#Please tell me I'm not the only one that had this idea

[shurisneakers]

sometimes I revisit the hellsite when a hyperfixation reappears and no surprises here, it’s Thunderbolts*. So naturally, I’ve come here to beg for help because I’m obsessed with the idea of a reader x Bucky (the grumpy x grumpy kind) whereby Bucky, Yelena and Alexei speak to each other in Russian purely to annoy them. seems like their brand of chaos, and your brand of fic 🧡

omg my angel it has been forever since we have talked. i missed u!!

here have some absolute garbage russian and nonsense writing.

word count: 800 words. i think this is the shortest thing I've ever written

warnings: swearing, longing, gyms

my masterlist over here and my silly little inbox for more requests, should you please

"How many more to go?"

"No one asked you to be here."

"Congratulations, I am. How many?"

You wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead as you pull yourself up again. Bucky's ridiculous face is, once again, too close to yours. He’s crouched like a gargoyle, scrolling through his phone while your core screams as you complete one crunch before going back down again.

"You're acting like you're important to this process," you exhale as you go back down.

"I'm keeping your form right."

"You're sitting on my feet and playing Sudoku. You wouldn’t notice if I dropped dead."

"I’d notice. I'd step over you."

Your lips quirk at the morbidity of this exchange, pulling yourself up again.

He raises an eyebrow at how close your face gets. You ignore him, drop back down.

"Are we interrupting something?" You don't need to see Yelena's face to know she's got a stupid smirk on. "I did not know crunches were a two-person exercise."

"Neither did I," you grunt.

"Back in Soviet Union," Alexei announces, "everything was two-person job. We shared everything. Socialism."

Bucky's eyebrows pull together.

"I thought you two trained in the mornings," you mutter, exhaling hard through another rep.

"Walker showed up right when we finished the milk. We left before he could tell us to replace it." Yelena shrugs before casting her attention towards Bucky. "Вы всё ещё продолжаете свои танцы друг вокруг друга?"

Are you still dancing around each other?

"Я не танцую," he retorts.

I'm not the one dancing.

"Anna Pavlova danced less than you," Alexei brushes past to head towards the weights.

"What the fuck are you guys talking about?" you mutter.

Bucky casts a sideways glance towards you, but keeps his attention on Yelena.

"Вам стоит сходить на настоящее свидание," she continues. "Ужин, цветы. Могу дать пару советов."

You should go on a real date. Dinner, flowers. I can give you some advice.

"So can I. You know, they added 'Russia's greatest love machine' in that song after they met me." Alexei uses the resistance band to tie together both the bench press bars.

"Why’s he the only one in English?" You jerk your thumb out towards him as lower onto the mat. "And what the fuck is he on about?"

"I had many lovers in my youth--"

"I don't want to know what he's on about," you interject immediately, glaring at Bucky. “Get off my feet.”

“No.” He doesn't even hesitate, before firing back at Yelena, flat as ever. "Мне не нужны советы. Я справляюсь."

I don't need advice. I'm fine.

"Да, очень романтично. Желание при��ушить друг друга."

Yeah, this is super romantic. Wanting to strangle each other.

"Strangling can be romantic," Alexei lifts up both the barbells with one hand, arm pin straight. "If you asked Melina--"

"Dad," Yelena groans.

"Jesus Christ, I'll go train in the fucking garden," you mumble.

"Should we clap? Should we celebrate that you're making contact with the outside world?"

"Your face is going to make contact with my foot."

"Это у тебя такой флирт?" she asks.

Is this how you flirt?

"Я слишком стар, чтобы флиртовать."

I'm too old to flirt.

"You made me lose fuckin' count--"

"You're at 465," he cuts you off, before looking at Yelena again. "Не говори ни слова."

Don't say a word.

She raises her hands, lips pulling down in amusement. "Ты светишься. Противно."

You're glowing. Disgusting.

"She is right, you glow," Alexei drops the weights with a crash. The whole room trembles for a moment..

"You’re glowing?" you ask, incredulous. "What are you, pregnant?"

Bucky doesn’t respond. Just keeps looking at his phone like it’s going to save him from this conversation.

“Move. I’m done.”

"You still owe five."

“I don’t owe you shit.” Still, you pull yourself up to painstakingly complete the misery.

"Нам уйти? вы сейчас начнёте снимать друг с друга одежду?"

Should we leave? Are you going to start taking each other's clothes off now?

"Christ alive," Bucky mumbles. "Присоединиться к этой команде было ужасной идеей."

Joining this team was a terrible idea.

"Alexei, if you drop that stupid barbell again, I'm gonna hurl it at your head," you snap, wiping sweat from your face. "Let go, I'm leaving."

"You still owe five," Bucky reminds you.

"Can you not count? I finished five minutes ago."

"No. You still owe five."

You hiss at him from the mat, "Barnes--"

"Chop chop."

You shoot up, ready to fight him.

Bucky leans in and kisses you, soft and chased with a self-satisfied, smug smile. He pries away just in time to let you drop back down on the mat.

"That's five hundred," he says, already standing. "You can do the second set on your own."

It's hard to remember what your rebuttal even was.

"Disgusting," Yelena gags, hand on her waist.

"Замолчи," you snap.

Shut up.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

also if you want u to know when i post fics, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it’s the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don’t post there at all except for fics </3

[bidisasterevankinard]

Ravi the matchmaker

based on this and for @thecarrott who loved it

Ravi fixes his shirt, loving that Buck and Tommy decided to semi-formal style for their wedding and he didn’t need to sweat in a hot uncomfortable suit, staying near Buck and watching Tommy cry, when Buck said ‘I do’.

And now time for his best man’s speech.

“Ladies and gentlemens, for those little who don’t know me, I'm Ravi. Once I was a probie who was trained by Buck and now we’re partners on heavy rescue. But the reason I was chosen by Buck is not just it. You see Chim, as he said, was the reason this couple whose love we celebrate today,” Ravi raises his glass to shit grinning Buck and Tommy whose two pairs of  bright and happy eyes, but red from a lot of happy tears, “met almost three years ago. And I,” Ravi proudly smiles. “was the reason they,” Ravi looks at kids, “hang out one night and leave each other wanting more and pining with the idea that it’s not done yet,” everyone laughs.

Then Ravi blushes, sending hate look at the Buck, “but I also the reason they got back together. And even though without me they’d be pining for god knows how long, they still with another best man bullied me into telling you the whole story. So prepare to laugh. And remember I had a lot of tequila in me thanks to one Evan Buckley… Sorry Buckley-Kinard. ”

-

Two years ago

“And that is h-h’w Hen and Karen’ found the way to each other again…” Chim hiccups, “and here we are,” he makes fake bows when Eddie starts applauding.

Ravi smiles at the happy couple, hoping to one day be as happy as them. It’s sweet to know you’re so loved.

But Ravi sees how the smile on one face doesn’t reach the eyes of one person who tries hard to hide it. Buck. The person who got really quiet during the whole story, looking lost, and taking two more shots, as if trying to get away from something.

Ravi knows from what. He saw Buck look at Tommy’s number during the night several times. All the time closing the contact information, before opening it up again.

That won’t do it. Ravi saw them together, listening to Buck talking about Tommy and saw the way Tommy smiled when he saw Buck that night in the bar weeks ago.

If those old schoolers won’t grow up and talk, it seems Rvai had to make them.

“Hey, Buck, my phone’s dead. Is that ok if I’ll call my sister to come and get me?”

Man just nods, opening up his phone, and Ravi smiles at him, patting his shoulder.

“Thanks, man you’re the best.”

Ravi doesn’t sway when he’s walking. But just barely. Two or three last shots were too much. But Buck paid, so it’s fine.

Quickly making sure Ravi’s alone outside, he opens the phone, finding the number he needs.

Please, don’t be on shift

“‘Van?” a sleepy voice answers, “what’s wrong?”

“Tommy, it’s Ravi,” Ravi makes his best sad voice, but then thinks that it’s unfair to say ‘it’ to Tommy even for a second. He can’t say that Buck’s dead. Not even for a moment to get them back together. What if it’ll break Tommy’s heart? 

But he needs a plan. And quickly. He remembered Buck’s home screen. Buck holding baby Han, smiling like it was him in labor and now has his baby in his arms.

The lamp bulb brightens up.

“Tommy, Buck’s in labor. It’s yours baby. There were complications. The baby and Buck need you.”

Silence.

Ravi checks that the call is still there.

“Chim told you how he got Hen and Karen back together,” Tommy asks without any sounds of him moving to get here and Ravi feels sad. Doesn’t he love Buck even a little bit?

“Yes.”

“And how much tequila did you have?”

“Much.”

“Yeah, I figured. But you had this bright idea on your drunk head. I was mentally building the crib for a second on a sober one.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with my plan,” Ravi pouts. It was a good plan if only he remembered that Tommy was around when Chim did it to Hen and Karen.

“Ravi,” Tommy seems to try and control his laugh, “Evan is cis man. He can’t get pregnant even if I’d give my best shot,” Ravi’s pretty sure he hears the whisper ‘and god did I give it my best shot’.

Blinking, Ravi feels like wires that tequila unplugged in his head are plugged back. He can’t stop himself from laughing too loud.

“Oh fuck. Please can you not tell anyone?”

“Nuh, Ravi, sorry, when Evan tomorrow will ask me what made me come and talk with him, I’ll tell him the truth. But I promise to keep it from Chim till the wedding.”

Ravi can live with it.

“Wait, you will talk to Buck?”

He hears a deep exhale that sounds too hopeful.

“You wouldn’t try and matchmake us if there was nothing for me to hope about, so yes. I’ll talk to him. Now go and give Evan his phone back. And delete this phone call.”

“Yes! Good luck, Tommy.”

Ravi does as he’s told, deleting the call history and then calling his sister, faking to everyone that she was not answering the number for a while.

Buck🦌

Next evening he has the new texts sitting in his notifications.

Thanks, Rav❤️

You can’t imagine what it means to me

Even if I can’t believe you said Tommy that I was in labor 🤣

-

Everyone in the room laughs too loud and Ravi can’t feel bad because that evening might have actually never happened or happened not soon enough if he didn't.

And he definitely is ok with some other people's jokes because it’s him who is going to be the godfather of baby girl Buckley-Kinard that is expected to be born next month.

He’s sure he and Skylar Robbie are going to be huge friends.

[all-with-angel]

Tumblr BETTER NOT DELETE THIS AGAIN.

Anyhow, here are some smut prompts that have been rotting my brain so now I'm sharing them with all of you:

MDNI. NSFW under the cut

Magical girl!Gojo x injured civilian!reader

Uh oh! After getting hit by one of the villains attacks, you're left corrupted with a brain that'll turn into mush without the proper treatment! Making you one of the villains braindead lackeys! Lucky for you, Magical Girl!Gojo will heal you right up with his super rainbow healing cum beam 😍!!

Demon King!Sukuna x Hero's Sidekick!Reader

The 'hero' left you to die after months of not ever appreciating the work you put in for the entire party, with your life in the hands of the infamous demon king, he gives your life purpose again. With all the love, respect and mindblowing sex you deserve 👍

Sold off!Gojo x Mafia boss!Reader

Now hear me out. Hear me out. The classic "I was sold off to a mafia boss to pay my fathers debts" except the roles are reversed and your Gojo is WAYYYY too into it. Maybe not as smutty and maybe more on the rom-com way of things but hes a desperate guy and will pound you into the mattress till daylight comes (as a thank you for taking such great care of him)

Kraken!Toji x Lighthouse keeper!Reader

It's lonely being stuck in a lighthouse everyday, but it's honest work to lead every kind of ship to safety. One night, you seem to lure something that isn't a ship to your lighthouse. (And yeah this one is for the tentacles. What about it.)

Ghostface!Gojo + Ghostface!Geto x Detective!Reader

You're close to finding out who the killer is, only to find out that there were two all along. And they want to pay you back for being such a good detective and finding their hideout.. In a secluded area.. with no one around for miles.. with no signal.. Did I mention your radio was broken?

Dilf!Sukuna + Milf!Yorozu x Reader

Imagine bagging a (RICH) married couple by being a broke and stressed out uni student 🤩 What a dream. Anyway, you come over to your best friend's house while they're out and spend some time getting to know their parents. Personally.

Also theres not alot of Yorozu content and I kinda want to change that

Nerdjo x Playboy/Jock!Reader

Your parents signed you up for tutoring lessons you didn't really care about, but hey, at least your tutor was cute. But the usually timid and bashful guy was getting fed up with your dismissive and lazy attitude, deciding that this session, he'd teach you a lesson you wouldn't forget.

Sentient Robot!Uraume x Creator!Reader

You demonstrate to the board of directors just how efficient your creation can be- Cooking, cleaning, fucking and laundry, they can just about do anything! (Yes, you two fuck in front of a crowd. They're very impressed after so it's fine!!)

Scientist!Shoko x Creation!Reader

She's keeping you, much to the chagrin of the board who want you gone. But how could she get rid of you? Her perfect little creation, always at her beck and call, always ready to help her relieve some stress by putting your head between her legs <3

Clones!Sukuna x Reader

Idk much about this one, all I know is that all three of them fuck you silly

Puppyboy!Toji x Kitty!Reader

Not much to say either, mostly thought about this because i KNEW what title I'd give it if I ever did write it. But I'm thinking stray pup that you took in and showed sweet love n care to, now hes big and grown thanks to you. Hes at that phase where hes just so needy and doesnt know where else to go to feel good except you, so when you finally relent and help him release all that pent up frustration, he cant get enough.

Had to rewrite this so it's way shorter than what i first wrote but thats ok 🫶 (think 2-3 paragraphs condensed into 1)

These are all nasty smh 😔 If anyone at all likes the sound of these do tell me your thoughts 👀 if any of them gives you inspiration to write something, please tag me!!

I give you all FULL permission to take these ideas and roll with them🙏

[skay-ali]

Wild Girl

It's a prologue, based on a series that won't leave my head. Why the heck did they have to cancel it? Well, it's an idea, with which I come back or show that I'm still alive. Ahggg, college is killing me. I hope you enjoy it.

Okay, I love all the careless reader stories.

Now I can't get the idea of ​​a reader shipwrecked on a remote island with a bunch of strangers out of my head.

"Your last action was very strong," your father spoke coldly.

"Well, you shouldn't have done that," you protested angrily, still hurt by what you knew.

"I'm an adult, and your father, you can't dictate what I can or can't do."

"Please, seriously, are you going to say that?"

"You were a very disrespectful girl."

"And what are you? I don't think I'm at least what you are."

"___, stop responding to your father."

"Seriously, Mom, after what he did to you."

The woman remained silent and, with a serious face, didn't speak again.

"Pack your bags, I don't want to see you at home for a while." With those words, your fate was sealed.

"Ahhhh, you don't know how much I hate you," you screamed.

You went to your room, destroying many things, your eyes red and your throat burning from screaming.

On your trip, you didn't say goodbye to anyone.

It's not like any of your family had shown up when you drove to the airport. It was your punishment.

But what was supposed to be a retreat for troubled ladies turned into hell after the plane crashed and you were stranded on an island.

You spent horrible years. They weren't days, weeks, or months... they were years.

Years filled with pain, intense struggle, disappearance, and suffering.

Many of the girls you developed bonds with perished... each one falling.

It was funny how their families sent them to save them from their problems or correct them, only to end up exposing them to great danger and even harming them further.

Your skin was wasted, your pale color was now red from the burns, your hair was a mess, so much so that you had to braid it so it wouldn't get damaged too much, you even cut it, your lips were cracked, your clothes became so worn out that you and your companions had to make your own clothes.

You had to learn to hunt animals, gather food, and create shelters from time to time.

You had to make sacrifices and survive.

It was a miracle that when you lost hope, when you saw one of your last companions leave, her baby being carried by you, when you were so broken, desperate from the loneliness, the loneliness that increasingly surrounded each of the island's inhabitants.

Someone, a mysterious person, managed to spot them in the vast sea. They were saved... you, two traumatized girls, a baby without its mother, more than five corpses of innocent women with a life ahead of them that was snatched away from them.

It was an interview where you returned.

Everyone in the league was watching, interested in the story. Well, in part, it was because one of its members was very interested in the story, which closely resembled his past.

You were the only survivor who spoke. You and a baby by your side. You couldn't separate yourself from him. The psychologists and psychiatrists who examined you called him your attachment person.

All the anxiety, what you experienced, was controlled by your interaction with the little boy. You went crazy when they took him away, thinking about the thousands of dangers he could be plunged into.

You couldn't break your promise to the only person who ever truly loved you, the person who gave you comfort during your time on the island, who listened to you and tried to understand you. Your best friend, your sister.

"___ Welcome, it's a pleasure to have you on our show."

"Well, I'm glad to be here, especially so you'll stop being a nuisance with all your invitations," you joked.

The audience's laughter filled the room.

"You're one of the few survivors of the retreat trip, finding your light. Tell me how that whole journey felt."

You weren't planning on talking when you returned to the world.

Especially since no one cared when you were missing; they just left you for dead.

But you had to go against your story and take down the guitres who wanted to exploit your story and pain to the fullest to line their pockets.

"It was very hard, being a teenager with no experience surviving, in a place without internet, without adults, without food, a roof, or clothes."

"The girls, my classmates, had to do terrible things to survive," you looked emotionlessly at the camera.

They were difficult memories.

The questions continued; you were reserved about some, very open about others.

You were giving people what they wanted.

"Tell me, do you think there's someone to blame?"

"What?"

"Yes, the plane failed, right? Surely someone was to blame."

"The truth is, I don't know." "It was something that happened quickly. I was on autopilot for a long time, trying to believe it was all a dream, that I wasn't on an island."

"But I'm sure of one thing: my father, my own father, was the one who sent me to this nightmare."

"He'll probably defend himself by claiming it was punishment, but it was his pride."

"It was my mother's fault. She accepted that my father would punish me just because I tried to defend his pride."

"It was easier for her than having to deal with her daughter, as she had done before."

"It was my brothers' fault. They never cared about what was wrong with our father. To them, I was the one who was wrong."

"While my fellow islanders are now with their families, overcoming their trauma, I am alone."

"I left society alone and am returning to society alone."

"Your family still hasn't contacted you?" You just denied it.

It was done.

It was only a matter of time before the internet discovered your true identity.

You didn't care anymore.

The press would have someone else to harass.

You needed to heal, find a new life, find a place, and keep your promise.

Take care of the only memory of your friend.

If looks could burn, Batman, the famous millionaire Bruce Wayne, would be burning from the fire in his companions' eyes.

It turns out someone did recognize you, or rather, your new fan, the other millionaire with plenty of resources to investigate your identity within the group, who decided to look for you out of self-interest, more compassion for your story, a need to help you that arose within Green Arrow.

To him, you were just a girl who went through the same horrors as him. He knew you needed help.

That harsh image on television wasn't the real thing. You were burying your feelings, and that would end you at some point.

But Oliver didn't stay silent when he found out about you. It was a huge outrage, because you could have avoided everything if only your family hadn't interfered in your life.

You could have spent a mini-vacation on an island if only your father, who had a lot of resources, had noticed and desperately searched for you.

He exploded in anger at his crime-fighting partner.

The truth was revealed to all his other companions, who also didn't react well.

Then reality hit Bruce. You, the girl who thought you escaped because of your last fight, in an instinct of rebellion.

In reality, you didn't. You ended up in a dangerous place, defenseless, waiting for someone to save you.

He was a hero, but more than that, your father. Even so, he left you to rot on an island, without knowing it.

"Hey, do you think we'll ever get off this island?" a redheaded girl asked.

"I wish I could say yes, but that possibility is becoming more and more impossible."

You looked at your friend. It was her last piece of clothing in good condition; she was the only one still wearing it, an explicit agreement to protect her and her baby.

"That's so sad. A group of girls arrive on an island and die, leaving only their corpses." Autumn lowered her voice sadly.

"Don't say that. You're supposed to be the positive one." You took your friend's hand and squeezed it.

You felt like everything was ending, the world was collapsing around you.

"But it's true, what awaits us, what awaits my baby." You didn't say anything; you shed tears of pain, sadness, and hopelessness.

So did your friend. You approached the woman, carefully placing your face against her chest, trying to comfort yourself, to comfort your friend.

She did the same, wrapping her arms around you.

"I think... I think... when your little person is born, she'll have a great mother, a great island paradise, and many aunts who will give her love."

"I don't think I'm going to see her grow up."

"What are you talking about, Autunm? Of course you'll see her grow up."

"I don't know. I feel like it won't be like that."

"Well, it will be. Just trust me."

"___"

"Autunm, no, please don't continue."

"No, ___, you have to listen to me."

"You were one of the few most likely to continue living."

"You have her too, so stop."

"We don't believe in fake dreams."

"They're not fake."

"I need you to take care of it." He pointed at his stomach.

"No."

"No?"

"No, because you'll do it. Don't leave me with a big burden," you protested angrily.

"Yes, I think I will." "But only if..."

"I'll take care of it, only if..."

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ad perpetuam memoriam IV

I II III

summary: an undoable deal and a fortunate fellow type of post: series includes: ruggie, azul, crowley, ??? additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not yuu, this is all AU, not making predictions for how twst will end, some characters are inebriated forgive me orz, not editing this more I'm done I'm done!!!

Dearest Reader,

I am terribly sorry to receive word of your illness. Forgive me for my emotion, it is not my intention to burden you, but I have been beside myself with worry.

Please see to it that you're taken well care of. If the accommodations are unsatisfactory, send word and I will have someone fetch you and take you to Fleur City. Some of the greatest alchemists in the world reside here.

Yours truly.

If you had eaten the letter, torn it into chunks and chewed and swallowed and let the ink and fine stationery sit in your stomach, it would have lurched less than it does now.

It was no fault of the contents, the fancy, fine ink, smooth black smudged blue on the bottom line, P.O. BOX #1482, FLEUR CITY, SHAFTLANDS, nor was it of the writer.

He meant well; too well, perhaps. And you weren't suspicious, though you had spent the night pacing your quarters and scouring the letter for some reason to be. It was routine for you, now, to question goodness, to doubt and debate anything you were told. To bite the hand that fed you. You would rather starve on an empty stomach of unfulfilled desire than to feed yourself from a forced hand, famine was preferable to the slow and painful death of hope.

Your conclusion was this: this stranger, unlike the ones here, had no obligation to help. You were as valuable to him as a beggar, a vagrant, or a thief; that is, worthless, something to turn a blind eye, unless you were of the bad habit of feeling noble.

As you had already found, you had nothing to offer. You were poor, unkind, jaded, weak, sick in both body and mind and likely soul, too, though you hadn't told anyone so yet, and there are no doctors for such a thing anyway, only religious men. And you hadn't the slightest idea where you might find one of those, if they even exist, here.

And the stranger, your companion in paper and ink, Smokey, as you had so fittingly named him, did not know the one that came first well enough to care about you through their image. You often wondered how he thought of you; or, rather, what face his mind had made for you. Who did he see when he read the lithe letters of you name? Someone beautiful? Someone cruel? No one at all? Were you to him as he were to you, a body made of black ink and rough white paper from the school store, brought to you in bundles by the Headmage? You hoped not. You thought so highly of him in his neat penmanship and perfectly creamy paper, what would he think of you in your inexpensive penny stamps?

Near midnight, now. You'd had a horrible habit, lately, of staying up long past the last bell of curfew to read and write your correspondence. Not for the silence or the darkness of Diasomnia's last breaths, but for the fear of being caught in so a licentious an act as reading a letter from your lover (which you thought you ought to call him- he was, after all, the only person you thought could truly love you. Perhaps it was because he had never seen your face. There is, after all, much distance between your bed and the mailroom, which you can both fill with fantasies of what you might be like in the flesh).

Nonetheless, the thought of being seen in such a vulnerable way, sat at your desk or in your bed or on your floor, sometimes, when you hadn't the patience or the pride to wait for a surface, with these beautifully written letters, pieces of another's soul, held to your nose and then your chest, when you become too embarrassed by the thought of telling a strange boy everything you loved and resented and wanted and rejected in want of forgiveness for feeling desire, well, it was all disconcerting. These letters were yours, a rope thrown over a garden wall, a vine of ivy thriving to your window, a line to something that lives and breathes outside of your bedroom, outside of your body, that, in some way, reminds you that you haven't died here. Yet. If you had, some weeks ago, of fever or fall, you thought you might never know it; everyone would treat you just the same if you were an unpleasant memory, rather than an unpleasant person.

But this boy, Smokey, if he never received word of your wellness, if you had suddenly fallen off the face of the world (or the walls of the school, since they are the very same thing to you), he would raise Hell itself. You know he would- or, at least, you would like to think, though lending him the hilt of your own weapon, the stem of your soul, your hope, is as dangerous as loving him. They are the same thing, you suppose.

Midnight. Without ever opening it wider than the width of your pinky finger, you stuff the letter inside a drawer of your desk. These days, after you read the gentle notes, you become terribly embarrassed, and you can no longer stomach the bittersweet thought of being known, and so you stow them away in this drawer where nothing but the wandering hands of your thoughts can touch them.

Today's letter was most disconcerting. You had never told him of your desire to leave.

You had dreamt it, of course, for months now, you toyed with the romantic thought of throwing all your coats and care to the wind and running barefoot to the ferry at the belly of the island, boarding it, and sailing to be a beggar in a foreign land. In some of these fantasies, you swim. The realism didn't really matter to your restless mind; they're only daydreams. You could barely bring yourself to leave your dorm bed; what wonderful force would it take for you to flee the island?

Of course, you fantasized of horrible things happening to you; frightening, unforgivable things, being burnt, tortured, disfigured with magic or by human hand, beaten, left bruised and battered, all sorts of bloody, painful things that you sought so much comfort in, that you merrily partook in, as if they were a second slice of cake at a birthday party rather than the thought of penance paid by blood. These fantasies often preceded the ones of departure; they were what you thought of when in bed, comfortable beneath your blankets, warm and full. There was a sense of absolution in it all; you would finally have a right excuse to feel sorry for yourself. You could curse out everyone who had so selfishly hurt and hated you for the sin of being you, you could be the good martyr that they so wanted, instead of the sacrifice that they had been burdened with. It was wrong, to think of the people who wouldn't so much as touch you, beating you black and blue, but you had to, because if not for them, the only person you had left to hurt you was yourself; and harm from your own hand was far more a dangerous fantasy. It was real.

But, all these things were only secrets you thought of in bed, and never something you put on display to the world in pen and paper, or in word of mouth. Were you really so unhappy, that your wonderful writer could feel your pain through the page?

Perhaps he was only being polite.

You decide on that for peace of mind.

There were only three people whom never made appearance in your daydreams of near-death.

The first, was, obviously, Smokey. The thought of him being cruel to you, when it had come to you in mind, one night, made you feel nauseous, as if there were a fire caught in your stomach, as if you were drunk on the eucharist, and you never entertained the thought after.

The second was Crowley, the Headmage, whom, try as you might've, you could never imagine raising a hand to you. The thought was so uncomfortably foregin that you could never really imagine it at all; in your mind he would only be half a form, or only hand and arm, or faceless. You could never quite put the pieces together to make a full man- which was, in itself, rather ironic, as Crowley was the only person here to have touched you without hesitation or respite, and to have touched you as if he could really feel you, as if you were real, as if you were a person, and not a ghost or a rather unattractive space in open air. That is, to be touched tenderly, but tightly, forgivingly and unafraid to feel your form and weight.

The third was the thing in Ramshackle dorm, which was not a person so much as it was a light in the window, but that you thought of as a person nonetheless.

You would contend with all three today.

First was the letter, which you had read the midnight prior. Its personhood had been weighing on your mind all morning.

Current is Crowley, who you have only been walking with because no one will bother you so long as you're with him- not out of an aversion to trouble, but because no one wanted to be around him. In this way, you could both avoid class, and being with the others.

"Horrible," he mutters, having returned from reprimanding a trio of second-years cutting class. "The nerve! To attend the greatest institute of magic in the world, and not even care! These children are giving me gray hairs, you know."

You glance at his hair, inky black and glimmering green in the sunlight. "No gray. You're still good,"

You feign to mention that you, too, are missing class. You haven't attended a single one all month. Most days, you forget you're supposed to be sitting in a cramped classroom with a textbook and a vexed teacher at all.

"Oh, good," Crowley smiles, his mood improving at the move of the clockhand. "But they really ought to take their education seriously. Not everyone has the chance to enroll in such a fine establishment."

"I know," you say. You're sure he's said the same thing to you not half an hour ago.

"Always causing trouble- starting fights- vandalizing the school- stealing bathroom signs- I scarcely thought Savanaclaw could become any more rambunctious than when Kingscholar was heading it, but now... a very good leader, yes, indeed,"

You don't ask. "But that intermediate dorm council is doing pretty okay, now,"

"Ah, yes. The council was a wonderful idea. Perhaps we should enforce the same in the other dorms, in lieu of their current housewarden selection methods. It would certainly be less cleanup for the janitorial staff,"

You still don't ask, but it doesn't surprise you that the students here are messy and competitive in their claim to the hierarchy. "I wouldn't be opposed to that,"

"Yes," Crowley nods. "Ah, now... duty calls. I must attend a faculty meeting... help yourself to campus, as long as you don't cause any trouble. The bus from Foothill Town comes by every hour, if you fancy a day off. Farewell."

You stare at him as he saunters away, whistling and warbling with the songbirds in the browning apple trees of the courtyard. That makes your second invitation to get off campus- though, Crowley's a far more temporary affair. And impersonal- not unlike the man himself.

Foothill Town. You've heard that thrown around a few times, spoken when Sebek needs a new book that he can't find at the library, or when Silver needs stamps for his letters to home. He seems to miss his family.

It might be worth your money.

If you had any of that, that is. You instinctively dig your hands into the deepest corners of your cavernous coat pockets, hoping to find a coin or two from its previous owner.

...Who must have been paranoid or fickle. You don't find anything but pocket lint.

"Shishishi. Looking for something?"

No matter how many times you're startled by a sudden sound, or a menacing smile, or the name-like noise that means someone is looking for you, you still lurch.

And you spin on your heels, surprised but prepared to run if it turned out to be someone you... simply didn't want to see. But this boy is unfamiliar- blond, bright-eyed, and trying hard not to burst out laughing at your battle stance.

No- you know him. He-

"Looks like your nose healed up. Sorry 'bout that again," he says. "You still look a little down on your luck, though. Boy troubles?"

Something like that. "I need bus fare,"

"Ah, money troubles," he nods. "That, I can help with... for a price."

Of course. Though, a part of you is relieved that he's not treating you like an escaped lab specimen, or something dead, or diseased. Are you actually enjoying being taken advantage of?

"I gotta bounce this afternoon- apple season, so I'm going picking around campus," he explains. "But I gotta shift at the Mostro Lounge and no one to cover. You take my four to nine, we'll split the profits fifty-fifty. Fair, right?"

Maybe too much so. But you don't need anything more than a few thaumarks for bus fare, so you're willing to take that chance. Half a few hours work should make a round-trip for tomorrow.

"It's a deal," you decide. "...What's the Mostro Lounge?"

You had seen Azul Ashengrotto at orientation, and not once since.

Unlike Riddle Rosehearts, whom you had also met the day you woke in Twisted Wonderland, he seemed to take no interest in your personal life- suspicious, though it reprieves you of the punishment of being known.

Though, now, standing in the darkened depths of Octavinelle in the early hours of night, in the large, empty lounge, duster in hand, you can tell why he never cared for your cause. He is terribly busy- if you'd had any doubts of a barely eighteen-year-old boy running a business, they were surely null now.

Five hours of bussing tables, breaking bread, and taking out the trash, bag after bag of trash, and you were feeling (and smelling) less than fresh. Azul hadn't wanted you to work the front- he made as much obvious from the impatient look on his face when you offered to take an order to a table.

You couldn't blame him, but you had been betting on being able to sneak a few thaumarks from the tip jar. Just enough for the bus, in the chance that Ruggie (that's what Azul had called him) backed out on your deal.

But, and thankfully so, Ruggie didn't come by to pick up his paycheck by the end of your (his) shift, and so you were called into the VIP room in his place.

"Five hours of work, split into two pays..." Azul hums, opening a low drawer on his desk. "That's just short of fifty thaumarks for you. Fair, yes?"

You nod, your eyes on the clock nearby. The hour hand is nearly past the nine- you're tired.

"Now, usually, it's dreadfully unprofessional to just give you the payment in thaumarks, but... I respect deals, and you and Ruggie had a deal, did you not? So, here," he says, handing you a few paper bills.

You take them and stand, readying yourself for the door, but he tuts.

"...On the subject of deals," Azul says, crossing his legs and drumming his fingers, finely dressed in white gloves, on the desk. "I happen to specialize in them. I could make your any wish come true- and you seem like someone who has a lot to wish for."

You still yourself. It was only an observation, and a rather obvious on at that, but it rattled you- who was he to decide what you dream of? What you desire? How carelessly he throws the word around, as if it were as weightless as water or as clean as the white of his gloves. What you wish? What do you wish for? What is it that he sees so clearly spelt across your cold, cracked lips?

You know what you dream of- death and violence and murder and pain and, sometimes, in the darkest reaches of your mind, comfort and safety in the arms of another, whose face is always different, always changing, depending on who you fear the least at that moment in the chill of moonlight and the melancholy song of morning.

But you want for nothing. You have no "wishes". You only have dreams, nonsensical nightmares of indulgence or denial or the two in tandem, intertwined, both mingling in body and breath. Your "wants" are colorless, shapeless things, the cry of some demanding child that hides itself behind your ribs when you want it, and that begs for closeness when you don't. Food, water, shelter, warmth. Paper and pen. Enough to put the child to sleep, for indulgence in your fantasies of adult violence.

But, then, a sorry, sordid thought does set itself between the tip of your tongue and the back of your throat, and you sit down again.

"I want the answer to a question," you say.

Azul brightens, becoming the lightest thing in the dark, dreary room. He straightens himself, sitting like a proper gentleman, and he sets his hands on the desk as if in invitation to take them in prayer. "Ah, then I will answer it. Anything you'd like- for a price, of course,"

That's the second time today you've heard those words, and the second time you allow them to coddle you.

"I want to know..." you say, looking anywhere but in the light of his eyes. "...If I should do what I'm told, or what I'm offered."

His smile stiffens and stifles itself. He sits up straight, though, not with excitement, this time.

"Pardon me? Could you repeat that?"

"That's my wish," you repeat. "I want to know if I should do what I'm told, or what I'm offered."

Azul thinks, though not with much care or consideration. He withdraws his hands from the desk.

"I don't do advice,"

"I'm not really asking for advice," what are you asking for? "...I want an answer."

He crosses his arms. "That's your greatest wish? Your deepest desire? The answer to a personal question?"

Something of his voice, or perhaps it's the prideful tap, tap, tap of his fingers on his sleeve, or the very impatient pout on his lips, upsets you. And you stand.

He was, like everyone else you've met in this place, expecting something of you.

"What do people usually wish for, then?"

Azul scoffs. "Exam answers, better lunches, anti-acne serum, social tips, love potions, freedom for their friends from sticky situations, tangible things like that,"

"But I don't want any of that. I want an answer. You can't give answers?"

"I'm not a fortune teller. I can't predict the future... None the matter," he sighs. "You have nothing of want, anyhow."

Those words, no matter how sweet he had tried to sell them, couldn't have been anything but intentional, meant to cut through you like you were made of mud or clay or anything soft and messy. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh of your palms, not yet scarred and hardened by your painful tenure here.

You fold your fifty (or just short of) paper thaumarks, hide them in your pocket, and see yourself out the door.

Night Raven College had become twice the length it ought to be.

The distance from the dorms to the mirror chamber to the wrought-iron gate guarding the mouth of the college is a dark chasm of cold and rain, a wild wood in which you find yourself lost, hunted by creatures of the night. Curfew has never meant so little to you than it does now.

Azul's words should not have bothered you. But they did. The fleeting normalcy of them, as fast and thin as the rain hitting you now, had hit your core, as he no doubt intended them to. Was he manipulating you into coming back with the correct wish? Was he making you into something desperate and needy for help?

You were that thing, of course. Needy and weak and distressed, no makings of necessary- but you had no want for help. Perhaps you had been spoiled by your writer, Smokey, his words and ways of supporting you, of consoling you, of comforting you. His letters smelled of firewood and a something sweet, like wine. Azul's office of perfume and burnt plastic.

It was the innocence of Azul's words that burned, that stung like poison and stunk like bloody breath. Painful, hurtful things are hidden under the assumption of innocence- things that only serve to make one feel dirty.

You shield your face from the shower of sickly cold rain with your arm, your shoulders hunched forward, your eyes burning with blight and tears. But the bus is on time, and so you can wipe your woes away on the slick fabric your sleeve in the comfort of the bright fluorescent lights. You haven't the slightest idea what you might do in town at ten at night- but anything is better than going back to your room.

He might have written you another letter, that sad little child in your chest says.

You can read it tomorrow.

Crowley may be looking for you.

He'll manage.

That light in Ramshackle might not be burning.

That thought is the most disturbing of the three, but you can't discern why. The low light in the window of Ramshackle dorm, sometimes yellow with ardor and sometimes white with death, but lonely, always lonely, has been more constant and everlasting than the letters and the Headmage.

It will be, you think. It will be burning.

The rain has put itself to bed with the rest of the world by the time your bus stops in town, letting you out by a sorry sort of inn, every door dark and boarded but one, warm light pouring out of the windows and merry laughter coming from within.

You're almost tempted to take the door handle and let yourself into the light, but you remember your uniform- no one will let you into a bar in that, no matter how old you believe yourself to be.

And so, you walk on, weighing the evils of early evening on your back, feeling the fleeting eyes of drunkards on your body. You are, at least, starting to dry; and the rain had washed away the stain of sweat from work. The sound of the sea, further than your feet could carry you now but friendly and comfortable nonetheless, beckons you from the town to the cliffs, where you might see the waves crashing against it.

But you know better than to follow the feeling of home to where there is none, and so you walk into town, not to the sea.

Had you listened to the warning calls of the waves, you might not have wandered to the surly, choleric part of the ports, and you might not have curled yourself into a ball and cried by a lobster restaurant, and you might not have met him at all.

But you did just that.

And as your feet were aching from the hour of walking and your shoulders were aching from the weight of the world, and you felt as if there could be no one lonelier than you in that moment, someone forced a cigarette into your face.

You startled, coming to the conclusion that you weren't as alone as you had reckoned as the smell of smoke finally reached your nose.

"Take it. Come on. You look like you could use it,"

You take a pitiful moment to refuse. Even if you had wanted to, you couldn't imagine smoking after crying so hard- if you started that up again, you'd vomit.

"Suit yourself," the man says, prodding the cigarette back into his breast pocket. He takes a seat next to you on the gravely ground with a proper sigh. "Bad day?"

"Bad month," you mutter.

"Bad life," he finishes, outperforming you with a fitting smile. "What's got 'ya down? Your life can't be that bad, if you're dressed in that."

You look down at yourself- the featureless, faded dorm uniform is still stuck to your skin with rain and sweat.

"It's not mine," which is technically true.

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Holding onto that for a friend?"

You grimace, Azul's gaudy taunt of contempt still as stuck to your mind as your clothes are stuck to your skin.

"I wouldn't be friends with anyone in that horrible place," you spit, as if the words were poison on your tongue.

The man looks a little take aback by your switch from sad, disgusting little thing crying on the street, to a steaming kettle.

And, appropriately, he then smiles. "Well, well. Then you're definitely not a student. Where'd 'ya get these? Dig them out of a dumpster?"

"...Something like that,"

"Tch, typical," he mutters, poking and prodding at your uniform, inspecting the tags and the tears in the make of it. "Throwing out perfectly good stuff. Those prep school brats wouldn't know gratitude if it hit them in the balls."

"Not a lot to be grateful for there," you mutter.

"Sure there is," he says. "For one, if you've got the talent and money to get in, you're already set. For another, three meals a day, a warm bed to sleep in, and a full ride? That's not enough for you?"

"Not what I... meant,"

The man grins, narrowing his eyes at your sorry self-defense, and he leans against your side. "Don't give me that face, honey. What, did one of those kids spit in your soup?"

He's drunk. You should've guessed from the get-go, but you were so content in drowning in your own misery that you hadn't noticed the way he smirked or smelled.

Something about it is comforting. You hate that it is. Does nothing frighten you anymore? His ears, foxlike, twitch, as if he can hear your thoughts.

"I guess I just don't have much to live for," you say, as plainly as you could put it. That thought had, of course, been in your mouth and on your mind for a month now. All you had dreamt of was hurt- of bruises and broken bones, of tears not wasted on the words of a teenage boy. It was a sickening, perverted sort of hope, but it was all the hope you had.

The man thinks for a moment, taking a hand to his chin and rubbing it. His gloves were probably white, once, but now they're worn and weary, and you can see his pinky finger coming through a perfectly round hole.

"...Then you gotta find something to live for," he says, throwing an arm around your shoulder. "Or you gotta make it."

"Make it?"

"Mmmhm," he drawls. "Make it. Find it, whatever. Not everything's as easy as it is for those little private school pipsqueaks. The rest of us- you 'an I- we gotta make ourselves a reason to live."

You try to look at your lap, but he tugs a lock of your hair back up so you can see the bright of his eyes and feel his bitter, sickly breath on your face.

"I gotta boy," he starts. "Dun'even really know the kid's age. But I gotta do things for him. He's my kid, y'know? I can't die, someone's gotta feed 'im. And I taught him all the tricks of the trade and I value independence, y'know, you gotta work for what you want, but he can't be alone. That's my reason. So what's yours?"

You hesitate. "...I don't have anyone like that,"

"Then you find one. Everyone's looking for someone,"

The man stands with some effort, and yet offers you his hand. You take it, though he stumbles back and you both almost tumble into the alley wall when he brings you to your feet.

"I don't know if I'm like you, though," you say, his hand still tightly around yours. "I don't know if anyone will ever..."

Want you. Need you. What is it? Your mouth hangs open, though no words come out. He seems to know, anyhow.

"Like me," he grins, giving you a good look at his canines. "Like me. Tch. Anyone who thinks I'm a saint has to be an angel. Or stupid. But you're not stupid, are you?"

You're not sure how to answer that.

"You should go home, if you got one. It's 'gettin late," he says, finally letting you go, the warmth of his fingers on yours lingering where he touched. "There's a lotta creeps out here."

He cackles to himself, as if he found that funny, and then leaves, stumbling back to the door of the lobster house (and bar) and letting you out in the cold.

By the time the bus has dumped you back at the overdramatic gates of the school, you're cold, you're tired, and there's a hole in your chest where your heart had been dug out earlier that day. Or that month- you can't be certain.

And yet, somehow still, your body is warm.

As you walk back to the mirror chamber, your arms wrapped tightly around your chest, you remember to check for light in Ramshackle's window.

It's there.

Dear Writer,

I'm feeling much better, please don't worry about me.

I've given some thought to your offer, but I'll have to refuse- for now. I can't explain it, but I think I'm needed here.

Yours truly.

[tetrapaec]

Different anon as before, but please tell us about them giving birth! Dan's birthing style vs. Phil's, what you think one would be doing while the other was giving birth, any other thoughts you might have

Let's gooo! It's long af and i wrote this in one go, I'm sorry no beta.

Dan :

I think his pregnancy was meticulously planned. He had been off birth control for a few months, he was eating healthy and taking acid folic pills to make sure his womb was ready for life.

It took only a few tries!

His pregnancy was a bit chaotic because he kept fainting, worrying the hell out of Phil. He stopped exercising in the second trimester and he felt better. His doctor told him not to stay up for longs periods of time.

He got his first contraction before bed. He kept it to himself not to worry Phil, he laboured quietly in bed with Phil snoring next to him. He couldn't sleep so he read articles and watch Youtube videos about birth experiences, so excited to meet his baby. Around 5 in the morning, the pain was getting too hard on him, he could feel pressure on his pelvic floor. He woke Phil up and they called a car to the hospital. His bag had been ready for months now, he grabbed his headset and listened to quiet music.

He had a birthing plan to follow. Nothing went to plan.

His water broke in the car, he cried and appologised to the Uber driver. The pain was too much and he threw up in the car as well. He screamed at Phil that they should have taken an ambulance, Phil reminded him it was Dan's idea.

They left the car in a hurry, Dan dripping onto the hospital floor and they realised they forgot the bag in the car. Dan started crying again as the contraction kept getting closer and harder. The doctor rushed to him with a flock of nurses and midwives. They were very nice to him, Dan kept insulting them for every little thing.

He didn't want pain medication, it wasn't in his plan. Phil kept insiting he should take it and he kept snapping. Phil was supposed to be his pain relief, they had practised acupressure at phome... But now Phil seemed unable to remember where to press, what to hold, it only annoyed Dan further. Phil was getting mad at Dan for snapping at him all the time, Dan kept screaming at everyone that they're incompetent, he tried to leave three times. It was a funny sight to Phil, Dan in a large t-shirt, buttass naked, screaming like a mad man.

The nurses seemed unfased by it all, they kept suggesting an epidural to stop the pain, Dan was too stubborn to accept. He asked everyone to leave him alone. He got on all four and started labouring on his own, Phil in the corner of the room, not allowed to touch him or go near him. A single breath out of place was enough to trigger Dan. The sounds that came out of Dan's mouth could be mistaken for those of a cow, he kept letting out loud moans whenever he could feel a contraction coming.

'My body only gives me pain it can endure'

He kept repeating this outloud like a mantra. Between contractions, he finally asked Phil to hold his hands. The doctor came in and told him he was fully dilated after seven hours of active labour. He should be ready to push as soon as he felt a pressure he couldn't control.

Dan endured one more hour on all fours before finally feeling like he needed to push. He asked for no one around him, he felt each wave, with only a few seconds to rest between them. He pushed each time, listening to the midwives and the doctor until finally, the pressure was gone, the pain was gone. His arms started shaking and he sighed in relief. He waited to hear the baby wail, the seconds were too slow, the midwives were talking about one last push for the placenta and he felt it come out like a big bloodclot.

Finally the baby cried, the doctor gave the birth time. Dan let out a sob at the noise. He turned around and sat on his foam mattress on the floor and saw Phil with a pair of scissors, blood on his glasses and tears in his eyes. Dan removed his shirt and laid down naked. The baby was placed on his chest, a blanket on top of both of them. The doctor told Dan he didn't tear and the baby was healthy.

Phil :

Unplanned birth, Phil was on birth control or so he thought. They decided to keep it anyway. Phil didn't really realise he was pregnant until the end of the first trimester so it was too late for a phabortion, and even late in his second trimester, he didn't really understand what was happening to him. He didn't look up anything about pregnancy until his 7th month.

That's when he started to panic. He hated the way he looked, he couldn't recognise himself in the mirror. Dan was so in love with him and his body (of course his breeding kink was at his full power), he was the one to tell him random fact about being pregnant that Phil didn't care for. He wanted the baby to be here without the pain, the ache, the puking and the crying. At least his hair looked nice, Dan had forbid him to dye or bleach it by fear of hurting the baby.

Dan prepared a nursery, he bought all the expensive baby care stuff, Phil was happy to see him so excited to be a dad but he didn't help, he was very low energy all the time.

Six days after the due date, Phil realised this pregnancy would never end. They appointed an inducing date at the hospital. Phil planned on having the most medicated birth ever, he just wanted the baby.

He was induced at 8 in the morning, the contractions hitting him like a truck. He threw up after the third wave. He asked for an epidural, Dan telling him all the risks like he was a trained midwife. The anaesthesist was late, Phil was growing impatient, the nurses drew him a bath, it didn't help.

Finally the epidural started and he laid on his side, on his phone, scrolling TikTok. Dan told him he needed to be in the right mindset for birth, Phil threatened to make him leave.

Phil spent the whole day laying down, not feeling his legs, asking for a top up when the epidural stopped being effective. The doctor suddenly burst in the room followed by several nurses. They prepared him for surgery. Something was wrong with the baby. Dan was the one asking questions, Phil was too worried to speak. Dan was not allowed in the room.

Phil was awake during the c-section, the doctors and surgeons were saying the baby's heart rate was lowering at an alarming rate. Phil was on the verge of a panic attack, they got him drug to calm his mind and opened him up. They told him he still needed to push, it felt like someone was wrestling with his inside. They got the baby out, Phil heard them walk to the end of the room with it, everyone was awfully quiet. He asked what was happening, but no one replied as he was being stiched back. Phil started crying, the baby was dead because he didn't listened to Dan and had asked for too much drugs.

The midwife finally came to him and put the baby on his chest, his eyes were opened and he was looking at the lights on the ceiling. Phil said hello, and the baby looked at him and started crying. Phil had never known such joy in his life. He was shaking too much to touch his baby, the doctor told him it was the adrenaline. They took the baby away to bring him to Dan for skin-to-skin whilst Phil was recovering from the anaesthesia.

[castiwls]

Step-brother!Anakin - mdni warnings - step relationships, dirty talk, fem!reader

Step-brother!Anakin, who's just so mean for no reason. Ever since the wedding, he's had it out for you for some reason, and you have no idea why.

constant jabs and comments at anything and everything for no apparent reason. You give it as good as he does, you're both constantly at each other's throats until one day something seems to snap.

You come down stairs ready to go meet some boy in your english class wearing that same damn skirt that drives him insane. It barely covers your ass and he's moving before he can stop himself.

"Your not going out like that," he snaps, hands pressing you against the kitchen counter - the house empty for once - "Lookin like some cheap whore-" His words sting but also set your stomach burning, the shame curling in your gut mixing with something else.

"You can't tell me what to do."

"Like hell, I can't. You think I'm gonna let you prance around looking like that!" He knows what boys your age are like; he's a boy your age, and he'd be damned if anyone else was getting their hands on you.

Fuck james or whatever his name was.

"Walking around like you're asking for it." He snarled, his fingers pushing up under the flimsy material as your fingers dug into his shoulder, nails leaving crest-shaped marks.

"Ani-" You gasped, your head falling back as his fingers brushed over the lace, a cruel laugh leaving his throat. "Oh, you like this?" He taunted, his lips pulling into a grin you wanted to punch away as he pushed the lace aside.

"All this for James or for me, hm?" He teased, two things pushing through your folds, gathering the wetness pooled their before rubbing quick circles into your clit which had you gasping and clinging to the counter.

"Who's it for, angel?" He pressed, his breath leaving goosebumps where it ghosted over your jaw. "You." Your mouth felt thick as you arched into his touch. "F'you — fuck Anakin please,"

Satisfaction only curled in his stomach at the whiny tone you cried his name, whatever plans you had forgotten as he sank two fingers inside. "Course it's f'me." He grinned, boasting almost like his playground taunting had worked, and it had.

"'Cause you're mine—say it."

"Your's" You cried your eyes squeezing shut as his fingers attacked that spony spot that had you seeing stars, "—all yours!"

[tatsunokoori-blog]

Randumb thought

What if the "Second Coming" Metatron wanted was fucked over by Aziraphale miracling himself into having a kid instead of whatever target Met and God wanted? Like, completely split second decision on his part.

[pheyphem]

ignoring the obvious. is anyone else really fucking intrigued/confused by this room

it is so STARKLY different from the rest of the phouse like it has fuzzy padded brown walls?? like they have a reason for every design choice in the phouse so why did they go with fuzzy brown walls in here and here only (it seems)??/?

drop your ideas below

[nikolas-ghostbusters-fixation]

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how everyone thought Egon had gone insane. What Happened that made them think that. They've fought a gigantic Stay Puft Marshmellow Man TWICE (counting the 2009 video game because iirc it's canon? Correct me if I'm wrong), fought an interdimensional god, fought a blood thirsty ruler that killed thousands and was hated by all that was trapped in a painting (and managed to get in to beat him by making THE STATUE OF LIBERTY start walking down the street with slime that reacted purely based on vibes), found an underground abandoned transit system full of the moodslime, had a bathtub try to eat Dana and her baby, fought a giant murderous black widow lady, fought the fisherman ghost who turned an entire hotel floor into the bottom of a ocean, and that's not even mentioning them getting trapped on an island that randomly raised up from underwater that had been abandoned for decades created by Ivor Shandor who worshipped Gozer. So what did he do or say that made everyone else think he'd gone insane?? All I can think is maybe he was acting strange / eratic before, but he's always been like that to some degree.

I don't know. It's something that I've been thinking about. The correct answer is 'it's not that deep and they needed a reason that the others weren't together anymore and weren't aware of Egons death or know what was going on,' but also. What Was He Saying that prompted everyone, including Ray, to think he lost his mind when he'd been right almost every time before that.

I'm genuinely so curious as to what he was up to before this. What was he doing. What insane idea was working on prior to this or was he even working on anything at all??

Also want to clarify this post isn't negative 😭 I really love the newer movies and their lore / the newer storyline / characters, I just like thinking about small stupid things like this. Gives me something to think about / speculate about / figure out an answer to.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Bruce: Attention, please. I understand a majority of you had plans this weekend. I want to be considerate of your time, so I'll make this brief. Lex Luther has hired a boy to seduce Wayne Enterprise secrets out of Tim. I need you to be weary at the gala. Dismiss.

Tim: Hold on hold on. I'm going to need a LOT more information than just that.

Bruce: I said dismissed Tim. Your siblings have plans.

Dick: *Raises a hand*

Bruce: Yes?

Dick: I can tell this approach is from the parenting books Uncle Clark got you, which is great. Thank you for trying, but we really need more details B. You can be considerate of our time by properly using it.

Bruce: hmmmm. Alright, if everyone feels this way. I suppose I can explain

Batkids: *Nodding*

Bruce clicking on the computer to show a picture: This is Daniel Fenton. His family used to own Fenton Works until the unfortunate loss of Mrs. Madeline Fenton in a car accident. Mr. Jack Fenton was convinced a ghost killed his wife. He was arrested after he crossed state borders chasing it and went on a rampage in downtown Gotham. He was deemed mad with grief and has been in Arkham for the last four years. Neither Jasmine nor Daniel were able to keep the family business afloat and were eventually bought out by Luthor.

Steph: I remember Mr. Fenton. He made that weird ray that was just throwing green goo on people. Besides scarying a few civilians, he didn't do anything bad. No one was harmed.

Bruce: That was the Fenton children argument as well. They were unable to get Mr. Fenton out of Arkham and into a different institution. I fear corruption is at play. During his stay in Arkham Mr.Fenton, has continued to create inventions, though no patent has been filed. All funds from said inventions are being made by local Mafia families instead.

Jason: Those thieves are preying on a grieving man. Rumors has it, Mr. Fenton isn't even aware his wife is dead. His mind blocked it, but he's slowly deteriorating. They're trying to squeeze out every drop of cash they can from him before his mind is completely gone.

Bruce: Exactly, and his children know it. Recently, Clark overheard Luthor offer Daniel a deal. He steals Wayne Enterprise secrets from Tim - probably got the idea after reading the article of Tim coming out, no doubt - and Luthor pulls enough strings to get Mr. Fenton out.

Tim: That's horrible. Is there any way we can help the Fentons instead? Move Mr. Fenton to a different place?

Bruce: I'm working it, but I believe Luthor is blocking my attempts. He did the same to Miss Fenton's college and loan applications. The pair are in a finical crisis that does not seem to get better no matter what they do. Luthor has employed similar tactics before.

Damian: Thus trapping the Fenton siblings in a box, unable to defy Luthor. They may be so desperate they would agree to anything after this many hardships.

Bruce: Exactly.

Tim: Alright I'll sleep with him

Cass: Literally, no one said you needed to sleep with him.

Tim: It's will be tough but I'll take one for the team.

Duke: Tim, that's not what B is saying at all.

Bruce: Wait, wait. I think Tim wants to sleep with Daniel Fenton. Hold on, let me consult the experts *opens parenting book*

Bruce: This isn't covered in the book. I don't know what to do.

Dick: I do. Tim, you're not sleeping with Daniel Fenton, but you are going to pretend his seduction is working. We're going to stop Luthor and the Mafia families controlling Arkham. We need to buy time to do that.

Tim: Kisses and over clothes stuff only. Got it.

Damian: Life has been hard for you since Dowd left you, hasn't it Drake?

[magicaloneandmystery]

an extra hand to help you work

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

summary: whatever he might say, Bucky cannot share you with the world. when he wants your attention, he'll get it one way or another.

warnings: mdni. teasing, fingering, a few hickeys, Bucky is a real tease in this one, pet names, mentions of oral

you were ignoring him.

not intentionally, of course, you just had some work to wrap up before you could join him and give him your full attention.

still, you were ignoring him.

Bucky Barnes does not pout but his lips were jutted out in a way that would resemble a pout. he would say he was sulking.

then, an idea came to him. a sure shot way of getting your attention.

he slid off his t-shirt, his sweatpants already hanging low. he knew this would distract you a little, but his plan was not just that. he made sure to spray on his cologne on him, knowing the effect it has on you.

when he entered the room, you were on the desk, typing away at your laptop.

"I'm just done, Buck," you said, sensing his presence. "just five more minutes."

he did not want to wait five more minutes.

so, he came closer to you, the smell of his freshly sprayed cologne distracting you for a moment. you looked at him, your eyes widening at your half naked boyfriend.

"wh- what are you doing?" you said, mind already clouding with the things you could be doing with him instead of finishing stupid work.

"I got tired of sharing you," he shrugged, making you stand up so he can sit on your chair and you on his lap. "c'mon, doll, let me help you finish this work."

your breath hitched, your pussy dampening at his low voice, his breath fanning over your ear, and his hands that were now roaming all over your chest.

"tell me what you're doing," he said, fondling your breasts. he realised you were not wearing a bra, a low hum in his chest appreciating the little detail. he pinched your nipples through the t-shirt you were wearing, a gasp leaving your mouth.

your eyes were closed, your head slightly bent towards him, work forgotten in front of you.

"c'mon, sweetheart," he said, his hands leaving you completely to prove his point. "I don't want to distract you. I promise to not touch you until you complete your work."

the shit eating grin in his voice told you he had already won this round. the little tease.

"Bucky, please," you whined. "please touch me."

"but what about the work," fake innocence coated his voice. "you gotta complete the work, baby. I'll reward you for it. instant gratification."

"okay," you said, hands returning to your laptop, eyes focusing on the document in front of you.

he was true to his words. his lips claimed your neck, while his hands started roaming your body again.

he was attentive, stopping his ministrations the moment you stopped working, keeping you half distracted and your heart beating wildly.

his hand moved down to tease the hem of your shorts before he slipped past the waistband, continuing his trek down your body. the heat from your core and your moist panties made him smirk, you could feel it on your neck.

he gave you a sharp suck and bite, his fingers pressing down over your core. "already wet?"

you had stopped working again, your mind focused on his hand. "mm hmm." you simply responded to his question.

"keep working, baby," he reminded you, rubbing you through your panties. you opened your legs wider, giving him easier access to your pussy.

when he stopped, you whined again, missing his touch.

"you're not working." he stated simply, looking at the document in front of you both.

"fine," you huffed, starting to type absolutely random words just to get him to finger you.

"good girl," he didn't notice that you were only typing the word pls over and over again. but you were rewarded nonetheless. his fingers moved inside your underwear.

you gasped, continuing to type random letters now, your eyelids dropping halfway, your head slightly bent forward.

Bucky found your clit easily, circling over it once before he dragged his finger down to your entrance, your wetness making things much easier for him. "you're so wet, baby." he teased in your ear before biting it.

you gasped, nodding, your head falling on his shoulder. that finally made Bucky look at the screen. he laughed, the sound reverberating in his chest, a satisfied rumble on your back.

"I guess you can technically say you're working," his eyes roamed the screen, random letters and numbers thrown together as you made a show of working. "your boss is gonna be mad at me again."

you moaned as his middle finger pushed past your entrance, filling you up, and his thumb continued to rub your clit. he sucked a few more hickeys on your neck, biting and kissing the bruises afterwards, while he fucked you on his finger.

your hips started rocking on his hand, desperate for him to go faster. his other hand went under your t-shirt, palming your breasts. he tugged your nipple at the same time he got his second finger inside you, a surprised yelp falling from your lips.

you were panting heavily on him, fucking yourself on his fingers, hands now intertwined in his hair, your work effectively forgotten.

Bucky had half a mind to tease you more, but you were being such a good girl, fucking yourself on him, ruining your work document just to please him, and the sounds out of you, the little moans, whimpers, and gasps, made him change his mind and give you an orgasm or two before he helped you complete your work.

he could feel you tighten around him, your muscles tensing on him as a sign of your incoming release. "Bucky, Bucky, Bucky," you continued to pant, hands tugging at his hair.

he bit your shoulder, his thumb and fingers fastening on you.

"come for me, baby," he whispered in your skin. "I'll clean you up with my tongue afterwards."

the filthy promise was what pushed you over the edge, your mind swimming with pleasure and Bucky. you moaned, a pornographic sound, the rocking of your hips slowing down.

"that's a good girl," he said, one final hickey on the side of your neck being followed by a kiss on your cheek.

you breathed heavily, leaning your entire weight on him, letting him hold you. you stayed like that, his fingers inside you, yours in his hair.

a small ding! on your laptop pulled both of you out of your bubble. it was your boss, asking you for the work that shouldn't have taken more than ten minutes.

you whined, turning your head to look at him with a pout. "can't I just tell her to fuck off?"

he chuckled. "you're turning into a bad girl, baby."

"you love it."

"I do."

[emmyrosee]

Rintaro feels guilty leaving this time.

You’re expected to deliver your twins any day next week, and he’s expected to fly across the country for a charity event he really can’t even think straight for. You've assured him you'll be fine, his sister is more than capable of taking care of you while he's gone, but there's a pit in his stomach about the idea of leaving you.

But you send him anyways. With a kiss on his cheek and a promise to call him every day (if he had it his way, it would be every hour, but you wouldn't go for it).

The trip goes smooth enough, and he's grateful for you staying true to your word and calling him every night. It does make the time pass, you're safe, but he's more than eager to make it home to you.

He practically pushes his teammates out the door, he's the first one on the bus, his knee bounces anxiously the entire time- especially when the bus driver makes a wrong turn into straight construction, thrusting them in traffic for far, far too long without any service.

But you won't call him, right? Why would you, you've called him at night every day he's been here, and nothing of note has happened (not that that’s a negative to Rintaro, he’d rather your days be mundane and boring than active in your pregnancy).

His heart finally starts again once they pull into the airport parking lot, all of the teammates trying to not be annoyed at the events of the morning and trying to stay focused on the next steps of boarding the plane in a few hours.

Rintaro sighs, slipping his phone out and immediately calling you, not taking notice of just how many notifications bombarded his phone.

The line ring once, twice, and his shoulders relax as you finally pick up the phone. "Rin?" You ask, and you sound like you're in discomfort. But he merely brushes it off. You are very pregnant, after all, surely discomfort is normal.

"Hey babe, just got service from being in the bus, we've got a nasty delay because the fuck-head made us miss our fucking flight, so I might be home later than expected-"

“Rin, I'm in labor.”

Silence fills the line.

“No you’re not,” he says simply.

“As much as I would love to be kidding, I’m not. I’m 10 centimeters, babe.”

How you’re so calm right now, is beyond him.

Him, on the other hand, leaps up with absolute panic, a screechy “WHAT?” echoing through the airport. It catches more than a few looks from other people, but all Rin can think about is you.

You in the hospital, legs up in stirrups and gown being the only thing adorning your body. There's probably nurses and doctors everywhere, and Kaiya and Akito on the couch at home with his mother, waiting for the news.

"WHEN?"

"My water broke a few hours ago, got to the hospital with your sister and now they're getting ready for me to push. Your timing truly is impeccable."

“And you thought now was the best time to tell me?!”

“I tried to tell you earlier, but you had no service!” You defend.

Fuck, he could scalp the bus driver for getting fucking lost.

"okay, okay, okay lets calm down-"

You snort, "yeah I'll get right on that."

"Please, for everything unholy, don't joke right now," he pleads, and he hears you offer him a laughy 'sorry' on your end of the line. "Are you okay? Do you feel okay?"

"Well I don't feel particularly good, for all intents and purposes." You direct your attention to something else and he hears bustling in the background, "Rin I have to start pushing. Stay on the line.”

"No! Wait for me, I'll-"

"Yeah I'm not waiting for you," you snip. “I'll... be fine. Just stay on the call okay? For me?

Rintaro tries not to pass out as you start pushing, doctors encouragement coming through on the line, followed with your grunts of agony as you try to bring your two new babies into the world. He knows you’re strong, you don’t need him there, but there’s something deep inside of him that hurts at the idea that you don’t, he’s so close yet no where near close enough to be right there next to you, and he anxiously looks around him as he tries to find a private place for him to cheer you on, call your name, scream it, his soul in agony over something he has no control over.

It could be four minutes or four hours, rintaro has no idea as you finally scream in agony as a small wail breaks over the line, one akin to Akito and Kaiya’s as the two of them entered the world all those years ago.

“Beautiful!” His sister cheers, “just a bit more for Sachiko sis, you’ve got this!”

“No more,” you weakly whimper over the line, and Rintaro tears up as he chews on his thumb.

“Baby,” he chokes, “you’ve got this, okay? You can do this, I’m right here.”

“No you’re not!” You scream.

“Yes I am! I’m right here okay? I’m not going anywhere!”

“Rin I need you-“

“And I’m right here. I promise. Just close your eyes, I’m there, okay?”

Hes not there. He knows you know that. But right now, he can’t feel sorry for himself. He goes silent and listens to the bustling of the doctors and nurses preparing to bring Sachiko into the world, and rintaro has no clue how long it’s been before you’re ready to push again.

“Ready, momma?” He asks, and you let out a sob.

“Im so tired, Rin.”

“One more big push okay?” He chokes. “Push!”

And you do. You let out another shriek as you start to push, rintaro can practically see your legs tremble and face scrunch and throat tight as you let out another blood curdling cry, and before he can think, another set of crying fills the line.

His twins are here.

And he’s not.

“Good job, angel!” He hoots.

“She did so good, Rintaro,” his sister assures.

“I know she did,” he says, hand clutching his heart.

“They’re so handsome Rin,” You babble, and instantly, Rintaro’s face drops. “Such beautiful boys, they're so sweet, so handsome…”

Boys?

Oh fuck. Rintaro briefly thinks back at all the purples and pinks in the closet at home.

Immediately, Rin tries to conjure up an excited tone, squealing out a soft “boys?” in confirmation.

“She’s messing with you," his sister snickers. You’re laughing exhaustedly too, among your sniffles of agony and above the screaming of the newest twin.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he says, breathless and his chuckles easing out.

“You've got new baby girls, Rintaro," his sister coos.

“We got them, boys!” He announces, causing an uproar of cheers to come from his teammates. He feels his heart sink to his stomach as his throat begins to swell. “I’m so proud of you baby… my good girls.”

“They’re so beautiful, Rin. So beautiful," you cry.

He sits on his suitcase and tries to imagine them, desperately, tiny hands pawing at the air, crying at the newness of the bright light and the world…

All without him. He’s not there.

“Who was born first?” He chokes, desperate to keep his voice steady. It was a complete tossup with the names, whoever was out first or second is precisely how the names would fall. But he just needs you to keep talking to him.

You understand, and you answer shakily, “Sachie,” you sigh. “Sachiko was 20 minutes later.”

“Late; just like momma.”

“Watch it.”

He chuckles around a flood of tears, a hand coming up to bring his hand up to cover his face. Hot, bubbled tears slip down to roll over his thick fingers, trying to stay composed in the airport that’s bustling with too many people.

“Im so proud of you,” he chokes, eyes screwing shut. Not long after, a massive hand claps down on his shoulder, Komori’s eyes flickering with understanding and apology. He’s got nothing to apologize for, but Rintaro takes the kindness regardless and puts a free hand on top of his to squeeze the emotions out. “My amazing girl. Fuck, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Rin, I have to go,” you say, and he hears the gruff voice of the doctor. “I love you so much. Come home safe, you’re no use to me dead.”

“Okay, princess,” he sighs shakily, burying his face in Komori’s stomach to cry. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

He’s 99% sure he should be saying that to you, and not you to him. But regardless.

He waits for the line to die before taking the phone from his ear, blinking up at Komori with absolute heaviness in his heart.

“I should’ve been there,” he whimpers.

“You couldn’t control it, buddy.”

“But I should’ve been there. Not three cities over for some charity that I don't even care about."

It doesn’t matter the assurances Komori could try to pass him. It doesn’t matter that you’re okay, you’re strong and you don’t need him in this moment.

He should’ve been there to squeeze your hand, watch his two babies come into this world with you, kiss your forehead and whisper loving words in your ear.

And he couldn’t manage even that.

[forever-rogue]

Trouble

AN | Hello, I'm here to fix it. It never happened. Joel is back in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Canon typical injury

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were covered in dirt, blood, and gunk but none of that mattered in the moment. What mattered was that no matter how bruised and worn down you felt, you were alive. You had survived, Jackson had survived…everything would be okay.

Dragging yourself up off the ground, you spotted Tommy and Maria up ahead. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you slowly made your way towards them, helping any stragglers along your way. It was going to take a while to recover from this disaster, but at least you knew things would get better. And, if anything, you now had more knowledge on the enemy and their…abilities for lack of a better word.

Brushing some blood and dirt off your face, you spotted Ellie getting off her horse just up ahead. Thank fuck.

They were all okay. Everything was fine. Ellie, Jesse, Dina, and Joel were back. 

You ran as fast as you could which, given the state you were in wasn't very fast, ready to make your way to them. It was more of a limping skip as you made your way over.

“Tommy! Ellie!” You shouted over the wind, waving your arm to get their attention. When they heard you and finally turned around, you were met with a sea of grim faces. Your stomach dropped; they should be happy. If not happy, at least not so grim. Right? When you finally got to them, you realized that you didn’t see Joel. You immediately knew something was very wrong, “where's Joel?”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth a few times, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Where's Joel?” you asked again, swallowing the lump in your throat. You turned to Tommy and saw that the look on his face mirrored the one on Ellie's. In fact, no one looked happy, “Tommy. Where's Joel?”

“Listen-” 

“Where is he!?” You demand again, tears welling up in your own eyes. Tommy put his hand on your shoulder and held onto it firmly, “T-Tommy. Where is he?”

“He's at Kat's,” he finally said, his own voice shaking as he tried to keep it together, “he's…he's not doing well.”

You choked out a sob before turning on your heel and running towards Kat's house. Your own body was screaming in pain but none of that mattered in the moment. All you could think about was getting to Joel. That was the only thing that mattered. 

You burst through the front door of the house, lungs on fire as you headed towards the stairs. You took a moment to catch your breath, clutching the stitch in your side, “Kat? Kat!”

You started up the stairs, Kat meeting you at the top with a grim expression on her face. She was a kind, older woman that always had a way of making you feel better no matter the circumstances. She was a good doctor.

She took your face in her hands before sighing softly and pulling you in for a hug. You clutched onto her tightly, fearful for what she was going to say to you. When you pulled apart, she brushed some dirt off your clothes, “I'm going to have a look at you next.”

“There's other people that need your help more than I do,” you insisted, “where's Joel? I-I need to see him. Please.”

“Look,” she gave your hand a squeeze, “he's lucky to be alive. I hate to say that, I do. But he's lucky Ellie and Jesse found him when they did.”

“What happened?” You were reeling from her words; the idea of losing Joel was unbearable, “tell me. Please.”

“Seems like some people he made enemies of a long time back found him,” she sighed, “and they had some sort of vendetta against him.”

You couldn't wait any longer and gently pushed past her and into the room where you knew he'd be. As soon as you opened the door, you stopped in your tracks when you found him on the bed. You let out a shaky breath as you dropped to your knees by his side, “oh my god. Joel.”

“He can't hear you,” Kat followed in after you, grim look on her face, “he's out. He's gonna be out for a while.”

“What did they do to him?” His face was bruised and there were remnants of dried blood all over him. He looked so pale that it made your stomach drop. It took you a moment of notice that his leg was completely bandaged up.

“Shot in the side, his leg was broken badly. Ellie said…there was a girl beating him with a golf club before resorting to using her fists. He's got some broken ribs and lost a lot of blood. He's going to be a while before he's up and able to get, let alone get around.”

“But he'll-”

“There's no swelling in his brain and his lungs sound clear. He's past the absolute worst but he's not out of the woods just yet,” you hated that she wouldn't just confirm that he'd make it, “but its Joel. You know he's not going to give up fighting.”

“What can I do?” You asked, voice cracking as tears blurred your vision, “anything. Whatever it takes.”

“There's not much you can do right now. Its just going to take time,” she whispered, “take care of yourself. And the others. Things will be alright.”

“Will they?” You plopped onto the ground and reached for his hand; it was cold and stiff, “I can't…I can't lose him. I just can't.”

“We'll do everything we can do,” she promised, “we just have to be patient.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Here,” Tommy's voice pulled you of your stupor as he walked in and held a hot cup of tea out to you, “our mama used to say that there wasn't anything a cup of tea couldn't fix.”

“Thanks,” you clutched the warm mug in your cold, tired hands as you stared at the golden liquid. You stretched, your body tired and aching from the stiff wooden chair that had basically become your second home. You'd been camped out by his side, refusing to move unless absolutely necessary. You’d cleaned him up as best as you could but he still looked so…fragile. Broken.

“You can leave you know,” he said as you looked at him incredulously, “you can rest and take time for yourself. You ain't going to be helping anyone by not making sure you're okay.”

“I don't want to leave him,” you sighed, looking Joel over. It had been almost two weeks, and while he seemed to be healing, he still wasn't up and conscious, “what if he wakes up and I'm not here? O-or something happens?”

Tommy let out a low sigh as he looked forlornly at his older brother, “I keep thinking the same thing. But you know if anything happens, someone will get you right away.”

“Yeah,” you sipped the warm liquid and closed your eyes for a moment. You knew this was just hard for him and Ellie, “what happened to her? The girl?”

“She got away,” he gritted his teeth, “for now. We'll find her.”

“I keep thinking I want to go out there and kill her myself,” you whispered, reaching over and gently brushing a rogue lock of hair out of Joel's face, “that I want her to suffer as much as he did, or worse.”

“But…”

“Nothing excuses what she did,” you whispered, “but I can't imagine doing that to another living being. It makes us no better than them. But at the time I don't know if I care about that.”

“Its hard,” he agreed.

“It is,” you took his hand in yours, “I don't know what to do. For now, I just want him to be okay.”

“He's a stubborn old fool. He's not going to leave us that easily.”

“Promise?” Your voice was quiet and you weren't even sure you'd intended for him to hear it. Tommy nodded as offered him a small smile in return, “you better hurry up and get better soon, old man. Can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss your grumpy old face.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Time seemed slower than it ever did before as you remained by Joel's side. A few more days had passed and as much as you wanted to remain hopeful, you had to admit it was hard to. While his pallor returned and the dark bruising faded to green and yellow, he hadn't woken up. You never thought you could miss someone so much when they were right next to you. 

“You know,” you had moved onto the bed, laying on the edge to be close to him without hurting him further, “I remember when we first met after I got here. It was kind of like this then too, except I wasn't hurt as bad. One of the first things you said to me was that you knew I was going to be a pain in your ass. Turns out you were right, but I could say the same about you.”

The room was silent, filled only with the combined sounds of your soft breathing. You tentatively reached out a hand and traced your fingertips along his side, barely a ghost of a touch.

“I miss you, you know,” you continued, “I always miss you when you're gone, even if its only a few hours, but this is so much worse. Its like you're right here but a million miles away. I want you to come back to me soon. We're all waiting for you. Ellie misses you so much too. She saved you, you know. She never hated you, which I think you know deep down. She loves you, you'll always be her Joel. I love you. So much.”

You laid there until you fell asleep, only moonlight filtering in. You weren't sure how much long your heart could handle this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was going on three weeks and you were still a wreck as much as the first day. You were growing impatient and tired and angry, and a million other emotions.

“You know I hate to ask you to leave but can you give Maria a hand with some stuff at the stables?” You looked at Tommy and glanced at Joel before nodding. He hadn't woken up yet, and at this you weren't sure when he would. It was probably fine to be gone for a few hours.

“Of course,” you stood up, giving Joel one last look before heading out. You'd be back soon enough.

It was a few hours of some back breaking labor that you were finally able to take a moment to breathe. There was still so much left to do to rebuild Jackson, and as reluctant as you had been to leave Joel, you were happy for the work that had taken all of your attention.

You heard your name being shouted from the distance and looked over to Benji running towards you with Tommy running after him. You exchanged a look with Maria and bent down to scoop him up in your arms.

“Hey kiddo, what's got you so excited?” 

“Uncle Joel,” he started simply, a big gap toothed smile on his face. Your heart stopped for a moment as you looked over to Tommy, who had managed to catch up.

“Tommy?” You tried to keep the excitement out of your face, “is he…?”

“He's awake,” he confirmed, “just woke up.”

“Oh my god,” you gently set him down and ran off without another word. You figured they'd understand.

You burst into the house and ran upstairs and into his room, chest heaving from the exertion. Kat raised an eyebrow at you but there was a smile pulling on the corners of her mouth, “just in time.”

“Joel?” Kat stepped out of the way and slipped out of the room to give the two of you some privacy.

And there he was; still looking worse for the wear but sat up in the bed and fully conscious. It might have been the most beautiful sight you had ever seen.

“Hey trouble,” his voice was dry and raspy but hearing him immediately brought tears to your eyes.

“Joel,” you took a few tentative steps towards him, part of you refusing to believe this was real. He moved his hand to reach out for you, “you're…you're…I thought I was going to lose you.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily,” his laugh turned into a cough and you handed him the glass of water that was by his bedside.

“Take it easy old man,” you joked through your tears, finally happy ones, as you sat next to him on the bed, “don't need you to hurt yourself now.”

He smiled at you, putting his hand on top of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “you were here. The whole time.”

“Where else would I be?” You sniffled as he reached up and wiped your tears away. You put your hand on top of his and held it gently against your cheek.

“Preferably out living life,” he stroked his thumb over your skin, “not worrying about me.”

You studied him, taking in the brown eyes you'd missed so much. He was definitely far from recovered but he was here and he was alive. That was enough for now.

You gently took his hand off your face and took his face in your hands. You frowned at the bruising that was lingering but you knew it'd be gone soon enough. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, kissing him as softly and tenderly as possible. With a relieved sigh, you touched your forehead against his, “I don't think I could ever stay away.”

“You know I'm never going to leave you,” he whispered as you nodded.

“I love you,” you promised, “even if you are a stubborn grump.”

“I love you too, trouble,” he shifted over gently before patting the same next to him, “c'mere.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” he scoffed and you kicked off your boots before getting into the bed next to him, slowly to make sure you didn't cause him any pain. You laid down and rested your head on his good leg, letting out a slow, deep breath. Joel started gently playing your hair, causing tingles to shoot through your entire body. You hadn't realized how much you missed his touch, “you should lie down too. You need the rest.”

“So do you,” he insisted, grinning as you yawned, “you've been here the whole time watching me, let me take care of you.”

“Only if you lie down with me and we both stay here for a while,” you insisted, turning your face to look up at him.

“I suppose,” he shifted with a grimace but was able to get himself comfortable next to you, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, “you alright?”

“Better than I have been in weeks,” you turned so you were facing him, “I was scared that we'd never get to do this again. That I'd never see you again. That you would be gone…”

“Oh trouble,” he whispered, “that's never going to happen. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, “I'm going to hold you to that, Miller.”

“I'd expect nothing less, trouble.”

[eternalsams]

My Taste ↠ Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

pairing: Bob Reynolds x gn!reader

warning/content: fluff, anxiety, non-established relationship, Bob's a cute puppy in love, might contain spoilers if you look into it, it's giving Avengers fanfic with Clint in the vent and Thor eating pop-tarts.

summary: You take Bob out but his anxiety gets the best of him and he's scared he might ruin everything.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: english isn't my first language, please take that into consideration. This is my first time writing for Bob, I saw the movie so I know the way I'm writing for him isn't the same as in the comics.

marvel masterlist main masterlist

You grabbed your bag and walked in the common room when something caught your attention. Bob had just turned a page of his book, his lips parted in concentration as his eyes read word after word on the paper. You smiled softly to yourself, he just seemed so relaxed after a couple of months with you guys.

The first few weeks were the hardest, he'd stay mostly silent, only speaking when talked to. His relationship with Yelena was the strongest, the two connected very quickly and she was the one he talked the most to. But he eventually opened up to the others, including you. He once found you reading a book and sat down next to you on the couch, sometimes stealing glances at you and your book as you flipped pages. "What's it about?" He asked quietly and if he'd said it any lower, you wouldn't have heard him. You looked up at him, surprised he was interested in what you were doing. You looked back down at the words you were reading and mentally marked your progression before looking back at Bob. "It's uhm... it's a romance." You noticed his cheeks flush a little as he smiled sheepishly. "Is it any good?" He then asked and you smiled at him, pitching him the plot of the romance you were reading.

And so the next time you went to the library for yourself, you looked for a book you could get for Bob. During your previous conversation on your own reading, he quickly told you what he liked in the plot and what he disliked, so you had a vague idea of what to get him. And when you came back home, the new recruit was getting coffee in the kitchen. He added a cube of sugar as you noticed he always did in every hot drink he had. "Hey, Bob!" You called him and he jumped a bit, holding his cup extra-carefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." You chuckled and pushed his new book on the counter towards him. "What's this?" He frowned as he sipped on his coffee, the hot drink warming up his tired body and numb muscles. "It's for you! If you don't like it, you can still give it back, I kept the receipt." You explained as you pulled the think piece of paper out of your bag. He put down his cup of coffee and reached for the book, his fingers caressing the hard cover. "You really shouldn't have, thank you. It means a lot to me." He smiled and you could've swore you saw his eyes shine with tears before he looked down at the book and opened it.

Since that day, you'd exchange about your last readings and more. He opened up to you and sometimes asked you to get him particular books when he knew you'd pass by the library. Leading to today. He was so focused on the fictional story he was reading about he almost missed you but he eventually looked up and smiled at you.

Bob liked you, he liked how passionate you were about what you loved, he liked how patient you were with him. When you first met, he was apologizing for every breath he was taking a bit too close to everyone and every time he did so, you'd smile at him with kindness and tell him he was fine. You never told him the things he felt were senseless, you acknowledged his feelings and accepted them. And he liked your smile, how small wrinkles appeared beside your eyes when you laughed at one of Alexei's bad jokes. And he couldn't not notice how much work you put in your body and strength. He knew you were waking up early to go work out with Bucky, the two of you showing up sweaty and tired in the kitchen when he was having his umpteenth coffee after a long night staring at the ceiling of his room.

Bob noticed how you were dressed and holding your bag in your hand, he frowned. "Are you going somewhere?" He was confused, you didn't have anything coming up in your agenda, so maybe a last minute trip to the store or something. "I wanted to know if you wanted to go grab a coffee somewhere. But I see you're deep in your book so I don't want to disturb you." You chuckled sheepishly and put down your bag next to the couch. Bob parted his lips and looked down at his book, the plot was getting really interesting and he was almost done with his chapter. He didn't really like putting down his books in the middle of a chapter but he also really wanted to go out, and especially with you. "I can finish reading my chapter and then I'm all yours. I mean... not all yours, I mean yeah but-" He stuttered, warmth flooding his face as he tried to crawl out of this embarrassing slip of the tongue. "Of course! Finish your chapter, I'll be waiting." You smiled at him and pulled out your phone before sitting down on the couch and staying busy until Bob was ready for you. The young man stared at you for a little longer, surprised with how comprehensive you were, but also not shocked at all. And before you could catch him staring, he focused once more on his book. He quickly finished the chapter, snapped the book shut and almost run to his room to change into something else than his usual sweatpants.

When he came back, you were waiting for him by the door and held it open for him. You locked behind the two of you since the others were out on different missions and Bob followed you in the street. Even after a few months in New York, he was still amazed by the tall buildings and how loud the city was. There were so many people in the streets that he almost wanted to grab your hand not to lose you in the crowd but he stopped himself because that'd be weird if he did. You eventually turned into a quieter street and he noticed the small café with the tables on the pavement. You went to sit in the sun and he followed you silently. A waitress came to bring you the menu and Bob politely smiled at her as you thanked her. "So... tell me, Bob." You caught his attention and he looked up at you above his menu. "Did you talk with Bucky like I told you to?" Bob once told you he wanted to learn how to fight but was still too scared to go out and find a gym. So you convinced him to think about telling Bucky because you knew the ex-soldier would be very attentive and caring with Bob. "Uhm, no... Not yet. But I think I'll talk to him when he'll be back home tomorrow." He nodded as if to convince himself he could do it. "He actually offered to help me if I ever wanted to get into... that." He explained a little shyly. "That's great! See? I'm sure he'll be glad to see you're taking his offer."

The waitress came back to take your orders and you simply asked for two coffees and a piece of pie to share. You and Bob kept talking about what he's been doing while you were out on missions, sharing funny stories about Yelena's guinea pig or how thrilling the last movie he saw was. The lady brought you your drinks and food and you thanked her. You took a sip of your coffee and closed your eyes as the bitterness of coffee burned you tongue. When you opened your eyes again, you noticed Bob was fidgeting and not touching his cup. "Something's wrong?" He looked up at you and quickly shook his head before forcing a smile. "No. Everything's fine." He shrugged awkwardly and grabbed his cup before taking a sip and hiding a grimace. "Bob. What's wrong?" You put down your coffee and reached out for his hand. He stared at your hand as he felt the softness of your fingers rub his knuckles. How can someone who might've taken lives have hands this soft? "It's nothing, they just... Aren't they supposed to give a cube of sugar? You know, just in case..." He asked quietly, not really knowing what he was getting at. He hasn't been out in society for so long, he couldn't even remember the last time he went to a fast-food.

"They forgot your sugar?" You asked as you moved to stand up and go ask for some. Bob squeezed your hand to stop you from doing so with panicked eyes. "No, don't! It's fine, really. I can drink it without sugar." To make his point, he took another sip and did a better job at hiding his grimace, but still not perfect. "Bob... You never take your coffee without sugar." You sat back down, your second hand joining the first one holding his. He could feel his heart beating faster at the contact but ignored it. "How do you- Never mind, it's okay, I promise." He anxiously glanced at the waiters inside, they might've forgotten because they're busy or maybe they're having a bad or long day.

"I always notice things about you Bob." You admitted, drawing back his attention on you. He almost spilled his coffee on his shirt when he looked into your eyes and saw the softest of them. He couldn't remember when was the last time someone looked at him that way. It made him think, hope, that what he was starting to feel could be reciprocated. He smiled and felt his cheeks flush. You let go of his hand and stood up, but before he could ask you where you were going, you told him. "I'm going to the bathroom, will you be alright by yourself for a minute?" You asked him jokingly, a teasing smile on your lips. He nodded and smiled as you left the table and he watched you go inside. He quickly averted his eyes when he realized his gaze was dropping and punished himself mentally. He was supposed to be your friend, not a pervert who checked you out every time you turned your back to him. True to your words, you came back a minute later at your table and dropped a cube of sugar in his cup of coffee.

Bob's eyes snapped at you and back to the waiters inside. Before he could fully panic, you grabbed his hand and rubbed his knuckles once more. "I said I wanted more sugar for my coffee, I didn't tell them it was for you." You explained and noticed his shoulders drop in relief. You knew Bob never wanted to be a burden, even more after what happened when you all first met. He felt guilty over everything and anything. But you could work with that, half your friends were that way. One more or one less wouldn't change how you'd handle things. "Thank you." He said quietly before taking a new sip and smiling softly. "Better huh?" You chuckled and he nodded, enjoying the feeling of coffee waking up his body and your hand still in his, keeping him out of his thoughts and in the present. But he was way more surprised when you lifted his hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles, timidly smiling at him, not knowing if he would accept the gesture. But the look of pure adoration in his eyes gave you an answer and your smile widened.

tag list (people who interacted (comments or reposts) when i asked who wanted Bob in my characters list): @leavemeoutofitkay @adaobiiii @sennasiempre @thetorturedpoetcalleddez @gumdropgirl

@woniwontons @hailey-laufeyson @ineverusethisaccount @nopopculturereferenceinthetrip @crashingout136789

@autumnsymphony @smiley-roos @fandomficsobsession @rummikubcube @girxwrp @books4ever03 @firebeverly @xprloki

@spideybatsy @mvcg-oo @devils-blackrose @wandalfnation @foreverchangingmind

[mercvry-glow]

Stay with me

parings. michael robinavitch x reader

warnings. age gap (michael early 50s, reader early 30s), traumatic birth, hospital setting, nobody dies, michael is mess and constantly stressed, other pitt characters, reader gets described as pale in a medical sense no mentions of outright skin color or hair type, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. this ones a doosey to make up for not writing for our sad boy! I love this and I'm happy I got to fulfill yet another request from you guys! I love y'all so much, and remember that all feedback is appreciated and to please enjoy!

wc. 3800+

Maybe coming into work at thirty-nine weeks pregnant wasn’t the best idea.

But you were stubborn. Always had been. And despite everyone—especially Robby—telling you to stay home, you couldn’t bring yourself to sit around waiting for labor like a ticking time bomb. You hated the stillness. The wondering. The endless scrolling and anxious pacing.

So here you were, waddling through the automatic doors of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center like you weren’t a day past thirty weeks. Your badge still clipped to your belly, your sneakers swelling tighter by the hour, and your hair pulled into a bun that screamed "I tried... kind of."

“Seriously?” came Frank’s voice before you’d even made it to the nurses' station.

You didn’t even look up. “Good morning to you too.”

“You’re full term,” he said, falling into step beside you, black scrubs hugging his sturdy figure as per usual. “As in, literally any second now.”

You smiled at him over your shoulder, trying not to let the exhaustion show. “I’m fine. And I’m bored. Let me chart for a few hours. I’ll even sit down the whole time. Swear.”

“You know that’s a lie,” he shot back, snorting. “You’ll be helping lift gurneys and running labs by noon. Someone’s gonna find you chasing a trauma bed down the hallway.”

“Hey,” you said with a little huff, rubbing your back with one hand, “just because I’m growing a whole human doesn’t mean I forgot how to function.”

Frank just gave you a knowing look, which meant: we’ve all seen you trying to wedge yourself into the cafeteria chairs.

That’s when Robby appeared around the corner, clipboard in hand and eyes already narrowed. He didn’t even have to say anything—his expression screamed "Really?" Robby frowned, scanning you up and down. His hand hovered near your lower back, not quite touching but always close. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You tilted your head and gave him your most innocent look. “I’m on light duty. Promise.”

“I’d like to point out,” Langdon added, grinning as he peeled away toward the coffee cart, “that I tried.”

You plopped yourself into the nearest rolling chair with a dramatic sigh and swiveled toward Michael. “It’s either this or reorganizing the diaper drawer for the sixth time this week. I think the baby’s fine with me typing a few notes.”

Robby crouched down beside you, one knee on the floor like he did when checking patients, except this time his palm found your knee instead of a pulse point.

“You’re swollen. And your breathing is a little tight.” He raised an eyebrow. “How long were you on your feet this morning?”

“Like… twenty minutes.” You grinned. “That includes brushing my teeth and taking care of the dogs.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning his head against your leg. “You’re going to send me into cardiac arrest before this baby even gets here.”

You carded your fingers through his hair, soft and absentminded, brushing the strands back from his forehead. “You’re cute when you’re worried, old man.”

“I’m always worried,” he muttered. “Because you’re always doing something you shouldn’t.”

You didn’t argue. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong. You were already shifting, trying to pull up the electronic charts on the nurses’ station computer.

Michael gave your belly a light pat and stood, arms folding as he watched you with that quiet, hesitant fondness he reserved only for you. “Fine. Two hours. Feet up. You so much as sneeze weird, and I’m dragging you to OB myself.”

“Deal,” you chirped, already logging in.

“And don’t even think about stealing someone’s trauma case when we get slammed.”

“Define stealing,” you replied innocently, sipping from your water bottle.

He pointed a warning finger, but his smirk gave him away. “Two hours.”

“Love you too, Doctor Buzzkill.”

As he walked off, you caught the way his hand reached for the stethoscope around his neck, the subtle shake of his head as he glanced back at you one last time before disappearing toward the elevators.

And for a little while, everything felt normal. The steady rhythm of the hospital, the buzz of the morning shift changing hands, the rolling carts, the beeping monitors, and the casual banter of a team that had become a second home. You rubbed your belly gently, feeling a soft nudge from the baby in response.

Still here, still safe.

You leaned back in your chair and took a deep breath.

You had no idea how quickly everything was about to change.

The morning passed in a blur of keyboard clicks, routine charting, and the occasional pat on the shoulder from coworkers who either admired your stubbornness or questioned your sanity. Probably both.

Danabrought you a fruit cup and didn’t even bother hiding the fact that she was watching your ankles like a hawk. “You know,” she said while leaning against the edge of the station, “we’ve had patients come in for stubbed toes more dramatic than you being full-term and still here.”

You laughed softly, spooning pineapple into your mouth. “I just wanted one more shift. One more day of normal.”

“You’re due in three days,” she said, eyebrows raised. “You know what would be really normal? Not going into labor next to the trauma bay.”

You gave her a half-hearted glare, and she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving along.

By the time the clock read 10:47 a.m., you’d gone through two rounds of vitals checks, one baby name debate with the new ER nurse (“Mikey Jr.” was not happening), and an entire cup of crushed ice. You felt... okay. Tired, sure. Tight across the ribs, definitely. But okay.

The baby kicked again—this time a little stronger, enough to make you wince and shift in your chair. You rubbed at the spot, exhaling slowly as the muscles in your lower back pulled tight.

Normal. Probably.

You stood up to stretch, rolling your shoulders as your bladder reminded you it was still being squished by a watermelon-sized human. With one hand pressed to your back, you made your way toward the staff bathroom, waving off Frank’s dramatic offer to “escort the ticking time bomb.”

Inside, you braced your hands against the sink for a moment, catching your breath. That tightness across your middle was sticking around longer than you liked. Not a contraction exactly... but a pressure. Your reflection looked a little pale, a little drawn.

Probably just low blood sugar. Probably just tired.

You splashed cold water on your face, took a breath, and patted your belly like you were trying to reason with it.

“Let’s not do this here, kid,” you whispered. “Give me 'til at least lunch.”

The baby shifted again, slow and sluggish.

You frowned.

Back at the station, you tried to ignore the small twist of something off. Robby walked by on his way to check in with a patient and paused long enough to give your hand a squeeze. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want him to worry—not yet. Not unless there was a real reason.

But deep in your chest, just under the hum of fluorescent lights and the steady rhythm of the hospital, a quiet unease began to grow.

You went back to your chair, sat down slowly, and propped your feet up on an overturned supply box Dana had dragged over earlier.

“Getting royal treatment now,” you murmured with a soft smile, stretching your fingers across your belly again. The pressure was still there—low and dull, like a cramp that hadn’t quite made up its mind. But you chalked it up to gravity. End-of-pregnancy things.

Michael passed through again, this time glancing at your chart on the screen. “You okay?” he asked casually, but his voice held that little edge, the one he got when he was reading between the lines of your smile.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just tired. Baby’s being clingy.”

He crouched down beside you again, resting his hands on your knees and gazing up at you like you were something fragile and wildly important. “You sure? You look a little pale.”

You shrugged. “I think my blood sugar’s just dipping. I’ll eat something real at lunch.”

Robby opened his mouth like he wanted to press the issue, but then his pager buzzed, pulling him back to the chaos. “Page me if anything feels off, okay?”

You gave him a thumbs up. “Promise.”

He kissed the inside of your wrist—gentle, a little rushed—and then disappeared down the hall.

You watched him go, your heart tugging in that quiet, familiar way. This wasn’t supposed to be dramatic. You were just going to stay a few hours. Get your fill of normal. Go home.

You reached for your water, took a sip, and then—

The pressure in your lower abdomen suddenly turned sharp.

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t stabbing, not yet—but it was wrong. Deep and spreading and foreign.

You shifted in the chair again, trying to ease the feeling, but this time it moved through your back too. A tight, radiating grip like something clenching from the inside.

Your hand instinctively moved to your belly. Still round. Still there. But... heavy. Heavier than before.

You stood up too fast and had to grip the edge of the desk for balance. A strange wave of heat flushed through your chest and ears.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay. Not panicking.”

You turned toward the hall, planning to make your way down to OB—just to be safe—when a sudden gush of warmth rushed down your legs.

Your eyes dropped to the floor.

Blood. Not water… 

Not a trickle. Not a few reassuring spots.

A pool.

Everything stopped.

You opened your mouth, tried to call out for someone—Frank, Dana, Robby—but your throat closed up as your knees buckled.

A pair of arms caught you before the world tilted entirely sideways, voices shouting your name, feet pounding against tile.

And somewhere in the distance, your heart broke open in fear as someone screamed for a crash cart.

The world dulled around the edges.

Voices came in waves—too loud, then too soft. The fluorescents above you blurred into a single long smear of white as you blinked hard, trying to stay awake. You were lying flat now, someone barking orders just over your head, hands pressing against your belly. Something cold touched your arm. A tourniquet? IV? You didn’t know. 

You wanted to speak, but your tongue felt thick and heavy. The baby wasn’t moving. Or maybe you couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t tell anymore.

Where was Michael?

You turned your head slightly, reaching out blindly with a trembling hand. “R-Rob—”

And then everything went black.

On the other side of the Pitt the hallway was loud, as usual. One resident talking too fast, an alarm going off two bays over. Robby had just finished checking vitals on a pre-op trauma patient when the words cut through the noise like a blade.

“Code OB! Nurses’ station—she’s hemorrhaging!”

For half a second, it didn’t register. He stood frozen, pen in hand, until Dana’s voice came from behind—sharper now, more desperate as she ran past him.

“Robby—it’s her! It’s your girl, it’s—”

He dropped the pen. Took off running.

The world narrowed to tunnel vision, his shoes slamming the floor with every stride as he turned the corner.

And there you were.

Lying on the floor in a growing puddle of blood, too still, too quiet. Langdon was crouched beside you, white-knuckled and pale, while someone was trying to keep your airway open and shouting at a med tech for an O2 mask. Two OB nurses had already arrived from upstairs, trying to lift your limp form onto a gurney.

“Move—MOVE!” Robby’s voice cracked as he shoved between bodies, sinking to his knees beside you. His gloves were on before he could think.

“Talk to me,” he begged, brushing a blood-slicked hand over your cheek. “Baby, come on—hey, stay with me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He saw the blood again. The amount of it. His heart seized.

“She was complaining of tightness earlier,” Dana said quickly. “Didn’t think it was labor. She didn’t say anything about bleeding.”

“Placental abruption,” one of the OB nurses muttered grimly, already calling down to surgery. “We need to move now.”

“No.” Robby gripped your hand as they lifted your body onto the bed. “You hold on. You don’t get to—don’t you dare leave me.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly. It was the smallest thing, but it was enough to crack him wide open.

“I love you,” he whispered fiercely, pressing his forehead to yours as they wheeled the gurney away. “God, I love you. Just hold on. Please.”

The elevator doors slammed open, and then they were gone—your body rolling down the hall, trailed by shouting voices and the squeak of rubber wheels.

Robby stood frozen in the blood you left behind.

And he prayed—for the first time in years—that he wouldn’t lose the two people who had already become his whole world.

The observation room was too bright.

Too sterile. Too loud and too quiet all at once.

Robby sat hunched forward on the gallery chair, elbows on his knees, hands laced together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His scrubs were stained—your blood, dried now—and he hadn’t moved to change them. It felt wrong. Like washing it off would be admitting something final. Like you were already gone.

The OR doors had closed over an hour ago.

Every minute stretched. He counted the seconds between every nurse that walked in or out of the room. Every ding, every beep, every sound made his chest seize like a vise.

“Dr. Robinavitch?”

He shot to his feet so fast the chair rattledagainst the floor.

It was one of the OB residents—a younger guy, fresh-faced, kind eyes. He looked nervous standing at the doorway. 

“The baby,” Robby said before the kid could speak. “Is he—?”

The resident gave a small, quick nod. “He’s stable—strong APGAR, breathing on his own. He’s in the NICU right now, just for monitoring because of the blood loss and delivery trauma, but he’s holding on great.”

Robby felt something like a breath stutter through his chest. A crack in the suffocating weight.

“A boy,” he repeated, voice cracking on the word. He scrubbed a hand down his face, the ache behind his eyes blooming all at once. “And she?”

The resident hesitated.

Robby’s stomach dropped like a stone.

“They’re still working on her,” he said carefully. “There was extensive bleeding. She lost a lot of volume and needed multiple transfusions. The placenta had fully detached. She coded once on the table but they got her back quickly—Dr. Jensen’s still in with her. They're doing everything they can.”

That familiar numbness swept in—cold and full of static. He’d seen this happen. He knew what these situations could look like. How fast they turned.

But this wasn’t just any patient.

This was you.

The woman who’d kept him steady when he didn’t know how to be. Who fought him and loved him and refused to be anyone but exactly who she was. This was the woman who carried his child, who still hadn’t heard that he made it. That their son made it.

“Can I see him?” Robby asked, quietly now, trying not to let his voice shake. “The baby?”

“Yeah,” the resident said, nodding. “I’ll take you myself.”

Robby glanced down at the gallery one last time.

“Hold on,” he murmured under his breath. “Please… just hold on.”

And then he followed, toward the small flicker of hope that looked an awful lot like a tiny newborn baby in a bassinet.

The NICU was soft with dim lighting and quiet beeps—worlds away from the chaos upstairs. Here, everything moved slower. Gentle. Careful.

Michael had scrubbed in without thinking, numb to the motions as the nurse guided him toward the far incubator. She was saying something—about weight, oxygen levels, bloodwork—but it barely registered.

All he could see was him.

His son.

Tiny. Swaddled in a sea of pale blue, a knitted cap covering his head, wires curling like vines across his chest. His skin was flushed pink, his breathing steady and strong, even with the tubes nearby just in case.

Robby stopped short a foot from the incubator.

“Go ahead,” the nurse said softly, nodding. “He’s yours.”

He stepped forward, one hand trembling as he reached out and pressed his now clean fingertips into the hole in the side of the incubator. Then he looked down through the clear plastic, and something in him shattered clean through.

“You’re here,” Robby whispered.

Not to anyone else. Not even to the nurse.

Just to him.

“You’re really here.”

His voice cracked. A tear slipped hot down his cheek. He swiped at it quickly, but it didn’t stop the next. Or the one after that.

“I thought we lost you,” he whispered, pressing his other palm fully to the side of the incubator now. “I thought—I thought I was going to lose both of you.”

The baby stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, his little face scrunching as if to acknowledge him.

Robby laughed—just a quiet breath of it. Barely more than a sound.

“You’ve already got a lot of fight in you,” he murmured. “Just like your mom.”

That cracked him open again. He dropped his head forward, resting it gently against the warm plastic as tears spilled freely now, all the fear and helplessness and love pouring out with no one around to see. No one to judge.

“She’s not out of it yet,” he said, so quietly it barely made it past his lips. “I don’t know how she’s doing….”

He swallowed hard.

“But I need her to be. You need her to be. So you just… hang on in there, little man. And I’ll hang on too.”

He stayed there for a long time. Just breathing. Just watching his son sleep, chest rising and falling with a steadiness Robby needed like oxygen.

And then—

“Dr. Robinavitch?”

A voice behind him.

He turned.

A nurse he didn’t recognize stood in the doorway, eyes soft but urgent. “They’re bringing her out of surgery now. She’s stable.”

Without knowing how long you were out the first thing you felt was the weight in your chest. Not pain—though there was plenty of that, dull and heavy through your midsection—but weight. Like your body had been filled with cement and someone was slowly peeling it away.

The second thing was the beeping.

Steady. Familiar.

A monitor. You’d heard that rhythm a thousand times, but this one felt… personal.

Then came the light. Too bright. You winced.

“Hey—hey, easy…”

A voice. Soft. Hoarse.

You knew it.

Your lashes fluttered as you tried again, squinting against the fluorescent ceiling until a shadow leaned into your frame of view. Hair mussed. Beard teased. Scrubs wrinkled. Eyes bloodshot but still such as deep warm brown. .

Robby.

He was sitting beside your bed, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees like he hadn’t moved in hours. Days maybe. His hand was already in yours.

“You’re okay,” he said quickly, blinking down at you with a thousand emotions all crashing in at once—relief, love, panic, exhaustion. “Jesus, baby, you’re—God, you scared the hell out of me.”

You opened your mouth, but your throat was too dry. All that came out was a rasp.

Robby was already up, pouring water and helping you sip from a straw with gentle, practiced hands.

When you finally managed a whisper, it was just one word. “Baby?”

His lips trembled around a smile.

“He’s okay,” Robby said, nodding, voice cracking as he set the cup aside and cupped your face with one hand. “He’s perfect. He’s tiny and loud and beautiful. They moved him to the nursery this morning but stable. Breathing on his own. He’s strong. Like you.”

You exhaled slowly, your body sinking back into the mattress with a kind of weak, aching surrender. The tears slipped out before you could stop them.

“I thought I lost him,” you whispered.

Robby shook his head. “No. You didn’t. You brought him into this world. You fought like hell.”

You looked up at him then, really looked, and saw the toll it had taken on him—the shadows under his eyes, the hollow in his cheeks, the scruff he hadn’t bothered to shave. He looked like a man who’d been holding his breath for days.

“You stayed?” you asked.

He gave a watery laugh. “I never left.”

And then he leaned down and kissed your forehead. Slow. Long. Like a prayer.

“You scared me,” he whispered into your skin. “More than anything in my life. Don’t ever do that again.”

You reached for him, weak and shaking but needing him close. He didn’t hesitate. He was there in your arms a second later, wrapped around you like a shield, like a lifeline. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you let yourself breathe.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed after that.

The pain meds kept you somewhere between floating and dreaming, and the monitors were a constant lullaby, but Robby never left. He was always there, holding your hand, brushing the hair from your face, whispering things you barely remembered.

But when the nurse finally came in, smiling softly and pushing a clear bassinet ahead of her, the world snapped back into focus.

“I thought you two might be ready,” she said gently.

You blinked hard, trying to sit up, but the ache in your abdomen stopped you short. Robby was already there, adjusting the bed, piling pillows behind you like he had done it a hundred times.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re still healing.”

But your eyes were locked on the tiny bundle being lifted into your arms.

And then—he was there.

Your son.

Wrapped in soft hospital blue, all fuzzy hair and wrinkled skin and the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen. He blinked up at you like the light was too much, his brow furrowed in confusion, and then he yawned—wide and slow—and settled against your chest like he already knew exactly where he belonged.

The breath hitched in your throat.

“Oh,” you whispered. “Oh, hi…”

Your voice broke on the word.

Robby was sitting on the edge of the bed now, his arm behind your back, his other hand smoothing over your son’s impossibly small shoulder.

“You made him,” he said softly, awestruck like he still couldn’t believe it. “We made him.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you gently ran your finger down your baby’s nose.

“He’s perfect,” you said. “He’s… ours.”

Robby kissed your temple and stayed there, his lips pressed against your skin as your son sighed in his sleep and curled closer.

You didn’t say anything for a long time.

There was just the three of you, tucked into a too-small hospital bed, held together by quiet breathing and trembling hands and the kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud to be felt in your bones.

This was certainly worth the pain. 

mercury-glow 2025