#IT’S NOT LIKE I KILLED HIM… OR ANYTHING

[sparkpup-likes-drawing]

no no bat I understand I would too

[rawme-price]

Whoa a part 2 to jealous!ghost and immortal!reader??? Anyways they confront eachother

The heli ride back to base is deathly silent. You dont even notice the anxious looks others give you and ghost, too focused on ur anger.

You dont say a word to eachother, there's no need. But when the heli lands you and ghost walk to the empty training grounds, away from prying eyes.

There's no room for tears, not for you, not after everything you've been through. You dont hesitate to slam ghost against the wall, forearm on his throat. "What the fuck was that out there? Huh?"

Ghost growls, shoves you back a pace "the fuckin' truth. Youre privileged to walk around unafraid of death, unmarked by it, and you still have the fucking audacity to complain."

"Excuse me?" Youve got deathly still, an appalled smile creeping onto your face. "Privilege? Thats what you think this is? That im- what, gifted? I would kill to be normal, to look like you." A laugh bubbles up unbidden.

"No, you wouldnt." Ghost bites back, hand reaching up to tear off his mask. A face of scars, exposed teeth and twisting flesh. "I cant go anywhere, cant exist as I am without the whole world knowing what was done to me!"

One look, and they can see the worst years of my life! I cant even fucking kiss my love without forcing him to see all those ugly things! And yet, you. You fucking parade around and you look normal, perfect and happy! You dont have to tell anyone anything, they cant see you. Why the hell would you ever want to be this?" He motions to his body, to the scars, to every pain and injury thats ever garnered pity.

You clench your first, breathing hard and feeling a bit manic. "Why? Why would I want proof of everything thats been done to me?" You step closer, heart pounding.

"Ghost, I couldn't tell you the last time I died. It happens so much, Im hurt over and over and not a single mark is left. I cant tell you if it ever really happened. If im still dead or if I ever died at all."

I dream death so often it runs closer to a memory, but ill never know if it is. Can you imagine that? Walking through life unsure if all the things you're terrified of even happened? Yknow- ha- im scared of ovens. I think I was cremated, once, but I dont know. I'll never know. How horrible is that, to be scared of an oven because something maybe happened but you could have just made it up?"

Your can feel yourself drifting a bit, smile too wide. Ghost backs up when you step closer "but you. You know, can you can point out each fucking scar for what happened. And if it becomes to much, if your body breaks? Thats it. You dont have to endure it. Yknow, the human mind can only handle so much before it break! Is that what you want?! Do you want to break?!"

Ghost steps back with every step forward you take, suddenly silent. But ur too angry, too caught up in the whirlwind of ur mind, flashes of maybe-death crawling under your skin. You dont even realize that your hand had drifted to ur knife until a hand is suddenly gripping your neck and pulling you back from ghost.

Price glares at you, his other hand wrapped tight over ur wrist. "Thats it. We need to discuss this- as a team-" he shoots a significant look at ghost before glancing back at you "go cool down. Meet in my office after dinner."

[miseria-fortes-viros]

MY EX’S BROTHER KILLED HIMSELF THREE WEEKS AGO and saying “my ex’s brother” is kind of shitty of me i think. but i also can’t say “my friend” because we weren’t friends, and i can’t say “my friend’s brother” because now that we’re exes we’re not really friends, and also there’s a difference between “friends” and “grew up in the church together” and that’s a lot to say to someone who doesn’t have the whole picture. but it’s better to include “ex” in there somewhere, because when people hear “ex” they like to assign some bitterness to it, and it’s kind of refreshing to hear “do not meet him for coffee who cares if he’s grieving he’s an ex for a reason” instead of the run-of-the-mill scrambling for something polite and respectful to say. and then when i do meet him for coffee and his hair’s grown out again to where i once told him i like it and he tells me about his next tattoo and that he’s saving up for another motorcycle and apologizes for something he barely did two years ago and tells me that he’s single again, i can joke around with my best friend about how he still wants me if his instagram likes have anything to say about it, and i don’t have to think about how tired he looks or that, like me, he hasn’t said a word about God in six years. i don’t have to sit in the church i haven’t sat in since high school and wonder if this is the funeral—sorry, celebration of life for someone who didn’t even want to be here—my ex’s brother would have wanted. i don’t have to watch the back of my ex’s head and wonder how he can stand any of this because nobody here will shut the fuck up about God. i don’t have to sit in the back of the congregation and selfishly think WHEN I DIE I HOPE NOBODY TALKS ABOUT GOD for three hours. and usually my purse is relatively neat but right now it’s stuffed full with tissues and waterproof mascara and packets of wildflower seeds and i wonder if my ex’s brother really did like planting wildflowers or if they just told us that so we’d spread them.

later that week when i spend the night at my sister’s she tells me the exchange student she brought home for thanksgiving a few years ago was in an accident. i want to apologize because ever since i was a child i’ve felt like death follows me around somehow. his instagram says he was doing what he loved and he’s with God now. i hug my sister while she cries and i think WHEN I DIE I HOPE NOBODY TALKS ABOUT GOD. in a few days i will text her at midnight because i had a dream that i don’t necessarily remember but i do remember wishing she was still alive. and i won’t tell her that but i’ll ask her what she’s wearing to the bridal shower and she’ll say the same thing she wore to the funeral because she doesn’t have anything else, and i’ll do that too since we were asked not to wear black and the blue i wore is much more suited to a happy occasion anyway. the brides will make a toast to loved ones lost while i’m wearing the same dress i wore to celebrate the life of a dead boy and my grandmother will pray to bless the union and i’ll arrange flowers and play little games with the women in my family and all i can think is WHEN I DIE I HOPE NOBODY TALKS ABOUT GOD.

whenever i tell people my cousin drowned they always ask if he’s okay and that always surprises me because i feel like the word drowned has a finality to it; it’s an end result, and if he was okay i would have said almost drowned but i didn’t. and sometimes when i talk about someone in the past tense people will say what do you mean was? is he not your uncle anymore? as if the concept of death is so far-fetched and archaic that it only happens to the elderly and the extremely unlucky and people on tv. these are the same people who keep talking about Heaven and eternal life and how death is just the beginning and nobody’s really gone and i smile politely but i want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them and say fuck you. MY EX’S BROTHER KILLED HIMSELF THREE WEEKS AGO and i am drawing pictures and watching a trashy reality show when one of the contestants announces his early departure because his sister has died.

why do you write so much about death? what is everyone else writing about if not death? a few years ago i found out people think i’m obsessed with the idea of dying. i am not. i didn’t know there were people out there who have not experienced tragedy at all. i say tragedy and people think it just means loss. i am not talking about old men passing peacefully in their sleep. i am talking about a drowned fourteen year old and a fiancé whose heart suddenly gave out and a new grandfather t-boned by a drunk driver. these are too unrealistic for fiction. you write too much about death. i am not afraid of death and i’m not sure if that’s leftover from teenage suicidal tendencies or the result of years of exposure but i am afraid that i will die unexpectedly and nobody will know who to tell and so none of the right people will find out. and then the only people at my funeral will be family members who keep talking about God and Heaven and eternal life and give out packets of wildflower seeds, and i will watch from inside my casket even though i wanted to be cremated and i’ll scream EVERYONE SHUT UP ABOUT GOD until i can almost feel my throat but nobody will hear me because i am dead and no longer have a throat. my friends will keep texting me and wonder if i’m angry with them.

my ex’s brother killed himself three weeks ago. after the funeral i take a day off of work to sit in my kitchen and think WHEN I DIE I HOPE NOBODY TALKS ABOUT GOD.

[arabellaseraphim]

For the Sun is Set to Die by Lycurgus

Tags: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Time Travel, Childhood Friends, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Angst with no happy ending, Idiots in love, Mutual Pining, Romantic Tension, Flirty Sparring, Attempt at humor, is "bro" a petname?? Well it is now, references from books I've never read, it's 4am, there is no word for beta read in the Kremnoan language, this bad boy can fit so many of my agendas, there will be no wasting of potential here, The Author Regrets Nothing

Word Count: 33,550,336

i know we all hate lygus but i can’t disrespect the man’s dedication to his fanfic. he stood in front of nanook with a twenty slide presentation on why his childhood friends to lovers time travel au phaistelle fic was crucial for propagating the destruction

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none

“Where’s Liam? Her husband.”

“In the NICU with the baby.” You search for air in the room like a fish out of water, not surprised to find it lacking. “He’s been going back and forth.”

“Right.” There’s a patient in this bed, and it shouldn’t be your sister. Your sister, who was suddenly pre-eclamptic and had a massive pulmonary embolism, who delivered a tiny, twenty six week old baby who’s upstairs on a vent. “She um, has there been a neurological exam?” The nurse shakes her head sympathetically.

“Not yet.”

“And they’re sure it was a PE?” PE, worst case scenario normally, but Tess’s was worse. The kind that kills you.

“They’re sure.” You eye the computer on the desk. You’ll absolutely lose your job if you pulled up her chart but the desire to comb through every single test, every single note, is burning under your skin. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you though.” She’s sweet. You don’t know how ICU nurses do it. You patch your patients up and send them on their way, either to another unit or out the door, while they watch theirs die half the time. “I’m just going to sit for a while.”

“Okay. Let me know.” She motions to the call button and you give her a weak smile, swallowing the nausea rising in your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Oh. Hi.” He regards you evenly, rhythm of the rocking chair never missing a beat.

“He was having trouble regulating his temperature.” The texture of your scrubs against your skin suddenly feels too scratchy, the room itself too warm.

Doctor Riley is shirtless. In your patient’s room. Shirtless.

“Right.” He nods, like it’s natural, like he’s not sitting in here, with your tiny patient cradled against his chest, Eli’s small arms and legs and feet and toes curled up on his forearm, the wide expanse of his palm pressed to his back. “I uh, I just need his blood pressure.” You weren’t even supposed to have this baby today, but Key asked you to switch, something about being overly attached and needing a break and now, you’re standing frozen in the doorway frozen with what you’re sure is a stupid, dumbstruck expression. He cocks his head.

“Daisy? You okay?” Yes. No. You don’t know. Your reaction to him is unsettling. It’s like an undertow, and  your arms are weak, your muscles are burning, and you’re trying so hard to swim against the current, to fight it.

But you’re losing.

And you never lose, you can’t lose. Not now. Not when you have Riley, or she has you, and you have everything on your fucking shoulders, dragging you down into the dirt.

“Daisy, hey.” Eli is back in his crib, Doctor Riley’s scrub top is on, and he’s standing in front of you, hand hovering at your elbow. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat of his skin, and the growing need inside you urges you to lean into it, into him. “What is it?” I’m tired, you want to confess, it’s too heavy, it’s crushing me.

“Nothing, sorry, just didn’t sleep super well.” Your patient squirms, and then lets out the smallest cry, interrupting the tightrope you’re standing on, and you give Doctor Riley an apologetic smile. “I should get him. He's uh, NPO for surgery later today, right?”

"That's right. Are you circulating?" You try to look away as he rolls his shoulder and his scrub top rides up his belly, exposing a sliver of skin just above his pants, but it's impossible not to linger on him. He clears his throat, and your cheeks flood when you realize he's also staring at you, waiting for a response. Jesus Christ.

"Oh, no. It'll be Isa." He frowns.

"I thought-"

"We switched." You shrug, trying to play it casual, and his relaxed demeanor changes, turns tense as his jaw hardens to stone.

"You what?" He looks pissed, and you scramble to try to explain it.

"Yeah, we, a few of us, switch sometimes. No big deal, we-"

"Daisy," Your name is heavy gravel echoing from his chest, low and full of warning, and you brace for his usual anger, or impatience but it doesn't come. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a very long, very deep breath, and rubs his face. "No more switching without my approval, do you understand?"

"I-" He cuts you off.

"Do you understand, Daisy?" In all the pieces of this man that you've seen, this one is the strangest. It's the firm yet tender one, the one that makes your knees weak and your head hurt. The one that ignites the flame, and every time he takes it with him, it leaves you alone. cold. Confused.

"Yes, I understand Doctor Riley."

The very pretty woman with the very cute toddler clinging to her legs is standing off to the side across from the nurses station.

“Do you need help?” Maybe she’s visiting a patient? Though kids aren’t usually allowed in the NICU. She gives you a smile, and ruffles the little boy’s hair.

“No, we’re okay. Thank you. Just waiting for-” The toddler giggles at something down the hall, and without even looking, you know.

It’s Doctor Riley. He’s wearing casual clothes, the second time you’ve seen him in them in a month, and a dark blue baseball cap, though it doesn’t do much to hide the crinkle of his eyes when he gets closer to the woman and her child. He looks good, he looks great, he looks-

like he could ruin you as he goes down on one knee and the little boy flings himself into his arms, his chest rumbling with a chuckle as he pretends to gnaw on him. They fit together, same sandy blonde-brown hair, same eyes, same stocky build. Reality crashes into you like a tidal wave, and you try to ignore the way your throat constricts. The reaction is completely illogical.

You try to appear busy as he stands with the boy and flings him over his shoulder, leaning in to give the woman a kiss on her cheek. “Get in alright?”

“No problems, yeah.” He tucks her into his side, the two of them shouldering the weight of the boy now, and he giggles.

“Should we get this hungry lad to dinner?” She nods agreeably, and he hitches the toddler onto his hip, his babbling and giggling still rolling even as he snuggles into Doctor Riley’s chest. You tear your eyes away and start clicking mindlessly through a chart, trying to ignore the weird tangle in your chest, a knot tugging tighter and tighter, compressing your rib cage.

What is wrong with you?

“Daisy.”

“Sorry? I was looking at these labs.” The toddler swings his legs and Doctor Riley stills him. The knot gets tighter.

“I said Karim is on call tonight, but if anything is urgent let me know too. Especially with Ellie.”

“Okay.” Ellie is straddling a thin line. Some days she’s great, some days she’s struggling, and it can all turn on a dime so fast your head spins. “We’ll let you know. Have a good night.” There’s a brief interlude, a moment of silence as he looks you over from head to toe, and then scoots the boy up higher on his side.

“You too.”

The HR woman looks like she’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

And she probably does.

You certainly wouldn’t want to be sitting behind a desk, staring at someone as they realize their loved one won’t have health insurance for a full calendar year.

“I don’t understand.” You keep trying to make it make sense, to fit the puzzle pieces together, but nothing clicks. “That… I wouldn’t do that. I’m careful, I’m so careful.”

“I understand this is difficult-”

“I have a medically vulnerable dependent. You don’t understand anything.” You shoot to your feet. “So what does this mean?”

“You’ll need to make arrangements for Riley’s health insurance after her current plan expires in three months.” You’re going to be sick all over this ugly office carpet. “You can look at plans on the marketplace, or apply for medicaid.” You laugh. It’s sharp and brittle, heavy with disbelief, anger. You don’t qualify for medicaid, you’ve tried. Your income level is above the threshold, even though your costs drain you dry. And looking for insurance on the marketplace is no better. Those plans start at eight hundred dollars a month.

“I chose this plan for her specifically, for what she might need if something happened. Why didn’t she just roll over onto the new plan with me? She’s been my dependent for years.”

“You have to enroll everyone individually when you change plans. The instructions are very clear.” This is all your fault. You did this. You were careless. You were stupid.

Your stomach flips and thrashes.

“Okay.”

“Any medical care you or Riley receive here will be heavily discounted.”

“That’s… that’s great. Thanks.” You’re speaking but you don’t know what you’re saying. Everything is numb except for your nausea, which is rapidly turning the contents in your stomach into a projectile. “I have to go.” You rush out, and before she can even answer, you’re down the hall, slamming into a bathroom and keeling over the toilet.

Fuck.

“Just get married.” You drop your spoon and it clatters on the table. Olivia looks unimpressed, but Ava can never be deterred.

“Ava.”

“What? Pick someone. You’re smart and kind and funny and beautiful. I’m sure someone around here would marry you in a heartbeat.” She’s so nonchalant about it, like this is a logical solution.

“And tell them by doing so they’re committing fraud with me?” Her sigh is exasperated.

“Oh come on. Have you never read a romance novel?”

“Sorry I don’t exactly have a lot of time to read.” She waves you off.

“It’s called marriage of convenience. Get married, stay married until you can enroll Riley in health insurance again and it kicks in, get divorced, or…”

“Or?”

“Maybe fall in love along the way?” You choke on your yogurt.

“You’re actually insane.”

“Uh-” Olivia whispers, but it’s too late. Doctor Price is looming over Ava’s shoulder.

“Hey girls. “Causin’ trouble over here?” He winks, and she beams up at him.

“Us? Never.”

“Well I-” His phone interrupts him with a shrill ring, and as he walks off, Ava turns to you, suddenly very serious.

“Except him. I call dibs.”

The day is bad but it’s nothing compared to the weight on your chest.

It has you pinned down, immobile, stuck behind the wheel of the truck, keys in the ignition, staring through the windshield at nothing. Maybe the crack of sunlight between the concrete barriers of the parking garage if you were forced to pick something, the tangerine pink shadows of the setting sun scrawling across the sky.

You keep replaying the conversation with the HR rep over and over and over, like a broken fucking record, a carousel you can’t get off. The sun sinks lower and you know you need to leave, you need to get home, but you can’t bring yourself to put your foot on the pedal.

Who are you going home to? The kid you’ve failed, again? This is far worse than a late school drop off or too much ice cream before bed or a momentary short straw of patience.

You’re so lost in your own head you don’t even hear the knock on your window, and it takes the metal creak of the door being tugged on to snap you to attention.

Doctor Riley.

Simon.

He’s holding the handle with an expectant look on his face, and you hit the unlock button.

You don’t know why you do it, why you sit there shock still as he reaches across you to turn the truck off and pull the keys from the ignition, why you turn in the seat to face him, immediately holding your breath.

He’s so confusing. The rough edges, his gritty accent and sharp, biting words are nowhere to be found sometimes, and what’s left in their place is this. This man. The one who watches you, who’s pushing you closer and closer to an edge like he already knows what will happen, like he’s waiting for it.

Like he wants to destroy your foundation, your armor, like he wants to shred your control.

All of it by design.

“What is it?” You shake your head. There’s nothing you can say, nothing to give him that would explain the direness of your situation, the depth of your failure. Your lungs are burning, but you can’t bring yourself to release the air the you’re holding in your chest. “Daisy. Let it out.” Your refusal is steadfast, but he outfoxes you, places his hand on your thigh and takes you by surprise, the reaction rippling through to force your exhale. “That’s it, good,” the praise feels better than it should, and oxygen comes easier. So does the next one, and his hand doesn’t move as he coaxes you. “You’re doing great.” Eventually, stasis returns as your breathing evens out, and you try to come up with something, anything to say.

“Doctor Ri-”

“Simon. Outside of work, that’s who I am to you. Simon.” You feel the urge to freeze your lungs all over again, but like he’s reading your mind, he squeezes your thigh and the pressure is thoroughly distracting. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had a bad day.” A shit summation but the only one you can offer. His chest expands with his own deep breath. “That’s all.”

“That’s all.” He echoes. “You had a bad day, so you’ve been sitting in the garage for a half an hour with your truck running, staring into space,” he reaches for your face, pad of his thumb lightly tracing the curve of your cheekbone, and now you’re holding your breath for an entirely different reason. “But that’s all.”

“I… yeah, that’s all.” He sighs. It’s long, and you think about what he’s carrying, the weight of all those little lives and their families too. Is he tired like you? Desperate for a reprieve even though he knows he can’t slip up, not even for a moment? There’s no comparison. In a world of the two of you, your weight is a feather and his is the world. Atlas carrying it all on his shoulders.

And that makes you burn.

His hand falls, and with a metallic chirp, your keys are pressed into your palm. “You should get home.”

“Right.” The acknowledgment sticks in your throat. “Yeah.” He cups your cheek. Cups it. Holds it like a treasure before his touch vanishes completely, leaving you cold. Confused.

“Goodnight Daisy.”

“Goodnight Simon.”

[oescil]

𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗪𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗞 ˆᗜˆ boyfriend!enhypen

( 精確的 ) 𓏧 when it’s that time of the month 👜 엔하이픈 ╱ 𝗇𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗎 𝑓!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚𝟰𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 ✿

HEESEUNG

honestly, he’s kind of flustered the first time. if you tell him your cramps are hurting, he goes wide-eyed. “okay okay—should i get the doctor? not the doctor, but like…..food? medicine? heating pad? blanket? socks?”

but once he clams down, he’s clingy and sweet, but not in a smothering way, more like “if you’re gonna feel pain, at least suffer using me as a pillow.”

he’d turn off the lights, queue up your comfort shows, and lie behind you with his hand on your lower belly. not too much pressure, but he’d feel like you’d want him there with you.

he doesn’t say much unless you wanna talk, but when you do? he listens carefully, even if it’s about a minor inconvenience you had. to him, this is a “bare minimum boyfriend mission” and he takes it very seriously.

JAY

jay’s the type to anticipate it. not in a weird way — but he’d like to call himself observant. if your cycle’s pretty regular, he’d text you the day before saying: “tell me if you need anything for tomorrow.” his love language is preparation.

he has painkillers, pads, and tampons stacked just in case. he’d research the best foods that help with bloating and low iron, and he won’t say it, but he’s proud when he sees your surprised reaction.

he just moves around the house doing little things for you— folding laundry, making sure your water bottle is full e.t.c.

if you’re feeling irritable, he gives you space, but always—and i mean always, checks in on you. “you okay?” “sorry for snapping baby, i didn’t meant it.” “don’t apologize, i’d be pissed too if my organs were trying to kill me once a month.”

JAKE

this is all very new to him, he’d feel like he’s walking into a new territory. at first he’d be like “what can i do for you? anything you want.” then two hours later he’s back with five bags of snacks, 3 kinds of juice and a humongous teddy bear that he thought would cheer you up. (he’d try to act casual about like he didn’t pace around the store trying to find the ones you like.)

he’s very physically comforting — likes to sit close, stroke your hair, and let you lie across his chest while he scrolls through his phone.

he doesn’t take offense if you’re short with him. in fact, he’s unbothered. “do you want space? “no.” “you look like you need to yell at someone…” “well….kind of.” “don’t worry, i’ll sit here and take it.”

he might joke a little, but if you’re in actual pain, the playful energy disappears. he’ll hold your hand, stay quiet, and rub small circles on your back until you feel better.

SUNGHOON

he doesn’t say much, but he’s does notice when you act ‘different’. he can tell something’s wrong just by the way you exhale or how you sit with your arms around your waist.

so when he realizes when its that time of the month, he quietly takes care of things. heating pad plugged in? check. your favorite sweatshirt handed to you without asking? check. extra blanket folded on the couch? check. your comfort drink sitting next to you with a tiny post-it note: “hope this helps.” check. check. check.

he’s not overly touchy, but if you lean into him, he’s all in — pulling you into his side, hand resting softly on your hip.

he doesn’t ask a hundred questions, he just does things. like warming up the bathroom before your shower, or texting, “don’t worry about anything today. just rest. i’ve got you.”

SUNOO

sunoo is lowkey the period fairy godmother. he understands what you’re going through and doesn’t downplay anything. when you say, “i’m in pain,” he doesn’t respond with fake sympathy.

he just looks you dead in the eyes and goes,“okay, that’s it. you’re not moving. you’re going to sit down, and i’m handling the rest.”

he brings you every snack you love (and also things he knows you secretly want but wouldn’t ask for), and sets you up in bed with a laptop, your fuzzy socks, and background music.

he will also spoil you emotionally — complimenting you constantly. “yes you’re bloated. you’re also adorable. and i’m obsessed with you. so let’s keep the drama at zero today.”

JUNGWON

he notices before you say anything — the way you hold your stomach, how your mood’s a little off, or how you suddenly don’t want your favorite food.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just quietly grabs a blanket, tucks it around you, and sits next to you with a bottle of warm tea.

when you eventually say, “my period started,” he just nods. “i figured. want me to make you something warm?” he’s calm about it, which makes you calm. he doesn’t overreact or make it awkward — he’s just naturally nurturing.

he knows which painkillers you usually take and reminds you to eat something before you take them. “if you don’t feel like talking, it’s okay. i’ll stay with you anyway.”

Ni-Ki

at first? he’s confused but trying his best. like, he’s seen it in health class and K-dramas, but this is real life. you’re curled up, silent, face in a pillow — and he’s just hovering like, “do i… bring food? or… a priest?”

he asks questions. some weird. some helpful. “are the cramps like… inside cramps or muscle cramps?” “if you ate something sweet, would that help or make it worse?”

once he gets the hang of it, he’s actually really good at it — especially with physical comfort. he gives you his hoodie, lets you wear his socks, and quietly joins you under the covers. when you shift uncomfortably, he’ll adjust pillows around you and mumble, “i don’t really get it, but… i can just stay here until it passes, okay?”

If you’re grumpy, he would try and make you laugh as much as possible. “don’t hit me, i’m fragile.” “…shut up.” “but i brought you cookies. love me again.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

kill - july 13 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 307

“I need you to know that you’ve completely altered James Potter’s personality.”

Regulus, who had his phone pressed to his ear as he took his soup from the hotel microwave, furrowed his eyebrows and made a confused noise. “What d’you mean?” He asked Remus Lupin, who was on the other end of the line.

“James Potter. The bloke who’s completely obsessed with you?”

Regulus, now carrying his soup to the immaculately white hotel bed, snorted. “Sure, says you. Go on.”

“Well, he’s never been able to remember to do anything. He’d forget to tie his laces if he didn’t keep tripping over them. I love the bloke, but he has raging ADHD, you know that.”

“Sure.”

“He’s been watering that plant he’s babysitting for you like clockwork. Hasn’t even had to set a timer on his phone. He’s terrified to kill it.”

Regulus, who had settled into the covers with his lackluster meal and was flipping through the mediocre channels on the TV, paused. “What?” he asked, surprised.

“Every day at 7pm. He’s relentless.”

He let out a little laugh. “It’s a fake plant! I just…he asked for something to remind him of me while I was gone on my work trip, as a joke! I gave him the first thing I cast my eyes on! It’s…it was five pounds, I got it ten years ago!”

“Well he wasn’t joking. He’s dedicated, Reggie.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You really think…?”

Remus sighed, clearly exasperated. “He’s as gone for you as you are for him. It’s embarrassing, really.”

Determined now, Regulus set his soup aside, climbed out of bed, and started looking around for pants. “I have to go,” he said quickly.

“Why?”

“I’m gonna buy him a plant.”

“Honestly…the epitome of a romantic gesture.”

He just hung up, grabbing his wallet and striding out the door.

[rainrot4me]

I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA

how do you think the proxies/creeps would subtly show that they like you? aka obvious signs they have a crush on you

✦ . JEFF THE KILLER

Jeff’s version of “subtle” is standing closer than necessary and making rude jokes that weirdly sound like compliments. He doesn’t know how to flirt—he teases, smirks, and gets overly protective when others talk to you. He’ll stare from across the room, dead-eyed, until you look back, then pretend he wasn’t staring.

“What’re you looking at? …Tch. Whatever. You’ve got something on your face.” He wipes it off with his sleeve, then walks away fast.

✦ . TICCI TOBY

Toby gets nervous. He stutters more, taps his fingers, pulls at his hoodie strings. He’ll bring you random stuff—rocks, weird flowers, trinkets he found in the woods—like a forest gremlin version of gift-giving. If you’re cold, his jacket is yours.

“I dunno… I j-just saw it and thought…you m-might like it. It’s dumb, just t-throw it out if you want.”

✦ . EYELESS JACK

EJ won’t say it aloud, but he lingers longer when he checks your injuries or tends to you. He starts memorizing your habits, prefers to be in the room with you even if he’s silent, and might brush his hand against yours under the guise of a pulse check.

“You’re hungry. Again. I made something for you. Eat it.” It’s your favorite dish, suspiciously perfectly prepared.

✦ . MASKY (TIM WRIGHT)

Masky gets quietly territorial. He’ll always stand between you and others, offer you a smoke, let you wear his jacket. Doesn’t speak much about his feelings but will do little things—fix a broken item of yours, patch up your shirt without saying anything.

“You gonna keep wearing that torn sleeve? Here. Sit still.”

✦ . HOODIE (BRIAN THOMAS)

Hoodie is subtle to a terrifying degree. He’s always aware of your presence, keeps tabs on your mood, and shows affection through acts of service—making sure your door is locked, quietly fixing your gear, handing you your favorite drink without asking. You never see him coming, but his playlist changes to your favorite songs whenever you’re around.

“Your gun was rusting a little on the trigger. It’s all good now. Just watch out for it.”

✦ . KATE THE CHASER

Kate gets sarcastic. She’ll tease, bump shoulders, act like she’s just “looking out for you.” But she watches you more than she watches others, and gets weirdly quiet when you get all giggly with her. Also, she always volunteers to go on missions with you.

“I’m not following you around—I just don’t trust the others not to get you killed. That’s all.”

✦ . BEN DROWNED

Ben gets cocky. He challenges you to games constantly, brags when he wins, and sulks when you beat him. He’ll stream you horror games he knows you hate just so you’ll “need” him close. May glitch your phone to have no signal so you’re forced to hang out with him.

“You’re seriously terrible at this game. Lucky you’ve got me, huh?”

✦ . CLOCKWORK

Natalie tries to act chill, but she gets flustered around you. She fidgets with her blade, talks a little faster, makes more eye contact than usual. She’ll make excuses to spend time near you, like training together or sharpening gear next to you.

“Wanna practice hand-to-hand? Or you could just sit there and watch me. I don’t know, it’s whatever.”

✦ . LAUGHING JACK

LJ goes full chaos. More magic tricks, more gifts, more jokes. He pokes at you (literally and figuratively) just to get your attention. If you laugh at his jokes, he’ll light up like a Christmas tree and hover around you the rest of the day.

“Oh, you like that one? Just wait! I’ve got a hundred more—unless you don’t like them. Oh, well. I’ll tell them anyway!”

✦ . NINA THE KILLER

Nina is shameless. She blushes, giggles, and clings to your arm. She’ll carve your name into trees, write hearts with your initials, and stare dreamily when you talk. If you compliment her? She might actually faint like a victorian maiden saved by her knight.

“You’re so sweet… Stoppp I’m flattered. Wanna match outfits?”

✦ . HOMICIDAL LIU

Liu is careful. He smiles gently, listens to you talk for hours, and always makes sure you’re okay. He’ll brush hair from your face, offer you tea, and stare at your lips when you speak. You’ll catch him looking away too quickly.

“You talk like you don’t know how captivating you are. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

✦ . JANE EVERLASTING

Jane is respectful, but her affection shows through her loyalty. She defends you in conversations, praises your strengths, and checks in on your emotional state. She treats your opinion like gold and always makes time for you.

“No offense, but I only came to this because I knew you’d be here.”

✦ . X-VIRUS

Cody flirts. Constantly. He’s touchy, makes suggestive jokes, but backs off the moment you seem uncomfortable. Underneath that, though, he gets real quiet when you’re upset, and will actually go out of his way to make you laugh.

“C’mon, beautiful. Don’t look at me like that—I’ll die of guilt and then who’ll charm you?”

✦ . SLENDERMAN

Slenderman doesn’t show it the way humans do. He watches over you, warps reality to protect you, and appears the moment your heartbeat spikes. He communicates through feeling—like safety and calm when he’s near. Sometimes you find little notes left behind. You hear a soft hum in the forest, and suddenly, you feel…very safe.

“Sit and stay if you prefer. I’ll be here.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[yumiblaze]

Cursed - Saja Boys X Fem!Reader Part 7

Hey guys I want to let everyone know I officially have reached the maximum amount of people I can tag so if anyone else wants to follow the story I post almost daily (And mostly just chapters of the story) so best just to follow me or check in everyday

PROLOGUE / PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / PART 5 / PART 6

NEXT PART

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was slightly awkward when Mystery came back into the room with a glass of water and Baby was still hugging you and crying like… well a baby. The mint haired boy did quickly wipe his tears and act like he didn’t cry once he realised you were no longer alone. He then left the room in a rushed manner mumbling to Mystery about not telling anyone about this on the way past.

Mystery just shrugged and brought the glass of water to you with a small smile.

“Thank you Myst.” You said using a shortened version of his name.

“Myst?” The boy repeated titling his head to one side. You giggled at how cute he looked with his head tilted like that.

“It’s a nickname for you, do you like it?”

“Yes but you’re the only one allowed to use it.” The boy replied taking one of your hands in his bigger warmer ones. As you sipped at you water you watched the purple haired boy gently play with your fingers. He seemed completely contented with your one hand, wiggling each finger and feeling how smooth your palm was.

You finally took a proper look at the room you were in. It was a lilac coloured room with a bookcase in one corner filled with all kinds of literature. The bed you were in was a double and the bed covers had a picture of a beautiful sakura tree covering them. Pulling them closer to yourself you could faintly smell the scent of lavender. The only other thing in the room was a small wooden side table with a simple lamp on it. It was a nice room and you started to ponder if it was a spare room or if you had stolen someone else’s bed.

You were also wearing someone else’s oversized t-shirt, probably because all your clothes were drenched in blood. It made you blush when you realised that meant not only had someone let you borrow their own cloths but that at least one of them had changed your cloths while you were unconscious.

It wasn’t too long before you heard the front door being unlocked. You didn’t think too much of it until Mystery put your hand down and stood away from the bed, uncomfortably crossing his arms over his chest. You put down your water on the side table and frowned not quite sure what to expect.

You quickly realised who was in the apartment as soon as you heard a symphony of rushed footsteps getting louder. The door burst open and three familiar girl ran over to you.

“Oh my god (y/n)! Thank god you’re okay!” Rumi practically yelled hugging you tightly.

“I was so worried about you!” Zoey sobbed hugging you as well.

“I swear I will find whatever did this to you and kill it.” Mira promised grabbing onto your hands.

You weakly smiled trying to hug your girls back. Your eyes flicked over to the door, Jinu leaning against the doorframe and giving you a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry for worrying you all.” You told them as they started to calm down.

“Did it hurt a lot? You need to describe them to us so we can find them! Did the nasty demon boys treat you nice enough? Did they feed you? Do you need anything?” Zoey asked one hand on your shoulder and the other gently cradling your cheek.

“It hurt but the boys were really good and they did an amazing job looking after me.” You answered truthfully.

“Don’t think this changes anything.” Mira told Jinu glaring over at him. “As soon as we get (y/n) out of here the truce is over and we go back to being enemies.”

“I know.” Jinu replied coldly.

“Though I wonder if she should even be leaving.” Baby spoke up suddenly strolling into the room, his chill laid back personality back.

“What do you mean?” Rumi asked cocking an eyebrow.

“Well this is the second time we’ve had to save (y/n), not to mention the amount of demons we’ve caught sniffing around your apartment while you guys were out and sweet little (y/n) was all alone.” The mint haired boy explained looking at your sister with bored blue eyes. “You didn’t even catch a couple of us sneaking into your apartment on multiple occasions.”

“You’ve snuck into our home?” Mira asked angrily.

“Only to protect what you’ve forgotten to.” Baby snapped back.

“Stop it.” You told Baby, not wanting everyone to argue.

Baby looked like he wanted to say more but after looking at your serious face he sighed and decided to look through his phone instead. Everyone was quiet for a few moments not really knowing what to say.

“Why did you save her though?” Rumi eventually asked looking from Baby to Mystery and finally to Jinu.

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.” Jinu replied.

“Yeah right, I bet you were just doing this to make us softer on you.” Zoey scoffed holding you protectively against her chest. “One good deed doesn’t change the fact that you’re a disgusting demon!”

You noticed your sister flinch as Zoey finished her sentence. You remember what Baby and Mystery had said about her, her reaction told you that it was definitely true. You wanted to ask her about why she was lying but you didn’t want to out her right now, as much as you were hurt she didn’t tell you.

“Can you walk?” Mira asked you uncovering you.

“She shouldn’t.” Mystery said quietly. “She needs rest.”

“I wasn’t asking you.” Mira replied glaring at the quiet boy.

Mystery didn’t verbally reply but you could hear him growling like a dog that was seconds away from snapping at someone.

“Mystery’s right she can’t walk home yet.” Rumi admitted pulling up your borrowed shirt and looking at the mass of bloody bandages wrapped around your abdomen.

“Oh my god my poor little (y/n)!” Zoey fussed her eye brimming with tears again. Even Mira seemed to grimace when she saw the bandages.

“We can’t just let her stay here.” Mira stated.

“Why not?” Baby chirped with a smirk. “We can look after her.”

“Ew.” Zoey whispered shielding you from the boy.

“Can we speak about this outside for a moment?” Mira asked Rumi and Zoey, who nodded in reply.

“Be right back sis.” Rumi assured you giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

You watched the three girls leave the room before Jinu approached you.

“You feeling better princess?” He asked you brushing some hair from your face. You nodded, smiling softly. “Good but you better realise we’re never letting you out of our sights again.” He told you gently cupping your face with his warm hand.

���Maybe I don’t want to ever be out of your sights again.” You replied leaning into his touch.

“Does that mean we can watch you shower?” Baby asked suddenly making you and Jinu both turn red.

“Baby!” You cried glaring at him, your face still red. The boy smirked at you, amused by your reaction.

“So is that a yes?” The boy pushed, sticking his tongue out at you.

“Baby I swear if you don’t shut up I’m going to break your damn phone!” Jinu hissed covering his red face with one hand.

@ffcfffr @whimsiecat @gremlinartstudio @chugjugg @aerissblog @kitkatpattywack2808 @airwolf92 @fries11 @doggyteam2028 @downbadgirlypoo @kashasenpai @seung185 @faefanatic @izzieg3987 @lansy-4 @weponxwrites @bunniotomia @chaoticfivesworld @clmstorm @sra7riddle-malfoy @vi1326 @justanotherkpopstanlol @jaeyuuns @tikitsune @zzsloth @yumi-does-stuff @ghost-reine @yuurisfavblog @dragongirl642 @just-a-blue-nerd @snowy-violet @justanindiangirl12 @sexually-attracted-to-pans @minthoneynbasil @tatsuri-zomushiki @ellie-x0xo @olxh @satansdaughter123 @reallysparklychaos @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @lostsomewhereinthegarden @avadakadabra93 @szc56 @phoenixflying666 @l0wlifepr1ncess @reverie-sxno @fantasyhopperhea @bakusquadobsessed @adorablepandasuniverse @sad-sie

[allsteddie]

And what about a soulmate AU where everyone sees in black and white until they finally touch their soulmate for the first time?

Steve is disappointed when nothing changes after he and Nancy start dating, and even more disappointed when Nancy and Jonathan turn out to be soulmates not long after she breaks up with Steve.

He goes in a lot of dates, with a lot of girls, makes sure to always touch them somehow to see if something happens. Still nothing.

Then one day he’s working at Scoops Ahoy when Eddie Munson walks in, a bunch of his nerdy friends tagging along. Robin is on her break, so it’s just Steve there to deal with everybody’s orders. Fifteen minutes, a lot of arguing between the nerds and four satisfied costumers later, Eddie hands Steve a couple of bills to pay for everyone’s ice cream and that is the moment Steve’s life changes.

Their fingers brush and, suddenly, his black and white world explode in color. It’s so overwhelming the money slips from his hand and Steve has to grab the counter to steady himself, the world around him seeming to spin.

“Hey, Eddie, are you okay?” one of the nerds (Gareth?) asks.

Steve blinks, still dizzy and trying to understand what the hell is going on. When he lifts his head, he sees Eddie pretty much in the same state as him, two of his friends holding him up and supporting him as the man looks dazzled, the third one holding his forgotten ice cream and looking lost and distressed.

“What the fuck did you do to him, Harrington?”

But Steve can’t bring himself to say anything, he’s too busy freaking the fuck out. Because Eddie Munson is his soulmate, apparently. Eddie fucking Munson. What kind of joke is that!?

“Get off me,” Eddie says, pushing his friends away until he’s standing by himself.

He’s still struggling, that’s quite clear, but Eddie Munson has always been stubborn and has always refused to show any kind of weakness. He’s not gonna start doing it in front of Steve of all people.

“Look, man,” Steve starts, not really knowing what to say, but needing to say something. Eddie doesn’t let him finish, though.

“No, shut up. Don’t even start,” he says, fierce. If looks could kill, Steve would be dead right now. “I don’t wanna hear anything, I refuse. Fuck this. It doesn’t change a single thing, you hear me? It changes nothing.”

“And who says I want it to change anything? You’re not exactly my dream come true, Munson.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish, Harrington.”

“What is happening here?” another one of Eddie’s friends whispers to the others, who are just as confused.

“Shut up, you too!” Eddie snaps at them. He takes a last look at Steve, then turns his back. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Steve watches as Munson marches out of the shop, his friends trailing behind him and trying to catch up with his pace, and that’s all he can do; watch. Because what else would he do? Ask Munson to wait so they can talk about the fact that they are fucking soulmates? As if. Steve would rather flush his own head in the toilet.

After that, they avoid each other like the plague. And if not knowing who his soulmate was had been bad, knowing it is not much better. Steve still can’t understand how the universe, or whatever force chooses this soulmate shit, came to the conclusion that Eddie Munson would be his perfect match. For the first time in his life, Steve wonders if these things could be wrong somehow; if maybe some soulmates were just not meant to be.

The next time Steve sees Eddie, the man is holding a broken bottle to his neck and threatening to kill him. Eddie is terrified, eyes frantic and the hand holding the bottle is trembling, and Steve is so relieved he’s okay he would probably hug him if the risk of getting stabbed wasn’t so high.

“We’re on your side,” Dustin pleads. “I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

And there’s a change there, in Eddie’s eyes. A flicker of recognition and hope as he looks at Steve before letting him go. The others don’t notice, but Steve does. He’s hyperaware of everything Eddie does, every small movement and look. He sees the nervous fidgeting and the touch of hysteria in Eddie’s words, but also the trust the other man shows when he agrees with Dustin’s plans, and how it helps him with the anxiety. And it’s weird for Steve, being so in tune with whatever is going on in Eddie’s mind that he can actually read the guy like a book, but is also comforting somehow.

By the time Dustin finishes explaining his plan, Steve’s not so sure the universe was trying to fuck with him when it chose Eddie as his soulmate. Not anymore.

[extemporary-username]

I'm not usamerican, but both my grandfather and my uncle died from lung cancer caused by asbestos, and we hat to wait until 2019 to get a law passed to ban asbestos

My grandfather used to work for Eternit, a national construction company that made a bunch of shit with asbestos, he (and a great majority of his coworkers) had to bring his work clothes home so my grandmother could wash them

When he brought them, they were full of tiny asbestos particles, Eternit always said they were safe, my uncle and my aunt and my mom loved playing with those particles, that shaked the overalls so they spread through the air, they said that it looked like snow, so they danced and played around that snow

My grandfather died before I was born, I never got to meet him, his last months were spent in absolute agony cause morphine had stopped working, a lot of his coworkers had died or where in that same situation. Eternit refused to pay for any of the treatment, arguing that they had offered enough protection and that it was the workers fault

My grandfather decided to take his oxygen off one night, he was dead when the nurses came in the next morning

My uncle died when I was 13, 30 years after his exposure, he had been battling with misdiagnosis and going from hospital to hospital for a year, when they finally found the cancer it was too late to do anything, his lungs had formed huge crystals from the asbestos and he was slowly suffocating, I remember going to visit him, and I had to walk around the bed to talk to him cause even turning around caused him immense pain. Morphine stopped working for him too, and he chose to take his own life as well. He left 2 kids, both still in school

My mom has to get checkups every 10 years, I'm afraid they'll find something one day

My grandma says she's too old to care, she already had to watch one of his son's dying

Ana Cecilia Niño, the woman that lead the fight to ban asbestos on my country, died before she could see the law passed, she left her daughter and her husband, she lived her childhood on a neighborhood created by Eternit, she too would play with the snow and sleep under asbestos roofs, the water tanks were made from asbestos as well

If Trump passes the law, he's killing the workers, their families, and every single person that will have to sleep under asbestos roofs and drink from those water tanks, asbestos can cause cancer even 50 years after the exposure, and the particles can be so tiny they won't show in screenings until they start forming crystals

Another Kremlin policy to kill Americans put in place by MAGA traitors.

[heavenly-reaper]

perv namgyu || mdni +18

i wrote this with an awful headache so enjoy !

☆ PERV NAM-GYU who takes polaroids of you naked and sticks them around the house for you to see (you don't remember him taking them)

☆ PERV NAM-GYU who will take your underwear and jack off into them, leaving his cum in there for you to feel when you put them on.

☆ PERV NAM-GYU who will touch your tits & ass whenever he feels like it, in public or not.

☆ PERV NAM-GYU who will cum to your voice when your in voice chat with him (he'll accidentally forget to mute himself so you hear everhthing)

☆ PERV NAM-GYU who will watch porn with an actress who looks exactly like you, pumping his dick to the thought of you being pounded by him into oblivion.

☆ PERV NAM-GYU who will purposefully ask you to pick something up infront of him when you're wearing something short so he has a pretty outline of your cunt.

☆ PERV NAM-GYU who will literally fuck you anywhere & anytime he sees fit, he might not even be horny. if his dicks soft, then you'll have to suck it hard.

☆ PERV NAM-GYU who would do anything for his pretty little fuck toy, at the end of the day he would literally kill for you.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

a/n: cross-posting from wattpad; you can definitely tell this is an older one but it’s also of my favorites (even though i don’t love the ending)

summary: basically 'i love you in every universe' but make it nat x you :) different timelines & universes

warnings: mentions of homophobia, cheating on a third person, mentions of blood, occasional bad writing

word count: 6.5k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— 1953 —

"Your coffee", you say, putting the cup full of steaming hot liquid down in front of your husband. He barely recognizes your presence, nodding curtly as his attention stays focused on the newspaper in his hands. You force yourself to keep a sigh from slipping out as you turn around again, drying your hands with a dish towel.

In the kitchen, you prepare breakfast. Sunny side ups, toast, orange juice. Bacon for William, like always. If his cholesterol doesn't kill him eventually, nothing else will, you think as you shake your head.

You serve him the food. Again, a brief nod, this time accompanied by a mumbled 'thanks'. You take the spot across from him and slowly start eating by dipping a bit of toast into the yolk of your fried egg.

You eat in silence, no words exchanged. The only thing you can hear is his chewing, not exceptionally loud but still irritating enough for you to notice. Every single thing, every tiny cough and sigh and slurp seems to build your tension up. You clear your throat in an attempt to calm yourself, which only works minimally.

It's not his fault; not really, anyway. Getting married to someone you don't love certainly wasn't the best idea, but it's you who did it. He didn't force you to — he just enabled it.

You still can't help the aversion you feel towards him. The way his lips smack when chewing his toast is enough for you to quickly stand up, holding your still almost full plate in your hands.

William looks up, not seeming too surprised. "Done?"

"Not hungry anymore."

He nods and finishes his juice in two big gulps, then he closes the newspaper and gets up. Fixing his tie one last time, he walks to the hallway and looks for his jacket.

"I'll see you later. Dinner will be ready by the time I arrive."

The latter sentence isn't a question — it's a statement.

"Of course", you say quietly. "Have a nice day."

Another brief nod. "You too."

The door closes behind him, and you exhale as you turn around. You stand behind the curtain, staring at your car until you see him sit down in it and drive away. The second the blue Buick has left, you rush to the mirror in the bathroom to check your hair and freshen up.

Some makeup, perfume, a nice necklace. Wedding ring on the shelf and the apron off your body, you head out the apartment and down the stairs. Thankfully, your desired destination isn't too far away.

You slip into her apartment without anyone seeing you, closing the door quickly. Then you finally allow yourself to look at her, and you can't help but smile timidly.

It's been almost two years, but the things she makes you feel never lost their intensity.

"Hello", she says softly, her hand resting on your waist as she draws you closer. "I missed you."

"Oh, did you?", you reply with a small grin, resting your hands on her shoulders as you feel yourself press up against her. Natasha smiles as she pulls you in, kissing you slowly. You sigh into the kiss, suddenly feeling completely at ease. Every bit of tension has disappeared from your body, at least for now.

You don't know how long it lasts, to be honest — you feel her lips on yours and the door against your back, rough hands caressing your waist gently. You slip from one moment to the other, letting the bliss wash over you like a warm shower.

You have no idea how many hours you've spent here, in her arms. All you know that you come here nearly every day, and you always stay until at least 4pm. And, as risky and confining the hiding can feel sometimes, you still wouldn't trade it for anything.

When she eventually pulls away, you can't stifle the sigh that comes from your mouth. Your eyes stay glued to her face as you look at her, heart thumping wildly in your chest.

The affection she's giving you is so different from what you usually experience, and you mean that in the best way.

Every bit of affection you receive from William — no matter how tiny it may appear — leaves you feeling disguising all over. It's as if your skin is covered in sticky fingerprints, making you want to shower in boiling hot water.

But with Natasha, the kisses and touches and embraces actually feel nice. They make you feel wanted, loved, as if there's truly something about you that can make someone else fall head over heels. You can finally be yourself in her arms — and you'll never stop wondering how something that feels so wonderful can be so hated by the world around you.

Natasha pulls you into the living room, where she quickly draws all the curtains closed. Only then does she join you on the couch, where she pulls you into herself before closing the distance between your lips and hers.

This time, the kiss is rather short. She pulls away reluctantly, her hands still cupping your cheek. You put your hand on top of hers, knowing fully well she can feel the heat in your face. As her eyes search yours, you realize she's about to say something — something big.

"Y/N, I'm leaving next week", she then says, quietly. You blink a few times, trying to let her words sink in. You don't succeed.

"Excuse me?"

Natasha hesitates. "There have been issues. Someone left something in my mailbox, and...it's not pretty."

You stare at her. "What?"

She shakes her head, slowly taking her hands off your face. "You don't want to know."

"No, I actually do. What is it?"

More hesitation from her side. She averts her eyes, internally debating whether she should tell you or not. After all, there's no need to make you worry about her — but it also wouldn't be fair of her to just leave it like that.

"A letter." She takes a deep breath, looking at the covered window. "The threats were quite blatant. They know what I am, Y/N."

Your heart starts racing in your chest again. This time, it's because of fear.

"No."

"Yes."

She leans back, finally looking at you again. You lean in, placing your hands on her cheeks.

"You can't just- I-" You cut yourself off, feeling incredibly selfish. Natasha wanting to leave because of the letter's contents just shows how bad it actually is. Her reaction is most likely well justified.

She looks at you, face empty but eyes full of sadness. An unidentifiable look crosses her face.

"Come with me", she then whispers, taking your hand into hers. You feel your throat going dry. "Run away with me."

For a moment, you're unable to respond. Your mind is all over the place as you're trying to figure out whether she's actually being serious.

Of course she is — she doesn't joke like that.

"But William", you say weakly. "We're married."

"Divorce him", she says, fingers entwining with yours. "You don't love him. He doesn't love you, either. We can be happy together. Somewhere else, where no one knows us."

"Natasha..."

"I'm serious."

You hesitate once more, trying to consider the idea. The pros, the cons, the risks — all of it fills your head within a split second, making it impossible for you to think straight.

"I don't know", you eventually whisper. "I'm sorry. I just don't know."

Natasha wasn't expecting anything else. Who'd give up safety and security in a world like this, even if it was in exchange for being with the person you love?

She doesn't blame you for not knowing. Instead she pulls you closer, kissing your cheek as she holds you tight.

. . .

"Not tonight", you say dismissively as William lets his hand slide down your thigh. He looks at you, lightly grabbing your knee. "I said not tonight. Please."

He sighs, not hiding his frustration at all, and opens the book on his nightstand. You turn around, staring out the window at the crescent moon.

By the time you've fallen asleep, you've made up your mind.

About everything.

. . .

Running away doesn't always mean running to freedom. But, as it is often the case, running away is better than staying where you are.

You get divorced — which, just like you expected, isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world, especially not for a woman. But you do it anyway.

Not much later, you and Natasha move to a different state. You find jobs, and an apartment, and you move in under the disguise of being friends who are trying to find a husband. From that day on you live a somewhat normal life, even if you spend most of it in the shadows.

Natasha and you will never be truly free. Years, decades will pass until you're finally holding hands outside your apartment for the first time — and even then you do it cautiously, constantly looking over your shoulder and everything.

You do get engaged, but actual marriage isn't an option until you're both at an age at which it feels as if you've been married your entire life.

But you get married anyway.

. . .

— 2000 —

It all started at a football game.

Bleachers full of students, the early evening air cold and fresh. You made your way past crowds of people, closely following your friends as they lead the way. You never were the biggest fan of sports events, but you don't mind going to one every once in a while.

Arriving at your seats, one of your friends spotted a girl she knew sitting in the row in front of you. They started talking, and shortly after the girl introduced her own friends to you: among them, Natasha.

At first, you didn't really know what to do. Your attraction to girls had always been something you were aware of, but the redhead was so painfully pretty that she seemed like the human reminder of it.

You decided to be quiet for a while and just sit back and watch the game. But Natasha's eyes kept flickering to you, and you also couldn't stop yourself from looking at her. Soon enough, everything else was forgotten about, and you were lost in a conversation with her. You let everything around you fade into the background as all you could focus on were her voice, deep and sweet, and the way her eyes seemingly just refused to move away from yours.

The hours flew by. The game ended, and everyone started leaving. Another look exchanged, and you finally found the courage to ask her into which area of town she was going.

After having found out that her house was only five minutes away from yours, you decided to walk home together.

Another conversation, this time a much more intimate one as you were finally alone. Natasha was funny, and sweet, so the thirty minute walk suddenly seemed impossibly short; you got to her house way earlier than you wanted to, and you lingered at the bottom of the stairs for a good few minutes as you just stared at each other, neither of you able to say what you felt.

Your first kiss happened on her porch, in the dark. You still remember the faint taste of cherry coke on her lips.

. . .

Her hand, once gripping yours tightly, lets go as you walk into the building. Crowds of students everywhere make it almost impossible for you to make your way to your lockers, so you edge past them in a hurry. Natasha throws you a slightly amused glance as she stays right next to you, her fingertips brushing against your wrist.

You're used to this by now. As soon as there are people in sight, you let go of each other — that's the way it's been since the beginning, and the way it'll stay for a while. It doesn't bother you as much anymore, but you still wish it was different.

"You got biology now?", you ask Natasha as you grab a stack of books out of your locker. She looks at the tiny 'N' that's scratched into the back of the locker door, smiling slightly.

"Yes. Calculus for you?"

You sigh. "Kill me."

She smiles. "Absolutely not. I'll see you at lunch, then."

"If I survive until then", you tease. Natasha shoves your arm.

"You're too dramatic for your own good." Then she quickly leans in, a tiny smirk on her face, and whispers: "I love you."

You grin back, something doing somersaults in your stomach. "I love you too."

. . .

Hidden beneath the staircase of the cafeteria, you let your fingertips brush underneath her jacket as you deepen the kiss. She smiles against your lips as her hands play with your hair, wrapping strands of it around her fingers and gently tugging on it. The taste of bubble gum is prevalent on her tongue, making you hum with satisfaction.

Everyone else is at lunch, loading up their trays with cheap hamburgers and whatever else the lunch lady is serving today. It couldn't interest you less, as they don't have what you want anyways.

You know you're not entirely safe in the shadow of the staircase, but you're confident enough to keep going with what you're doing. You kiss the underside of her jaw, making her breathe out a ragged laugh.

You're so invested in this that you don't even notice when your arts teacher, on her way to the bathroom upstairs, hears something. You don't notice that she peeks under the staircase and spots you, making her eyebrows shoot up. You only notice when she clears her throat, and you quickly jump away from Natasha with a bright blush on your face.

If you know one thing, then it's that being caught kissing another girl usually doesn't mean anything good for either of you. Your mind is immediately overwhelmed with thoughts about detention, being sent to the headmaster, your parents being called.

"We can explain-", you hurry to say, but your teacher quickly cuts you off.

"You're not allowed to be here during lunch. Now go and grab a bite, hm?" The look on her face is calm, but serious. Still, you don't miss the hint of a smile she gives you.

You frown, not entirely trusting her.

"Okay..."

"Come on", she says, waving her hand. "You got ten more minutes until lunch is over."

Natasha glances at you, and you meet her gaze. Then you decide to just do what you're told and slip out from underneath the staircase, quickly hurrying into the lunch room.

. . .

"We're not doing that again", you say quietly, your fingers entwined with Natasha's. You're all the way in the back of the bus, squeezed together as tight as possible. Your letter jacket is protecting your intertwined hands from unwanted attention.

"Nothing happened", your girlfriend says appeasingly. "We just got sent to lunch."

"Yeah, because Mrs. Stirling is a hippie. If my geography teacher had caught us-"

"He didn't, though."

You stifle a sigh. "Nat, you know what I mean. We can't risk stuff like that."

She raises her eyebrows and squeezes your hand wordlessly. You smile slightly, knowing exactly what she's implying.

"Okay, yes, but this is different."

"It's really not, but whatever." Natasha looks out the window, spotting something. "Let's get out here."

You frown as you look outside, seeing the Main Street with the library and all the stores. A nice part of town, but definitely nowhere close to where you live.

"But this isn't our bus stop."

"I know. But there's something I want to do with you."

You hesitate visibly, knowing you're the one who's supposed to make dinner tonight.

"I don't know..."

"Please."

Your eyes meet hers, and you let out a silent breath. Then you crack a smile and nod.

"Okay, sure. But I have to be home by six."

Natasha says a hurried 'fine, whatever' and then gets up, dragging you down the aisle to the exit. You jump out as soon as the door opens, and Natasha grabs the sleeve of your sweater to pull you towards an arcade.

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from making a joke and decide to just follow her blindly. Maybe this will be fun, even though this kind of activity is usually popular amongst middle school kids and other people you don't want to be around.

Inside the arcade, it's basically empty. A few kids here and there, more kids eating hotdogs in the sitting area, and a mom dragging her screaming child away from the Street Fighter II machine. You glance at Natasha, slightly amused that this is where she wanted to go.

"Come on", she just says. "We're in a hurry."

"Oh, are we?"

"Thanks to you", she points out, "yes."

Just like that, you stumble along as she leads the way to the racing games. You sigh as she sits down, throwing in a token.

"Where'd you get those from?"

She shoots you a sly smirk. "You'd like to know, huh?"

You shake your head. "Okay, whatever. What is this?"

"You think I know?"

Your eyebrows furrow as she starts the game, and you watch her drive the digital car. "You...you've never been here before?"

"No", she says nonchalantly, effortlessly drifting through a turn. Your eyes stay glued to the screen as you can't help but be slightly impressed.

"Okay", you say slowly. "I won't ask any questions."

"Good."

When she finishes the game, she leads you to a different machine. This time, it's Arkanoid; you're familiar with it, so it's your turn to play. Your hand on the joystick and your focus on the screen, you get close to beating the high score when, suddenly, Natasha hugs you from behind and rests her chin on your shoulder. You immediately lose control over your hand, causing the ball to go past the Vaus and making you lose one of your lives.

Natasha laughs quietly, her warm breath fanning your neck. You can feel your heart beat out of your chest.

"You're insane", you say weakly, glancing at her. She smiles and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Don't worry, we're alone", she then whispers.

You look at her, feeling the relief wash over you — until you remember something.

"Security cameras", you just say, face going pale. She pauses, then shrugs and kisses your cheek. "I'm serious."

A low sigh escapes her mouth and she brushes her lips against your jaw begrudgingly. "You're no fun", Natasha says, but lets go of you anyway.

. . .

She walks you home after you get out of the bus. You can't hold hands — thanks to the exhausting amount of nosy neighbors who are just waiting for some kind of scandal to happen —, so you settle for walking close enough to at least let your hands brush every few seconds.

You reach the path that leads to your house, and you linger by the mailbox for a moment. Her gaze meets yours, the green color shining and piercing into your eyes.

"You could stay for dinner", you say softly, letting your fingertips touch her forearm for a way too short moment.

Natasha smiles, but shakes her head. "I don't think your parents like me."

"They're not coming home for another hour, though. Only my brothers are here, and they don't care."

She looks at you, still seeming doubtful.

"We could kiss again", you then add, a sheepish look on your face. That promise is enough to convince her, and she nods as she follows you to the porch.

You slip through the open door, silently letting it fall shut behind you.

. . .

— 2018 —

Eyes on the targets, your hand on the gun. You can feel the sweat trickling down your neck, making you silently curse the vent you're in.

The men underneath you don't stop searching for you. You killed their boss, and now they're out for blood. Your blood, to be more specific.

It's pretty clear that you don't stand a chance. There's about a dozen of them, some armed, some not. But they're all dangerous in their own way, which scares you more than you'd like to admit.

You clutch the gun tighter as you feel it slowly slip out of your sweaty hands, and you swallow. Through the thin gap between the vents you can see how one of the men looks up, his face turning more grim as he notices something. He reaches up his hand, grabs the bottom of the vent and, before you can think twice, you're falling.

Within a matter of seconds, you're surrounded by them. You shoot at them, firing bullet after bullet, and hit a few of them in the process. Then you roll around, trying to dodge the torrents of bullets coming your way. Despite your best efforts, one hits your arm. You groan in pain as you keep shooting blindly, hoping to hit at least a few more of the men around you.

Things don't get easier when you notice you're out of ammunition. You dodge another bullet and throw yourself down a flight of stairs, staying in a position that will — hopefully — keep you from getting injured too badly.

The men follow you, running down the stairs and continuously firing shots at you. You mutter a curse as you dodge another bullet, feeling it graze your shoulder, and try slipping out of the building. But the doorknob won't turn, and you quickly realize you're cornered.

At that moment, you're pretty sure this is it. You get ready for the bullets to perforate you, which would lead to an inevitable death. You doge one more bullet, eyes narrowed out of fear — and suddenly, someone else joins you.

Her red hair, tied back and with tiny braids, is familiar in the sense that it makes you roll your eyes. You squeeze yourself into the corner as you watch Natasha take the men out one by one, until they're all lying on the floor.

She finally looks at you, slightly humored by this situation.

"Don't", you say warningly before she even had the chance to utter a word.

"Nice to see you, too." She puts her gun away and walks up to you, pulling you to your feet. You whine quietly as the pull on your arm makes the bullet wound hurt. Her gaze flickers to the bleeding wound on your arm, and a look of worry crosses her face. "You're bleeding."

"I can tell, thank you very-"

A gunshot cuts you off, and you both turn your heads. More men are sprinting down the stairs and, this time, they're all armed.

Natasha doesn't think twice before shooting the doorknob, making its lock burst. Then she grabs your hand and pulls you with her as you start sprinting. A sharp pain flames up in your ankle, making you cry out.

"Where's the safehouse?", she yells, trying to be louder than the traffic outside and the gunshots firing from behind you. You turn a corner, slipping into an alleyway. The men are still following you.

"I'm not telling you that!"

"Goddamnit, Y/N!" Natasha mutters a curse as you keep running for your life. You reach a dead end, making you stop in your tracks — but then Natasha notices a guy getting onto a motorcycle, so she quickly shoos him away with her gun before jumping on. She turns her head frantically as you stay frozen in place.

"We can't just steal his motorcycle!"

"Come on", she urges you. You sigh and get on behind her, wrapping your arms around her as tightly as you can. She fires the engine before speeding away, the cobblestones underneath you causing the ride to be one of the less smooth kind.

It takes a few minutes until you feel like you're somewhat safe again. You sigh quietly, leaning your face against Natasha's pleather jacket and feeling its fabric cool your heated cheek.

She glances at you over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Now tell me: what were you doing there all alone?"

"I was on a mission", you mumble. "I had everything under control."

"Sure you did. If I'd arrived just seconds later-"

"Yeah, but you came just on time", you reply snappily. "As always."

"I saved your ass."

"I didn't need your 'saving'."

Natasha huffs silently, but she can't help but feel amused. You've been gone for a while now, and she missed bickering with you.

She takes another turn, just to be sure, then she asks you for the location of the safehouse again. This time, you tell her — albeit reluctantly.

After about ten more minutes she makes the motorcycle come to a halt, and you both get off. She wraps her arm around your waist before you can protest, then she leads you into the rundown apartment building. A staircase leads to your apartment, which she helps you climb slowly and steadily. Your ankle hurts horribly, so your guess is that you sprained it.

Natasha unlocks the door with the key she fished out of one of your pockets, then she helps you to the living room. You've developed a limp, thanks to the fact that you can't put any pressure on your right foot anymore.

"Lay down", she orders, already on her way to the bathroom. You roll your eyes but do what she said, feeling the soft cushions of the couch underneath you.

She returns with a first aid kit in her hands and sits down next to you, already opening the white tackle box.

"Suit off."

You narrow your eyes playfully. "Trying to catch a glimpse?"

Natasha looks at you, amusement shimmering in her eyes. "Don't worry, that already happened. Now take that thing off so I can see how bad the wound is."

You chuckle quietly as you pull down the zipper. She gently peels the fabric, which is sticking to your skin, down so she can look at your upper body first.

The gunshot wound on your arm is the worst injury you have. It's still bleeding, so she hurries to get it treated before you lose too much blood.

Your eyes stay glued to her face as she applies the bandages. It's a nice view, which makes the situation at least somewhat better.

"Done staring at me?", she mumbles as she puts another bandaid on to secure the bandage. You stifle a laugh.

"I wasn't staring."

A smirk appears on her face as she looks at you. "Sure you weren't. It's okay, though. I missed you too."

You shift in your seat, looking not too convinced of that. "Oh, please."

"I'm serious. Now get up so I can take off the suit and see your ankle."

"You won't be able to treat it anyway. I sprained it, I think."

Natasha sighs, clearly getting impatient. "Y/N."

"Yeah, yeah, fine", you mumble, slowly rising to your feet — or rather your foot, as you're still not putting pressure on one of them. Natasha peels the suit off you and helps you step out of it, then she tosses it aside. She gently lifts your injured leg and puts it up on a chair so she can look at the ankle.

She touches and feels your ankle carefully, making you hiss out silently. Another mildly concerned look from her side.

"It could be broken."

"It's not broken", you respond irritatedly.

"Could be, smartass. I'll apply some ice, but if it gets too bad we'll have to find a doctor."

You nod, not in the mood to contradict her. Natasha gets up and grabs some stuff for you — clothes, painkillers, a glass of water, some snacks —, then she joins you on the couch again. As she curls up next to you, you can't help but feel relieved that she's here.

Moments of silence pass as you just sit next to each other. The sun outside is still high up in the sky, but it'll soon start setting.

You turn your head again to meet her eyes, and she smile softly.

"I am pretty happy you're here", you finally admit the thing you didn't want to say out loud. Her smile turns into a small grin. "But...how the hell did you find me?"

Natasha chuckles at that question. "I knew that was coming."

You grin slightly. "You didn't answer my question, idiot."

"The answer is none of your business." She nudges your side with her elbow. "Just be glad you survived after basically digging your own grave. What were you even thinking?"

You nudge her back, frowning. "Jerk. I was doing well until I failed to escape after killing the target. Suddenly I was being chased and had to hide in the vents."

She laughs. "Sounds just like Budapest."

You grin. "Not really. There were two of you in Budapest. I was alone."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "You were alone because you refuse to ask for help. I would've joined you if you'd asked."

You shrug, leaning your head against her shoulder. "Guess I'm too stubborn."

"Yeah, like me."

"Like you." You pause. "Match made in hell."

"You mean match made in heaven." Her hand finds yours, squeezing it gently. You feel her fingers intertwine themselves with yours.

You look at her, smiling. "Your flirting is making me forget about our fight."

The smile on her face widens slightly. "My plan's working?"

"Kinda", you admit, and she laugh silently. "I can't be mad at you for too long, anyway."

"I know." She smirks and leans in, kissing your cheek. You close your eyes as you feel her lips on your skin, a soft sigh escaping you.

You don't know how long you stay like that. But you do know that, after a while, Natasha pulls you into her lap, and you let her. Her lips meet yours in a feathery kiss, and her arms tighten around your waist.

After a minute or two you break the kiss to look at her, placing one hand on her cheek. Her eyes look up at you with utmost affection, giving you a strong case of butterflies.

A match made in heaven, indeed.

. . .

— 2023 —

A small house in the countryside of Norway. Dark wooden cladding, white rails and red frames on the windows. The leaves on the trees are starting to turn yellow, and a light fog makes it hard to see the mountains in the distance.

There's a narrow path made of stones leading to porch. In front of the door there's a doormat, covered in tiny bits of mud and dirt, and three pairs of shoes. Two larger, one small. Next to that is a white bench, with a kids' raincoat drying on it.

Through the hallway you reach the kitchen, which is connected to a dining room. It immediately becomes obvious that this isn't just a house — no, it's a home.

Drawings and fun magnets all over the fridge, wooden building blocks on the table, a stroller next to the staircase. Toys on the couch and under the coffee table, glitter stickers on the tv stand, a lost sock on the windowsill. Someone drew on the wall with a purple sharpie.

It may be chaotic, but in the best way.

Upstairs, you get woken up by something much sweeter than an alarm clock. Tiny footsteps, hands pulling at your blanket and then, before you're even awake enough to register what's happening, the little girl starts jumping on your bed. Natasha sits up instantly, grabbing her and making her stop.

"Honey, that's dangerous", she says softly, pulling Anastasia into her lap. Your daughter looks at her, pouting. "Also, mama needs her rest, hm?"

"I'm fine", you mumble, sitting up as gracefully as you can. You rest your hand on your rounded stomach as you look at your wife, then at Anastasia. "How late is it?"

"6am."

A groan from your side, and you plop back into the pillow. Natasha chuckles as the girl in her lap reaches out her hand to pat your arm.

"Re-entering hibernation?"

"Shut up."

"Shut up", Anastasia parrots happily.

You look at the girl, torn between sighing and chuckling. "No, no. Only mama is allowed to say that."

"That's true", Natasha says, kissing her head. "Let's go downstairs and find you something to eat, sweetie."

You slowly get up as well, putting your hands on your lower back as you grimace. Natasha shoots you a worried look.

"That bad?"

You sigh. "Kinda. The faster she's out of there, the better."

"I get that." She gives you a sympathetic look as she lifts Anastasia up, putting her on her hip. You walk downstairs into the kitchen together, where Natasha puts your daughter down. She immediately runs off to look for her baby doll.

You prepare breakfast together in silence. As you're plating the waffles, Natasha suddenly stops in her tracks to look at you, visibly nervous. You spot the change in her demeanor and quickly put the bowl of fruit aside.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing", she says quietly. "But I have to tell you something."

The tense look on her face makes your eyes narrow. "You better not tell me you cheated on me, Nat. I'm about to give birth to your second child."

The question visibly takes her by surprise. Her eyes widen as she looks at you, hands lifted slightly. "God, no! Of course not!"

You keep looking at her, raising your eyebrows. "What is it, then?"

"Look, the thing is-" She gets cut off by Anastasia, who ran into her leg to hug it. Natasha quickly ruffles her hair, then sends her back to the dining room to play. She sighs quietly. "I got a call from Fury."

Something in your brain clicks as you hear that. Internally, you can't help but curse him.

"Nat, you're on maternity leave."

"Technically, not yet. My maternity leave starts in ten days — and the mission will last seven. Starting tomorrow."

You whine silently, leaning against the counter.

"I'm sorry", she hurries to say, putting her hand on your back and rubbing it in a soothing manner. "I know you're upset, and I get it. But I couldn't just say no."

"Are you aware my due date is three weeks away? What if I go into labor while you're gone!"

Natasha looks at you, her eyes soft. She moves her hands to cup your face, lightly caressing your cheeks as she leans in to kiss your forehead. "I know", she then whispers. "I'm very aware of that. But I trust the baby to be patient and wait until I'm back."

You glare at her, making her bite the inside of her cheek guiltily.

"Idiot", you snap, one hand rubbing circles on your bump to calm yourself, the other clutching the counter behind you. "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

Her cheeks flush slightly. "No need to get all condescending, love."

You sigh, trying to be more understanding. Obviously it's not her fault she got called on a mission, no, but now you're mad at her for not going on maternity leave earlier. And you're mad at Fury, for thinking his dumb missions are more important than you having a baby.

"I'm carrying your child", you say, your tone still sulky. "I'll be as condescending as I want."

She nods slowly. "Okay, okay. Fair enough."

A longer moment of silence passes. Your daughter runs past you again, and you watch her as she presses her face against the glass of the door that leads to the backyard.

Natasha looks at you, clearly hesitant about saying anything else. Your head turns and your eyes meet again, and you shift slightly.

"Promise me you'll be back on time."

She nods. "I promise."

"And that you'll take care of yourself. And stay safe."

Her face softens as she puts her hands on your waist, pulling you into her. "I always do that."

You search her eyes for nothing in particular. After a few seconds you realize that you have no choice but to believe her, so you sigh and hug her tight.

. . .

A week doesn't seem like a lot until you have to spend it alone, pregnant and with a two year old child. You're used to Natasha being on missions every now and then, but the last one was almost half a year ago — back when you weren't even sure whether you're pregnant again, and when you weren't tired almost constantly. The fact that you could literally go into labor anytime now makes things much more difficult as well.

Natasha calls twice every day — at 9am, when she's absolutely sure both you and Anastasia are awake, and at 7pm, when you're just about to get your daughter ready for bed. She lets you tell her about your day in detail before she does the same. Your conversations last about half an hour, and you both miss each other more every time you hang up again.

Needless to say you're awaiting her return wistfully. You miss everything about her, but what you especially miss is the safety her mere presence makes you feel. You know she isn't invincible, but an almost childlike part of you still believes she might be.

She returns on Saturday, in the middle of the night. You jump awake the second you hear the car outside, and you can't stop yourself from going downstairs in your pajamas to welcome her home.

In bed, she leaves a kiss on the side of your bump before crawling further up, her lips meeting yours.

. . .

The baby arrives two days later. As you already knew, it's another girl.

Natasha leans over the bassinet, clearly hesitating. She looks at you for guidance, and you just dip your head as a way of reassuring her — you did this already, and you can do it again.

She's not sure whether that's true, but she goes for it anyway. Her hands scoop the baby up gently, placing it against her chest.

You watch Natasha as she holds the tiny human being, lowering her forehead against hers. She's biting back tears — you can see it on her face. You're not crying again — not yet, at least — but you're pretty damn close.

Anastasia, sitting on your lap, looks at you. Her face shows utter confusion. "Mommy sad", she whispers, pointing at Natasha.

You smile as you gently take her hand to stop her from pointing. "No. She's actually very happy, honey."

Your daughter looks at Natasha again, watching her curiously. She doesn't understand one bit of what's going on. The only thing she knows is that, somehow, this baby has come out of her mom's stomach. Everything else is a mystery.

Natasha rocks the baby from side to side — moving carefully, slowly — and then her eyes flicker up, meeting yours. You know what she's trying to tell you without hearing it out loud. After a decade together, it's become a kind of sixth sense for you.

. . .

You go back home three days after Lilah was born. Natasha carries her into the kitchen, gently putting the baby seat down on the table. You follow right behind her, Anastasia holding a firm grip on your hand.

To Natasha, this seems surreal. She never thought she'd have her own family one day; people who love her deeply, who she can come home to every day. Not after what she went through. A part of her never deemed her deserving of that.

But here she is, proven wrong by...

...by who exactly, actually?

The universe?

Herself?

Something completely different?

She isn't sure. But she feels your body snug against hers, her arm around your shoulder, and — suddenly — she doesn't need to be sure anymore.

[g00d--m0urning]

Final Destination: Your House (CH. 6)

You finally get to the bottom about what's been going on with everybody.

(A/N: I'm going on vacay tomorrow and I'll be gone until Wednesday. I still plan on writing, but I don't know what we have planned, so just in case I'm too busy, I don't want to disappear)

(current list of planned in depth apology/make-up one-shots: Abel, Celia, Daisuke. Dorian, Curt&Rod (request), Eddie&Volt, Skylar, Tony, Jacque (request), Johnny (request), Hector (request), Betty (request), Mac (request), Tina (request), Kristof (request), Hanks (request))

The dateables wait and wait for you to put the dateviators back on, watching with bated breath each time you pass them, but you never do. Days go by without getting to speak with you and it’s killing them. 

Everybody knows they messed up and they want to make up for it! However, they can’t make up for it if you never speak to them again. There’s no telling who’s more distressed over the fact. Skylar is falling apart, Eddie and Volt have had several spark outs, Tony is breaking his back trying to fix things out of guilt, even Telly is starting to worry and he didn’t even do anything!

The house is falling apart and it’s your fault! Before you got those godforsaken glasses, everybody was perfectly fine without being acknowledged by you and now they can’t function without you. 

------------

It’s peaceful without having all of your house alive. You almost forgot what it was like making breakfast without chatting up your appliances, or walking through doors without making some sort of teasing comment. It’s hard to tell how you feel about it. 

You’re loading laundry into Washford when the power flickers, nothing to be terribly concerned about, presumably a dead light bulb. It goes again, longer this time, as you get Washford started. There’s an annoying feeling of concern eating at your nerves and you can’t help but wonder if Volt and Eddie are ok. 

It happens two more times before you crack. The whole way up the stairs is spent debating whether or not you should be doing this; speaking with them might make things worse, if they even talk to you in the first place. 

You stand in front of the breaker box, dateviators clutched in your hand. With shaky hands, you turn them on, slowly settling them on your face. You step into the Breaker Box, looking around the deserted bar.

“Eddie? Volt?” 

------------

The duo freezes at the sound of your voice, already choking up. They’ve never heard a sweeter sound. Immediately, they drop what they were doing, finding you in the main area. You’re really there, standing only a few feet from them.

“Livewire?” Volt steps out from the shadows first, a deep set frown on his normally beaming face.

Eddie follows shortly behind him, setting down the rag he had in his hands onto the bar, “You came.” 

------------

“You flickered,” you shrug slightly, brushing their surprise off like it’s nothing, “It was kind of annoying… I… was also worried, so… Yeah.”

Your lips turn up just enough to clue them in on the fact that you’re teasing. It’s awkward and stiff, but it's something. “Are you guys ok?”

Both of them seem to deflate at the question, tension leaving their body by the minute. Volt gestures at the booth you always sit in, sliding into the left side, along with Eddie. You sit opposite of them, waiting for them to start.

“We’re ok,” Eddie is the first one to speak.

“No we’re not,” Volt corrects him, shooting his partner a look you can’t decipher, “nobody is.”

“What do you mean ‘nobody’?” you ask, head turning side-to-side in search of somebody else in the bar, expecting somebody else to pop up, out of the shadows. 

“You don’t see it, do you?” Eddie scoffs, running his tongue over his bottom lip, “How could you? Considering you haven’t put those dumbass glasses on in days.”

Volt stomps on Eddie’s foot, making the wire man grunt, elbowing Volt in retaliation, “What Eddie means, livewire, is that the house is a mess without you.”

Guilt burns the back of your throat like the nasty oil you guzzle with Hoove; you figured they’d all be fine without you around. They were before, “I’m not going to apologize,” you finally tell them. You’re tired of apologizing.

“No one expects you to,” Volt nods, setting his hands on the table, yearning to reach for you.

“Good,” you nod, eyes flitting from his hands to his face. You don’t take them. “Why?” is all you ask, looking between the pair. 

“That’s not for us to answer, spark. It is our wrong doing to apologize for, though. And please know, we are truly sorry,” Volt answers, placing his hands in his lap.

“... I’m sorry, livewire,” Eddie whispers. His eyes gleam in the low light with what you’d guess tears, if you didn’t know any better.

“I need time,” you respond, swallowing the lump in your throat, sliding out of the booth, “but thank you.”

Both of them stand up with you, nodding their heads solemnly, “That’s more than alright, livewire,” Volt assures, stepping forward before realizing what he was trying to do, taking a half-step back. 

You smile half-heartedly, stepping forward and pressing a kiss to each man’s cheek, “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

The kiss seemingly lights a fire under them, smiles gracing both of their faces, “Of course, spark. You take care too,” Volt says first, Eddie echoing the sentiment soon after. 

There’s a weight off your chest when you leave, feeling less like you have to drag your feet the whole way. With a renewed pep in your step, and a mission to get to the end of this, you set out for Celia’s office. If it’s not Eddie and Volt’s to share, then it has to be her’s. 

------------

Word spread quickly that you put the dateviators back on, so Celia has been prepping her speech. She’s thrown out idea after idea, but nothing feels right. One apologizes too much without addressing the problem, the other does the opposite. Nothing feels right.

The door to her office opens, revealing you standing in the doorway, “I’ve been expecting you,” she tells you, pulling a chair out for you, not stepping back until you’re settled.

Celia sighs softly, sitting down in the chair next to you, facing you head on, “There’s someone else who I think needs to be included in this conversation,” she tells you, leaning over her desk and requesting Florence to send in her guest.

Skylar walks in, unable to meet your eyes as she sits down in the chair next to Celia, “Hi,” she murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Thank you for joining us, Skylar,” Celia says, smiling politely at Skylar, “Would you like me to start or shall you?”

“I want to say it,” Skylar whispers, finally looking up at you. She’s been crying, her eyes puffy behind her glasses, “I’m so sorry, everything that’s happened has been my fault.”

------------

You’re unsure how to react when Skylar drops that bomb. Is it her fault? What’s she mean it’s her fault? She holds her hands up, signaling for you to let her continue before asking questions.

“I’m the reason everyone’s been avoiding you. It was my idea; after movie night, I got so freaked out over the documentary that I suggested we all leave you alone, so you wouldn’t get hurt,” she says through sobs, gasping as she tries to compose herself, “Please don’t hate me.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and you don’t know where to start. It’s shocking to learn that everybody’s behavior is partially Skylar’s fault- she can’t take the entire blame, everyone played a role in this. Especially over something as trivial as a… “Documentary?”

“Yes, documentary. You can save us the lecture, however. Telly has already informed us that our intentions, while well meaning, were… A bit misplaced,” Celia cuts in, setting a hand on Skylar’s back.

The world fades around you, a faint buzzing filling your ears. You bend over, shoulders shaking slightly, “Oh, my god,” you mumble. All of this, the panic attacks, everyone’s behavior is because they thought Final Destination was a documentary. 

You can’t tell if that makes the situation worse or better. On one hand, they were doing it to protect you, on the other, nobody even thought to talk to you.

“Are you laughing or crying?” Celia questions, eyeing you worriedly.

“I don’t know,” you exclaim, pressing your palms into your eyes. It’s both: you’re crying and laughing, “I need to go,” you tell them, standing up.

“Please don’t go,” Skylar pleads, grabbing your arm, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, we were idiots.”

“You were! None of you talked to me! Did you ever plan on telling me or were you just going to let me think you all hated me?” you ask, yanking your arm from her grip.

“We thought it was for the best!” she retorts, reaching for you again, but you don’t let her grab you again.

“I get that, I do, but you thought wrong,” you yell back, wiping your tears off with your sleeve, “I need time to think about this, Sky. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Promise,” she steps back, biting down on her lip to keep it from trembling.

“Promise,” you confirm, taking the dateviators off after.

You stagger to your bed, collapsing onto the mattress in a mess of tears. All of this, over a movie, over a grade-A miscommunication. 

Tomorrow. It’ll be fixed tomorrow, for better or for worse.

[burrowkit]

I stare at myself in the mirror. It's been 4 days, 11 hours, and 13 minutes since I was brought back to life.

My eyes look the same as they've always been. A regular shade of brown, which, considering the many shades of brown eyes, is an underdescriptor. My hair is still curly and wavy in all the ways it feels like being.

I feel like me.

My parents won't allow me to return to school. To see all my friends. They insist something is wrong. That I'm not... me.

The doctor's notes are on the counter nearby, with the results of every possible test.

Twice.

We ran the tests twice.

I'm perfectly healthy. In fact, my cells seem to be able to reproduce just a little quicker than they used to.

Which we discovered after my father accidentally knocked me down the stairs.

Having a broken leg heal pretty quickly was a bit of a shock. Sure, that's not super normal, but how can they be angry about that?

My doctor wasn't sure how to explain it, especially as he couldn't witness it himself.

On the counter, next to the results, it my diary. I've re read it no less than 10 times since returning. I remember all these memories. They're mine. I don't get it.

My parents won't allow me around my siblings, either. They think I'll kill them or something.

My favourite foods are still my favourite foods. I still like to swim. And dance. I slipped out the other day to go for a walk with my best friend, but still.

I didn't tell my best friend anything. She'd been away when tragedy struck. My parents were careful to whisk my body away, and hid my death from everyone.

Everyone, except my doctor, who is well aware of the situation.

"Sam?" A soft knock sounds from the other side of the bathroom door, all tentative. "Sam, it's time for your doctor's appointment?"

"Coming," I reply, sweeping up my papers and opening the door. My mom is already quickly retreating from me, as I head for my room. I quickly log back into it, my password is still the oddity it's been for years, and sign into the virtual psychologist appointment I have.

She also knows about what happened.

"Sam," she smiles at me, as she accepts me into the meeting space. "How are you today?"

***

It was a productive appointment. She agrees, nothing seems to be wrong about me. No one but my family can explain why I'm not right.

It's only when the moon begins to rise, do I realize what they did.

What ritual they did.

What's wrong with me.

"Hello, daughter," a creature steps out of the moonlight cast on the floor of my room.

I don't bother lifting my head from my bed, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling.

"I said-"

"I heard you," I cut him off with a sigh. "Any chance you'll tell me what's wrong with me?"

I have an idea, now. Something about this demon. The full moon was required to activate whatever is wrong with me.

The being, surprisingly, takes a seat in my office chair. It's one that's in good shape, but I inherited from my grandmother. He looks... uncomfortable. "Your parents asked that I bring you back to life," he begins. "They did not, however, stipulate that you be theirs."

I frown, thinking over his words. "So, I'm what? A demon? Half demon?"

He chuckles slightly. "You are my daughter, child. Do you remember your time in the world beyond?"

I close my eyes, remembering the pain. I never want to dwell on it for too long. I shake my head, watching him.

He frowns, looking... hurt. "You stayed in my home. Any child taken too soon is offered a new life. One with a new family. I made you my daughter."

According to records, I was dead for all of three days.

Still, I remember it felt like years.

"And I'm here to, what? Cause chaos? Death? Destruction?" All of that's typical demon stuff.

He shakes his head, looking... apologetic. "No, my daughter. You have been reborn without the familial ties you once had. I have come to offer you knowledge on how to control your new gifts, and to bring you home. Bring you to where you are loved."

"Back to the land beyond?" I guess.

"No," he shakes his head, sadly. "No, you've been changed. You've been reborn. You will move to my home. And I will ensure you are safe. No one will ever harm you, again," he motions to my leg, the one that was instantly healed after being broken once more after a mishap after dinner.

"What about my stuff?" Because suddenly, despite my having no memory of this man-demon, I can't imagine being anywhere but with him.

I genuinely feel safe.

And I'm fairly sure that the latest 'accident' was no accident.

He snaps his fingers, and everything, including the bed I was on, is gone. "Here," he tosses me a box. I catch it, having landed on the ground, softly. I peer into it, finding all my belongings including... including my toothbrush. "Let's go home. You may pick out whatever name you would like for the next couple decades."

My name. A chosen name. "I think... I think I want to be Kali," I respond.

He nods, snapping his fingers once more, and replacing the clothes I once loved, given to me by my parents, with clothes... clothes I equally love but feel more like Kali than Sam.

One last snap, and we're no longer there. Gone. Home.

Your family's ritual brought you back to life and yet they start to become more and more paranoid around you, saying "it went wrong". You check in the mirror for decay or rot, nothing, you film yourself in sleep, nothing. You even see a doctor but nothing. You are completely normal, so why?

[docrobinavitch]

force of nature, pull of gravity | part three

dr. robby x f!attending!reader force of nature masterlist masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, the entirety of this fic navigates grief in depth, death of mentor (adamson), death of child/family member, suicidal ideation, swearing, canon medical events, alcohol, smoking (marijuana), mentions of drug use, angst words: 10.7K synopsis: robby and reader put their issues aside as they navigate pittfest, but they're never very far. as things begin to taper off, they discuss the future a/n: hooo baby welcome to the third and final part of force of nature. this one almost killed me. i hope you love it. please note that i fucked with the canon timeline heavily. as promised, we leave off on a happy and hopeful note i think! anyway, please come yap to me about all your thoughts about them i would love nothing more. i'll still be thinking about them for quite a while. <3 syd

It didn’t feel like any of it was real. It had felt like that for about six months now, since March, when everything shut down. Except, of course, the hospital.

You don’t remember everything, it only came in snapshots. Like a damaged film reel, it played in and out, the blanks filled with static. Your therapist explained that not being able to remember was your brain’s way of protecting you. Without your permission, your mind had filed things all the way in the back, in a safe you didn’t have the key to. You alternated between being grateful and being angry. After all, those were your last few months with Adamson. You both wanted to remember everything and desperately wanted to forget.

What you remember most about that period of time, the worst of it, before the rollout of the vaccines, were the feelings. The anger, the fear, the grief. But mostly, the loneliness of it.

You were with people all day long, but not really. Masks and goggles and hazmat suits and gloves keeping enough distance between everyone. A touch on the shoulder that didn’t reach skin. A squeeze of the wrist but no warmth from a pulse. You couldn’t tell when someone was smiling or not. It was as if someone had wrapped the world in wool, muffling everyone from everything that made you human. 

The first time you got sick and the test lit up positive for Covid, it felt like a moral failure of some kind. 

You spent the next couple of weeks secluded to your apartment, at the mercy of your own hypervigilance, constantly checking your pulse ox and heart rate and fever. Anything that might indicate you were worsening. 

But you were fine, in the end. It stayed relatively tame for you. Which made everything feel so much worse when you watched Dr. Adamson deteriorate just a month later.

“He’s gonna be fine.” You and Robby would repeat back and forth to one another almost every hour after he had been admitted for having difficulty breathing.

But then the treatment wasn’t working, he was getting worse. Robby had to put him on ECMO. And you and Robby stopped talking. Stopped seeking each other out for reassurance because it was obvious what was happening and neither of you could say it aloud.

You regretted that most, now. That you had let him stop talking to you.

Today seemed determined to drag all of those feelings back to the surface for you. Especially the feeling like none of it was quite happening. You were worried you might fully untether from your body in the face of this fucking mass casualty. You had no idea what you were going to do now, now that you had kissed Robby in the ambulance bay. Now that he had finally admitted that he was in love with you. Your head was spinning. 

But there wasn’t time for you to spin out, because now they were preparing for an MCI. And Jake was there and not answering his phone. And Robby had that look on his face, like he did when the EMTs rolled Adamson into the Pitt four years ago. Like he was absolutely terrified, but his brain was already skipping past that feeling to find a solution. 

It was this look that terrified you because it usually meant he thought he was the only one capable of finding that solution and he would block everyone else out to get that result.

“Hey,” You caught his wrist in your hand as you walked back into the ER, instinctually ran your thumb over the tattoo there. You could feel his pulse racing under your touch. He paused, looking down at your hand and then back up, meeting your eyes, “I’m here.” 

You said, just as a reminder. Despite whatever trainwreck had just occurred between the two of you, you needed him to know he could lean on you right now in whatever capacity he needed to get through this.

He nodded, “Yeah,” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it lightly, “Yeah, me too.”

When Abbot walked into the ER, immediately, you were relieved at the sight of him. The tightness in your chest eased when he squeezed your shoulder. The both of you listened as Robby gave his speech to the staff about what was happening and what was about to happen, jumping in if either of you thought it was necessary.

“You and Robby doing okay?” Jack asked quietly.

You turned to look at him and shook your head, “I don’t know.” You swallowed, “And I guess since I’ve told him, I should tell you as well, that I… accepted a job offer at Presby.”

He stared at you for a moment, “What a fucking day.” He shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, “Alright. We’ll talk about that later.”

You stuffed some eleven blades in your pockets after Robby handed you the Primary Triage MD vest. “You know the drill?” He asked, handing you the belt with all the different color wrist bands.

You nodded, taking the belt from him and strapping it around your waist, “Assess based on mental status and pulse strength. Mental status, AVPU, alert, response to verbal, response to pain, unresponsive. Pulse next, radial, femoral, carotid.”

You weren’t new at this, but repeating the textbook instructions back to him soothed your nerves. The adrenaline rush whenever you knew a bunch of traumas were headed your way. 

“Excellent,” He said and managed the smallest of smiles. And for a second, it felt like he was a senior resident again and you an intern. Before everything got complicated. “I’ll help you get started.”

You followed him out to the ambulance bay and almost immediately, a car pulled up with gunshot victims. You and Robby don’t need to speak to each other as you spend those ten seconds per patient, this is where the two of you had always worked best, side by side on patients. It’s the one place you trusted each other implicitly, where there was no gray area between you.

After getting three patients triaged and moved inside in about thirty seconds, the two of you shared a smirk and a high five, Robby wrapping his hand around yours and keeping it there.

“Bet they can’t triage that fast at Presby.” He said softly, hitting you fully with his big, woeful brown eyes.

You scowled at him and pulled your hand from his, “Don’t look at me with that face.”

“What face?”

You gesticulated towards his face with your hands, frustration clear in every movement, “Your fucking kicked puppy face.”

He titled his head, frowning, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression, “This is just my face.”

“Well it’s fucked up.” You said, looking away and towards the road, waiting for more incoming.

“My face is fucked up?” Yeah, that was definitely amusement in his voice.

You sighed, “You should go inside, they need you in there. Send out Shen to help me.” You felt his stare on you, hot and heavy, “I’ll come get you if I see Jake.”

He watched you for a moment longer before you heard him leave, the ambulance bay doors sliding open and closed.

His absence had your pulse racing again until all you could hear was the pounding of blood in your ears and the slow crescendo of the approaching sirens.

***

Robby was out to dinner with Janey when his phone rang. As he fished it out of his pocket, Janey sighed, and he knew whether or not he answered it he had already lost.

He and Janey had been together a year and a half when your niece drowned. At first, Janey was gracious whenever Robby had to cancel plans or came home later than usual because you were having a hard time. But as the weeks and months passed she became less and less forgiving.

Robby couldn’t really blame her. He knew he was being an awful partner, putting the needs of his friend above his girlfriend. He tried asking Jack to keep an eye on you instead occasionally, but Jack himself admitted he couldn’t quite get through to you the way Robby could. And lately your behavior had grown more erratic and unpredictable to the point where Adamson had forced you into another leave of absence. 

The conversation between the two of you had been muffled through the family room door, but Robby had still gotten the gist of it. You were snapping at patients, often putting yourself in unsafe situations on purpose. It was obvious you wanted to physically endanger yourself and Adamson wouldn’t tolerate it in his ER. He told you to take your leave and get help while you were out. You wouldn’t be welcomed back until you got a handle on both your behavior and your grief. You had stormed out of the ER, tears of frustration rushing down your cheeks.

That was three days ago and Robby hadn’t heard from you since. At first, he thought it might have been best to give you space, but then he really started to worry. And now his phone was ringing and it was an unknown number.

He gave Janey an apologetic look, but she waved him off, and he was already out of his seat to pick up the call.

“Is this Dr. Robby?”

He rubbed at his beard anxiously with his free hand, “Speaking.”

“Hi, darling, sorry to bother you. It’s Mrs. Carpenter from 57B.” 

Your neighbor. He had forgotten he had given her his number the last time he was at your apartment, in case of emergency.

 “I haven’t seen her in a few days, but the last few hours she’s been blasting that Fleetwood Mac album and she won’t answer her door. I can handle the noise,” She said quickly as he tried to interrupt to apologize, “but I’m starting to get worried about her and I know you have a key.”

Already, he was nodding, “Yeah, of course. I’ll be right over.”

Hanging up, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. He really, really, shouldn’t be running at the drop of a hat to your apartment. Not when he knew it was going to upset Janey.  

But even as he thought it, that he should stay with Janey, he could see the faraway look in your eyes you’d had for months now. The nails chewed to the quick, cracked and bleeding. The bruises beneath your eyes because of the constant nightmares. 

He heard the arguments he and Janey had had about you over the last few months. Her saying you weren’t his responsibility. But it didn’t feel like that. Hadn’t felt that way since your first day of residency when he cleaned up the cut on your forehead. When he said he would make sure you got through the day and you had looked at him like no one had ever offered you help before.

He did feel like you were his responsibility, and if you slipped through the cracks now, he wasn’t sure he could live with that.

Robby hadn’t even opened his mouth to explain to Janey that he had to go when she was already shaking her head in frustration, “She’s not a child, Michael, she’s a grown woman–”

“She’s going through some shit right now–”

“Everybody’s going through some shit!” She scoffed, “Look, I… I understand that she’s your friend, that you’ve been friends a long time. And I love that you’re such a supportive, giving friend. But I–I’m sorry, I can’t keep being your second choice.”

Robby looked at her sadly, “You’re not my second choice.” He insisted.

She tilted her head slightly, “If you walk out to go to her right now, I’m sorry, but we’re done.”

He sighed and dropped his head, rubbing a hand down to the back of his neck, “Can’t we talk about this later?”

“No,” She said softly, “I’m tired of talking in circles with you. It’s time for you to make a choice. And I think we both know what choice you’re going to make.”

He looked back up at her. He wanted to be angry with her for giving him an ultimatum, but the truth was, they both knew it wasn’t a choice to him. He didn’t know how to choose anyone who wasn’t you. He could no longer imagine his life without you in it.

He sighed, “Janey, I don’t… I don’t want to end it like this.”

“Then don’t.”

He looked down at his phone and then back up to Janey, “I have to go check on her.” He said softly.

Janey nodded, like she had been expecting that answer, “So go, Michael.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, and he meant it. He didn’t want to hurt Janey, but you needed him. 

So he showed up at your apartment that night, banging on your door and calling your name for minutes. No answer, and you were blasting Rumours very loudly. Eventually, he called out that he was letting himself in and used the copy of the key you had given him to open the door.

The apartment was a mess. Clothes strewn haphazardly, empty takeout containers stacked on top of one another on most surfaces. A coat was draped over the record player which Robby moved so he could turn off the music.

You were nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like you to leave your apartment in such disarray. You liked order, control. He had never known you to leave a dirty dish lying around. It was unheard of for a coat to not be on a hook or clothes left outside their proper spot in your drawer or closet. It scared the shit out of him to see it like this, it felt like a very blatant projection of your current mental health.

With the music off, he called out your name again, but still no response. However, he heard the shower running and followed the sound to the bathroom.

He knocked a few times, but there was no response and he started to panic. When he jiggled the doorknob, he expected it to be locked, but it was open and he pushed it ajar. He was prepared to find the worst, but you were fine, physically anyway.

The shower was running, but you weren’t in it. Fully clothed, you stood on the toilet, head out the open window, a lit joint between your fingers.

You turned to look at him and your eyes were bloodshot, from the drugs, or from crying, he couldn’t tell. For a second, he felt relief, but then he was annoyed. He had left Janey, ended things with her for good, for fear something was really wrong and you were just fucking getting high.

“Is there a reason you won’t answer your fucking phone?” He asked gruffly.

You took a drag from your joint, and watched him as you held the smoke in your lungs, before slowly exhaling in his face, “It’s in the other room, why the fuck are you here?”

He scoffed, “Because I’m an idiot, I guess.” He shook his head, “Mrs. Carpenter said she had been knocking on your door for a while and you weren’t answering, I thought–I don’t know, no one had heard from you in a while.”

“Well,” You jumped off the toilet, “I’m alive, as you can see, so you can go.”

He plucked the joint out of your hand, “Where did you get this?”

You made to grab the joint back from him, but he held it out of your reach and you scowled, “I bought it off Marcus, the guy who lives at the end of the hall. Now would you stop killing my peace?”

“Is that all you bought from him?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. You were pretty high and had also drunk a whole bottle of wine earlier, so you weren’t positive, but you thought you knew what he was implying, “Are you… are you asking… if I bought pills?”

He stared at you silently, jaw clenched.

“Is this a fucking joke? You’re joking?” Still, he said nothing. You scoffed, “Robby, I’d never do that. You know that.”

He shook his head, “I don’t know that. You’re scaring the hell out of me,” His voice broke, “I thought when I walked in here I was gonna find your body.”

You sighed, “You’re being very dramatic.”

“Am I?” He bent his head to meet your eyes, “Can you tell me honestly that you haven’t thought about it?”

You couldn’t. Since your niece had passed you had been in a sort of fugue state and when you weren’t fully dissociated, you wondered what the point was of anything. What was the point of being an emergency medicine doctor if you couldn’t save your goddaughter? And if you weren’t an emergency medicine doctor, who were you? You had allowed your career to dictate your entire adult life so far and all you knew was being good at medicine.

But maybe you weren’t very good at medicine at all, because when it mattered most you failed.

So, yeah. You had thought about buying the drugs. You had thought about going up to the roof and not coming back down. You had thought about getting in your car and heading for the ocean. But you were still here.

You broke Robby’s stare and stepped around him, turning off the shower and walking to your kitchen. You grabbed two glasses from the top shelf and a bottle of bourbon, poured each of you a generous glass and pushed one towards Robby.

He shook his head, “I don’t want any. I want you to talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” You asked softly, too exhausted to fight.

Every line of his face was etched with desperation as he looked at you and shook his head slightly, “That you’ll stop punishing yourself like this,” He gestured to the alcohol, to the disaster that was your apartment, “You can’t keep going like this, it’s unsustainable. You need help. You need to figure out how to forgive yourself.”

You swirled the amber liquid around your glass, “I don’t know that I can.” 

He took the glass from your hand and pushed it away, taking your hands in his instead, “Look at me,” He said softly and your bloodshot eyes trailed up to his. His thumb made gentle circles on the back of your hand, “You can,” He said slowly, “But you have to want it. For you.”

You weren’t sure you did want it. You didn’t think you deserved to want it. But even through your drug and alcohol induced haze, you could see Robby was scared and desperate. Seemingly, at the prospect of losing you. Maybe you’d want it for yourself one day. Right now, you just wanted him to stop looking at you like that.

“Okay.” You said softly.

“You mean that?”

You nodded, “I mean it.”

He pulled you into a hug, sighing in relief as he rested his head on top of yours, “Tomorrow, we’re going to find you a psychologist. Tonight, I’m going to clean up your apartment and make you something to eat, okay? Why don’t you go lie down?”

You pulled back to look up at him, “Really? You’re going to make me something to eat?”

He smirked, “What, you think I can’t do it?”

You shrugged, “I am intrigued at the prospect, but my expectations are very low.”

He laughed and released you from his arms, “Well, we’ll see. We can always order takeout if I fuck it up.”

He burned a sauce so badly you had to throw the whole pan away, apologizing to your neighbors for the smoke alarm. Robby’s face was beet red with embarrassment as he apologized to you over and over, but you laughed so hard you snorted. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed like that.

He stayed the night and you fell asleep on the couch. When you woke up, the Sun was just beginning to peek through the blinds. A blanket was draped over you and Robby was asleep on the other end of the couch. It was the first time you hadn’t been woken abruptly by a nightmare in as long as you could remember.

***

When you heard Jake’s voice coming from the back of a pickup truck, you sprinted immediately to him, “Jake?”

There was so, so much blood all over him you thought your knees might give out at the sight of it. 

“It’s not mine,” He said, tears streaming down his face, “It’s Leah’s. She was shot in the chest. I–I’ve been putting pressure on it, but there’s so much–”

“No, that’s– That’s good, bud, you did good.” You leaned over his girlfriend who laid unconscious in his lap and searched for a pulse, found the barest flutter of one at her carotid.

It didn’t look good. In fact, you thought her heart would probably stop within the next minute or so. There was too much blood, the bullet looked like it maybe had gone right through her heart.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Jake asked, voice breaking.

You took a deep breath, “Are you hurt?”

“I–I don’t know, maybe my leg?” 

Quickly, you put a red wristband on Leah and a yellow on Jake and started taking off your bright orange vest that indicated you were Primary Triage MD, “John!” You shouted, and almost immediately, Dr. Shen was beside you, “You take over as Primary Triage, I’m bringing these two in. You good?”

“Yeah,” He said, strapping the belt of wristbands around his waist, “Yeah, I got it.”

Nurses helped you get Leah on a gurney, you shouted at someone to put Jake in a wheelchair and bring him in, ignored his frantic shouts to come with you. You didn’t have time. You hated leaving him like this, in distress, but Leah was likely seconds away from no longer being able to be resuscitated. 

“Robby!” You called out as nurses were already opening an intubation kit. You heard Robby behind you before you saw him, too focused on securing Leah’s airway, “This is Jake’s girlfriend, Leah. Jake’s fine, I think he might have been shot in the leg.”

“Okay,” Robby said, and you could hear in his voice the worry warring with what he was seeing in front of him, “Okay, you go take care of Jake, I’ll take Leah.”

You had finished the intubation and another nurse had climbed on the gurney to begin CPR. They had lost her pulse, “I… I don’t think she’s gonna make it.” You said softly to Robby, voice wavering slightly.

“Let me worry about that.”

You glanced at him and recognized immediately the tunnel vision he was having. This was the problem he was determined to solve and you worried it was not solvable, “Robby–”

“Jake.” He said shortly, “Go. I’ll call you if I need you.”

You did not like this. You did not like it one bit. But you backed away, turning your attention to the rest of central that was a flurry of activity and zeroed in on Jack, “Could you keep an eye on Robby?” You asked as you passed him, “He’s working on Jake’s girlfriend who I think had a bullet tear through her heart. He has that goddamn savior complex chip on his shoulder today and I’m worried it might break him when she doesn’t make it.”

“Yeah, I got him,” Jack said, looking up briefly to spot Robby, “Jake–?”

“He’s fine,” You said quickly, “I’m gonna go patch him up now, I think he just took some bullet fragments to the leg.”

Jack nodded and bumped his fist to yours, “I’ll shout if I need you.”

You smirked, it was nice to be working with Jack again. It had only been a few shifts, but you missed the banter and the the way the two of you had worked so seamlessly together, “Same here.” You said, and then you headed to find Jake.

***

It was a while later after you had patched Jake up and made your way back to the red zone after promising to check up on Leah. Immediately, you saw Robby, still working on Leah, hopeless faces all around him.

“Was looking for you,” Jack said, coming to your side, “He won’t let her go.”

“Fuck,” You sighed, heart sinking.

“He’s wasting resources–”

“I know,” You said quickly. You knew what he was doing, because it was what you would have done. What you had begged Robby to do years ago when your niece came in and he insisted she was gone. It was what you and Robby had done together when you put Adamson on ECMO. “I know.” You repeated, more to yourself the second time.

“He thought he had the pulse back for a few seconds, but when Emery came to check it was gone again.”

You swallowed, “Okay, thanks.” You patted him on the back before heading over to Robby, biting hard on the inside of your cheek.

“Robby,” You said softly when you were close enough. Briefly, you exchanged a look with Dana who subtly shook her head at you, “Robby, I think that’s enough.”

He looked up at you and gave you a quick shake of his head, “No, no she’s right on the edge, we can still get her back–”

“How long has she been down?”

“People have had their hearts restarted after being without a pulse for thirty or forty minutes.”

“Not when a bullet has torn through it. Not when there’s that much blood loss.” You said quietly, “I know you know she’s gone. If you’re not calling it because you don’t want to tell Jake, I can do it–”

“No,” He shook his head and sighed, “No, I–I can do it.”

You waited and watched while he did one last pulse check, voice shaking as he called time of death, marked it on her wrist chart, and covered her up. 

“How’s Jake?” He asked, turning back to you. 

Your eyes searched him, looking for new and infected wounds. You knew they were there, hiding just below his skin. Knew it like you knew your own.

“He’s fine. There was a lot of bleeding, but it was all superficial. I debrided and wrapped the wound. He’s sitting on a gurney now to keep the wounded leg elevated.” 

He nodded along as you spoke, but you weren’t sure how much he really heard beyond the fact that Jake was fine. You reached for his hand, hoping to ground him, but at the brush of your fingers he pulled away, “You should get back out to Triage.”

You frowned, “Shen’s got it–”

“No, I want a more senior attending on triage. Please.” He threw his bloodied gloves away and walked away before you could say anything else.

It was frustrating, watching him walk off like that, knowing he was teetering on the edge. Wanting to follow after him, knowing you couldn’t. He had to tell Jake himself, and then you’d be there to pick up the pieces. Like you always were.

One last time, you told yourself. Just one more, then you could let him go. You’d let him go, it was what you should do, what you needed to do. It was too late for third act love confessions, things were too broken between you. What happened in the ambulance bay didn’t change anything, but you could be there for him one last time.

“Hey,” You grabbed Dana gently by the arm as she passed you, “You’ll come get me if… If Robby seems…”

She nodded, “Yeah, of course, kid.”

You gazed off back in the direction Robby had disappeared into for one last moment before heading back to the ambulance bay.

***

Someone was knocking at the door. It pulled you from the edge of sleep back into full consciousness. You waited for a few moments as you woke, lying on your back in bed, hoping you had imagined it or he had left.

Because you knew who was at the door. You had fought with him earlier on shift. He was snapping at residents and nurses, and then he had snapped at you. 

“You need to fucking get it together. You do not speak to me or anyone else like that—“

“I don’t need another fucking lecture from you, alright? I shouldn’t have raised my voice, understood. I’m sorry, can we please move on—“

“No, Robby,” You laughed incredulously and ran a hand through your hair, “We can’t move on because you insist on staying stuck on the same fucked up carousel ride.”

He shook his head, “This isn’t about Adamson.”

“Oh, give me a break. You think I can’t see that trying to fill his shoes at the same time you’re grieving him is tearing you apart?”

“It’s not. I’m fine, I can handle it.”

You sighed and looked down at your shoes, “I can’t do this anymore. I won’t enable your self destructive behaviors, I’ve asked you over and over to see a goddamn psychologist and you don’t listen—“

“That’s because I don’t need a psychologist.”

“Then explain to me why you keep showing up to my apartment in the middle of the night fully in the throes of a panic attack?” He wouldn’t look at you, jaw clenched and staring off stubbornly in the distance, “You need professional help,” You said quietly, “And if you’re not gonna get it then I can’t keep doing… Whatever this is.” You gestured to the space between you.

He shrugged, “Fine. Are we done?”

You stared at him for a moment and then sneered, “You don’t think I mean it.”

He sighed and looked down at his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets, “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay,” You scoffed, “Don’t show up at my door tonight.” You said and began walking away.

“Won’t be a problem.” He called after you.

But now there was someone knocking at your door. You waited, counted to thirty and back down again, but the knocking continued.

“Motherfucker,” You murmured and swung your legs over the edge of your bed, forced your feet to move to the door. You looked through the peep hole and saw Robby, head bent towards your door, fist resting against the wood.

Sighing, you unlocked the door and opened it just enough so you could see him, “What are you doing here?”

He looked up at you, eyes red rimmed and glassy, his chest heaving in and out, uneven breaths, “I’m sorry.” He choked out.

You ran a hand over your face, “I asked you not to do this.”

“I know, I know, I–I swear I’ll do whatever you need me to, I’ll call the psychologist in the morning, please.” He reached for you, his fingers settling on your hips, “Please.”

Every time he did this, every time he showed up, a wreck at your door, you remembered how he showed up for you when you didn’t want to be found. When you were intent on destroying yourself and everything around you. He had reached an unflinching hand down into the cold dark abyss of your grief and hauled you out. It wasn’t lost on you that he’d saved your life that year.

You didn’t know how you could refuse him.

You blinked away the wetness in your own eyes and pushed the door open further, lacing your fingers with his as you did. After closing and relocking the door, you led him to the couch, turning on a single lamp as you sat down, pulling him after you.

Robby immediately laid his head in your lap and you stroked his hair, his beard. Between his hyperventilating and sobs, he whispered apologies and promises into the bare skin of your thighs. It felt like a well choreographed dance at that point, your reassuring touch and his contrition. 

When his breathing slowed and quieted, you squeezed his shoulder lightly, “Let me make you some tea.” 

He sat up and trailed after you as you went to the kitchen. When you filled the kettle with water and turned it on, you braced your hands against the counter, facing away from him. It was hard to be with him like this, knowing how many times he had come here just like this, apologized and made promises he wasn’t going to keep. You were tired and worn down and still trying to come to terms with your own grief. 

He came up behind you as you waited for the water to heat and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I’m sorry,” He kept repeating, peppering kisses to your shoulders. You weren’t sure why he was still apologizing. Perhaps because he knew he was just going to do it all over again a few days from now and he was trying to get ahead of it.

He pushed the straps from your tank top down and began sucking lightly at the skin, his beard scratching against your skin in a way you were all too familiar with, that sent goosebumps down your arms.

“Robby…” You said lowly, because you knew you should stop him. You knew what came next, when you’d be powerless against his touch and his kisses, all grievances forgotten.

“Please,” He murmured against your skin, “Let me do this, let me make it better.”

You swallowed hard and then turned in his arms. You placed your hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him away, “Tea first.” You said softly, and then turned back to the kettle, waited for him to step away from you, waited for your pulse to settle with the absence of his touch.

Once the tea was steeped, you pushed his mug toward him and warmed your hands around your own. You could feel him staring at you from across the counter, but you wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Do you remember when Gemma died and I refused help for months and months until Adamson removed me from the ER?”

He was silent a moment, and then you heard him clear his throat, “Yes. Of course I remember and I know what you’re trying to do. This is different.”

You looked up at that, head tilting curiously, “Really? How so? Because Adamson isn’t here to kick you out?”

He sighed, “No, because I’m not endangering patients.”

You nodded, “Maybe not the way I was. Maybe not right now. But eventually the grief and the hurt will grow so big you won’t be able to keep it from spilling over into everything. Your family, your friends, your work. It’s inevitable.”

“I already said I would call the psychologist in the morning.”

You looked back down at your mug, “I think we both know you only said that so I’d let you in. Like you always do.”

Neither of you said anything for a while after that, until finally, Robby broke the silence, “Let’s go to bed.”

You nodded, let him lead you to the bedroom. His careful hands undressed you, pulled you into him, kissed you in the dark until your lips were raw and aching. Foreheads bent together, he pushed himself into you. The sex was so good sometimes, you allowed yourself to forget. You loved his hands, the way he touched you, the way that he gripped your hips so tightly when he was about to come it left marks like ripened plums.

For a while after, you’d feel better, his arms wrapped around you as you drifted into sleep.

But then, the morning would come and Robby would leave silently. Forget everything he had said to you the night before. And the cycle would repeat.

You didn’t know how else to reach him. Part of you thought maybe if he just loved you the way you loved him, he would've gotten better by now. It was what had gotten through to you, the thought that you were worrying him, that he was scared for you. You didn’t want him to feel like that. And eventually you realized you didn’t want to feel that way forever, either. But it had been his concern that pushed you over the edge.

It didn’t seem to affect Robby that you were upset. That you felt alone in your own grief because you were so busy trying to make sure he wouldn’t drown in his.

It made you feel like a failure. So you stopped trying to reach him. You let him in when he showed up at your place, held him and let him take you to bed and you stopped asking him to go to therapy. 

If he tried to pick a fight at work, you stopped taking the bait. You just… checked out.

It wasn’t long after that he turned his attention to Heather. 

It devastated you, but it also felt a bit freeing. You felt like it gave you permission to fully push him out and close the door, knowing there was someone on the other side of it with him. 

Perhaps it was unfair to Heather, to unknowingly burden her with that, but you could feel yourself slipping. Your therapist was starting to gently suggest that if something didn’t change, she would have to recommend an inpatient program.

So you fully disappeared from Robby’s life.

***

Robby was missing. You had come back inside as triage was starting to quiet and you thought they might need more hands inside.

You had gone to yellow to see what the new kids were up to and had walked right into Mohan giving a guy a burr hole with an IO.

You had stopped short, wide eyed as you watched, “Holy shit.” You breathed as she extracted some blood and the man began to regain consciousness.

All heads turned to you in a panic.

Mohan immediately launched into an anxious explanation, “There were no attendings, he would’ve died—“

“Samira, relax. It’s fine, it’s excellent, even. You did what you had to to save a life. Just maybe… Don’t mention this to Robby, yeah?”

She gave you a small smile, “Won’t be a problem. Nobody can seem to find him anyway.”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Nobody’s seen much of him since they took Leah to pedes.”

You shook your head, “Okay, um, are you guys good over here? Nobody’s dying?”

They all looked at you blankly like a bunch of little ducklings until Samira said, “I think we’re okay, you go find Robby.”

You gave them all and their patients another once over, not entirely convinced by their silence, and then started quickly walking to pedes.

What greeted you on the other side of the pedes door stopped you short. Robby was on the floor, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as he clutched the Magen David that hung on a chain around his throat in a shaking hand. He was murmuring something to himself in what sounded like Hebrew.

It took you a minute, but you recognized it as a prayer. You had heard him recite it only once before, shortly before he had extubated Adamson. Shema, you thought he’d called it the first time you asked. A declaration of faith. A plea for protection. 

Immediately, you turned back to the door, pulling the privacy curtain in front of the glass door.

Then, you sat on the floor next to him, said nothing, but put a hand on his leg and waited. After a moment, he turned to you and buried his face in your chest. It surprised you, the way seeing him like this seemed to have your walls springing a leak. The emotions you’d kept at bay for most of the day began to push forward.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He said over and over into your chest, knotting his hands into your scrubs and pulling you impossibly closer.

You weren’t sure who the apologies were meant for. For Leah. For Adamson. For you. All he had wanted, you knew, was to be forgiven. He couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive himself and so needed everyone else to.

“It’s okay,” You said, voice shaking as you brought a hand up to cradle his head to your chest. You pressed a kiss to his head, “You’re okay.”

You held him like that for a couple of minutes, until his breathing settled enough, “We have to get back out there.” You said quietly.

“I don’t think I can.”

You sighed through your nose, “What happened? With Leah?”

“I told Jake,” He sniffled and pulled away from you, rubbing the tears from his face with the heels of his hands, “And he blamed me. And I know what you’ll say, that he didn’t mean it. That he loves me. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? The logic of it?” He raised his hands between the two of you, “Everything I’ve ever loved in my adult life I’ve broken with these two hands. Adamson, you, now Jake.” He lowered his hands and shook his head, “I’m done. I can’t do it anymore.”

You bit your lip as you tried to find the words, “You’re framing everything the wrong way. I know you’ve heard it a thousand times, but there was nothing else you could’ve done about Adamson. And besides, I was there too. I helped make those decisions. Do you blame me for what happened?”

He looked at you sadly, “Of course not.”

“What makes you any more culpable for what happened than me? Because it was your hands that physically extubated him? That’s silly.” 

He ran a hand over his face, “And what about you, hm? Can you say you don’t blame me for all the pain and suffering you’ve endured the last few years? More than that, even?”

Your eyes softened as you examined each line of his face, each freckle. It was true that he had been the source of a lot of hurt in your adult life, but he had also been a lifeline. 

You raised a hand to his cheek, brushed your thumb tenderly over his cheekbone, “There have been many times over the years where your friendship was the only thing standing between me and a black hole.” You swallowed thickly, “I would do it all again just for the chance to know you.”

His face threatened to crumble and he reached a shaky hand to the back of your neck, pulling you to him until your foreheads touched, “I would, too.” 

“We have to go back out there.” You said softly after a few moments.

He nodded, “Yeah. Fuck.” He pulled away and rubbed at his face.

You rose to standing and he followed suit, both of you going your separate ways outside of pedes without so much as a goodbye.

***

You nearly physically collided into Janey when you were heading to the ambulance bay to check on triage, your hands immediately reaching out to steady her, “Oh, shit–Sorry–Janey?”

She smiled tightly at you and you dropped your hands, “Hi, Y/N.” Her words were terse and sharp, but you dismissed that as just stress from the crisis that had unfolded over the last few hours, “It’s been a while.”

You nodded, “Yeah, um,” You gestured over your shoulder, “I can take you to Jake, he’s doing alright, but–”

“Could you just take me to Robby, please?”

She was avoiding making eye contact with you, which you thought was strange. Lips pressed in a firm line and shoulders tensed. It was true you hadn’t seen her since her and Robby had broken up, but you didn’t remember her being so cold to you before. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You swallowed, “Just wait by the hub, I’ll be right back.”

Once you brought Robby to Janey, you went behind the hub towards Dana.

“Seems like Janey still holds a grudge, huh?” Dana said, smirking at you from over her glasses.

Things had finally slowed down enough that they could catch their breath and start getting the emergency room back up and running. You cracked open a can of Diet Coke and took a sip as you turned to Dana.

You frowned at her, “Why would Janey be holding a grudge against me?”

Dana’s smirk widened, “It is so exhausting sometimes bearing the entire historical archive of this emergency room on my shoulders.”

Scowling at her, you waited, “Well?”

“Why do you think Janey and Robby broke up?”

In truth, you didn’t think much about Janey and Robby’s relationship anymore. It was one of Robby’s longer relationships and as such, you had tried to bury your feelings for him six feet under while they were together for fear that it would be the one to take him away from you for good. Besides which, Gemma had died while they were still together, and in the months that followed your memory was pretty fuzzy.

“I don’t remember,” You said slowly, “I don’t remember much from then other than my crushing existential dread.”

She looked at you sympathetically and patted your hand lightly with her own, “Maybe you do remember how Robby was with you nearly 24/7 for a while after Gemma died. Because he was worried for you.”

You shrugged, “Yeah, sure. I think 24/7 might be exaggerating, though.”

“Well, it was enough that it bothered Janey.”

You narrowed your eyes at Dana, “Are you implying that they broke up because of me?”

“Sweetheart,” Dana shook her head, “Robby made the choices he did, it wasn’t your fault. But the way he told it to me was that he was out to dinner with Janey, someone called worried about you and Robby was going to go to you, but Janey made him choose. Said she was tired of being second choice and if he left they were done. So Robby chose you.”

You blinked at her and then turned your attention to where Robby was talking to Janey, “He said that?”

“Yeah, kid.” Dana sighed, “Janey thinks she lost him to you.”

You scoffed and turned back to Dana, “Well, joke’s on her I guess, because we both lost him.”

Dana shook her head as you walked off toward another patient, watched Robby’s head turn to follow your movement as you walked by him, “I don’t know about that, kiddo.”

***

Robby was, quite literally, too close to the edge. The moon cast shadows on the roof of PTMC as he looked out over the Pittsburgh skyline. It was early enough that he could still hear the rush of the cars below and the faint call of sirens. He had just got done notifying Leah’s family and he couldn’t breathe again. All he knew was that he wanted it to stop. 

He didn’t want to tell another family he had failed to save their loved one. He was tired of having to hold the whole ER together, he wasn’t sure he could keep teaching incoming doctors when he didn’t think he deserved to keep practicing medicine himself. He wanted so badly to keep them all from making his mistakes, but the fuck of it all was that he thought that was probably inevitable. That it was a necessary evil to become a doctor.

He wanted to stop letting you down, but he thought it was too late for that. You were leaving and it was his fault. No matter what you said earlier, even if you really didn’t blame him, it was unforgivable how he’d treated you.

And a small part of him thought, as he looked over the edge, that things would be better without him. Maybe they’d make you head of the department. It was what should have happened in the first place anyway. PTMC wouldn’t lose you as a result of his failings. 

Then he heard the soft padding of your footsteps behind him, a gait he could recognize anywhere, in his sleep, in the busiest train station.

You leaned over the railing behind him and sighed, “Wish you wouldn’t stand so close.” You said quietly.

“I’ve seen you stand closer.”

You huffed a laugh, “Always a competition with us, isn’t it?”

“No,” He said, “Not anymore. I’m done.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “That’s a scary fucking thing to say when you’re on the edge of a roof.”

“Yeah, well, it’s how I feel. Isn’t that what you’ve always asked me to do? Talk about my feelings?”

He heard you blow out a long breath, “The police found the shooter, I don’t know if you heard. It wasn’t David.” He didn’t say anything, so you continued, “Thought you’d want to know. You were right about him.”

He huffed a laugh, “Yippee.” He murmured, heavy with sarcasm, “Doesn’t fucking matter. People are still dead.”

“No one else could have gotten our department through a mass casualty like that with only six fatalities. Except maybe Adamson.” A beat of silence passed between you, “PTMC needs you. I need you.”

He heard the note of fear and desperation in your voice, “You don’t need me. You’re leaving. Because of me.”

“It’s not because of you–”

“Bullshit.”

You sighed, “I’m leaving to prove to myself that I… That I can do it on my own. Without you. I need you. I’ll probably always need you or want you in some capacity. PTMC is home to me, but only if you’re here.” You inhaled a shaky breath, “I’m leaving, just for a little while, because we’re destroying each other. And we both need to heal without the other. You’ve only ever wanted me when things were bad, when you were falling apart. You might not want me once you get your shit together.”

He turned to face you finally, leaning his forearms on the railing next to you, “I can’t imagine a time when I won’t want you. My only problem has ever been wanting you too much.”

You looked at him sadly and shook your head, “It never felt that way to me.”

He watched you carefully, noted the way the breeze blew a piece of your hair into your face. Without thinking, he reached out and gently tucked it behind your ear. His fingers lingered and then traced a path down your neck before he dropped them back to the railing. He nodded, “I know that. And I’m sorry.” He sighed, “But you’ll come back to the Pitt?”

“I hope so,” The corners of your lips tugged up slightly, “Depends on if you really mean it. About getting professional help.”

“I mean it.” He said, “Do you think…” He paused and cleared his throat, “Do you think you’ll ever want to give it a real chance? You and me?”

You swallowed and looked down at your hands, “I don’t know. It’s difficult for me to imagine being with you in a way that isn’t painful.”

He closed his eyes against the wave of hurt that sent through him. It was his own fault, he knew. He had had any number of opportunities to tell you how he really felt over the years. But he had hidden from it like a coward.

“I’m not… I’m not saying never,” You said slowly, “I love you,” You reached your hand forward, running your fingers gently along his jaw, through his beard, “And I’ll always be here whenever you need me. But I… I don’t want to put us both in another situation that’s… unsustainable.”

“I love you, too.” He covered your hand with his own, keeping it anchored to his cheek, “I understand.”

“Will you come down now?” You asked quietly and he heard the way your breath caught in your throat as you said it.

He stared at you for a few moments, committing the image of you up here with your eyes that glinted in the moonlight to memory. The way the softness of your hand felt against his skin. He wasn’t sure when he’d feel your touch again, if ever. The thought sent an ache through him.

“Yeah,” He sighed, “Let’s get out of here.”

***

Six Weeks Later

You and Robby hadn’t spoken since you left the Pitt four weeks ago. Even before that, the conversation had been sparse. You had helped get him a referral to a therapist at the same clinic as your own therapist. You knew he had been attending sessions because you occasionally ran into him to and from your own appointments. But you would mostly just nod at each other as you crossed paths. 

Now that you were gone, the day shift felt emptier. He longed to text or call you, but held back each time.

“What’s stopping you from reaching out?” His therapist had asked during a session.

Robby shrugged, “She doesn’t want me to.”

“Did she say that?”

“I–Well, no.”

His therapist had nodded and jotted down some notes, “Do you think it’s possible that the real obstacle is that you’ve always used her as a method to punish yourself and you’re just continuing the pattern of behavior by not reaching out?”

That had stunned him to silence. And he still thought about it now, a couple weeks later, as he walked around the Pitt. He saw your ghost in every corner of this place.

When he walked into the staff break room that day, Perlah and Princess had a bunch of sticky notes around them and looked up in horror when they saw who had walked in.

He smirked, “What’s this? Recent betting pool?” He looked over the sticky notes, “I don’t remember any pools since the ambulance was stolen.”

Perlah looked at him nervously, “Uh, no, it’s uh– It’s an old one.”

He picked up a neon green sticky note that read Marriage. $100.

Robby frowned, “This looks like Adamson’s handwriting.” Princess and Perlah both just stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say, “How old is this?”

Princess elbowed Perlah when neither of them spoke, “It’s from around 2018 or 2019,” She sighed, “There was a stupid bet going around about you and Y/N. We… We were gonna revive it when she came back to the day shift, but…”

But you were gone now.

Robby blinked and waved around the sticky note, “And Adamson was part of it?”

Princess smirked, “He was one of the first to make a bet.”

Robby reread the sticky note, “He thought we were gonna get married.��� He said softly, “Can I keep this?” 

Princess and Perlah both nodded and then Robby headed out to the ambulance bay, the sticky note with Adamson’s handwriting still in his hand. 

With his other hand, he pulled out his phone, waited for his Face ID to unlock before opening the Phone app and clicking on his Favorites. You were at the top of his list and his thumb hovered over your contact picture as he stared at the sticky note.

Do you think it’s possible that the real obstacle is that you’ve always used her as a method to punish yourself and you’re just continuing the pattern of behavior by not reaching out?

He didn’t want to punish himself anymore. He wanted to be worthy of good things, of you. Adamson thought he was deserving of good things, as evidenced by a years old sticky note. You had thought so, too, once upon a time.

He pressed his thumb against your name and brought the phone up to his ear.

“Hi,” He said when you picked up, closing his eyes at the sound of your voice, “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” You said slowly, “Sorry, is–is everything okay with you?”

“Yeah,” He said, running a thumb over the old sharpie ink, “Yeah, I just, I wanted to hear your voice. Is that okay?”

There was a moment of silence, “Yeah, of course. It’s nice to hear your voice, too.”

“How’s Presby?”

You gave a short laugh, “It’s not home, but it’s alright. I’m adjusting.”

He hummed, “There’s always a place waiting for you here, you know?”

“I know.”

He cleared his throat, “I’m off on Sunday and I was wondering, if you’re also off, if you’d want to just– I don’t know, grab a coffee, go for a walk or something. Catch up.”

You’re quiet for a while and he told himself it would be okay if you said no. If you didn’t want to see him.

“I’d like that,” You said softly, “But, just to be clear, I am accepting a platonic coffee date, yes?”

He smirked, “Yes. I just want to see you.”

He listened as you took a deep inhale, “You sound better. Therapy’s helping?”

“I think so, yeah.” And he means it. He is starting to feel just a little bit better.

“Have you called Jake?”

He bent over his knees, resting his head against his free hand, “I have, yeah.”

“And?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“It’s still not great, but he said he’d be willing to come to a therapy appointment with me. To try and start sorting it out.”

He heard you sigh in relief, “That’s great, Robby. I’m… I’m really proud of you.”

He smiled and felt his eyes water. He was so happy he had called you.

The two of you slipped into an unspoken tradition, walking side by side through the park by the river, mostly on Sundays, or whenever your schedules lined up. It was easy and it was fun and for once it wasn't heavy with unspoken grief and trauma. If something triggered a conversation about Adamson or Gemma, for the most part you were both able to navigate it without fighting, without shutting down.

Until six months have passed since you left PTMC and Robby’s walking you all the way back up to your apartment.

“Um, do you…?” You looked at him almost shyly, a flush working its way up your neck. It’s so ridiculous to think that you might have been nervous around him, it had a smirk stretching across his face, “Do you wanna come in?”

He wanted to, badly. He was overjoyed that you seemed to want his company as much as he wanted yours. But the two of you were in a good spot right now and he was so scared he might fuck it up.

Robby had stuck Adamson’s sticky note to his fridge when he had gotten home that day as a sort of unspoken goal for himself. He wanted to marry you one day, if that was something you also wanted. His therapist had told him that if he did want that, he was going to have to do things that scared the shit out of him sometimes.

Like go into your apartment when invited, even if he worried he would make a mess of things again.

“You have to learn how to trust yourself again or you’ll stay stuck here in the same patterns, shackled to your self doubt and unable to move forward.”

He swallowed, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

You lasted all of two minutes before he was pushing you against a wall and kissing you. His hands were almost frantic as they touched you, but he kissed you slowly and thoroughly, almost tenderly.

It had been years since he had been able to kiss you without there being some fight or other tension looming above you. It felt freeing that all he felt now was love and longing.

He took you to the couch, undressing you as he did and you were moaning into his mouth, grabbing at his shirt and running your fingers over the skin there. He laid you down on the couch and pulled his shirt over his head, watched the way your eyes traced down his chest hungrily.

“I missed you,” He murmured, lowering himself over you again, palming one of your breasts in his hand.

You hummed and arched your back into his touch as he watched one of your nipples pebble beneath his thumb.

“I’ve been thinking about this, about being able to touch you again, from the moment you left.” He panted and kissed his way down your chest, your stomach, until he reached the tops of your thighs.

“Me too,” You sighed, and then his mouth was on you, hot and needy, “Fuck, I missed you.”

He’s surprised to find that he still knows just what you like, exactly how much pressure to apply, how fast he needs to go to bring you to the edge. It’s muscle memory, like performing a medical procedure he hasn’t done in years, his hands still know what to do, but his brain is three steps behind. Your hand knotted in his hair and he watched eagerly as your hips bucked up and into his mouth until you’re coming and he’s sucking up every last drop of you.

When you caught your breath, you sat up and pushed him onto his back. He was happy to lie back and watch you and in fact, he relished the way you looked at him. Kissed every patch of his skin you could reach, an adoring look in your eyes. He thought he had to have been an idiot to have never noticed the way you looked at him before.

You sank down onto him, both of you sighing in unison as you adjusted to the stretch of him. “You okay, honey?” He asked breathlessly, gripping your chin in his hand.

You nodded and rolled your hips. It had been years now since he’d slept with someone and the sensation of you around him, just that slow grinding of your hips, had him seeing stars, “Jesus fuck.” He swore.

You sped up your movements slowly and he helped move you up and down, gripping your hips as you pressed your hands to his chest. He could feel that you were already barreling straight towards another orgasm, your walls pulsing around him, and that was fine, because there was no way he was gonna last much longer.

“Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?” He asked breathlessly, “I want to watch you touch yourself. Want you to come with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered open as you processed what he said, and still grinding down on him, you circled your fingers over your clit, “That’s it,” He sighed, “Just like that.”

Your moans grew louder and your hips moved faster and faster. You looked euphoric as you tumbled over the edge again and you were so fucking gorgeous, he was immediately coming, swearing as he did.

Both of you trying to catch your breath, you folded forward, laying down against his bare, sweat slicked chest. He ran a hand over your hair as you settled, watched the rise and fall of your breathing, and was overcome with such tenderness for you his chest ached and his eyes watered.

“I love you,” He said quietly, tears caught in his throat, “In case you were unsure, I still love you.”

You pushed yourself up slightly so you could see his face. Your cheeks were flushed and sticky with sweat, “I know,” You said and smirked, “I love you, too.”

He kissed you again, sighed as your fingers came up to scratch at his beard, “Could I take you out to dinner next week? Only if… If you’re ready. I want to try to do things right, this time.”

You nudged your nose against his and bit your lip. This was dangerous, this hope that was building in your chest. But he was trying, was going to therapy, was voicing his feelings as he was feeling them. Was doing all this for himself, but also for you.

“Yes,” You pushed your lips forward to give him a quick peck, “Take me out to dinner, Michael.”

He smiled against your mouth and thought again of that sticky note on his fridge. One day, he’d show it to you. That was a promise he wouldn’t break.