoulder that likely has Pandora’s things in it as well. Maybe he’d be the one holding your hand and carrying the bag one day… And now he’s smiling.

“Excited to write that essay for Slughorn or something?” Barty asks, falling into step with Regulus.

The smile disappears as quickly as it appeared. “Because essence of dittany uses is such an interesting topic,” he says sarcastically.

“You’re the one who was smiling, mate. Something made you crack.”

“Remembered something funny. Merlin forbid…” Regulus gives Barty a sideways glance, hoping that his answer would satiate him.

Barty just flexes his eyebrows and adjusts his stride to match Evan’s. Regulus doesn’t mind that the rest of the walk is silent for him. The rest of his friends, including you, take part in livelier conversations, but Regulus is content just listening in.

Just as he predicted, you sit down next to Regulus in the library. You place a hand on his arm.

“Could you help me with this Charms assignment? Unless you’re doing Potions with Junior?” you ask.

He had already finished that assignment, but it is you asking. How could he say no to you?

“It’d be my pleasure. Have you started it?”

You shake your head.

“Alright. That’s no problem. Let’s get the books you need.”

He stands up and you follow him into the shelves. You hum to yourself as he selects a few books. You like how easily he finds everything in the library and that he just knows which books you’ll need for the assignment. He doesn’t hold them out for you to carry. You see it as a polite gesture. Regulus is just nice like that.

Back at the table, Dorcas is working earnestly on her homework. Evan, Barty and Pandora are having a hushed discussion that gets even quieter as you and Regulus retake your seats. Regulus starts flipping through the books to find the pages you’d need to reference. You watch him for a minute before realizing that you should be taking the assignment out.

Once you look ready, Regulus moves one of the books right in front of you and explains which part of the assignment the passage relates to. Instinctively, you scoot your chair impossibly closer to his. Regulus tenses slightly; being so close to you will certainly make focusing on your assignment. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. You don’t notice. You’re too focused on trying to understand the point of a knitting charm.

“But I can knit. I enjoy knitting. Why would I bother learning a charm to do it for me?” you ask in a defeated voice.

“Well, what if I needed something knitted? I don’t know how to knit,” Regulus says in a fairly quiet voice, being that you are in the library.

You tilt your head slightly and rest your chin on your hand. “I could knit it for you. I’m quite good. Remember that shirt I knitted for Cas’ girlfriend?”

You casually leave out that you charged Dorcas for the shirt. You wouldn’t charge Regulus. If he needed something, you’d be more than willing to make it for him.

“Then it’s for all the poor sods who don’t know the same wonderful people I do,” he says before realizing that he’s just called you wonderful. Outloud. To your face.

His face burns in embarrassment.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” you coo, hugging Regulus and being completely oblivious to the red shade of his face. Then you school your own emotions and turn back to your assignment. “Right, poor sods who are lonely and friendless.”

Regulus puts all of his attention on the assignment. He needs to ignore the way his body still feels your warmth minutes after you let him go.

“Right, ‘m bored. Kitchens?” Barty announces after some time.

Pandora and Evan agree immediately and stand up. Dorcas waves them off, still working on her homework. The three don’t even wait for you or Regulus to respond. You both had your heads down, exchanging whispers about your assignment. Regulus is trying not to think about how close you are, and you’re grateful that Regulus is being so patient with you.

After a while, Dorcas excuses herself and says she’ll see you back in the common room. It’s just you and Regulus now. You’ve almost finished your assignment. You’re tired of it, if you’re being honest. You would have given up a while ago if it was anyone else helping you, but it’s Regulus so you’re trying your best to stay focused.

“And you’re done!” Regulus says with a small smile. “You did it.”

“Thanks to you,” you tell him. “I would’ve turned in a half-finished assignment.”

“Do you do that often?”

You shrug. “When the assignment is stupid and pointless.”

Regulus chuckles softly as he stands up to put the books back. He wasn’t expecting you to follow him into the shelves but you did. You don’t say anything, rather humming to yourself again and watching Regulus. You like the way he carries himself and he’s just pretty in general so who wouldn’t want to watch him? Once your things are packed up from the table, you walk back to the common. In your usual fashion, you’re holding onto Regulus’ arm, which means you’ve unintentionally disabled his ability to think clearly.

“Sorry you didn’t get to work on your Potions essay,” you say.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have made much progress on it anyway.”

“You know, I find dittany to be quite pretty. Wish it grew naturally around here. My mum grows them at home, a large section of our garden actually. It’d actually be helpful if our dorms weren’t in the dungeons. Then I could grow it in our dorms. I’m sure Pandora agrees with me,” you ramble and you keep going.

Regulus can’t help his smile as he listens to you. He fully meant what he told Barty earlier; he didn’t find dittany, nor its essence, all that interesting. Your appreciation for the plant? He’d be willing to write down every word that was coming out of your mouth. Before you start to descend down the final staircase before the common room, Regulus puts a hand on yours where it's holding onto his arm. His gut is telling him it’s now or never.

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he asks, his voice steady but stomach flipping with nerves.

“Of course! If the weather’s anything like last weekend, it’s going to be beautiful out. Although, I wouldn’t mind if it was a tad less windy.”

“It was windy last weekend, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

You give his arm a little squeeze before you head down the stairs and into the common room. Once in the common room though, you spot Pandora and Dorcas and rush over to them. Regulus doesn’t mind your sudden departure. The warmth of you on his arm not only lingers, but the fact that you agreed to go on a date with him? He could catch a snitch without his broom. His smile doesn’t falter as he strolls through the common room and disappears into his dorm.

“Oi, you’re smiling again,” Barty says when Regulus sits down at his desk with the intent to work on that stupid Potions essay.

“Smiling illegal now?” he deadpans.

“No… but it’s weird when you do it. You’re not a smiler.”

Regulus doesn’t answer, but he knows what Barty means. He can’t help it though. You agreed to go on a date with him.

---

You meet Regulus at breakfast on Saturday, dressed nicely and casually at the same time. Regulus outdressed you easily, but that was to be expected. Even his most casual outfits tended to be more formal and expensive. He is a Black, afterall.

Regulus did eventually tell Barty about the date. After some teasing in their dorm, Regulus managed to convince him to not make a big deal about it. If it didn’t go well, Regulus didn’t want everyone knowing about it. He fully hopes it’ll go well, but given the chance it doesn’t, he wants to be able to move past it without any issues.

You grab Regulus’ hand when you leave for Hogsmeade. Holding his hand rather than his arm makes Regulus’ heart pound in his chest – oh, the effects you have on him.

“Do you need to go into Spintwitches? Didn’t you say you were running low on broom polish?” you ask.

Regulus stares at you for a moment before nodding. He barely remembers having said that sometime this week, before he even asked you out. He appreciates that you actually pay attention to what he says more than he can express.

“Okay, so we’ll go there and then, if you don’t mind, can we walk around Tomes and Scrolls? I’ve been talking to the owner about expanding his stock on Divination products and I want to see if he’s got anything in yet.”

“Erm, yeah. Anywhere you want to go, darling.”

Even though you’re on a date and holding hands, Regulus’ face still heats up when he realizes he let a pet name slip. He silently thanks the fates that Barty and Evan didn’t “just happen” to tag along today; if they had heard him call you that, Regulus would never hear the end of it. While you notice him looking away from you, to hide the blush, you don’t think much of it. It’s just an odd quirk that he’s been doing around you more and more.

Regulus tries to not take too much time in Spintwitches. He only ever uses one brand of polish, but since he’s buying it, he has to mentally debate if he needs more rags or a sharpener for his tail-twig clippers. He decides against both. The whole time in the store, you held onto his hand until he needed it to get out his money to pay.

You swing his arm a little bit as you head to Tomes and Scrolls. As soon as you step into the shop, you pull Regulus toward a “New!” stand. Regulus feels apprehensive as he eyes the stand. It has more mainstream Divination books, but also ones that are more focused on crystal energies and aura readings. Regulus has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from scoffing at a “Nargle Repellant Kit.” He is fairly certain that nargles don’t exist. You scan the whole stand, even dropping Regulus’ hand for the second time so you could crouch to see the lower items.

“This is brilliant!” you exclaim, pulling out a book with depictions of constellations and crystals on its cover. “Dora will be thrilled when I show her this!”

You almost make a comment about how you’re surprised that she didn’t come today. It’s rarely ever just you and Regulus. You like that it is, but the point still stands. It’s not common.

You grab two more books and head to the register. When the owner tells you the cost, you go to grab your money, but before you can even open your coin purse, Regulus has placed the correct amount on the counter.

“Oh, I could’ve gotten that,” you say, a bit shocked.

“It’s my treat.”

“Then thank you, kind sir.”

Regulus gives you a soft smile and takes the bagged books from the owner. It wasn’t your tote of school supplies, but it was close enough – Regulus would carry it until you returned to the common room.

“Anywhere else you want to go or should we go for butterbeers?” Regulus asks.

“Hmmm…” you hum, taking Regulus’ hand again and giving it a squeeze. “Butterbeers. And then Honeydukes before we go back to the castle. I will eat all my Bertie Beans in the Three Broomsticks if we stop at Honeydukes first.”

Regulus chuckles. “That I know. Nothing like butterbeer to wash down the delightful flavor of earwax.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand again. The Three Broomsticks is busy, which isn’t surprising in any way. You find a booth for the two of you and a small wave of guilt falls over you. It feels wrong to take up an entire booth with just two of you. You make a mental note to invite any of your friends over if you see them.

“Tell me, how did you get Mr. Brown to order these books?” Regulus asks, patting the Tomes and Scrolls bag next to him.

“It was so difficult. But really, I think Dora and I just wore him down. You know, asking and asking for these type of books and telling him it’s vital to our education. Little bit of forgery…”

“Forgery?” Regulus repeats.

“Well, he wanted a note from Professor Dawntry saying that they were necessary, or beneficial at least. And do you think she’d write that? No. So… we took it upon ourselves to write it. It’s all thanks to Junior for forging her signature. I think that really sold it to Mr. Brown.”

Regulus smirks. “And what if he ever talks to Dawntry in person? Asks her about the books that she’s endorsed?”

“I already purchased the books, silly,” you say with an affectionate eye roll. “You purchased the books technically. But what’s he going to do? Force me to return them?”

“I suppose business is business.”

“Exactly! And it’s not like I’m requesting books on the Dark Arts.”

Then you start to explain the more intricate details about this particular branch of Divination that you’re looking into and how the Hogwarts library only has so many books on it. You’ve even read the books on it that are in the Restricted Section with real notes from Professor Dawntry.

“That’s where we got the signature for Junior to copy,” you say.

Regulus nods and you continue. He’s more than fascinated while listening to you ramble. He hopes his staring is more ‘attentive listener’ than ‘creepy stalker’ or ‘you have something on your face.’

You’re pleased that Regulus doesn’t look bored with you right now. You’ve talked about this subject in the past to a variety of people and most of them give you skeptical looks and try to change the subject. And then there are the few who look more bored than the average student in Professor Binns’ class. Regulus is just attentive and it fuels the butterflies in your stomach.

After a few butterbeers, Regulus hands Madam Rosmerta a few galleons before you head over to Honeydukes.

“I can pay you back for that,” you say, once again reaching for your coin purse before Regulus puts his hand on your arm.

“Don’t. Told you, it’s my treat.”

“What? The whole day? Reg, you already got my books!”

“I invited you, darling. Today’s on me.”

A faint blush dusts your cheeks. “Damn, you should invite me to Hogsmeade more often.”

That’s the plan, Regulus thinks. He feels it would’ve been too forward, too flirty to say out loud, but it is the plan. If today continues to go well, he plans on being your Hogsmeade date quite often and being your date to the Yule Ball and asking you to wear his extra jersey to quidditch games and being your study buddy and… He is getting ahead of himself. He needs to finish the first date strong before he can plan out the rest of your relationship.

You don’t take long in Honeydukes. Both of you know exactly which sweets you want and where they are. Having stopped there every visit since you started going to Hogsmeade in third year, it’s a well rehearsed visit. Once more, Regulus pays for your things. You don’t protest at all this time, knowing that he’ll insist that it’s his treat. It’s a tad bizarre the longer you think about it; you don’t recall him paying for anyone else that often. Usually when the whole group goes to the Three Broomsticks, everyone throws a galleon or a few sickles on the table before you leave, based on how much each drinks or if someone ordered food. Your solution? Just don’t think about it. He’s being nice and you don’t complain when someone is being extra nice to you. Definitely not when it’s Regulus.

On the way back to the castle, you tell Regulus about the games you used to play with cousins using Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Some of the games you’ve played at Hogwarts through the years, but your cousins have their own rules and methods of telling the flavors apart. Regulus tells you about the Chocolate Eternals that Sirius would sneak him when they were younger.

“He’d have to remind me not to chew them every time. Mum’s only given me enough to get two so we each get one. They don’t melt. Make it last.”

You give him a slightly pitiful look. “I guess sweets weren’t too common growing up?”

“No. Mother believes they are for special occasions and even then, they are limited… Come to think of it, I’m not sure Mother actually gave Sirius the money for the chocolates. He probably nicked it from her purse.”

Regulus chuckles at the idea and you’re glad the conversation returns to its previous light-hearted nature. Regulus is able to keep his unspoken promise to carry your things all the way back to the common room.

“Thanks for everything, Reg,” you say, giving Regulus a hug before taking your things back to your dorm.

Regulus smiles to himself as he heads back to his. He feels proud of himself. He had a great first date with you and you seemed to enjoy yourself.

---

Regulus starts placing himself next to you as much as he can. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. You’re not complaining by any means. It’s nice and you like it. It’s just different. But you do notice that he’s becoming more relaxed around you, more himself. There have even been a few times where it’s just the two of you and you fall into easy conversation.

After dinner on Friday evening, you sit next to Regulus on the plush couch in the common room. He’s got out the Transfiguration textbook, clearly doing the assigned reading. You have no intention of doing so. Regulus becomes less stiff as you sit down. It’s a miniscule change but you notice it. You scooch closer to Regulus and he moves his arm around you, holding you closer into his side.

Pandora and Barty, having witnessed this, exchange curious glances. Regulus had told Barty that the date went well and he just assumed you were on the same page, that you are now dating. You had told Pandora about Regulus buying and how sweet he was the entire time, followed with a desperate ‘Do you think he might like me?’ Both Pandora and Barty had never seen Regulus put his arm around someone like that and he definitely never pulled someone in closer to him. His apparent tolerance of touches applying to only you was one thing; this was a whole new level.

“You smell good,” you mutter into his chest.

“Hm, thank you,” Regulus says quietly.

Then he musters all his courage and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes go wide and you sit up, staring at him. Pandora and Barty have similar looks of surprise on their faces. Their quiet and previously boring evening in the common room just got interesting.

“You… just… You kissed…” you stutter out.

You’re unable to actually finish your thought. You aren’t completely oblivious. You know that Regulus doesn’t give affection.

“Erm, is that okay?” he asks, suddenly looking bashful and unsure of himself.

“You don’t… You don’t… do that?” you say, sounding very, very unsure of what just happened.

He wets his lips nervously. “I thought it’d be okay, with you, you know, since we’re dating?”

You sit up even straighter.

“We are?” you gasp.

Regulus’ face burns bright red and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Barty trying not to fall out of his chair with suppressed laughter.

“Since when?” you add.

“Last week? I asked you on a date and it went well? At least, I thought it went well… I had a good time. Did you not?”

You gasp louder and throw yourself at Regulus, burying him in a hug.

“Merlin, I didn’t realize! No, it did go well!” You pull back from him with the widest grin he has ever seen. “You like me?”

Regulus adjusts himself next to you, turning slightly to be more facing you. So apparently you weren’t on the same page about everything, but you seemed open to it.

“He doesn’t go around kissing everyone, sweetheart,” Barty chimes in, earning himself a glare from Regulus.

“Is that why you paid for everything? Because it was a date?” you ask Regulus.

He nods and you pull him into another hug.

“So we’re dating,” you say.

“If that’s okay with you?” Regulus says, still sounding unsure of himself.

You pull back again and this time it’s you nodding. Then you get off the couch and practically jump onto Pandora’s lap.

“Did you hear, Dora? I’m dating Regulus!” you say happily. “Oh, I need to find Dorcas! She needs to know!”

And you are bounding away in search of your friend. You don’t hesitate to tell everyone that you pass that you’re dating Regulus Black, yes, the Regulus Black. You can’t help it – you’re just so excited that this yearslong crush has manifested into something real.

“About time too,” Pandora says once you’ve disappeared up the stairs toward the girls’ dormitories. “She’s been smitten with you for years.”

“I’d say you’re perfect for each other. Mr. ‘Allergic to touching’ and Ms. ‘Always touching,’” Barty adds.

Regulus throws a pillow at Barty, which sends him into a cackling fit. Barty knows that Regulus must really like you to let him get away with that comment. After all, Regulus could’ve thrown his Transfiguration book at him.

Tags: @navs-bhat

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #request #regulus black x you #regulus black fluff #regulus black x reader #regulus black #slytherin!reader #whimsy!reader

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songbirdseung · 11 hours ago

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𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 / 𝑺𝑰𝑴 𝑱𝑨𝑬𝒀𝑼𝑵

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝? 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

Jake was used to the attention. It came with the whole student body president territory. Being reliable, charming in an unintentional way, and, unfortunately for you, a magnet for every girl who thought they had a chance.

And you got it. Really, you did. He had that perfect balance; smart, responsible, but also just dorky enough to be endearing. The round glasses that framed his warm brown eyes, the way he’d push them up with his index finger when he was deep in concentration, the slightly disheveled hair from running his hands through it one too many times. It was a look, and apparently, it worked.

But no one knew Jake like you did.

None of those girls saw the way he rambled about sci-fi theories when he got too excited, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses as he excitedly talked about intergalactic civilizations and paradoxes. They didn’t know about the little quirks he had, like how he absentmindedly tapped his pen against his desk when deep in thought, or how he always had to have a cup of iced coffee when he studied, even at night. They certainly didn’t know about the late-night conversations where he let his guard down, where he stopped being the golden boy everyone admired and instead became just Jake... your Jake, the one who buried his face in your shoulder after a long day, mumbling about how he didn’t ask to be this responsible.

Most importantly, none of them had the right to look at him the way they did.

Which is exactly why you were here now, sitting next to him on his dorm bed, watching him type away on his laptop, glasses slipping down his nose as he muttered under his breath about an upcoming school event. His focus was unwavering, fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced ease.

You, however, were growing impatient.

"Jake," you called, waiting for him to look at you.

He didn’t. "Mhm?"

You sighed, shifting closer. "Jake."

Still, no reaction. His brows furrowed slightly, clearly too engrossed in whatever he was working on to pay you any mind.

That wouldn’t do.

Without another word, you moved, straddling his lap and successfully pulling his attention away as his hands immediately froze over his keyboard.

"Y-Y/N?" His voice cracked slightly, and it made you smirk.

"Hi," you greeted innocently, fingers trailing up his shoulders to play with the collar of his sweater, your touch feather-light yet intentional.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands hesitating before finding a tentative place on your hips. "W-What are you—"

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, Jake… I’ve been thinking."

"A-About what?" His breath hitched, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist.

You hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the way he tensed beneath you. "About how everyone keeps thinking you're available."

Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on you tightening even further. "I—I mean, I can’t exactly control how people think."

You hummed in response, but you weren’t really listening anymore. Instead, you focused on the way his skin felt under your lips, on the way his breathing turned uneven as you sucked lightly on the delicate spot just beneath his jaw. You made sure to take your time, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as you continued your work.

"Y-Y/N—" His voice was strained, his body going rigid beneath you.

But you didn’t stop, not until you were sure that the mark you left was deep and noticeable, blooming across his fair skin like a brand. Satisfied, you finally pulled back to admire your work. A pretty, flushed bruise that was going to be impossible to hide.

Jake was still catching his breath, dazed and flustered beyond belief. His fingers dug into your sides slightly, as if grounding himself, his lips parted as he tried to process what had just happened.

"Now," you whispered, leaning in again, this time to press a soft kiss to his jaw, your tone dripping with satisfaction. "Let’s see if they still think you’re up for grabs."

It took him a second to fully comprehend what you had just done, but when he did, something shifted. His dazed expression morphed into something else, something darker, something more mischievous. His warm brown eyes, once filled with innocent shock, now burned with something deeper, something more knowing.

"Oh?" he murmured, his hands sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate motion. "So that’s how we’re playing, huh?"

Before you could react, he moved—flipping you over so that you were beneath him now, his face inches from yours as his weight pinned you down against the mattress. The air between you shifted, the teasing atmosphere giving way to something much more charged.

"Well, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice lower now, smoother, as he trailed a single finger down the side of your jaw. "I think it’s only fair I return the favor."

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #engene #enha #enhypen x reader #jake #sim jake #sim jaeyun #jaeyun #jake imagines #jake enhypen #jake sim #jake sim imagines #jake sim x reader #jake x reader

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alittlegiraffe · 3 days ago

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Title: More than a Pill

The house is quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the girls moving around in their rooms. It’s been like this for weeks—silence stretched thin over years of love worn raw. You sit at the kitchen table, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup, staring at the man across from you. The man you’ve given everything to. The man who’s breaking you in ways you never thought possible.

Marshall looks… empty. Sober, yes. But empty. His hands are clasped together, knuckles tight, like he’s holding himself together with nothing but sheer force of will. His blue eyes are dull, rimmed with exhaustion, and when he looks at you, it’s like he’s seeing you through a fog. Like you’re already gone. Maybe you are.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You exhale slowly, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. “I don’t think you can.”

His jaw tenses, his fingers flexing on the table. “So that’s it?”

“No,” you shake your head, throat tight. “I’m not leaving you. But I’m done pretending.”

His brows furrow, and for a second, something flickers behind his eyes. Panic. Pain. But he doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve spent years putting myself last, Marshall. And I didn’t mind. I understood.” Your voice shakes, but you force yourself to keep going. “The kids needed you. The music—it was your dream, and I could live with that. But the drugs?” Your breath hitches. “I can’t justify that. I can’t make sense of it, not even in my own mind.”

His face crumples, but still, he says nothing.

“You had a choice,” you whisper, the words barely making it past the lump in your throat. “And you chose to leave me. Not physically, but you left. Over and over again. You would’ve rather died than stay with me.” Your voice breaks, and you hate yourself for it. “And I still would’ve taken you back. Even after everything. I would’ve forgiven you if you had just… chosen me.”

His head drops into his hands, fingers threading through his hair. His shoulders shake, and for the first time in years, you see him cry. Really cry. Not the quiet, frustrated kind of grief he lets slip in the dead of night, but the wrecked, broken kind. The kind that leaves nothing behind.

But you’re too tired to comfort him. Too tired to tell him it’s okay.

Because it’s not. And you don’t know if it ever will be.

---

The days pass in a haze of routine. You wake up early to get the girls ready for school, pack their lunches, remind them to grab their backpacks. You smile when you need to, laugh at their stories over dinner, make sure homework is done and bedtime routines are followed. You keep everything together because that’s what a mother does.

And after they’re asleep, you slip into the guest room.

You don’t even look at your bedroom door anymore. You know what’s waiting for you behind it—memories of a life that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. You see Marshall on the bathroom floor, the way his skin had looked too pale, too lifeless, the way your hands had shaken as you called for help. It’s been months since then, and the anger is gone, burned out until there’s nothing left but the hollow ache of knowing the truth.

He chose the pills over you.

And no matter how much you wish you could hate him for it, you don’t. You just feel… resigned. Because what hurts the most isn’t that he was an addict. It’s that you were never enough to make him stop.

Marshall notices, of course. He always notices. He watches you like he’s searching for something he’s already lost, like if he just looks hard enough, he’ll find the woman who used to love him without hesitation. But she’s gone, or maybe she’s still here, buried under months—years—of pain.

He tries, though. In his own way. Little things, at first.

He lingers when you pass each other in the hall, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but knows he can’t. He offers to help with dinner, his voice careful, like he’s afraid you’ll shut him down. He sits beside you on the couch when the girls are curled up watching TV, his knee barely brushing against yours, waiting to see if you’ll move away. You don’t, but you don’t lean in either.

And when the girls go to bed, and it’s just the two of you in the quiet of the house, that’s when he really tries.

“I didn’t see it,” he says one night, voice rough like it’s been stuck in his throat for hours. “I didn’t see what I was doing to you.”

You close your eyes, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

“I love you,” he says, desperate now, the words almost breaking apart before they reach you. “I never stopped. I was just—”

You pull away before he can finish, before he can make this harder than it already is. You stand, arms wrapped around yourself as you shake your head.

“I can’t, Marshall.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears it. You know he does.

He exhales sharply, his head dropping, hands clenched into fists. He doesn’t try to stop you when you walk away. He never does. Because you both know you’re too afraid to let him in again.

And he’s terrified that he’s already lost you for good.

---

It goes on like that for weeks. Months.

You live in the same house, co-parent the same kids, share the same space—but you might as well be ghosts haunting separate lives. You don’t fight, don’t scream, don’t hurl accusations at each other anymore. There’s nothing left to say. You’re just… existing.

Marshall still tries.

Some nights, when the girls are asleep and the house is too quiet, he lingers in the doorway of the guest room, watching you with something wrecked in his eyes. He never steps inside. Maybe he’s afraid that if he crosses that threshold, you’ll shut down completely. Maybe he knows you already have.

You wish you could be angry. Anger would be easier than this constant ache in your chest. But the truth is, you don’t have the energy to hate him. You’re just tired.

Tired of loving someone who didn’t love you enough to stay.

He never begs. Never pleads. That’s not his way. But his actions—God, his actions are screaming. He wakes up early to make sure the girls eat breakfast before school. He drives them when he can, picks them up when he’s not in the studio. He cuts back on work, spends more time at home, lingers in rooms you’re in like he’s hoping some part of you will acknowledge that he’s trying.

And the worst part? You see it. You see the effort, see the guilt weighing him down. You see the way he’s fighting to be the man you needed him to be all along.

But it doesn’t change the fact that, when it mattered most, he wasn’t.

Tonight is no different. You’re sitting at the kitchen table after putting the girls to bed, staring at the cup of tea you made but have no intention of drinking. You hear his footsteps before he speaks.

“You should sleep,” he says softly, stepping into the room.

You don’t look at him. “I will.”

He hesitates, and you know what’s coming before he even says it.

“Do you even see me anymore?” His voice is raw, like it physically hurts to ask. “Or am I already gone to you?”

Your fingers tighten around the mug. You don’t answer.

Marshall exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “I love you,” he says again, like saying it enough times will somehow fix the damage. “I don’t know how else to say it.”

You let out a hollow breath. “Loving me should’ve been enough to stop you.”

The silence after that is suffocating. You finally look up at him, and it nearly destroys you. He looks wrecked. Older. Like he’s spent every second of sobriety carrying the weight of his own mistakes.

But you can’t fix this for him. You can’t fix him.

So you stand, walking past him without another word, ignoring the way his shoulders sag, ignoring the way everything inside you is screaming to turn back.

Because you’re not sure you can survive breaking all over again.

---

The exhaustion isn’t just in your body anymore—it’s in your bones, your soul. You don’t sleep, not really. You close your eyes and drift, but the moment you slip too far, your mind betrays you. You see Marshall on the bathroom floor, his skin grey, his lips parted like he was already halfway gone. You hear your own screams echoing in your head, your hands on his chest, shaking, begging, please, please, don’t do this, I love you, I love you, I love you.

You wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, clutching at the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping you grounded. And then you lay there, staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dragging yourself through another day.

You barely eat. You pick at your food, push things around on your plate, take just enough bites to stop the girls from asking questions. But they see it. Hailie watches you too closely, her brows furrowing when you wave off breakfast, when you say you’re not hungry at dinner. The younger girls don’t say much, but they cling to you, their little hands holding onto your arms, your shirt, your fingers—like they can feel you slipping away and don’t know how to stop it.

And then there’s Marshall.

He’s watching too, and it’s killing him. You can see it in his eyes, the way he stares at you like he’s trying to piece you back together with sheer willpower. Like if he just looks long enough, hard enough, you’ll come back to him. But he’s the one who broke you, and you don’t know how to let him fix it.

He’s been patient. He’s given you space, taken every hit, every quiet rejection, every moment where you’ve turned away from him. But tonight, something shifts.

You’re sitting on the couch, curled into yourself, staring at the TV without really seeing it. The girls are asleep. The house is quiet. And then he’s there, standing in front of you, blocking the screen like that’s ever what you were looking at.

“Enough,” his voice is quiet, but there’s something behind it, something strained, something wrecked. “You’re killing yourself.”

You exhale, turning your head, but he crouches down, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You’re fading,” he rasps, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but knows he shouldn’t. “I see it. The girls see it. And I can’t—” His voice breaks, and he looks away, inhaling sharply through his nose. “I can’t watch you disappear, baby. I can’t.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your throat is tight, your chest aches, and you know, you know what you need.

You need him.

But how do you reach for the person who shattered you? How do you ask the one who let you fall to be the one to hold you together?

Tears slip down your cheeks, and before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you whisper, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Marshall’s breath shudders. “Then let me.”

He moves then, cautiously, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll push him away. His hands hover near your knees, his face inches from yours, waiting. Always waiting.

And for the first time in months, you don’t pull away. You let him touch you, let him kneel in front of you, let him press his forehead to your lap like he’s praying for something he’s afraid to ask for.

His shoulders shake, and it takes you a second to realize he’s crying. Marshall never cries.

“I love you,” he chokes out. “I swear to God, I love you.”

Your hands tremble as they lift, hesitating before sinking into his hair, holding him there, anchoring him.

“I know,” you whisper, and it’s not forgiveness, not yet, but it’s something.

And for now, it’s enough.

You don’t know how long you sit like that, your fingers tangled in Marshall’s hair, his forehead pressed into your lap. The warmth of him seeps into you, familiar and foreign all at once. His breathing is uneven, shaking, his hands clenched into fists against his thighs. Neither of you speak. Neither of you move.

And then it happens.

A strangled sob tears from your throat, breaking the silence, breaking everything. It rips through you, through the walls you’ve spent years building, through the numbness that’s been keeping you together. Your whole body shudders, and suddenly, it’s too much. All of it. The pain, the exhaustion, the ache of loving someone who shattered you and still somehow owns every single broken piece.

Marshall lifts his head, eyes wide, desperate. “Baby—”

But you can’t stop. The sobs come hard, fast, tearing you apart from the inside out. You press your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no hiding from this.

“I c-can’t,” you gasp, curling in on yourself, your whole body trembling. “I can’t— I don’t know how to—”

“Shh,” Marshall is on his knees, reaching for you before he can think twice. He hesitates for half a second, waiting for you to push him away. But you don’t. You can’t. Because for all the ways he’s hurt you, for all the ways he’s broken your heart, he’s still the only thing that has ever made you feel safe.

His arms come around you, careful at first, then tighter when you don’t resist. He pulls you against his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head, his lips pressing into your hair. “I got you,” he breathes, voice thick, wrecked. “I got you, baby, I swear to God.”

You fist your hands in his hoodie, holding on like you’ll disappear if you let go. Your tears soak into the fabric, but he doesn’t care. He just rocks you, whispering broken apologies, words you can barely understand through the static in your mind.

“I didn’t mean to— I was so fucking lost—” His voice cracks, his own tears hot against your temple. “But I love you. I love you more than anything. More than the music. More than—” His breath stutters. “More than I loved myself.”

You don’t know if this fixes anything.

You don’t know if it ever can.

But for the first time in months, maybe even years, you let yourself feel it all. And you let him hold you through it.

Your sobs shake your whole body, your fingers gripping his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. Marshall holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his arms wrapped around you with a desperation you’ve never felt from him before. His breath is hot against your hair, uneven and wrecked, but he doesn’t say anything. He just holds you, like maybe that will be enough to make up for all the times he didn’t.

But it’s not enough.

Through the gasping breaths, the tears burning down your face, you force out the question that’s been strangling you from the inside out.

“Why?”

Marshall stiffens, his grip on you tightening for a split second before his body goes completely still.

You press your forehead against his chest, your voice breaking as you whisper, “If you love me… why couldn’t you love me enough to stay?”

His breath shudders against you. “Baby…”

But you don’t stop. You can’t. You’ve spent years swallowing your pain, pretending it didn’t exist, forcing yourself to accept the things you could never understand. But not now. Not anymore.

“I would’ve done anything for you,” you choke out, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like you could pull him inside your chest and keep him there forever. “I would’ve given you anything you wanted—anything—but all I ever needed was you.”

Marshall pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands trembling as they cup your face. His eyes are haunted, shining with unshed tears, filled with so much regret it nearly crushes you.

“I was fucked up,” he whispers, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks, his breath coming in uneven bursts. “I was so far gone, baby. I didn’t see it—I didn’t see what I was doing to you. To us.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fresh tears slipping free. “I needed you, Marshall.” Your voice cracks, the pain raw, bleeding. “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

His face crumples, and then he’s pulling you back into him, wrapping himself around you so tightly it almost hurts. “I know,” he breathes, his lips pressing against your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. “I know, baby, and I swear to God, if I could take it all back—if I could go back and choose you the way I should have, I would. I swear on my life.”

His voice is breaking, shattering, and for the first time, you can feel how much he hates himself for what he’s done.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he still did it.

And you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive him for that.

You try to pull away, try to put space between you before you drown in the weight of all of it—the love, the pain, the years of wanting him and never really having him the way you needed.

But Marshall doesn’t let go.

His arms tighten around you, his breath ragged against your hair as he whispers, “Not this time, baby. Just let me hold you.”

His voice is raw, pleading, like he’s terrified that if he lets you go now, he’ll never get another chance.

You shake your head weakly, pressing your palms against his chest, but there’s no real strength behind it. You don’t even know why you’re fighting. Maybe because you’re scared—scared that if you let yourself sink into him, you’ll never find your way out again.

“Marshall…” Your voice is barely a whisper, barely anything at all.

“I know,” he breathes, his lips brushing your temple, his fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I know, baby. Just—just let me do this. Please.”

Your resistance crumbles.

Because you want this. You want him. You’ve always wanted him, and no matter how much he’s hurt you, no matter how many times he’s left you in the dark, your body still aches for his touch like it’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel whole.

So you stop fighting.

You let your forehead rest against his chest, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie as your body sags against his. And the second you do, he exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

His hand slides up, threading through your hair, his touch so gentle it nearly shatters you all over again. “I love you,” he murmurs, over and over, like he’s trying to sew the words into your skin. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Because you know. You know he loves you.

You just don’t know if it will ever be enough.

Sleep takes you before you even realize it, exhaustion finally winning after months of restless nights and hollow days. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t fight it.

You fall asleep in Marshall’s arms, his warmth wrapped around you like he’s trying to hold all the broken pieces of you together. His heartbeat is steady under your ear, his hand tangled in your hair, his breath slow and even against your forehead.

And when you wake up, everything feels… different.

The sheets are soft, familiar. The scent surrounding you is home—his detergent, his skin, something undeniably Marshall.

Your bed. Not the guest room.

Your breath catches as you slowly blink awake, disoriented. The last thing you remember is crying in his arms on the couch, but now—now, you’re here. Back where you swore you’d never be again.

And he’s still here, still wrapped around you like he never let go.

Marshall is pressed against your back, his arm draped over your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is deep, steady, but you know him. He’s not really asleep. He’s just watching, waiting for you to run.

Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat as you take in the room. It’s exactly the same, untouched by your absence, like it was waiting for you to come back. But from this angle, from this bed, you can see the bathroom door.

And you can see the spot on the floor.

The spot where he almost died. The spot where your world shattered.

Your breath stutters, and instinctively, your fingers clutch at Marshall’s hand resting against your stomach. He tightens his grip immediately, like he knows exactly what you’re seeing, exactly what’s running through your head.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice hoarse, rough with sleep and something deeper, something fragile. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, a tear slipping down your cheek. Because he says that, and you want to believe it. But he was supposed to be here before, and he wasn’t.

And no matter how tightly he holds you now, you don’t know if he ever really will be.

---

The silence in the room is thick, almost suffocating, but it’s different now. It feels like a fragile thread between the two of you, taut and delicate, as if everything hangs on this moment, on the quiet understanding between you.

Marshall’s hand rubs small, soothing circles on your stomach, his lips still pressed against your neck, warm and familiar. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t let go of you. It’s as if he’s trying to prove something, to show you with every breath he takes that he’s here now. And the worst part? You almost want to believe him.

Almost.

You take a deep breath, the weight of everything sitting heavily in your chest. The room feels both too small and too vast at the same time, like there’s too much space between you both despite the fact that his body is wrapped around yours. The sheets rustle as you slowly shift, the motion making him stir.

“Don’t,” he whispers, tightening his arm around you as if to stop you from moving. “Please. Stay.”

The word stings in a way that makes your heart ache. Stay. He used to say that to you, back when it meant something, when it wasn’t just a plea in the dark.

You close your eyes again, trying to quiet the storm of thoughts running through your mind. You’re so tired of this fight. So tired of holding everything together, pretending that you’re okay when you’re barely breathing. But you’re here. You’re still here. And for the first time in months, you don’t want to pull away.

But you can’t forget.

You can’t forget the wreckage. The bathroom floor. The overdose. The way your world fell apart.

"Why did you do it?" The words escape before you can stop them, and the second they’re out, your heart lurches painfully in your chest. You never thought you’d ask him this again. You never thought you’d need to know the answer.

Marshall’s breath catches behind you, his body stiffening for a moment before he slowly exhales. His fingers trace the edge of your shirt, his touch careful, almost tentative. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice tight with regret. “I was lost. I didn’t know how to… how to stop. I thought I could handle it. Thought I could keep it together. But I couldn’t.”

You stay silent, trying to process the words, trying to breathe through the tightness in your chest. You can feel his words. You can feel how broken he is. But that doesn’t change the fact that it was him who broke you, who broke us.

“I don’t want to be the person who does this to you anymore,” he continues, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “I swear, I don’t. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right. Trying to be the man you need me to be.”

It’s the way he says it—like it’s a promise, like it’s his final chance, that makes you want to believe him. But there’s a part of you, the part that’s been hurt too many times, the part that’s been waiting for him to prove it, that still holds back.

“Do you love me?” Your voice cracks, barely a whisper, and it’s so broken, so small, that you almost can’t believe you’ve asked.

Marshall doesn’t hesitate. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart against your back. “I do,” he says, his voice thick, hoarse with emotion. “I always have. And I always will. No matter what.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t know how to. Because right now, all you feel is exhaustion. Exhaustion from the years of pretending you could be strong enough to carry this weight. Exhaustion from the parts of yourself you’ve had to bury just to make it through.

So, for now, you just close your eyes and let him hold you. You let yourself sink into the warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him, even though you’re scared. Scared of what you might feel tomorrow. Scared that you’re letting yourself hope again.

But for now…

You let yourself believe.

The sunlight filtering through the curtains is soft, warm, almost comforting. You stir slowly, your body still heavy with sleep, but the moment you blink your eyes open, you feel it. The familiar weight of the bed beneath you, the quiet pulse of life in the room.

But what you don’t expect is him.

Marshall is lying next to you, propped up on one elbow, watching you with an intensity that sends a soft shiver through your chest. His eyes are fixed on your face, but there’s no judgment in them, no distance. Just something raw. Something soft. His fingers lightly caress the curve of your arm, tracing small patterns like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

For a second, you don’t know how to react. You blink at him, disoriented.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice low and gentle, as though he doesn’t want to break the peace that seems to be hanging in the air between you.

“Hey.” Your voice comes out thick, still hoarse from sleep. Your throat feels like it’s been stretched too tight.

But there’s something else, something deeper than just the warmth of his touch, deeper than the softness of his gaze. You don’t know what it is at first, but then you realize.

This is the first time since that night—the night of the overdose—that you haven’t had a nightmare.

You glance around the room, trying to ground yourself in reality. But there’s no looming dread. No anxiety in your chest. No replay of that moment, of the fear you felt watching him barely breathe on the floor.

It’s just silence.

And Marshall.

You swallow, your throat tight, suddenly overwhelmed by the quiet serenity of the moment. You tilt your head to meet his gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world slows down. The weight of everything is there, but it’s not suffocating you. Not now.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask quietly, your eyes tracing his face, looking for any trace of the man who almost lost you.

“Not long,” he replies, his voice soft. “I couldn’t sleep. I just… I didn’t want to move. Not yet. I wanted to watch you. Just to make sure you were okay.” His thumb lightly grazes your wrist, and the tenderness of it nearly shatters something inside of you. “You’ve been through so much, baby. I know I’ve been a part of that… and I don’t want to be the reason you’re still hurting.”

The air between you is thick with unspoken words, with everything that’s been left unsaid. But as you stare into his eyes, something shifts. Something fragile, something hopeful, blooms in your chest.

You don’t have the strength to speak. Not yet. So you simply reach for his hand, placing your palm over his, the warmth of his skin grounding you in this moment.

And when your eyes meet again, you realize something else. It’s not just the nightmare. It’s everything.

The pain, the hurt, the fear. It’s still there, lurking in the background, but for the first time, you’re not consumed by it. For the first time in months, you’re not suffocated by the weight of all the brokenness. And somehow, you’re starting to believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, you can start to heal.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but right now… right now, Marshall is here. And for once, that’s enough.

---

The moment shatters the second you step out of bed.

It’s easy to pretend in the dark, in the quiet safety of tangled limbs and whispered promises. But the morning light doesn’t lie. The morning light exposes everything.

You move on autopilot, slipping from the bed, ignoring the way Marshall watches you, the way his hand twitches like he wants to reach for you. You don’t give him the chance. You don’t even look back.

The second your feet hit the floor, reality comes crashing down.

The girls. Breakfast. Packing lunches. Making sure everything is in order, making sure they never feel the cracks you’ve been barely holding together. You move through the motions, your hands steady, your voice even. Smiling when you have to, laughing when it’s expected.

But inside? Inside, you’re unraveling.

The further you get from that bedroom, the further you get from him, the more it suffocates you. The memories. The weight of everything you’ve buried, everything you’ve forced yourself to accept.

He says he loves you.

He says he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you.

But promises in the dark don’t mean a damn thing in the light of day.

Because in the daylight, there’s no hiding from the truth—he still chose the pills. He still left you behind, even when he was right there. And no matter how much he says he loves you, no matter how tightly he held you last night, it wasn’t enough.

You weren’t enough.

It hits you out of nowhere, blindsiding you like it always does. The ache in your chest, the voice in your head whispering all the things you already know deep down. You weren’t enough to make him stay. Weren’t enough to make him stop. Weren’t enough to keep him from choosing the one thing that almost took him away from you forever.

You suck in a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the counter so tightly your knuckles turn white. The sound of your daughters laughing in the other room echoes around you, too bright, too innocent. You hold onto it like a lifeline, force yourself to focus, to stay here, to keep pushing forward.

Because that’s all you know how to do.

You push. You move. You survive.

But when Marshall walks into the kitchen, his eyes instantly finding yours, something inside you fractures all over again.

Because the way he looks at you—it’s different. Like he sees it. Sees the way you’re barely holding on, the way the weight of this is still crushing you. And worse? He looks like he hates himself for it.

But it doesn’t change anything.

It doesn’t change the fact that the damage has already been done.

---

It happens gradually—this pattern you and Marshall slip into.

At night, when the world is dark and quiet, you let him hold you. You let yourself fall into the warmth of his arms, let him murmur soft apologies against your skin, let him press promises into your hair like they might mean something come morning. And for those few hours, you allow yourself to believe.

But when the sun rises, reality resets.

You pull away. You go back to moving through the motions, forcing yourself to smile for the girls, forcing yourself to keep going because what other choice do you have? Marshall watches you, always watching, always waiting, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t force you to talk, doesn’t demand anything from you beyond what you can give.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because you want to give him more. You want to believe he can fix this, that you can fix this, but every time you look at him, all you see is the proof that you weren’t enough.

So you don’t let yourself fall again.

You make sure the girls are okay, you make sure the house is running, you make sure Marshall knows where to find you at night when you finally let the exhaustion win. But yourself? You don’t think about yourself.

You’re eating less. You don’t even notice it at first. The hunger fades into the background, overshadowed by everything else. You tell yourself you’ll eat later, but later never comes. Sleep is easier now, but food? Food feels like too much effort, another thing to force down when you don’t have the energy to care.

It isn’t until the dishes that it all catches up to you.

It’s a normal evening. Dinner is over, the girls are upstairs, the house quiet except for the sound of running water and the soft clink of dishes against the sink. You and Marshall fall into an easy rhythm—he washes, you dry. It’s simple, effortless in a way that nothing else has been for months.

And then, suddenly, the world tilts.

You barely register the sway of your body before it happens. One second, you’re holding a plate, the next there’s the sharp crash of ceramic shattering against the floor.

And then—Marshall’s hands.

They’re on you before you can process what’s happening, gripping your arms, steadying you as your knees buckle.

“Baby—” His voice is sharp, panicked, but distant, like you’re hearing it through water. His grip tightens as he pulls you against him, his body solid, unmoving. “Jesus—hey, hey, I got you. I got you.”

You blink, the edges of your vision blurring, your breath coming too fast, too uneven. Your body is shaking.

What…?

Your head lolls against his chest, and then it clicks. The dizziness, the weakness in your limbs. You haven’t eaten today. You barely ate yesterday. You can’t even remember the last real meal you had.

“Shit, baby, you’re burning up,” Marshall mutters, one hand pressing against your forehead before sliding down to cup your cheek. He tilts your face up, forcing you to look at him, and the fear in his eyes nearly takes your breath away. “When’s the last time you ate?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You don’t even have an answer.

His jaw clenches, and something dark flickers behind his eyes. Something like guilt. Like devastation.

“Okay,” he breathes, nodding, like he’s made up his mind about something. Then he scoops you up before you can protest, arms strong and sure as he carries you away from the shattered plate, away from the mess, away from everything except him.

And for the first time in months, you don’t fight it.

Marshall doesn’t put you down. Not when you try to push at his chest weakly, not when you mumble something about being fine. He just holds you tighter, jaw locked, arms unyielding as he carries you to the couch.

“Sit,” he orders, voice tight, as he settles you down gently. His hands linger on you like he doesn’t trust you to stay upright.

You don’t argue, mostly because you don’t have the strength to. Your body feels too heavy, your head too light, the edges of your vision still threatening to blur.

Marshall kneels in front of you, hands braced on your knees, eyes scanning you like he’s trying to take stock of just how bad this is. His gaze darkens, his lips pressing into a thin line before he mutters a curse under his breath and pushes up to his feet.

You watch as he stalks toward the kitchen, pulling open the fridge with a little too much force. You hear the clatter of dishes, the scrape of something against the counter. A minute later, he’s back in front of you, pressing a glass of orange juice into your shaking hands.

“Drink,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for a second, but the look on his face makes your stomach twist. He looks… wrecked.

So you take a sip. The juice is too sweet, almost overwhelming after days of nothing, but you force yourself to drink more under his watchful gaze.

Marshall exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before crouching in front of you again. His hands land on your thighs, gripping you gently but firmly, grounding you.

“Baby, what the fuck?” His voice is hoarse, raw with something you can’t quite name. “You haven’t been eating? Since when?”

You don’t answer, because what is there to say? You didn’t mean to stop. You just… forgot. And then, after a while, it became easier to pretend you weren’t hungry than to deal with the exhaustion that came with taking care of yourself.

Marshall shakes his head, eyes flashing. “You can’t—Jesus, you can’t do this to yourself.” His hands tighten on you for a second, like he’s trying to anchor himself. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The raw emotion in his voice makes something crack in your chest. You swallow hard, staring at the glass in your hands because you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Sorry? Baby, I don’t need you to be sorry, I need you to take care of yourself.” His voice softens, breaking at the edges. “I need you here.”

Your breath catches.

“I can’t—I can’t watch you fade away like this.” His hands slide up, settling against your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His blue eyes are pleading, desperate. “I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But I swear to God, I am here. I am not leaving you, and I sure as hell ain’t letting you leave me like this.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. Because if you start crying, you don’t know if you’ll be able to stop.

Marshall presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “Please, baby,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you. Let me fix this.”

You want to believe him. God, you want to. But the fear is still there, the doubt still lingering.

So you don’t promise him anything. You don’t tell him you’ll try.

But you do take another sip of the juice. And when his hand wraps around yours, steadying you, you don’t pull away.

---

Marshall doesn’t let up. Not even for a second.

Every meal, every bite, he’s there—watching, waiting, making sure you do it. He doesn’t push, doesn’t force, but the weight of his gaze is enough to keep you from slipping again.

It starts slow. A few bites at breakfast. Half a sandwich at lunch. A little more at dinner, mostly because you can’t take the way his eyes darken every time you put your fork down too soon. You’re not doing it for yourself. Not yet. But you can’t stand the way he looks at you when you don’t try.

The first week, he barely leaves your side. If you stand, he stands. If you move to another room, he follows. It’s subtle, but it’s there. A presence just behind you, close enough that you feel the weight of it.

By the second week, he relaxes—just a little. He stops hovering as much, but you know he’s still watching. Still waiting for any sign that you’re slipping again.

And then, three weeks in, you see it.

It’s just a glance. A flicker of something in his eyes when he looks at the kitchen sink. His jaw tightens, his throat works like he’s swallowing something back, and suddenly, you know.

It’s the same look you get when you see the bathroom floor.

Fear.

You recognize it immediately. That quiet, hollow terror that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. That awful, gut-wrenching panic that grips you when you look at the spot where everything fell apart.

The kitchen sink—that’s his bathroom floor. That’s where he thought he lost you.

Your chest tightens. You want to say something, want to reach for him, but the words stick in your throat. You don’t even know what you’d say.

So instead, you do the only thing you can do.

You step forward and take his hand.

Marshall tenses for a second, caught off guard, but then his fingers tighten around yours like a lifeline. Like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t say anything. You just hold on.

And for the first time in weeks, he lets you be the one to steady him.

Marshall doesn’t say a word.

He just stares at your joined hands like he can’t believe you’re the one holding him now. Like he doesn’t trust it to be real.

His fingers tighten around yours, rough and calloused but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he holds on too tight. Like you might shatter all over again if he’s not careful.

Maybe he’s right.

But maybe you’re tired of breaking.

You squeeze his hand, just a little. Just enough to let him know you’re here. That you see him. That you understand.

Marshall exhales, shaky and uneven, and when he finally looks up at you, his blue eyes are wrecked.

“Baby…” His voice cracks, low and raw. His free hand moves like he wants to touch you, like he wants to pull you closer, but he hesitates. Always hesitating now, like he’s still waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, for the first time in what feels like forever, you move first.

You step into him, into the warmth of his chest, and press your forehead against his. His breath catches, and then he melts into you.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in like he’s afraid to let go. Like you’re the only thing keeping him steady. And maybe you are. Maybe you always have been.

“I see it,” you whisper, barely more than breath.

He stills. “See what?”

You swallow hard. “The way you look at the sink.”

His body tenses against yours, and you know—you know.

He gets it. He knows exactly what you mean.

Because it’s the same way you look at the bathroom floor.

It’s the same fear. The same pain. The same memory of almost losing the only person you think is worth living for.

Marshall lets out a sharp breath, pressing his face into your hair. His hands grip you tighter, his body curling around yours like he can protect you from the weight of it.

Like he wishes he could’ve protected you from all of it.

“I can’t go through that again,” he murmurs, voice barely holding together. “I can’t—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head against you. “Baby, I can’t lose you.”

You close your eyes, something breaking inside you all over again.

Because you’ve spent so long thinking he chose to leave. That you weren’t enough. That he didn’t love you like you loved him.

But now? Now, you’re starting to realize that maybe he was just as lost as you were.

Maybe he’s still lost.

Maybe you both are.

So you do the only thing you can do.

You hold on.

And for the first time in a long time, you let him hold on, too.

The house is quiet.

The girls are asleep, their soft laughter and footsteps faded into silence upstairs. For the first time in weeks, it’s just you and Marshall, standing in the dim glow of the kitchen lights.

There’s a tension in the air, thick and electric, something unspoken hanging between you.

You can feel him watching you.

The weight of his stare presses against your skin, burning hot and desperate, like he’s afraid to blink, afraid you’ll disappear if he looks away.

And then—he moves.

One second, there’s space between you, and the next, his hands are on you—gripping your waist, pulling you in, pressing you against him like he needs to feel you, to prove you’re here.

Then—his lips crash into yours.

It’s not slow. It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

Rough and fast, like he’s been starving for you, like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into his skin.

He kisses you like he’s chasing something—chasing you.

Your breath catches, a startled gasp against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. His hands tighten on you, fingers digging into your hips, his body crowding against yours, needing you closer.

It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s him.

It’s him trying to tell you without words—you’re mine. You’re here. You didn’t leave.

Your fingers twist into his shirt, gripping tight, grounding yourself against him. Because he’s here, too. He’s real, and you’re tired of running from that.

A low sound rumbles from his chest as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of pain, regret, love, need into it.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead presses against yours, his breath coming fast, his hands still clinging to you like he can’t bring himself to let go.

“Baby…” His voice is hoarse, wrecked.

You don’t say anything. You just press closer, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, memorizing the warmth of him, the solid weight of him against you.

Because for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re slipping away.

For the first time in a long time—he’s holding on.

And you just might be ready to let him.

Marshall doesn’t hesitate.

The second he feels you lean into him, your fingers gripping his shirt, your body pressing closer instead of pulling away—he moves.

His hands slide down, gripping your thighs, and then he lifts you like you weigh nothing.

You don’t stop him.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, your legs wrap around his waist, holding on just as tightly as he is. Your lips find his jaw, his neck—whatever you can reach—pressing desperate kisses against his skin as he carries you upstairs.

His breathing is ragged, his grip on you firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his hold for even a second.

But you’re not slipping away.

Not this time.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t fumble, doesn’t pause. He lays you down gently, carefully, but there’s nothing hesitant in the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

His lips find yours again, and this time, the kiss isn’t just desperate—it’s devoted.

Every touch, every press of his hands against your skin, every whispered word is a promise.

A vow.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, pressing reverent kisses against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

You shudder beneath him, your fingers threading through his hair, your body arching into him.

“I need you,” he confesses against your collarbone, voice breaking. “I need you more than anything.”

Every word, every touch is laced with something deeper than want.

This isn’t just about need.

It’s about you.

About what you are to him. About what you’ve always been to him.

Everything.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Because the way you pull him closer, the way you let him hold you, the way you let him love you—

It says everything he’s been desperate to hear.

#eminem #marshall mathers #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 5 hours ago

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Anxious No More

Pairing: Poly 141 x Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, emotional overwhelm, comfort, soft poly relationship, lots of fluff, protective and affectionate 141.

Author’s Note: I use this GIF way too much-

Summary: Feeling overwhelmed has become a constant struggle, but your boys always notice when the weight of the world gets too heavy. Each of them has their own way of pulling you back to safety—reminding you that you’re not alone.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You weren’t sure when it started—the feeling of being constantly overwhelmed, like the world was pressing in too fast, too loud, too much. Every little thing felt like a weight on your shoulders, every decision another drop in the ocean of uncertainty threatening to drown you. The pressure sat heavy on your chest, coiling like an iron band around your ribs, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

But somehow, amidst all the noise, they became your refuge.

Johnny

Johnny was the first to notice.

"Yer thinking too much again, aren’t ya?" His voice was warm, teasing, but his eyes were sharp, watching you closely.

You were sitting in the common room, curled up on the couch, shoulders hunched forward, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until Johnny plopped down next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders with a casual ease that only he could manage.

"Hey, c’mon," he nudged you lightly with his shoulder. "Can’t have ya stressin’ yourself into an early grave. If ya do, who’s gonna listen to my awful jokes?"

You huffed, a weak smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Johnny grinned. "Ah, there it is. See? That’s better."

Instead of prying, he started rambling about something ridiculous—some past mission that involved Kyle getting chased by an angry old woman with a broom.

"Swear on me life, love, I’ve never seen the man run so fast. You’d think a whole army was after him, but nah—just an old granny screamin’ bloody murder."

It was impossible not to laugh. Johnny always had a way of pulling you out of your own head, grounding you in the moment.

When he felt you relax against him, he pressed a kiss to your temple, his arm tightening around you. "That’s my girl. No more thinkin’. Just stay here with me."

Kyle

Kyle was always the one to step in when things got really bad.

It had been a long day. A heavy day. By the time you made it back to your room, your chest was too tight, your thoughts racing too fast. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like the walls were closing in.

Kyle found you sitting on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. He didn’t say anything at first—just sat beside you, resting his hand on your back, rubbing slow, gentle circles.

"Alright, love. We’re gonna do this together, yeah? Five things you can see."

You swallowed hard, blinking through the fog. "Uh… the window. The lamp. Your hands."

"Good. Keep going."

Four things you could touch. Three you could hear. Two you could smell. One you could taste.

By the time you finished, your breathing had evened out, the tightness in your chest easing. Kyle smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"See? You’re alright. I’ve got you."

Instead of leaving, he pulled you against him, letting you rest your head on his chest, his arms warm and steady around you.

"Whenever it gets bad, just find me, yeah? You don’t have to do this alone."

John

John didn’t need to say much—his presence alone was enough to make you feel safer.

"You're carrying too much, sweetheart," he murmured one evening, finding you staring out at the base through the window, lost in thought. His voice was low, rough but gentle. "You don’t have to do it alone."

Sometimes, he’d just sit with you, handing you a cup of tea without a word. Other times, he’d pull you into his lap, wrapping you in his arms, pressing slow kisses to your shoulder.

"You’re too hard on yourself," he murmured one night, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. "You give so much to everyone else—let us take care of you too, yeah?"

There was no arguing with him when he used that voice, and honestly, you didn’t want to.

Simon

Simon didn’t talk much, but he always knew when you needed him.

One night, the weight of the world pressed down too hard, and you broke. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t quiet. You hadn’t meant for anyone to see, but Simon found you, your back pressed against the cold concrete wall of the hallway, your breaths coming too fast.

He didn’t hesitate.

He just wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you there like he could shield you from everything.

"Breathe," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve got you."

No judgment. No questions. Just his steady heartbeat against your ear, his warmth anchoring you back to reality. His gloved hand slid up and down your back, slow and firm, and after a few moments, he pressed his masked face against the top of your head, exhaling quietly.

"You’re not alone."

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, wrapped in his arms, but by the time you pulled away, your breathing had evened out, and the worst of the storm had passed.

Simon didn’t say anything else. He just gave your hand a final squeeze before leading you back to your shared quarters, where the others were waiting.

---

Together, They Were Home

Later that night, you found yourself curled up in the middle of the bed, a tangle of limbs and warmth surrounding you.

Johnny was wrapped around your back, his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck. Kyle was on your other side, his fingers laced with yours, thumb stroking slow circles over your knuckles.

John was at the foot of the bed, propped up on his elbow, watching over all of you with quiet protectiveness.

And Simon? Simon was behind you, his large, steady hand resting against your ribs, feeling the rise and fall of your breath as if making sure you were still there, still safe.

"Y’alright, love?" Kyle murmured sleepily, squeezing your hand.

You nodded, a soft warmth settling in your chest.

"Yeah."

Johnny nuzzled closer, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "That’s my girl."

John chuckled, his hand resting on your ankle. "Get some rest, sweetheart. We’ve got you."

You weren’t sure when it started—the feeling of being safe.

But with them?

You weren’t drowning anymore.

You were finally learning how to breathe.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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dessarchive · 2 days ago

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JO CAMERON’S VOGUE INTERVIEW

INSIDE JO CAMERON’S CLOSET

on monday morning, jo cameron sat down with vogue in her father’s diner, luke’s, in downtown woodstock, new york to discuss her what goes through her mind when creating an outfit, current favorite pieces, accessories, comfort, and her future fashion plans.

jo joined us today wearing a dark blue long sleeve t-shirt with a denim skirt, navy adidas handball spezial shoes, diamond earrings that sparkle as the sun shone through the window we sat by and rings that decorated her fingers.

while we waited for our food we started asking jo questions to get you the best look into her closet.

EVERYDAY comfortable & cute

when looking for an everyday outfit, what is going through your mind and do the seasons effect that?

yes, the seasons definitely effect what i’m thinking about when picking an outfit for the day, but i’m always wanting to be comfortable while keeping it cute. comfortableness is the most important thing to me because if i’m not comfortable i’ll probably be annoyed throughout the day and i hate having a sour mood. i love having a cute outfit, of course, and right now i’m really into smaller/tighter tops with baggy bottoms since it’s getting warmer. during colder months i really like layering up, i think finding the right layers can make an outfit really pop. during summer, i really like loose-fit pieces that are easy to move around in and keep a bikini underneath because i love swimming. for fall i usually keep it simple and comfortable with light sweaters, sweatpants or jeans, and a hoodie. hoodies are one of my favorite pieces ever and i have loads of them.

when accessorizing, what are you typically grabbing these days?

lately i’m in love with hoop earrings and a lot of rings. i think they really add to the look and give it a nice touch. i really love layering on bracelets too. bags are key to any outfit and i love matching them to a certain color in my outfit so i have many bags.

what about shoes? heels seem to be your signature.

i wear whatever feels right and once again, comfortable. i do wear heels often and people assume that’s where i draw the line at comfortableness, but that’s not true. a good pair of heels should always be comfortable, but other shoes i usually wear are new balances 530, uggs, and boots, heeled or not, and the classic converse.

WORKOUT sweats or sweating

paparazzi seem to love capturing photos of you leaving the gym and fans adore your outfits! how do you pick them?

it’s similar to picking any outfit. like i said earlier, i always wanting to be comfortable and cute and i think matching sets really suit both of those. when working out you always need something that’s easy to move around in as well and that’s really crucial for a good workout so whether it’s more tight-fitting or loose-fit, i always strive for comfort and flexibility.

what is your favorite piece of athletic wear?

i really love the shorts with pockets on the side or built in the waist band. it allows me to keep my phone nearby in case someone calls or just because i don’t like sitting it somewhere that i can’t reach. i also love a good pair of sneakers. i feel like i’m starting to become a shoe collector.

LOUNGEWEAR loose and breathable

when you get home after a long day, what do you typically change into?

something very loose that i could easily sleep in. i don’t usually change right into my pajamas when i get home as most times i still have work to do. whether that be around the house or hopping on a zoom call with my manager or casting directors but if i end up falling asleep i’ll still be comfortable. i also hate outside clothes on furniture especially on my bed, it’s always been something i’m picky about.

what are you usually doing after a long day?

journaling, reading, or watching tv. i’ve been obsessed with sex and the city lately so i’ll usually sit on the couch eating something until my boyfriend comes home then we will watch it together or cook dinner together.

FORMAL/EVENTS sleek and sparkly

when you attend events, you usually have lots of details whether it be the jewels, the design, or the overall look. what part is your favorite about choosing your look for events such as the met gala?

probably being able to make my own little changes to it or adding something of my own. i love working with designers and pulling things out of archive, but adding my own little touch means the world to me. it reminds me of when i was a little girl playing dress up with my sisters in my moms closet.

what’s your mindset going into something like these events? there’s hundreds of eyes and cameras on you at all times while you’re attending. does it make you nervous?

i’m always nervous going to these big events but i don’t let it stop me. i take it easy days before and on the day of, i only let people around me that will calm my nerves instead of making them worse. i don’t go on my phone unless i’m watching something to distract myself while getting my hair and makeup done or i’m doing a meditation to calm my nerves while in the car. when i get on the carpet or to the event, i steady my breathing and remind myself i’ll be okay. these events can be overwhelming for anyone even fans. when the event starts i find my friends and i feel loads better. the days following, i get myself back into rhythm. i know there’s going to be talk, good or bad, so i try to avoid social media afterwards and stick to my normal schedule.

what’s your favorite look so far?

probably the first dress on the third row. it’s such a beautiful dress and it was quite comfortable. i loved the designs on the dress and the jewelry paired with it was to die for. i got to tell the stylist how i wanted my hair to look and i’m so glad fans loved it as much as i did.

now for our last question, what are your plans for fashion in the future?

i really want to go outside of my bubble. i want to layer more and put pieces together that many think wouldn’t usually go together. i want crazy colors and unique accessories. i really adore people who are already doing that and hope i can do the same soon.

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zeroseuniverse · 24 hours ago

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Night Stalker II

Word count: 1.3K Summary: Wooyoung hums, watching the realization dawn on your face. Then, as quickly as he came, he steps back into the shadows, vanishing like smoke. But his voice lingers, curling around you like a promise. Pairing: Wooyoung X reader

Taglist:@sh0dor1 @haaruki @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120 @zaycie @lcvejjoong

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Your breath catches as the world tilts, shadows stretching unnaturally in your periphery. You spin around, heart slamming against your ribs, but Wooyoung is already gone again.

Or not.

A flicker—a shift in the air.

He’s everywhere and nowhere at once, slipping between the darkness like he was born from it. Maybe he was.

“What—” You swallow, pulse erratic. “What do you want from me?”

Wooyoung’s laughter ripples through the night, disembodied and taunting. “Want from you?” His voice slithers closer. “Sweetheart, you and I are the same. I don’t need to want anything from you.”

Your skin prickles. “We are not the same.”

“Oh, but we are.”

This time, when he materializes, he’s just inches away, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. There’s a pull between you, an invisible tether tightening, and you feel it deep in your chest—a sensation like recognition. Like something ancient waking up inside of you.

“You’ve spent your whole life pretending you don’t feel it,” Wooyoung murmurs, gaze dipping, searching, knowing. “That little voice inside of you, whispering that you’re something more.” His grin sharpens. “That I’m something more.”

Your nails dig into your palms.

This is a dream. It has to be. A trick of the light, a lapse in sanity—

“I’m real,” Wooyoung says, reading your thoughts too easily. “And now that you see me, there’s no going back.”

You take a step away. “I don’t—”

Wooyoung tilts his head, watching you like a predator toying with its prey. “You do,” he counters, smug. “You’re just scared.”

Your stomach twists because he’s right.

Something in you already knows.

Knows that this isn’t the beginning of something strange—it’s the unraveling of something that’s always been there, buried just beneath the surface.

Wooyoung hums, watching the realization dawn on your face. Then, as quickly as he came, he steps back into the shadows, vanishing like smoke.

But his voice lingers, curling around you like a promise.

“See you soon, sweetheart.”

The night is too quiet when he disappears. The air around you feels heavier, like the weight of his presence still lingers even though he’s no longer in sight. You take a shaky breath, willing your pulse to steady, but your thoughts are anything but calm.

Because you know—you know—this isn’t over.

A shiver crawls down your spine. You glance around, scanning the darkness, half-expecting him to reappear at any moment. But there’s nothing. Just the cold press of night and the faint flickering of the streetlights overhead.

You should go home. You should pretend none of this happened. But the truth clings to you like his voice—low, teasing, impossible to shake.

I’ve been with you since the day you were born. Just waiting.

You wrap your arms around yourself, forcing your feet to move. Each step home feels like wading through something unseen, like the world around you has shifted in some imperceptible way.

By the time you reach your apartment, your head is spinning. You lock the door behind you, press your back against it, and exhale. The silence inside feels too still, too expectant, like something unseen is watching.

You shake the feeling off and make your way to your room, but the second you flick on the light—

He’s there.

Sitting on your windowsill, one leg propped up lazily, his head tilted as he watches you with an amused smirk.

“Home sweet home,” Wooyoung drawls. “Took you long enough.”

You barely hold back a shriek, slamming a hand over your chest. “What the hell?! How did you—”

“Shadows, sweetheart,” he interrupts smoothly, twirling his fingers in the air. The light in the room seems to dim for a fraction of a second before returning to normal. “You really think a locked door can keep me out?”

Panic surges in your throat. “You can’t just—show up like this!”

“Sure I can.” He grins, flashing white teeth. “I told you. I’m part of you. Where you go, I go.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. “That’s—no, that’s not how this works. I didn’t agree to any of this.”

Wooyoung sighs, stretching his arms behind his head. “See, that’s the thing. You didn’t have to.” His gaze darkens, something unreadable flickering behind it. “You’ve always known I was there, even if you didn’t want to admit it.”

Your heart clenches at his words.

Because, deep down, you have known.

The feeling of something watching, the shadows stretching just a little too long, the whispers at the edge of your dreams—

It was always him.

Wooyoung watches the realization settle in your expression, and his smirk softens into something almost… fond.

“Don’t look so scared,” he murmurs, standing fluidly from the windowsill. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

You swallow, throat dry. “Then what do you want?”

He steps closer, close enough that you can see the glint of something ancient in his eyes, something that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I already told you,” Wooyoung says, voice dropping into something almost intimate.

He reaches out, tracing a finger along the edge of your sleeve, the touch barely there.

“Now? We have fun.”

You don’t move. You don’t breathe.

Wooyoung’s touch is featherlight, barely there, but it sets off a chain reaction inside you—something electric, something wrong, something that feels far too familiar for someone you just met.

Except… you didn’t just meet him.

The realization settles like a stone in your stomach. He’s been there all along, lingering at the edges of your vision, slipping through your nightmares, hiding in the places where the light didn’t reach.

A part of you wants to pull away, to slam the door on this impossible truth and pretend you never saw him. But another part—a deeper, darker part—wants to know more.

Wants to understand.

“What does that mean?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “What kind of ‘fun’ are you talking about?”

Wooyoung’s smirk sharpens. “The kind that wakes you up.”

Before you can demand an actual answer, the light in your room flickers. A split second later, the shadows move.

Not just shifting with the dimming glow—they move.

They twist, curl, stretch out like fingers reaching from the corners of your room, distorting the space around you in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Your breath catches as your own shadow detaches from your feet, slithering up the wall like it has a mind of its own.

“What the—”

“Relax,” Wooyoung murmurs, watching your reaction with obvious amusement. “You’re not gonna die. Probably.”

Your glare is instant. “Probably?!”

He chuckles, eyes gleaming. “That depends on how well you adapt.”

You barely have time to process those words before the shadows lurch.

Suddenly, you’re falling.

Not onto the floor, not backward—down.

As if the ground beneath you no longer exists, as if the darkness itself is swallowing you whole. A scream rips from your throat, but the sound is muffled, devoured by the void pulling you under.

Just as panic seizes your lungs, something catches you.

A strong grip, an arm hooked around your waist—Wooyoung.

The world around you is wrong—too dark, too weightless, too empty. But he’s there, steady and unbothered, holding you effortlessly as if this is all some kind of joke.

“See?” he hums, lips close to your ear. “I told you it’d be fun.”

Your heart pounds as you twist in his grip, trying to make sense of the abyss surrounding you. “What the hell did you do? Where are we?!”

Wooyoung tilts his head, looking far too pleased. “Welcome to the in-between, sweetheart.”

The shadows curl around his fingers like smoke, like they belong to him. Like he belongs to them.

“This?” He grins, arms tightening just slightly around your waist.

“This is where you really start to see.”

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morgana-larkin · 2 days ago

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Here's the next part of Just Tired! I do want to say a quick thank you to everyone as I reached 500 followers! 🥳❤️ Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

Summary: You go back to work!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31

Just Tired - Part 32

Warnings: Manipulative Relationship (Mentioned), Smut

Words: 2.7k

“We have it all planned out, tomorrow will be good.” Melissa tells you as you lay in between her legs and have your head on her lap. She’s finger brushing your hair and scratching your scalp to help calm you down. “You’ll teach and if anything needs handing out then I’m sure your students will be more than happy to help. Then at lunch I’ll take your students with mine while you make your way to the break room. After lunch I’ll bring your students with mine again and drop them off at your classroom. You’ll just have to leave a few minutes earlier to get to your classroom in time.” She tells you calmly.

“Thank you for helping me so much.” You say with a yawn as her scalp massage was taking effect on you.

“Of course, hon, I’ll always be here to help you.” She says softly and you smile at her before you fall asleep. Melissa carefully moves her body around you and places your head on the pillow before she snuggles up beside you and falls asleep with her arm wrapped around your waist.

“Are you sure you’re ready? I’m sure we can find a substitute to fill in for today.” Melissa says as she hands you some breakfast.

“I’m sure. I’m actually quite excited to be teaching again.” You tell her before you start eating.

“Well you’re little kiddos will be excited to see you there again, they miss you.” She tells you and you look at her. “They told me on Friday as I told them you’ll be back on Monday.” She admits and you smile.

“Melissa.” You start with and she looks at you. “Would it be alright to bring the wheelchair in case I get tired?” You ask her.

“Of course, I don’t mind wheeling you around.” She says with a smile. “We can have it as your chair in the classroom instead so you’ll already be in it.” She suggests and you nod in agreement.

You both get inside and you see the break room on the other end of the hall and you sigh.

“You can get in the chair.” Melissa says as she casually leans on the wheelchair. You look again at the distance before you sigh again and get in the chair. Melissa smiles at your decision and brings you to the break room.

“Hey! You’re back!” Jacob exclaims as both him and Janine go up to you.

“Can you guys bring her to your table while I get some coffee?” Melissa asks them and Jacob nods before wheeling you to the table.

“It feels like it’s been forever since we last saw you. How have you been?” Janine asks.

“You visited me on Tuesday last week.” You tell her and she shrugs.

“I’ve been good. Just taking one day at a time. Melissa’s been a huge help though, wouldn’t survive without her.” You say and you see Melissa smile at you with a cup of coffee in hand before she sits down with Barb. “So what have I missed here?” You ask and they go to explain everything that’s happened in the past month.

Melissa wheels you to your classroom just as the students start to arrive and your second graders are happy to see you again. A few parents come up to you, hoping you get better soon, while a few students hug you after not seeing you for a month. Melissa ends up leaving her door wide open just in case you need help and she sees you teaching your students with a smile. Your students help you out with anything, including handing out papers, collecting homework from everyone, and one got you an extra pen from across the classroom.

At lunch, Melissa wheels you to the caf with all your students before she brings you to the break room. She gets you your lunch and gets a cup of coffee for you before she gets her food and coffee ready. In the middle of lunch you get up and make your way to Melissa’s table on your crutch and sit in the extra seat.

“Something you need?” Melissa asks as she pops a tomato in her mouth.

“Just need a breather.” You whisper. “I haven’t gotten a word in and can’t go on my phone as they won’t stop talking to me.” You complain quietly and she chuckles.

“It was your choice to become friends with them.” She says to you and you groan.

“I know, I haven’t regretted it until now.” You tell her as she eats another tomato. You reach over and steal a tomato and she gasps.

“Do you mind not stealing?” She asks you and you shake your head. “I mean you have a lunch that I made for you.” She adds.

“I already ate it.” You say as you steal another tomato.

“Well whose fault is that?” She says.

“I used up energy walking over here.” You tell her with a pout and she sighs before she puts the container of tomatoes right in front of you and you smile. “I knew you cared.” You tell her and she rolls her eyes.

“Don’t push it.” She tells you but there’s no annoyance or anger behind her words.

“So it seems the substitute followed only half the lesson plan from the first week so I’m having to backtrack some of what they’ve already learned and teach them the other half.” You complain and she hums.

“Ya, he wasn’t very good.” She tells you and you look at her. “He also kept asking me out.” She adds and you raise your eyebrows.

“Well he’s got some nerve.” You say and she chuckles.

“I got annoyed after the first week and threatened him and he backed off very quickly.” She explains and you giggle.

“Sounds like you.” You tell her and she winks at you.

Barb was watching this interaction with a smile. She sees how happy her work wife is and always wanted her to find this happiness. She sees how you’ve brought her out of her misery and brought a light back to Melissa. She sees how Melissa is able to fully be herself and isn’t afraid to go after what she wants now or be vulnerable around you.

“So I was thinking of going to the museum of art this Saturday after going to the hospital for your check up.” She tells you and you look at her. “You got to pick karaoke 4 weeks ago and then it was my turn to pick. And plus I’m the one who asked you out 2 days ago.”

“You know I don’t recall what happened 4 weeks ago, I mean it was so long ago.” You say and Melissa gives you an amused and totally unconvinced look.

“For you it was only 2 weeks ago, your memory can’t be that shitty.” She says to you.

“I’ve actually heard good things about the art museum here and would actually like to go.” You say and she smiles.

“Are you two back together?” Barb asks you both and you look at Melissa and Melissa looks at you.

“We’re not putting a label on it.” Melissa tells her and you nod as you pop another tomato in your mouth.

After lunch, Melissa brings you to the caf to get your students before she brings you back to your classroom and to your desk before she goes to her classroom.

At the end of the day, 2 of your students happily wheel you outside of the classroom so you can be there to say goodbye to everyone. Melissa sees that and smiles before she focuses on saying goodbye to her students.

“So I was thinking that maybe we go home and cuddle on the couch.” Melissa suggests after everyone is gone and you look at her.

“I have to work on my lesson plans so that everyone catches up with the lessons.” You say with a sigh.

“Well let me help you with that.” She says and you look at her.

“Really?” You ask and she nods. “I’d like that. And I’ll repay you with cuddles if you want.” You say.

“I’ll never say no to cuddling with you.” She tells you.

“Can you help me out of this? I’ve been sitting all day and want to stretch my…well leg.” You say and she helps you stand up after getting your crutch. “Thanks.” You say and she wheels the wheelchair out as you walk beside her.

At home, you start working on your lesson as Melissa gets both of your lunches ready for tomorrow before she starts on dinner. While it’s in the oven, Melissa comes to help you and you work on it together. After dinner you’re laying on the couch with your head on Melissa’s lap as she runs her fingers through your hair.

“I love your hair, it’s so soft.” She says and you hum.

“Yours is too, and I love the colour.” You tell her.

“Got a thing for gingers?” She asks and you nod. “Why am I not surprised by that?”

“Maybe because I’ve had a thing for you since day 1.” You tell her and she giggles.

“By the way, what happened with that bartender?” She asks as she forgot you were planning a date with the bartender before the accident.

“I told her what happened but then a week later I told her that I can’t go on any dates because of my hot ginger friend that I was with.” You explain. “A week after I woke up is when we admitted we don’t want the other to go on dates with other people.” You add and she hums.

“I remember that conversation.”

“I’m getting sleepy.” You admit and she looks at the time, 8:02pm

“If you fall asleep now then you’ll be up at like 4am.” She tells you.

“Then stop stroking my hair, it feels too nice.” You say and she laughs.

“Well I know something that will wake you up.” She says and wiggles her eyebrows. You raise your eyebrows at her antics before she takes her shirt off. The sleepy state you were falling into suddenly left you and you sit up.

“Well I like where this is going.” You say and she laughs.

“If you want we can bring this to the bed and I can sit on your face.” Melissa suggests and your eyes light up.

“I like that.” You tell her before she picks you up and brings you to the bed behind the couch. She gently places you on the bed with your head on a pillow and you watch as she takes all her clothes off before getting on the bed. She then straddles your right leg and kisses you. She moans into the kiss and you bring your right arm up and cup her boob. You play with the nipple and she bucks her hips and gasps into the kiss.

“You get me turned on so quickly.” She says breathlessly.

“And I hope you remember that whenever someone tries to flirt with you.” You say as she kisses your neck and she hums.

“You don’t have to worry about other people.” She tells you and you bring your hand down to her centre and feel that she’s soaking wet. You bring your fingers to your mouth and suck her juices off with a moan.

“You taste really good, sit on my face.” You command and she immediately crawls up your body to your face. She holds onto the bed frame and lowers herself onto your mouth. You wrap your arm around her thigh and lick her entrance. She bucks her hips and moans out as you continue licking and sucking her entrance.

“Oh my god, oh god, I love your tongue.” She says. She then moans out loudly when you trail up and suck her clit. “Oh, oh god.” She gasps as you continue sucking and licking her clit. She holds onto the bed frame tighter and leans forward to give you a better angle to her clit. You bring your right hand from her thigh to her entrance and stick two fingers in her and she screams out. You begin pumping and curl your fingers inside her and she starts riding your face. “Oh your fingers are so good, I’m gonna come.” She starts screaming as she continues riding her face as she’s about to come. You curl your fingers and suck her clit one more time before she comes and you lick up her juices.

She gets off of you and lays down beside you. She then curls into you and puts her hand down your pants before circling your clit. You start bucking your hips as your orgasm is fast approaching.

“Melissa, oh my god.” You moan out. “I’m about to come!” You scream out before your toes curl and you reach your peak. You then gasp as you come and try to catch your breath as she licks your juices off her fingers. She sees you trying to catch your breath and looks at you with adoration and hums.

“You look beautiful.” She says and you turn your head to look at her.

“You’re beautiful too and you look the best when you’re naked.” She tells you and she giggles.

“I’m glad you like my body, even though it’s not that young looking.”

“I love how your body looks. I love your creamy toned thighs, your pussy, your soft stomach, your big boobs, your toned arms and let’s not forget your beautiful face and gorgeous ginger locks.” You tell her and she blushes like crazy.

“I can’t believe how much you compliment me, I’m still not used to it.”

“You’ll get used to it, I’m going to keep complimenting you your entire life.” You tell her and she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re very sweet.” She tells you and you cuddle into her. She puts an arm around you and you immediately fall asleep.

The rest of the week goes by exactly the same as the first day. You seem to get the feeling that Melissa is enjoying taking care of you but you remember that she told you that she took care of her siblings growing up and then Joe. After you get home on Friday you decide to talk to her as she’s making dinner. You’re sitting on the counter that she put you on and she’s chopping vegetables when you decide to talk to her.

“Hey Melissa, can we talk?” You ask her and she hums.

“Of course, hon.” She tells you.

“Well I was thinking that you’re enjoying taking care of me so much, which I enjoy.” You tell her.

“Why wouldn’t I enjoy it?” She asks.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t enjoy it, but you’ve taken care of people your entire life. You deserve to be taken care of as well.” You say.

“I don't think you’re physically capable of taking care of yourself, much less me, right now hon.” She tells you.

“When I’m back to myself then I’m going to repay you for all your help.” You tell her.

“You don’t have to do that.” She says as she’s cutting up a pepper. “You're right that I do enjoy it and that I’ve been taking care of people my entire life, but there’s one thing you’re forgetting. Ever since we’ve known each other, with the exception of this month, you’ve been taking care of me so much.” She reminds you. “Once you’re back to yourself then we can take care of each other.” She tells you. “How’s that sound?” She asks.

“Sounds good.” You tell her.

“Good.” She says and then feeds you a piece of pepper. “Now how about you sit there and look pretty while I finish getting dinner ready?” She asks and you nod. “Good girl.” She says as she feeds you another piece of pepper. You choke on the piece when you she says that to you and she winks at you before she goes back to cutting up veggies.

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#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #x reader #fanfic #lisa ann walter #law #abbott elementary

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comesatimecomesashadow · 2 days ago

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charlotte sometimes *ೃ༄

｡⋆˚࿔°‧ part ii . .

pairing *ೃ༄ il capitano / fem goth reader

fic type *ೃ༄ one-shot, angst, fluff, comfort, pining, slowburn.

cw *ೃ༄ yandere themes, mentions of stalking, reader has family drama but nothing too serious ( in this chapter ).

summary *ೃ༄ living as a recluse for the better part of your life, you'd grown used to the solitude of your daily life. however, when you catch the eye of the fiercest harbinger in teyvat ー the solitude you had grown accystomed to, dissipates.

note *ೃ༄ i know a few of you have been waiting for this capitano / goth wife reader to come out & im so sorry it took so long for me to finally post something but this got to be way too long so i decided to split it into multiple other parts. on to of that, i'm going to take a break from this fic because i wanna write for some other characters, hopefully this will keep y'all fed till later...

｡⋆˚࿔°‧ word count . . ! 7k+

masterlist *ೃ༄

In the dreary scenery of Snezhnaya, falling snow is a commonality. It falls, and falls.. And falls. Relentlessly, the particles allow themselves to be carried by the incessant howling winds — whispers of the never-ending winter. Amidst the bone-chilling iciness is where you reside.

Though you are protected by the four walls you call ‘home’, the cold attempts to penetrate through the curtain-covered windows and through every nook and cranny of your home. Inside of your quaint cottage in the outskirts, there are two stories standing tall and lacquered mahogany paints the stairs and floors of your quaint residence. Renaissance-esque paintings are hung up on the walls, giving life to the once-barren sides of the cottage. Those paintings, handpicked by yourself, tell silent stories of longing and yet at the same time, a fulfillment of oneself.

It is a melancholic feeling, you think.

Your home is decorated with trinkets; A candelabra at the corner near the front door, the porcelain angels that sit on your bookcase in the living room, pencils that litter your desk upstairs, plush pillows that sit atop your resting place — your home might not be lavish nor ostentatious, but it is yours. It is a thing you protect, a thing you keep hidden underneath the layers of the flesh of your heart.

The first time you learned the difference between a house and a home, you were young. A fledgeling, barely.

You try to not let your mind drift to that place often.

It is not a good thing to reminisce about.

Here, in your warm kitchen surrounded by the aroma of sweet baking, is better. The ringing of the timer pulled you away from your thoughts of tomorrow. For tomorrow, you were to visit a grave. It had been a few months since she had passed, but you still visited her at least once a month. She was like a sister to you, despite her endless teasing and her (sometimes) infuriating way of wording things, she was still your dearest friend.

She always liked your cookies, you remember.

‘You know,’ she would begin, ‘i’ve never been a fan of cookies, but these are amazing.’ The smile on her face as she ate cookie after cookie, sitting at your table as if she were just an ordinary person. Though, you guess, at that time she was exactly that to you. It was not that her title meant nothing to you, but when you grew more comfortable with her — going as far as to let her into your home regularly — she was ordinary.

Perhaps that is why her death hurt all too much.

‘She met her fate in Inazuma..’ The words that the Tsaritsa herself spoke to you on that day were etched onto your mind. ‘The others,’ she said, referring to the other ten of her elites. ‘-Will be at her funeral. I will inform them of your presence beforehand, should you attend.’ You did not attend that day, but the day after. When it was just you and her in solitude — like when she would come over to your quaint cottage and eat cookies on the kitchen table, ranting to you of her work troubles.. That day, it was hard to be the rock you had trained yourself to be.

The cookies were left to cool on the kitchen counter for a while. A faint meowing could be heard, followed by the sound of tiny paw-steps on the ground. You turned to see Mittens. Mittens too, was yours. He was a feline with black paws and the rest of his fur was white, except for the black skin of his nose. Mittens had been your companion long before you had made a home in this cottage.

The first time you met him, you were chasing him to get back the piece of bread he had taken. He was skinny and frail, the fur on his back was ratty and there were patches without fur.

How cold he must have been..

Despite the solitude you had grown accustomed to, it was nice to have a companion. Since taking him in, Mittens’ fur had grown to be fluffy and clean, no more tangled patches and bare spots with raised bite marks. He was an agile feline who curiously lingered around you at all times.

Like now.

Mittens nudged your hand as you reach out to scritch at his head, a slight smile on your lips. The candlelight that lit your kitchen made it smell of lavender and created a warm ambiance. In here, there was rarely any cold that seeped in through the windows, or maybe that was just you since you naturally ran hot. Sometimes, you even went outside to stand on your porch and relish the biting ice-cold temperatures.

But only sometimes.

That time was not now. Or rather, you wished it not to be. The feeling of someone watching you, however, sent a cold shiver up your spine. Like spiders running along your arms and crawling up your shoulders, the stare was felt. You looked around, your eyes surveying for any peering eyes — yet none could be found in this dark night. Mittens meowed as you took your hand away and moved to close the navy curtains, if there was someone watching you, they certainly couldn’t now.

It was uncomfortable, that feeling of knowing eyes are on you. For the past few days, you began to feel that feeling often. It lingered when you turned a corner in the inner city. It lingered when you shopped for necessities. It even lingered on those cold nights you stole for yourself; When it was just you and the cold of Snezhnaya. Those nights had been yours, yet now it felt as if something, or someone, had intruded your spaces of solitude.

For a moment, you corrected yourself.

For it was not the fact that you felt the eyes on you, that made you uncomfortable. No. It was being seen that you despised. Like a shadow, you wanted to go unnoticed, unfelt, unacknowledged.

It was safer, being invisible.

Nowadays, though, you feel naked. As if something has violated your careful isolation. This feeling, this crawling feeling, was invading. It would have done some good for it to have been a visible stalker of some sort because at least then you would have been able to confront them and make it go away. You would have been able to put a stop to it and reclaim your solitude.

But alas, you could not fight something you could not see.

The cookies were sealed in a transparent bag with a thin, red ribbon around the top and then tucked neatly into a black box. The black box had crimson accents upon its sides. You chose it for her.

Her grave, you correct yourself.

Anyway, you left the box on the kitchen table, beside the three differently sized candles that sat in the middle of your table. With that last task completed, your feet carried you up the stairs and to your comfortable, warm bed. Mittens trailed behind you, running towards the bed once he realized it was time to sleep. He jumped towards the bed gracefully and kneaded at the foot of the bed before making himself comfortable.

With a kiss to Mittens’ forehead, you allowed yourself to slumber.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“Do you happen to have these?” The young girl held up a picture of a specific set of paints. From the look of them, they were imported. Esthene inspected the picture in her hands a little more before handing it back to the customer. “I’m not quite sure, but I’ll check in the back for you.” with a courteous smile, she excused herself from her presence and headed towards the storage room.

This shop, despite being an art supply store, was not as colorful as its purpose suggested. The walls were painted in a dark auburn, the floors were of lacquered mahogany wood. There weren’t many decorations apart from the spectacular artworks on the wall and the beige curtains that were pulled apart and tied at the ends of the two windows at the storefront. The absence of clutter gave way to a sense of coziness.

You appreciated it, atmospheres like this were ideal to you.

In your hands was a clipboard. Your eyes scanned over all the supply boxes, or rather, their labels. Your position as manager of the shop often required you to take a look at the inventory and make orders according to what was needed. A newly hired employee, Esthene, came up to you to ask about the paints.

“Those, I believe, should be in the far right corner of the shop near the paint aisle. But if there isn’t any, I’ll unpack the new ones.” you told her. Esthene smiled and thanked you before returning to her post. She was new to the shop but a bright person nonetheless. Her hair was a dusty blonde color with fair skin which had freckles peppered onto it. Despite her inexperience at the beginning, she proved to be a good asset to your team. She worked fast and was quick to find solutions.

An accomplished feeling settled in your chest as you turned your attention back to the labeled boxes. It was a small help, but a help nonetheless. Despite your dark outward appearance, you quite liked helping others. It often gives you a sense of fulfillment. It was something your employees greatly appreciated about you.

You always gave more than you took.

You were generous like that.

“Are these the ones you’re looking for?” Esthene accompanied the young customer to the aisle you’d directed her to.

“Yes! Thank you!” the young girl nodded and picked out the medium-sized jar of paints she wanted. Afterwards, Esthene rang her up and the girl placed a bag of mora on the counter as payment. “Keep the change!” she said after Esthene handed her the items in a paper bag. You thought for a moment how bright she seemed, with her ‘thank you’s’ and smiles. You hoped she would keep being that way for as long as time allowed.

It was a sad thing to have that joy ripped away.

You headed towards the counter after checking the time on the clock; Closing time. As you emerged from the storage room, Esthene had flipped the sign to the ‘closed’ side of it, signifying that the shop was no longer taking customers. The shop wasn’t one of those big outlets with tons and tons of shelves. You liked that about it because it meant there would be more peace and quiet within the shop, even on work days like today.

“Closing time, everyone. Let’s get this done quick, alright?” All four of your employees nodded and got straight to work. You helped fix up the storage cabinets as well as put items that had been misplaced back in their designated area. After the sweeping, the mopping and the wiping was done, you handed everyone their paychecks and bid them farewell. You were the last to leave.

After locking up for the night, you began on your way to your dear friend’s grave. The cold air made it so you could see the breath that escaped your lips whenever you exhaled. In your left hand, was the box of cookies you had prepared for the occasion. In your opposite hand was your purse, which carried a book among other things. Your intention was to read it at her grave under the light of the mausoleum she now slept in, she often loved hearing you read to her.

‘It’s entertaining when you do it. If I were to do it, it’d sound monotonous.’ she told you once when you had asked her why she preferred your reading over her own. You smiled at the thought. Her grave was just a few blocks away. Your friend had been buried in a secluded sanctuary, one dedicated specifically for her. The Tsaritsa, in her kindness, allowed you to keep visiting her.

Though you chose to not worship the archons like most, you were grateful to her for her generosity.

It would have been devastating had you not been allowed to see her after the funeral.

Even if you weren’t seeing her face to face.

You got off of the wagon and bid farewell to the kind passerby that had driven you here. The cold bit at the exposed skin of your face, but you cared not. You approached the building and it was then that you began to feel the all-too familiar feeling of being watched. You looked around, scanning the area for the culprit, but as always, you found nothing. You grumbled and shook your head dismissively. Without any more hesitance, you walked into her grand resting place.

There, as you walked in, lay her gravestone. A pyro crystalfly was frozen in place where her head should be. You shook off the feeling of annoyance from being watched and found the peace within yourself to smile down upon seeing her resting place. Your fingers caressed the top of the marble coffin, it was cold. Though, you couldn’t feel it due to your gloves.

“I’m here, again..” You spoke, as if she could hear you. “I wonder if you tire of me, Rosalyne.” A chuckle escaped your throat while you leaned against the marble structure that carried her coffin atop it. The cookie box was placed beside you and you searched for the book in your bag. The only light that seeped in was the moonlight, which you could barely see in. So you lit a few candles for better lighting.

It was moments like these that you were grateful for the pyro vision you possessed. The time was spent with you reading classic gothic literature to Rosalyne and enjoying the cookies you had prepared while you sat there beside her grave. Of course, you knew she could not hear you, but it was nice to believe that she could.. Somewhere out there.

After about an hour, you had read a total of four chapters from the book. You decided to stop there and gather your things, it was getting quite late and you still had to walk from here to your cozy home. Mittens was probably missing you and waiting at the door for you to arrive, knowing him.

You stuffed the box into your satchel along with the book and told her goodbye. With that, you took your leave and were exposed to Snezhnaya’s cold winds again. It would be difficult to flag down another wagon.. You let out a small sigh and began your walk back to your cottage, at least the pyro vision you kept would help you keep warm.

The feeling of being watched was gone. But you kept thinking about it. It was a feeling you just couldn’t shake no matter how much you tried to do so. Your brows furrowed in thought as you walked underneath the snow and streetlights. It was only when you bumped into a man’s shoulder that you snapped out of it. “..!” your eyes widened and you immediately apologized to the man while crouching down to collect your satchel which had fallen upon impact.

But the man was faster.

“I apologize.” he said as he collected your satchel before you could reach it. He handed it back to you but your mind had gone blank after setting your eyes on the man.. Who had a black void for a face. He was draped in a fur coat of immaculate creation — you noticed — and accents of gold and silver which only served to accentuate his regality even more.

There was only one figure in Snezhnaya who was famous for his face — or his lack of one.

“..Ah. You’re..There is no need for you to apologize, the fault lies with me.” you bowed your head a little, it made you anxious that his vision was directed at you.

You hated being seen.

The familiar uncomfortable feeling of being watched returned. But this time, you knew who exactly it was that was looking at you. “Are you alright?”

On instinct, you replied, “Yes, I’m alright. I was only lost in thought, forgive me.” The chains of his helmet clinked when he nodded. It was hard not to act so formal when The First was standing in front of you, focused on you.

“May I ask what you are doing out so late?” His voice was clear, in this wind it was always a little hard to hear. But him? His voice was as clear as still water. You found no reason to deny him an answer so you nodded.

“I’m currently on my way home, Lord Harbinger.” The words felt foreign on your tongue, but there was no telling what he might do if you were to disregard his status. You had heard the rumors and frankly, you did not believe them. But it was hard to not feel intimidated when he towered over you like this.

“I see.” He didn’t say anything else after that which left the two of you in an awkward silence. This is why you preferred to stay to yourself. Small talk was a nightmare.

You bowed slightly, awkwardly. “If there is nothing else.. I will continue on my way home. Is that alright?” Your vision shifted from your feet to the black void that covered his face.

The Captain stayed silent for a moment, it seemed that he had something else to say but decided against speaking. With his silent nod, you quickly made yourself scarce from his presence. Your walk was brisk and quick in the hopes that he would let you leave without a word. Authority in Snezhnaya wasn’t ‘harsh’ but you’d rather not get involved with any governmental affairs, especially not with the Tsaritsa’s elite.

You sang a solemn lullaby to yourself while you walked home. It was stupid, but it made you feel less alone during the journey home. The feeling of being watched subtly returned whenever you turned a corner but no matter how much you looked back to check if there was anyone there, you could see nothing.

Thankfully though, you made it home that night safely.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

About a few months have passed since that night and your life went as usual. You clocked into work, clocked out of work, visited Rosalyne once a month with cookies in tow and led your quiet life with your quiet feline at your side. Everything was supposed to be normal.

Key word: ‘supposed to’.

Yet as of late, there have been more than a few instances that weren't normal. Ones that could not be counted as simple ‘coincidences’. For instance, following that small interaction with The First; He has begun to appear in places you usually did not expect him to. One of these encounters happened at a craft shop you often frequented. The shop was run by a nice old woman and her two grandchildren; It was a quaint business in which you often went to pick up supplies to mend clothing or to merely admire the unique fabrics.

One wintry afternoon, when the streets were bustling and the sun was shining, you walked into the shop only to learn from Mrs. Yachka, the nice old woman, that the esteemed Captain of the Fatui Harbingers was in her very shop. With your curiosity piqued, you subtly made your way to the back of the shop to where he was stationed. When your eyes landed upon him, he cradled a sample of silk fabric in his claws. His claws, that no doubt had taken lives during battle, were now being used to inspect a delicate piece of silk..

‘How strange.’ you would think to yourself, a placid smile forming upon your lips absentmindedly. You subtly walked to his side, pretending to look at the fabrics. Your eyes were glued to them but all you really wanted to do was gauge his expression.. from his body language of course. You deemed The First to be a reserved man and so, you thought to engage in conversation first, but he beat you to it.

With a sharp yet calm tone, The First uttered a statement to you. He let down the fabric, allowing his hand to disappear into his thick and white, winter fur coat. “It’s you.” he continued, “The woman who was visiting Rosalyne.”

Upon hearing his words, you drew a blank before the memory of your first encounter with him flashed in your mind. “Oh. Yes, that- That would happen to be me.” You felt oddly sheepish, realizing that this was how The First, The most honorable soldier in all of Snezhnaya, remembered you. “My name is ______. I understand that this is our first formal meeting, Lord Harbinger.” The title slipped from your tongue easily, yet now it was without the tone one uses to speak to a figure of authority — it felt strange to hear those words sound so .. non-fearful.

“_______.” He muttered, as if to test out how your name felt on his lips. “You may call me Capitano. I believe you were in a hurry during our last encounter.” The black void of his face peered down at you, though you felt it less imposing than the previous time it had been directed at you. Maybe it was accredited to the way the sunlight peeking through the shop’s windows made him seem ethereal-like.

You kept a small smile, “Yes, I was in a hurry to get home that night. It was late.. ” After a moment of silence, you remembered what it was that you were even speaking to him for. “Do you come here often?”

The chains on his mask clinked as he shook his head slowly. “No. I heard in passing that the fabrics here, at this establishment, were one-of-kind. There is a banquet to be held soon and the Tsaritsa has requested my attendance.” Your eyes drifted to the rolls of fabric on display.

“Are you looking for something specific or only browsing? I know this shop quite well and it would be an honor to aid you — if you’d like, that is.” You weren’t sure if it was because of his status or the oddly warm environment around the two of you, but something made it easier for you to extend your kindness to him when you barely even knew the man.

Not that it was a bad thing to be kind to strangers.

It was just peculiar how willing you were being when you usually preferred to keep interactions with others short or to have none at all.

“Which would you recommend?” His sight was once again on the display racks, away from you. This action made you feel at ease due to your inclination to not maintain eye-contact, even if you couldn’t exactly see his eyes. Mrs. Yachka watched the two of you mull over the decision. She felt less intimidated now that you were keeping him company. Of course, it wasn’t as if she was scared of the Harbinger. It only caught her off guard since it was unusual to see a decorated soldier like him at her quaint shop.

A few minutes had passed by now and you bit your lip while thinking. “-I also believe there was this navy shade of velvet that I found quite pleasing during my last visit. It should be around here..” You stepped around the aisle and made your way to the other side, the tall harbinger following after you. When your eyes landed on it, you reached out to hold it. “I believe this would do nicely and the shade suits you well, too.” Your eyes drifted up to he who was now reaching out to hold the cloth in your hand.

After The First inspected the material, the clinking of chains was heard while he nodded in approval. “Very well, I will trust your judgement as you seem to be well-versed in this area.”

A quiet laugh escaped your lips while you pressed your fingers to your lips softly, “I’m not an expert, that would be Mrs. Yachka at the front. I am merely speaking from experience.” You could not see it at that moment, but The Harbinger’s expression had softened. Your humility was something refreshing to him.

Afterwords, when the Harbinger was done speaking to you, he went to Mrs. Yachka to request a shipment of the navy velvet fabric. You weren’t privy to the details of the conversation due to the fact that you had been shopping when he placed his order, but when you were done with your little errand, Mrs. Yachka informed you that the Harbinger had paid a handsome amount for the fabric despite the price being significantly less than his payment.

You were in awe at the amount, but then realized that for a man of his status, the purchase must have been no big deal. You wondered for a moment what it would be like to have that kind of money but quickly moved on from it. After a lively chat with Mrs. Yachka, you returned to your home with the sewing supplies you’d been looking for.

Following that happenstance, The Captain appeared to you once more about three weeks after your formal encounter. This time, it took place behind your cottage. Well, not exactly behind it. See, your cottage was stationed in the outskirts of the city. This meant that while you did have your peace and quiet, you were also subject to witnessing the training of the Fatui just a ways away from your backyard.

The land was barren, as always, and vast enough for soldiers to train. It was no surprise to you that the Fatui’s armies would train there and it was certainly not a disturbance since they were far away enough to not cause you any trouble. However, you did not expect it to be Capitano who was leading the platoons behind your cottage. It wasn’t a strange thing to see the soldiers training, but in your years of living in that cottage, it was the first time you had ever seen The First leading them. Usually it was a highly-ranked Fatui Member that took care of the Fatui training.

Though, seeing as he was rumored to be the most skilled fighter in all of Snezhnaya, it wasn’t all that strange. Maybe it just felt that way due to the fact that you were acquainted with him more than you should have been.

The snow was falling outside, softly landing on the ground like a bird’s fallen feathers. It was as cold as always, but the fire at the hearth warmed the four walls of your home. Mittens nudged your leg as you were sat on the couch in front of the hearth, mending an old maroon skirt of yours. The feline jumped at the sound of abrupt knocking at the front of your door. Your brows knitted in slight annoyance, wondering who decided to interrupt your precious tranquility. At around the third series of hard knocking a sigh left your lips as you got up to check who it was. To your utter dismay, it was one of the people you least expected (or wanted) to pay you a visit.

In the seven years that you had called this cottage ‘home’, she never once had come. Nor did you want her to, for she was the woman who made your childhood an inferno. Without a second thought, your hand flew to the handle to shut the wooden door closed. But alas, she was quicker. With her foot wedging in between the door, she maintained an opening — access to you.

“What is it that you need?” you tried to speak normally, but the underlying anger was prominent in your tone.

“Need?” Your older half-sister, croaked. “Couldn’t you at least invite me in for a cup of tea? It’s the least you could do after what-”

“I have no desire to speak of past events.” You made sure she felt the authority in your voice. The wounds from your past had long-since been healed and you had no intention to allow her to pick at the scars.

You would not allow her to desecrate your home.

“We don’t have to talk about that, but I have to see you.” she said, her moss-colored eyes boring into your own.

“You’ve seen me,” you said, “Now go, Yessenia.” You observed her sharply, gauging her next move. She seemed as impatient as ever and the way she was carrying herself, you could tell she was the same woman from before. Not even time could change her. You looked upon her clothing through the small opening and just by examining it for a few minutes you could tell that the wealth she once boasted of was gone.

Unfortunately, she had no intention to leave. Yessenia sighed and pleaded with you and despite your heartstrings being tugged at, you refused to open the door an inch more. “Please, you’ve no idea how horrible everyone back home is doing — The situation is dire..” Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes. “Our mora stretched thin and without your help, i’m afraid we might be thrown to the streets, like trash- please! Have you no compassion for your family??” The tone in her voice sounded desperate.

Your mind screamed at you to refuse her entry.. but your heart, soft as ever, crumbled upon seeing her so distraught. You could clothe yourself in all the shades of black there were, but your heart could never be so noir as to turn someone in need away. What did it matter that she was unforgiving at one point? Maybe she has changed, maybe. With a heavy sigh, you opened your door to her and allowed her into the four warm walls you called home.

“Thank you,” she wiped her eyes and held your hand close to her chest. She was dressed in commoner clothing. Gone were the frilly dresses made of silk and the heavy faux furs she once donned. “You’ve been doing well, I can see.” She looked around your cozy, clean home. Without a reply, you guided her to the couch where you once had been.

“What tea do you like?” Mittens entered the kitchen adjacent to the living room alongside you, his purring long gone.

“Do you have peppermint?”

“Yes,” your replies were curt. Of course, you agreed to hear her out but you were still on guard. Her actions would tell if she had truly separated from her old self. After a short time, the kettle whistled and you meticulously prepared two white mugs of peppermint tea. Again came that feeling of being watched — it had lessened as of late, but it wasn’t completely gone.

You chalked it up to the adrenaline you were experiencing due to Yessenia’s unexpected arrival.

“I can see you still enjoy the darker things in life,” Yessenia commented, a slight giggle at the end of her utterance.

“I do.” The mug was handed to her; you took your place on the couch afterwards. The feeling of warmth and coziness should have settled in by now but the anxiety from just being around her did not leave you.

Yessenia accepted the mug and was now drinking from it. She was pleased with the drink, her relaxed expression said as much. “How long have you lived here?” She looked towards the paintings, to the fireplace and the little porcelain angels that sat atop the structure.

“In the same month I left that house; About seven years now, I believe.” Mittens jumped onto your lap and made himself at home there, much to Yessenia’s surprise.

“That cat.. It’s the same one from the alleyway? From when we were kids?” her emerald eyes widened slightly at the prospect. Clearly, she hadn’t expected you to take in a stray cat.

“His name is Mittens.” you clarified. “But there are more pressing matters than my home and my companion. You had something you wanted to speak to me about, did you not?”

Yessenia seemed a little dejected at the change of subject, but she continued nonetheless. “Yes, I wanted to speak to you.. About mom.”

“Your mother? Please elaborate.” At the mention of that woman, you became stone-faced. You had hoped that after leaving, you would be leaving that family behind too. But to your utter dismay, that was not how it turned out to be. The painful words that woman directed towards you either under her breath or to your face had left you with scars that took years to heal. If you could, you’d shut your ears and disappear from their memories.

But you had a heart.

Yessenia gazed down at the liquid in the cup, her expression downcast with her lips in a frown. “She isn’t doing so well, the business is failing and her health is not what it used to be. Brother and I have tried everything to help with the finances but nothing works, the sales keep plummeting..”

A dull clink was heard the moment your cup was set down. With crossed arms and furrowed eyebrows, you let out a sigh. “..I assume you want my father’s money. Is that what you’re asking?”

Her green eyes shimmered at the mention of your fathers savings. Before he had met his end, your father left everything to you in his will. The love you had for your father was like nothing else and you hated to see him so enamored with a wicked woman who only degraded you in your childhood, sans his presence of course. However, it seemed that he realized his mistakes and the impact they had on you, which you believe led to him only naming you in his will. Not his second wife or your two half-siblings — you.

It was unknown how he died, but there was a fire and you assumed that that was the cause. After his funeral took place, a lawyer traveled to your home to inform your step mother and half siblings that his life’s savings were to be transferred to you upon your eighteenth birthday. You hadn’t used them all up, you were wise with it. With that money, you’d get yourself a nice cottage in the outskirts and afford to have your beloved feline taken care of. After those two things had been settled, you pretty much put the rest of the money into a savings account.

After all, your father had been a rather successful doctor.

“Well, you see..” Yessenia began. She went on and on about her mother’s condition; Mentioning here and there that they had gotten themselves into debt that they could not afford to pay. “I hope you know that this is not how I would have liked us to reunite,” Yessenia held your hands in her own. “Sister, please. Her condition is dire.”

Following that moment, you sighed and slipped your hands away from her. “Allow me to see her and assess her condition; I’ll make my decision afterwards.”

Yessenia’s brows furrowed and for a moment you could see those same ire-ridden eyes from your childhood — though they were gone as soon as they appeared. “Do you believe me to be a liar? Is that why you’re asking?” Her words were sharp and reminded you of when the two of you were children. When she would tease you and blame you for any mishap.

“No,” you matched her sharp gaze. “However, I have no reason to believe this is even true. I have not seen your family in almost seven years now, how do you expect me to trust you?”

Yessenia sighed and placed her cup down on the table. “Very well. I shall take you to see her in a week’s time. Is this arrangement fine with you, sister?”

A curt nod signalled the end of the conversation between the two of you. She was gone in a matter of minutes; as soon as you watched her figure get smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the fogginess, you closed the door.

Or well, that is what you would have wanted to do.

Before you could retreat back into your warm sanctuary, you felt the presence of someone else near you. Again, the feeling of being watched surged up inside you. You were sick of this paranoia; So much so, that you were just about to close the door and call it a night. The wind and fog obscured your vision so there was nothing you could do, it wasn’t like you were going to spend the whole night searching for a culprit that may not even exist.

That was, until you saw a tall figure in the distance. A small gleaming sheen of blue seemed to be staring at you, but you knew not what it was. With your brows furrowing in confusion you walked out to your porch leaving the door closed so your feline wouldn’t venture out and get sick. “Who’s there?” You spoke loud enough for them to hear, but the wind was howling and the snow around you was making a ruckus with the way it swirled and fled. Before long, you were surrounded by the blizzard, unable to see the figure. Only your house was in a distant view. “This was stupid,” you muttered to yourself while you bunched up the fabric of your skirt to walk through the thick snow. Maybe it was because your vision wasn’t the best while in the snow-storm, but you bumped into something — someone. Slowly, your vision was brought up to see none other than the familiar mask of The First.

“Ca..pitano?” The words were hard to get out with your teeth chattering every few seconds. Maybe you should’ve taken a thick coat before venturing out to find that figure with gleaming blue lights… But then you would have likely lost them in the storm. At least now you could confirm what your stalker looked like.

“______?” The confusion was evident in his tone. With not a moment to be spared, Capitano slipped off his thick coat and wrapped it around you. ‘And they say chivalry is dead..’ you thought to yourself as you adjusted to the leftover warmth within the coat. “You’re far from home. Why?” The Captain questioned you while he escorted you back home. You wondered if he could see better than you, given these conditions.

More importantly, you wondered how exactly he knew where you resided.

“You know where I live?” you directed your vision back to him, curious as to what his answer would be.

There was the sound of chains clinking as he nodded. “I personally scouted the area before the training commenced, it would have been unwise to do so.” Your vision shifted from you to your home which was now becoming clearer and clearer to see. His answer wasn’t anything peculiar so your suspicions of him possibly being your stalker were slim to none. “However, you’ve yet to answer my question. Why did you decide to walk in this blizzard? I’m sure you know how detrimental that could have been to your health.”

“I’m not fragile, I can take care of myself.” You slurred your words a little because of the cold that bit at you. “But if you must know, I..” Should you tell him about the stalker? He was one of the harbingers.. Maybe he could actually help you with the situation? You hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I went out on a walk to clear my head.”

“In this weather?” the harbinger questioned, his voice sharp yet seemingly concerned. Soon enough, the both of you reached your cottage. It didn’t take long since you had not walked too far, thankfully. Still, the cold was troubling you. Your pyro abilities made your body less susceptible to the cold, but Snezhnaya’s winter was nothing like a normal cold.

You nodded and turned to face him once the two of you arrived at the steps of your cottage. “Yes, It wasn’t this bad when I first stepped out. I’m deeply sorry to have troubled you; I know a man such as yourself has more pressing things to take care of.” The Captain’s vision lingered on your figure. The way you shut down his line of questioning clearly indicated that you were concealing something from him. However, he also understood that the two of you were not so close for him to demand answers of that sort from you.

So with a subtle sigh, the Captain allowed you to take off the coat he allowed you to wear. You offered it back to him; Looking at him now, he had a lean build, it contrasted what you had initially thought of him. Without his coat he seemed less imposing — but the mystery surrounding him remained. He seemed much taller, if that was possible, now that you were face to.. Chest, with him.

The Captain’s claws subtly brushed over your fleshly hands as he accepted his coat back. He grunted while adjusting it around himself, it seemed there was something he wanted to say. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Harbinger cleared his throat. “If there is anything at all that ails you, do not hesitate to notify me.”

You blink once.

Then twice.

The words failed to come out of your mouth; Who would have thought that a simple sentence like that could leave you speechless? Now, you were not one to have your head in the clouds about every single man who showed you kindness. Nonetheless, when a man like the Captain — who is revered, not only in Snezhnaya, but all throughout Teyvat and who is the pinnacle of regality and unrivaled strength — His kindness would leave a simple woman like yourself, in awe.

“I.. -Yeah, yes. I’ll make sure to do so, Capitano.” you stammered. After giving you a nod of acknowledgement, he was off to the training grounds. Slowly, you crept into the safety of your home. Your eyes wide with confusion and a newfound excitement? With his kindness shown to you in these past few occasions came a plethora of questions.

If his encounters with you were not coincidences- Did it mean that Capitano had intentionally gone out of his way to seek you out?

You chuckle. “No, that would be stupid..”

#capitano #capitano x reader #capitano x goth wife #capitano x wife reader #capitano genshin #capitano angst #capitano x you #jume fics #yandere capitano #genshin capitano

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bbywriter · 3 days ago

Text

quiet days | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: when you drown at the scene of a mass casualty incident, chris will do anything to make sure you live.

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader, doctor!chris x doctor!reader

warnings: heavy angst, drowning (oc almost dies), they’re briefly mentioned but matt and nick are also doctors in this lol, probably very inaccurate medical terms and procedures that i just learned through greys anatomy and reddit.

notes: hi guys<3 this was inspired by that one episode of greys anatomy where mer drowns, and also a finnick odair fanfic called ‘two souls, one heart’ by @wife-of-all-dilfs. this author probably has no idea i exist but she actually made me wanna start writing. check her fic out if u love heart breaking angst like me</3. also i’ve been in so many fandoms in my life lol can u tell?

please lmk what u think about this one, im rly proud of it<3

word count: 6.2k

—

Quiet shifts are no good. Sure, it should be a comforting feeling for a place like the hospital. The stillness of stable patients means nobody is on the verge of death, and everything has a chance to breathe.

Nurses can chat quietly over stale coffee and residents finally sit down for a moment. The clock on the wall ticks cautiously, each second dragging its feet. Even the overhead speakers rest. But it’s quiet—the calm before the storm. Where everything slows down, and you should have been too…

“Baby, come sit,” Chris starts. He’s settled on the old lumpy couch of the resident’s lounge, his arms tucked behind his head as he talks to you with shut eyes. “I feel tired just looking at you.”

You glance at him and chuckle. “Your eyes are closed.”

“Yeah, but I can hear you walking.” He cracks one eye open to watch you pace back and forth across the room, then teases with a tired smile, “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you reply with a laugh, but you know he’s right. You should sit down and try to relax—but you just can’t.

There’s a restless energy simmering in the air. It’s an unspoken rule every doctor knows too well: stretched silence always leads to chaos. You never say it out loud, that “it’s quiet,” because admitting it might summon the mess faster.

But everyone feels it. The whole place holds its breath, bracing for the inevitable.

You linger by the doorway, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, half considering his advice. As if he can hear the silent battle unfolding in your mind, he lets out a sigh. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke worrying about nothing,” he says, softer this time. “Maybe tonight’s just… easy.”

You want to believe him, but your gut just refuses. You’ve been through this before. Countless times. When the quiet lulls you into a false sense of security before havoc shatters it without warning. An ambulance could come barreling in any minute. Multiple traumas. Code blues. Someone crashing hard and fast.

And although you think that worrying could somehow hold back disaster—as if keeping your mind in the same state of adrenaline as a hectic day could trick the universe into giving you a break just this once—if you’d known your life would soon be pulled from your fingertips, you wouldn’t have been so stubborn to just sit down and hug Chris for five extra seconds.

He drapes his arm across the back of the couch.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, offering you a spot in his cozy embrace. “Just for a minute. You’ll hear the alarm if something happens.”

You hesitate, biting your lip, but finally give in. With a quiet sigh, you cross the room and sit down next to him against the cushion. Chris shifts to pull you closer into his side, his fingers drawing soothing circles along the sleeves of your scrubs.

“You work too hard, gorgeous.” He places a soft kiss in your hair, the scent of ethanol and latex lingering, but he doesn’t mind. “This place will run fine without you for a couple minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth quirks up as you look up at him. “Feels like it might fall apart any second.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Then let it. We’ll deal with it when it happens.”

Chris doesn’t give you a chance to counter him, silencing the reply you’re about to argue with a gentle kiss to your lips. You know the silent words he's trying to convey. 'You don’t need to worry, baby. I've got you.'

When he pulls away, you can only smile at his reassurance. You sink a little further into his touch, letting the tension slowly ease out of your shoulders. How could anything ever go wrong with Chris by your side?

His hand moves up to your neck, his thumb brushing softly over your nape, and even if it’s just for a fleeting moment, it’s enough to let your guard down.

Mass Casualty: Train derailment—Charles River. Trauma incoming.

Quiet is shattered in an instant.

Your pagers ring simultaneously and Chris stiffens beside you, his hand instantly dropping from your neck as both of you fumble to check the message. Eight words–like a punch to the stomach.

Chris mutters a soft curse under his breath, his relaxed demeanour evaporating as he locks into focus. He’s on his feet before you can even process it, grabbing his coat off the back of the couch.

Adrenaline spikes through you. It cuts through the lingering warmth of his touch. You follow him without a second thought, leaving behind the couch’s momentary comfort and stepping back into the unforgiving pulse of the hospital.

He glances at you, eyes sharp and steady. “Mass casualty protocol?”

You nod, already switching gears, letting instinct take over. “We’ll be triaging in the ER. Let’s move.”

The halls are alive with motion—nurses prepping gurneys, interns sprinting to set up trauma rooms, senior attendings barking orders over the rising noise. You slip into the rhythm of it without missing a beat, your mind running through every checklist, every step you need to take.

As you push through the double doors into the ER, pieces of conversation hit you– “How many victims?” and “Bridge collapse?” and “This is the worst I’ve ever seen.”

Despite the urgent orders being directed your way, Chris squeezes your shoulder to gain your attention. His tone is firm but calm.

“You good?”

There’s no room for nerves, no space for hesitation. You’ve handled chaos before, faced down death too many times to count. You know how to keep your head above water, even when the tide threatens to pull you down.

But you notice it the second he asks you—a feeling in your stomach.

Mass casualty incident? Of course, nothing good could ever come from one of those. A train just fell off its tracks. People are hurt, injuries are inevitable. No instincts are needed to know that.

But there’s something else. Something about this, about the sheer scale of it all, that feels different.

It feels personal.

And as much as your conscience screams at you to be selfish, just this once, to tell him you know something else is wrong, you go against it. Because you’re a doctor, and saving others will always be your highest calling.

So you lie.

“Yes.”

A hint of a smile flickers at the corner of his mouth as he squeezes your shoulder once more, then takes off toward the admin desk. You direct a group of interns to prepare airway kits and trauma supplies, keeping your voice clear and decisive despite the unease gnawing at your instincts.

You force yourself to take a breath, find your center.

When you lock eyes with Chris one last time, there’s no trace of fear left—just focus. He gives you a nod of encouragement and then you’re both moving, splitting off into the storm, ready to do whatever it takes to keep these people alive.

———

Standing at the head of a gurney, one of your hands steadies a patient’s jaw while the other carefully guides an intubation tube past swollen vocal cords. Sweat gathers at your temple, but you don’t dare blink, not until the tube slips into place.

“Tube in,” you call out.

The nurse standing by immediately starts squeezing the Ambu bag, forcing oxygen into Jane Doe’s failing lungs. Her monitor beeps unevenly, but it’s something. Airway secured.

You barely register the sound of footsteps entering the room when Dr. Reid calls your name, his voice cutting through the tension.

“___,” he says firmly. “We’re short on trauma docs at the scene. Finish up here, you’re leaving now with the next ambulance.”

The words barely register before you nod and strip off your gloves. The air stings slightly against your damp skin as you step back into the trauma center.

It’s only been twenty minutes since the initial alert, but the ER is packed like you’ve never seen before. Patients have piled into every corner. Monitors are beeping in frantic discord. Nurses move quickly, calling out vitals and pushing meds in practiced chaos.

The sharp scent of antiseptic barely masks the underlying tang of blood and burnt fabric. Overhead, the trauma board is a mess of names and injuries, constantly shifting as people continue to flood in.

And that’s when you see him.

Beneath the TV screen, Chris’s sleeves are pushed up, blood streaks along his forearm as he finishes with another patient. You’re supposed to be heading to the ambulance bay, but instead, something tells you to weave through the maze of stretchers toward him—to quickly let him know you’re leaving, to say goodbye.

He looks up just as you reach him, equal parts of exhaustion and relief flickering across his face. Before you can speak, his hand brushes against yours in a wordless acknowledgment, and then he’s steering you a few steps away.

It’s out of the frantic flow of the ER. The noise still hums around you, but here, in the dim space between an empty gurney and the wall, it feels like you have a second to breathe.

“They need me on scene,” you say, voice quiet but steady. “I’m going with the next ambulance.”

His brows furrow for a split second before he nods. “Reid just told me the same thing,” he says. “I’m heading out with the next unit after you.”

The earlier feeling returns as a coil in your gut, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you reach for him, gripping his wrist for just a second before he pulls you in. The kiss is brief, a stolen moment amid the madness, but it grounds you both.

"Be careful please," he murmurs against your lips.

"You too." Your fingers tighten on his scrubs before you force yourself to let go. "I love you."

His eyes soften just for a second, just long enough for the chaos around you to blur.

"I love you too."

And then you’re gone.

———

The ambulance jolts as it pulls up to the scene, tires screeching slightly against the rain-slicked pavement. The moment the doors swing open, havoc rushes in.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and gasoline. It burns the back of your throat. Flashing lights of blue and red strobe against the darkness, reflecting off the twisted wreckage of the train cars. Metal rasps under its own weight, half-derailed carriages stacked like a horrifying house of cards. Some are overturned, others crumpled like paper, their insides spilling onto the tracks below.

The ground is a mess of shattered glass and personal belongings strewed among deep pools of rainwater and something darker—blood.

A relentless mix of crying, screaming, and distant metallic creaks fills the air, like the train itself is still groaning from the impact. Rescue teams work frantically under the harsh glare of floodlights, but this devastation simply stretches far beyond their reach.

You take a breath, pushing down the sick feeling in your stomach, and step forward into the disaster.

Amidst all of it, you spot him—a little boy, barely five, standing alone by the water’s edge. His tiny frame is shivering in the cold. The flickering emergency lights cast long shadows across his tear-streaked face, his wide eyes darting frantically through the chaos. His lips tremble as he sobs. He calls for his mom in a voice so small that nearly gets lost in the storm of sirens and shouting.

Your heart cracks in half.

You know there are people with worse injuries, people who need your attention more, but you can’t ignore him. He’s alone. He’s terrified.

You kneel to his height and set down your trauma field kit, keeping your voice soft despite the surrounding noise. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m gonna help you find your mom, alright?”

He sniffles, lips quivering but silent as he rubs his sleeve against his face. Dirt and tears smear across his cheek. You extend your hand, and after a brief hesitation, his trembling fingers slip into yours. They’re ice cold, and it sends a new wave of urgency through you. You squeeze his hand gently to offer what little comfort you can. “You’re gonna be okay. Let’s get you somewhere warm, yeah?”

The boy’s teary gaze flickers between your face and the chaos behind you. His voice cracks, “Mommy’s still there... she’s... she’s hurt.”

“I know, honey, I know. We’re gonna find her,” you assure him, pulling your jacket off and draping it around his small frame. It’s too big for him, but at least it will keep him warm for now. The cold air bites the second it hits your exposed scrubs, and you can feel the chill in your bones, but it doesn’t matter. He needs it more.

Rubbing a comforting pat on his shoulder, you start to lead him away from the water. Your plan is simple, just a quick detour. You’ll bring him to a police officer, make sure he isn’t alone in all this, and then you’ll get back to the scene—

A sharp, desperate tug.

“No! Mommy’s still there!”

Before you can react, he wrenches himself free from your hold, stumbling toward the water. His feet splash into the shallows, the current pulling at his small legs.

Panic jolts through you.

“Wait!” You lunge for him, grabbing blindly—

Your foot slips.

The rain-slicked ground betrays you, and suddenly, the world tilts sideways. A sharp gasp rips from your throat as your body pitches forward.

The icy grip of the river swallows you whole.

The water closes in around you immediately, dark and suffocating. The current tugs at your limbs, and no matter how hard you try to fight, the surface only seems to slip further away. Panic claws at your chest. A bitter sting of cold water rushes into your throat and your body feels heavy, your breath shallow. Chris. Where is he? What’s happening? Why can’t you breathe?

Your limbs kick out, the instinct to survive kicking in. With every desperate movement, you reach for anything, grasping for hope.

But it’s as if the water is alive, pulling you under with a cruel certainty. You cough and sputter and scream but your lungs only fill with fire at every gasping attempt to inhale. Why won’t it stop? The thought echoes in your head, drowned out by the deafening rush of water and panic.

The infinite stretch of space around you twists and turns, safety slipping further and further from your reach. Where are you? Where is everyone? Nothing makes sense. The world is suddenly so big, so unfamiliar, and you’re so, so small. The weight of the water is pressing down with a relentless, almost inviting force.

And then, as if the time has paused for a moment, a chilling clarity washes over you. The panic and thrashing give way to a sudden stillness, and the water envelopes you in a quiet embrace.

The calm before the storm. Where everything slows down, and now, you have no choice but to surrender to the repose. The chaos above is no longer your concern. This is it. There is no future. No hope. You’ve given up on the surface; it isn’t yours anymore. This is where you belong now.

The water cradles you gently, and you let it. It feels... peaceful, in a way. There’s a strange comfort in the silence, in the weightlessness. You can still feel your heart pounding, echoing against the cold emptiness. But your mind begins to drift, like a ripple in a still pond. It’s easier this way.

In that final moment, your waterlogged mind grasps for one last thought. Chris...

And for a fleeting second, you think you feel him—feel the heartbeat you once knew, far above you, just out of reach. But then the water blurs everything again, and the darkness transforms into light, bathing your surroundings in comforting rays as you sink deeper, farther into the depths.

———

Chris arrives at the scene just minutes after you, faced with the same chaos. The wreckage of the train looms in the distance, twisted metal and shattered glass are scattered like broken bones.

Makeshift assessment beds now line the pavement, medics moving between them in hurried strides. The air is thick with the wail of sirens and the muffled cries of the injured. It’s overwhelming. Disorienting.

But then he sees it.

Your bag.

Sitting under the glow of a streetlamp, untouched, your unmistakable pink bow keychain catching the light too perfectly. It almost looks staged, as if placed there deliberately, bathed in a quiet, eerie spotlight. His stomach twists. His breath catches. The chaos around him dulls for a second, because your bag is here—but you aren’t.

He moves toward it, heart pounding, and that’s when he notices the little boy.

The same boy from earlier. The one you had been with. He’s curled in on himself, still wearing your jacket, staring at the water with an unsettling stillness.

Chris crouches beside him, voice tight. “Hey, buddy... where’s ___?”

The boy doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t answer.

Chris swallows, trying again, his pulse now thudding in his ears. “Were you cold, bud? You’re wearing her jacket. Do you know where she went?”

Still nothing. Just a slow, deliberate glance toward the water.

The air is knocked from his lungs and everything inside him sinks, dragged down by the sudden unspoken truth.

“Doctor.” A voice suddenly cuts in from behind.

Someone’s talking to him now. Their voice sounds urgent, persistent, but Chris pays them no mind.

“Doctor, we need you to move. We have a body that needs to be assessed.”

He ignores it. Ignores everything but the way the kid keeps staring at the water.

“Sir.” It’s a Search and Rescue worker, and he tries again, more forceful this time. “We need you to—”

Chris doesn’t hear the rest. He knows. He feels it.

You’re in there.

He has to get to you.

The second his feet leave the ground, he hears the shouts behind him.

“Sir—wait! You can’t—”

“It’s our job, let us—”

But he’s already in.

The cold hits him like a sledgehammer, shocking and brutal. The water swallows him whole, and for a terrifying second, he’s blind. He can’t see anything. Can’t hear anything except the pounding of his own heart and the muffled roar of the river.

Where are you?

His hands swipe through the dark, pushing against the current, but it’s impossible—he can’t tell which way is up, let alone where you are.

Suddenly, there’s light.

It flickers through the dark, cutting through the swirling murk in shaky beams. Shadows shift, water distorts, and figures drop in after him. Search and Rescue, their gear making them move steady where he thrashes. The glow from their headlamps bends and wavers, illuminating glimpses of debris drifting past, the restless pull of the current.

And then—they see you.

Your body is caught on a rock near the riverbed, motionless.

One of the divers reaches you first, maneuvering through the water with steady, practiced movements. Chris doesn’t hesitate. He follows, kicking toward you with everything he has.

The diver secures you, arms wrapping around your limp form, and starts the ascent. Chris is right behind you, chest burning, lungs aching, vision narrowing to nothing but you.

You’re so still.

Too still.

But he doesn’t let himself think. Doesn’t let himself feel anything but the drive to get you out. To get you to the surface.

Because you have to wake up.

Chris doesn’t waste a second. The moment your body is out of the water, he’s running—sprinting—toward the nearest ambulance, shoving past anyone in his way. He pays no attention to the shouts behind him, the frantic orders being thrown around. None of it matters. He needs to get you out of here. Now.

When he reaches the ambulance, the EMT doesn’t move.

“Sorry, Doctor, I’ve got orders to wait for another patient,” he says, nodding toward the scene. “They’re bringing him over now. Took a pole straight through the ribs—”

“Then that guy is already dead,” Chris doesn’t let him finish, voice cracking, chest heaving.

His thoughts are clouded with fury—It’s like he doesn’t see you in his arms. Like he doesn’t know there’s no time to waste on a lost cause.

Only, the EMT does see and does know, and it’s exactly these reasons why he hesitates once more.

Chris almost skins him alive.

“Let the next ambulance bring him. You’re taking us back to the hospital, or you’ll give me the keys and I’ll drive there myself.”

He looks at Chris, then at you—lifeless, limp and almost blue in his arms. And maybe it’s the way Chris is shaking, maybe it’s the tears in his eyes, maybe it’s the raw desperation bleeding into his voice, but the guy gives in.

The doors slam shut, and the ambulance speeds off.

———

Chris loves being a doctor. He thrives in the chaos of the ER, in the rush of saving lives, in the certainty that his hands mean something. Every stitch, every chest compression, every decision made in a split second—it all matters. It’s exhausting, brutal work, but it’s his. And if he believes in fate, he swears he is meant for this, meant to help, meant to heal.

But none of that compares to his love for you.

So when he presses his hands over your chest and feels nothing, when his breaths fail to bring life back into your lungs, he decides that there is nothing he hates more than being a doctor. Not when such a title refuses to save you. Not when all the knowledge, all the training, all the years spent fighting to keep others alive mean nothing in the face of losing you.

Chris' hands tremble as he swallows down a sob, forcing a breath into his lungs. He’s done this a thousand times before—countless compressions on countless patients—but never like this. Never while his vision blurs and his breath stumbles and his body shakes so violently he can barely keep count.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions.

He locks his hands together, pressing down hard over your chest. Again. And again. And again. Each push comes with the full weight of his body behind it, but your body remains still, unyielding. No fight. No jolt. No desperate gasp for air.

“Come on, baby,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “Stay with me.”

Your head lolls slightly with the force of his movements, limp in a way that makes his stomach violently turn. Your skin, usually so warm and full of life, is sickly beneath the ambulance’s harsh fluorescent light. Strands of hair cling to your damp forehead, and your lips, usually soft and flushed, are now a haunting shade of blue.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions.

He tilts your head back again, pinching your nose and breathes into your lungs. Your chest rises beneath him, but when he pulls away, nothing changes. You’re still quiet.

"No–"

He starts again. Harder. Faster.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions.

No response.

His own breath is ragged, his arms burn, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. Because any second now, you’ll suck in a sharp breath, your lashes will flutter, and your fingers will reach for his, warm and real and alive.

Any second now.

“Breathe,” he begs, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Fuck, breathe, ___. Please.”

But you don’t.

Maybe he should just give you his heart—tear it from its place in his chest and press it into the hollow silence of your ribs. If that is the only way to bring you back—trading his own life to hear your breath again, to see your eyes open and feel your warmth against his skin, he will do it without thinking twice.

He doesn’t care if it means his own end, because knowing you were alive, feeling your pulse beneath his hands will make any sacrifice worth it.

Two breaths. Thirty compressions.

A dull crack echoes beneath his palms, the sharp sound of a rib giving way to the pressure. His breath catches in his throat, silently waiting for you to gasp in pain. But there is nothing. The quiet feels heavier than any scream. And with that broken sound, he knows it wasn’t just your rib that has shattered.

You are gone.

Two breaths.

Thirty compressions.

He sobs silently at the realization, no longer able to hold back his tears that begin to fall in an endless stream.

This time, his touch is softer, gentler. No longer frantic, no longer desperate. The rhythm of his hands have faltered over your chest. No longer driven by a troubled need to revive you, but rather, by something tender.

It’s selfish, born of denial, the way his steady palms manually force your heart to beat. How his mouth manually fills your lungs with air. But he will do it forever—replenish your every breath and feign every pulse, merge you both together and sustain you as one if it means you are whole again.

"You’re okay, baby," he whispers, his voice cracking, barely a sound. His tears slip silently down his face as his fingers gently sweep strands of hair from your forehead, the touch trembling with a love he couldn't hold back.

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours once more—not to force air into your lungs, but to give you everything he has left. As if love alone could bring you back. A true kiss of life. "Don’t leave me."

———

The ambulance screeches to a stop once more.

As the back doors fly open, Chris is met with his brother’s eyes. A flicker of relief briefly stirs in his chest, but the way Matt’s face crumples in confusion at Chris’s pained expression instantly makes him want to cry again.

Chris doesn’t have to say a word. Matt instantly knows. Knows something is very, very wrong. For the first time since you were pulled from the water, Chris feels an aching comfort.

The burden is no longer his to shoulder alone.

The EMT starts his run down. “Jane Doe, found unconscious—”

“It’s ___, Matt.” Chris’s voice is raw, breaking mid-sentence as he looks at his brother with pleading eyes. “I found her in the water.”

Matt freezes. Just for a second. Long enough for it to feel like slow motion when his eyes glance over your pale, lifeless form And as he watches Chris mount the gurney, his hands never leave your chest, still forcing compressions as the stretcher is lifted and they rush you inside.

Unconscious. Found in the water.

The urgency in Matt’s movements sharpens, every step fueled by a surge of adrenaline, unlike anything he’s felt before. Not because other patients are less important—he’s sworn an oath to treat them all the same—but this is you. Chris’s girlfriend. The girl who’s become a sister to him.

After all the patients he’s already lost today, he refuses to let you be another.

They push into the trauma room. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, but Chris barely hears them over the ringing in his ears. Reid, Matt, and one of your interns work in a blur, voices overlapping with rapid commands. The machines beep. Someone calls for a crash cart.

Chris doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Matt’s hands are on his shoulders, forcing him back. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Chris rasps. “I need to see that she’s okay.”

“She will be, Chris.” Matt’s voice is firm, unwavering. “But you’re not in the right headspace. I won’t let anything happen to her. You need to step out.”

Chris swallows hard, his fingers curling into fists. He’s losing you all over again, and this time, he has to walk away from it.

“Matt, I can’t leave—I need to—”

“Sturniolo.” Reid’s voice cuts through the panic, steady in the chaos. “Listen to your brother. Go change your clothes.”

He wants to fight. Wants to scream that he can’t just sit and wait. But then he looks at you. At the paleness of your face under the too-bright hospital lights. They emphasize the stillness of your body in a way that the ambulance lights made you look alive. His chest tightens, his throat burning with the threat of more tears.

He stumbles backward, his legs moving on autopilot until he’s in the waiting room. All he's left with is the cold of your lips lingering on his own—so different from the familiar warmth they held before you left. He clenches his jaw, nails digging into his palms.

All he can do now is wait.

And he does.

Days. Several 24 hour cycles. Thousands of millions of seconds.

For the next week, Chris waits. Every minute is stretched out like an endless ache, his body hovering on the edge of exhaustion. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten right, hasn’t done anything but sit at your side, hoping, praying for some sign that you’re coming back to him. You’ve stabilized. Your colleagues say it’s just a matter of time. But as each day drags on with no change, the hope he clings to starts to feel fragile, like it might shatter at any moment.

“Nick and Matt are off today,” he says quietly, his voice heavy from the seat beside your bed. “But I think they’re gonna come by in the afternoon.”

He watches your face. It’s peaceful, and he can only hope that means you’re in no pain. But there’s no reply. There hasn’t been for the past seven days.

He gently takes your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. The warmth is there now, but the weight of it—limp in his grasp, the way your fingers don’t curl back in return—makes his heart crack. Another reminder that not enough has changed since the water.

“I need you to wake up, baby.”

He presses his cheek into the palm of your hand, cradling it gently with his own, your hand now sandwiched between his face and the steady strength of his hold. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that you're the one comforting him, that he’s the one being held in your arms.

“I can’t do this without you.”

No more tears fall. They couldn’t even if he wanted them to. He has already cried every last tear he has, and now, the pain remains only as a weight in his chest. His heart wrenches at the sound of his own voice. Broken and honest. He really can not do this without you. Life no longer has meaning.

He rests his head on your thigh, draping his arm over your legs. His fingers gently caress your hip while his other hand holds your wrist, keeping your palm pressed to his cheek. Anyone who passes by your room can’t help but notice the sight. It's pitiful—an embrace between a living man and his unconscious lover, waiting in a silent plea for her to come back.

“Come back to me, baby, please.” He turns his face to kiss your palm, pressing his lips softly against your skin. One last desperate attempt. “I love you.”

———

In the vast emptiness, there’s nothing. No sound. No light. Just a void that swallows everything around you, making it impossible to tell where the darkness ends and you begin. The cold envelopes you into a silence so complete, it feels suffocating.

The isolation is absolute. It’s not loneliness, because loneliness requires awareness. Here, you’re just lost. Trapped in a place that feels like it’s outside of time, where the world outside is just a distant memory. You can’t remember how long you’ve been here, or how you got here. You can’t remember the last time you felt warmth or light. You only know the relentless pull of the dark.

But then… a voice.

It’s faint at first, like a whisper across a windless field. Barely audible, but it’s there, tugging at the edges of the silence. You can’t place it, but something about it feels so familiar, like it’s a thread that belongs to you. It’s a lifeline, delicate but real.

“I need you to wake up, baby.”

The voice cracks, the sound trembling with raw emotion, desperation leaking through every word. It’s his voice. Chris’s voice.

It reverberates through the isolation, cutting through the layers of silence that have settled over you. For a moment, you don’t move, unsure of what it means. But the longer you listen, the more you realize: this voice is not just calling to you. It’s pulling you back.

“I can’t do this without you.”

Each word, each begging prayer, draws you closer to something—something warm and familiar and human. You don’t know how, but you can feel it. The weight of the isolation begins to shift, the oppressive quiet lightening just a fraction. His voice is the only thing you can feel. The only thing you can trust.

You don’t know if your heart is still beating, if it’s still alive, but his voice stirs something inside you. A faint echo of life. It pulls at the thread of your consciousness, urging you, nudging you forward.

“Come back to me, baby, please.”

The isolation isn’t gone, not yet. But his voice has cracked open a space in it, just enough for you to feel the warmth of connection again. The darkness is no longer whole, the quiet is no longer deafening.

And with that fragile sliver of sound—of love—you begin to realize you’re not alone. Not anymore.

“I love you.”

Those words, steady and strong, are the final pull. And with them, you feel the first true stirrings of movement. A heartbeat. A breath. A lifeline to pull you back from the endless void.

The warmth of his cheek is in your hand.

Chris feels it. It's faint at first, a gentle scratch of your fingers through his hair. The smallest movement, but it’s enough to make him freeze. His breath catches in his throat. His eyes widen in disbelief.

You’re awake.

He sits up slowly, hesitant, as if afraid he might disturb this fragile moment. His heart hammers in his chest, and he watches you with a mix of wonder and fear. Your eyes flutter open, soft and blurry at first, and then you lock with his.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, his voice breaking as his hands cover his face. A new wave of tears that he didn’t know he was holding back breaks free, his body shaking.

You call his name, softly, but it feels like the most real thing in the world.

“Chris…”

The sound of your voice, so tender, makes his heart lurch. His body trembles with the weight of everything he’s held in, all the fear, the doubt, the pain. He looks at you, his hand trembling as he reaches out, unsure of how to touch you—how to hold you—now that you’re here.

He finally stands, his legs weak, and pulls you into his arms. Carefully, gently at first, afraid you might shatter in his grip. But then he holds you tighter, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, his body shaking with sobs he can no longer contain.

You hold him, your arms wrapping around his back, feeling the tremors of his pain against your skin. And in that moment, you don’t cry because you’ve returned. You cry because you can feel his hurt, deep and raw, coursing through his body. It’s too much. It’s everything.

“I'm sorry, baby,” you whisper, your voice a soft echo against his trembling frame.

Chris pulls away slightly, just enough to see your face, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his lips find yours in a kiss—deep and urgent, as if he needs to make sure you’re really here, that you’re not going to slip away again.

The taste of your tears, mingled with his, falls onto your lips, but you don’t mind. You need him to feel you. You need him to know you’re not leaving.

When he pulls back, he stares at you with wide, disbelieving eyes, as if he can’t comprehend what’s happening.

“I thought you died,” he says, his voice breaking.

Your heart snaps in your chest, and without thinking, you pull him back to you, crashing your lips against his again, more desperate this time. It’s a silent vow, a message you don’t need to say aloud: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

When you finally pull away, you look him in the eyes, your voice a steady promise.

“I will never leave you.”

Without another word, he pulls you into his arms again, holding you as if you are the very air he breathes.

“I love you,” he whispers once more.

And you whisper back, your heart full and alive, “I love you too.”

—

a/n: i’m sorry<3 thank u for reading<3 please lmk what u think!!!!

also idk if u guys care to know but another lias update: idk where to bring the story😭 i’ve written and rewritten the second part like twice now but im rly stuck w where i want the story to go. i’ll get to it when i get to it but for now we’ll have inspo for other things.

ok i love u guys<333

#bbywriter ✍️#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo

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