#all and then most of you some and now none of you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pr1nceofg0tham · 2 days ago

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what do you need from me tonight? .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪

i don’t care if you’re sick, i don’t care if you’re contagious.

𖥔 summary since befriending tim drake you have known exactly how he feels about his brothers: offlimits, forbidden, do not enter! this was never too difficult to maintain, never too hard to turn away when one smiles a little too bright, yet when sweet and sultry jason walks into the room it become harder to turn the other cheek.

𖥔 pairing jason todd x reader

𖥔 genre/tw best friends brother au!! fem!reader !! reader is tim’s bff, fluff! angst?! probably suggestive at times i can’t lie, intoxication, swearing !! jason is a softie, none of that charmer fuck boy jason here!! petnames, kissing, reader and jason are real yearners !! reader and tim are supposed to be like 21-22 which puts Jason at like 25-26 or so (in my mind) batfam mentions and cameos! we love!! librarian!jason !! historian!reader !! tim and reader are platonic soulmates <3 also tim calls reader chicken, idk why!! also thers gonna be typos and run on sentences probably (i blacked out)

𖥔 w/c 8.3k and some change

𖥔 a/n this came to me in a dream… idk i just feel like tim has such strong protective girl bestie vibes so this is what happened. i love tim and reader and reader and jason and i really hope you do too!! lemme know xoxo

masterlist | requests open!!

Since the moment you became friends with Tim Drake, you understood his brothers were completely off limits. It was apparent in how he would go out of his way to not mention them by name—only my brother this or my brothers that—it was in the look of pure disgust when someone would bring up just how hot his oldest brother was when he showed up on the news: alerting the public not to be worried about some crime in Blüdhaven. Even you, his best friend since the trauma of Philosophy 204 bonded you together, were not allowed to ask about them without a deadly glare shooting your way.

You understood, if you had a famous family full of wealthy handsome boys, you too would want to keep them aware from your friends. You shudder at the thought of some girl asking if your brother was single, thus whenever Tim gives you attitude about it, you allow yourself to laugh it off. It wasn’t until the summer between Freshman and Sophomore year that you were even allowed near Wayne Manor, and into the lives of his illustrious family.

Now, five years into your friendship, you could say that you’ve fit yourself into Tim’s life quite nicely. Being his favorite lady, you’re often his date to galas and Sunday brunches with the wives of Wayne Enterprises, The person who comes along when Bruce says “you can bring a friend”, and most special, who he turns to when one of his brothers annoys him. Like now,

“I just don’t know why I’m suddenly Damian’s chauffeur," Tim says, a familiar annoyance seeping from his voice. “Like, my father has billions of dollars yet I have to be the one to drive my little brother around, come on.”

You laugh, but the easy way in which he talks about his family’s wealth brings a bad taste to your mouth… You, a girl born and raised in the lower sector of Gotham, find it quite gross how easy your friend throws his money around sometimes, which you remind him with a swat on the back of his head. “Hey! what the fuck was that for?” He exclaims with a laugh.

“Timothy, you know better than to be all waspy when I’m around…” you sigh, “and anyway, it’s not like Damian goes anywhere but the library and the planetarium… he's just a kid.”

“A kid who threatens to poison me if I don’t buy him bug juice—which I gotta say he is getting too old for.”

“Ahh, Timmy, are you just sad about your baby brother growing up?” You say, pouting your lips in the exact way you know annoys him.

You’ve always thought it’s funny how annoyed Tim gets about Damian, a boy who’s only ever sweet to you—asking you about your favorite animals and telling you about the new exhibits at Gotham’s Natural History Museum. “I don’t get why it's so terrible, Dami’s just a sweetheart,”

“Ugh, maybe to you,” Tim replies, “he just thinks you’re cool cause you work at the Historical Society and you make fun of me,”

“Well, there’s a lot to make fun of.”

“Ha.Ha. Real funny guess who's uninvited to Dick’s birthday party.” With this, you pause. It’s true that most of the parties surrounding Tim’s family are unnecessarily boring and involve fitting into a tight dress and making your hair look presentable. There’s been quite a few times when you’ve wished that Tim would go with someone else and gift you the reprieve from a drawn out conversation with a doctor or a politician, (or whoever else Mr. Wayne invites to drum up philanthropy). However, you look forward to Dick’s birthday every year; a night filled with laughter and sweet drinks, getting to see Dick and his girlfriend Kory get a little too drunk and attempt to do gymnastics on the club’s dancefloor… Even better, it’s the one chance you really get to see Jason, Tim’s older and outcasted brother..

You remember the first time you met him, a Friday dinner you accompanied Tim to… It was the one night a week Alfred was free from dinner duty, thus the two of you had brought chinese and gelato for dessert and Damian kept pestering you about bringing him to the Zoo to see the snakes.

You had already met everyone else, Dick with his charming smile and the spark in his eyes when he pulled your chair out (you’re sure it had more to do with annoying his brother than being a gentleman,) You’d met Duke when he followed his brother into university becoming a welcome third to your little group, and his father–Initmaditing and encompassing Bruce Wayne, but you’d never met Jason.

You’d heard about him, heard the sighs from his father when he noticed his second son hadn’t shown up… Watched the careful way he was spoken about by his family, in past tenses and thinly veiled sadness. Tim had rarely brought him up to you, barely mentioning how there was some sort of accident, how it destroyed their father and separated Jason from himself and his family.

You never liked seeing your best friend sad, it hurt too much to see his blue eyes gloss over, so you never brought him up, yet you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t curious. You remember seeing it on the news, the day that Jason Todd went missing… It wasn’t surprising to hear about a missing boy–living in Gotham meant a new tragedy every day–yet, you remember being shocked that something would happen to that bright young boy, grinning ear to ear in the school picture the news showed.

You were only twelve, but you can think back and see so vividly the magic behind that smile, and how sad you were to realize that this boy, who could have very well gone to school with your sister, was gone… How sad he must be, you remember thinking, to be without his family.

He was quite the mystery to you, more so after becoming friends with Tim, his brother who would so rarely mention him. It was when you saw him slouching at the dinner table and arguing with Dick, that your curiosity came back, you couldn’t believe it–he was so handsome, prettier than the newspaper made him look, and so tall, but you remembered Tim… Remembered how upset he got when Hannah Beauchamp asked him for his brother’s telephone number, so all you did was smile and say hello.

After that you saw Jason more often, always quiet, always bright, but it was still glaringly rare… You never knew when he’d be there, unlike Dick who is unquestionable in his loyalty to family functions, Jason could be everywhere and nowhere all at once. Thus, the only surefire way to see him, is to go to Dick’s birthday, a gathering that Jason always appears at, showing his rare smile and a rare wish to his big brother.

You can’t be uninvited, you really can’t be…

“Timmy, you know I love you,” you say, giggling at the way his nose scrunches, “Please let me go with you to Dick’s party? Please please please!! I didn’t mean it, it’s so hard to make fun of you!”

You know you’ve won when his head tilts, nose sticking straight up like an aristocrat in a children’s novel, you know you’ve won because he sighs into a sweet smile–bringing his hand up to muss your hair.

“You know I can’t go anywhere without you, Chicken.” At his words you unceremoniously jump at him, encircling him into your grasp and squealing out ‘thank you’s.’ “But,” you groan. “You have to come with me tonight… If I have to hear Damian go on and on about Casseiopeia, you do too.”

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

The party was in full force when you arrived, music blaring, couples kissing, the whole nine; It smelled like sweat and tequila, and fancy perfume, and you wished you could feel this way more often.

Tim doesn’t like going out, doesn’t feel safe bringing you out into the Gotham nightlife–your best friend, sweet and loyal and protective, over his family, over you… You know he’s just looking out for you, but the frustrated sighs and the “that place isn’t safe for a little Chicken like you,” get exhausting. He gets frustrated when you go out by yourself, insistent that your group of girls would be much safer if you guys partied at home, yet he never seems to have a problem if his brothers are there too… more eyes on you, he says when you ask.

Still, you wouldn’t trade him for the world–how lucky were you, that your best friend cared so much…

He had gasped when he picked you up, a caricature of your sisters and girlfriends: he squealed and told you he loved your dress, (as if he wasn’t the one who paid for it), a routine that was familiar and warm. He’d driven you both himself, complaining about traffic and assholes who don’t use their blinker, he was telling you about his day and the “insolent” acts Damian committed at school. It was rather nice, just you and Tim listening to shitty pop-punk and laughing, a familiar scene that’s gotten rarer and rarer as his responsibilities have piled on.

He had squeezed your hand before getting out of the car, smiling at you with earnest eyes and a mischievous grin, and told you: “If Dick’s friend Wally hits on you, tell him I still have the pictures from last summer.”

You were a ball of nerves in the elevator, stomach dropping as it went up, up, up to the Penthouse, shying away from the stares and whispers that follow Tim around. But now, encased in house music and the saccharine smell of young lust and birthday magic, your anxiety eases and the smile you send your best friend’s way is finally sincere.

He takes your hand to lead you through the erratic rhythm of dancing bodies, sending dirty looks to men who look at you too long, leading you through the suite like he’s Orpheus on a mission. He doesn’t turn back to smile at you until you’ve reached your destination, the large rooftop patio where the pool lives, here you find Dick–front flipping into the pool fully clothed. His form is perfect, spinning into the water with a ballerina like elegance, a visage so striking against the electronica pumping through the night.

He comes up for air with far less grace, however, shaking his hair out like a dog and yelling at Kory to join him. When he sees his little brother, his face breaks into the most earth-shattering smile, before he breaks into senseless giggles–telling everyone, “You guys! My baby brother Timmy is here!”

Tim, a boy who loves his brothers more than anyone except maybe you, grins at the older boy's voice–pulling you along to greet him properly.

“Happy birthday, Dick!” You tell him, voice raising to be heard over the music and the squealing euphoria of his guests.

“Oh my! Timmy’s little Chicken is here!” Dick’s fondness for you is no surprise, as a professional older brother it is his job to love everyone his siblings love. “Jason! Look who's here!”

It's almost comical how fast you look up, how curious you are to see him, so curious you don’t hear Tim’s sigh or the way his hold on your arm tightens. Like Magic, Jason stands in front of you, leaning against a wall like a poor parody of James Dean. He looks a bit put out, a little annoyed to be interrupted in what looks like a riveting conversation with Roy Harper– a man you’ve only ever met through Tim’s phone on nights when he goes out without you.

“Hey guys,” He says, friendly enough yet you can’t help but notice how much tenser he looks now that Tim stands before him. “Timmy, I heard you’re taking up more and more roles at Dad’s,” he sounds strained, but it’s obvious that he’s trying.

“Yeah, our little baby brother is awesome, Bird, but let’s not forget it’s my turn to receive your compliments.” Dick exclaims, panting a bit from treading water.

“Yeah, yeah, Dickie, you just gotta wait for it, man.” Jason says, before turning back to Roy, you know at once that their exchange is over, you’re not sure what happened… It seems almost like Tim and Jason fought, niceties were exchanged, yes, but the look in their eyes: exhausted and awkward, says more than the short conversation they shared.

They get like this sometimes, a phenomenon you don’t quite understand… You’ve witnessed moments where they seem like best friends, joking and joining together in teasing Damian, yet there's other times… Moments like this, when it seems like there's years of separation and frustration between them.

You can feel Tim pulling you away, his hold on your hand a little tighter than you would like it to be… You can hear Dick yelling at him to stay, ‘the waters nice and warm,’ he yells, yet it's obvious he’s not too worried about it once Kory swims over to him. More than anything you can see Jason, nodding at you from his place against the wall–his drink tipping your way as if to say goodbye.

You’re still a little confused when Tim drags you back into the suite to dance, finding Conner and Stephanie along the way. The four of you twirl and laugh and drink, the boys spinning you and Steph around and around–passing the two you back and forth until you're dizzy and drunk. Tim’s hands steady you, leading you in a crazy dance the two of you made up junior year, and grinning when you drunkenly tell him you love him. The night is alive, it’s burning with winter yearning and the feeling that you’d never be this young again. How you love your friends, how you wonder what's ailing them.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

The music is thunderous, eating away at your ear drums and seeping into your bones until your body sings along. You’re not sure what time it is any more, or where Tim went… Your last memory is Conner giving you his jacket before pulling your friend away, a sight that made you giggle and roll your eyes. Steph’s seemed to disappear too, leaving you all alone on the dance floor, swaying in time with the music and whispering jokes to nobody.

The crowd seems to have gotten bigger and the drinks stronger, a revelation that sends you in search of Tim or Dick, or someone you know. Yet, you can’t find them anywhere, off with Conner and Kory surely, abandoning you with only vodka and an empty chip bowl to keep you company. The party seems lonelier now, the music dull and throbbing in your ears, and all the dancing seems out of rhythm. It’s almost like you’ve stepped out of the faery ring, released yourself from an enchantment, and now everything that was once magic is all wrong.

That things happening, that thing where you begin to have nostalgia for the moment you’re in, a kind of bittersweetness veiling over your eyelids as you take in the dark room. This happens sometimes, where you get a sudden case of the blues–too much adrenaline, too much happiness for one person, so it comes out as sad. It doesn’t help that you’re all alone, that Tim left you to go kiss Conner and you don’t really know anyone else, not truly–not the way you need to know them for a moment like this.

You find yourself on the stairs, leaning against the railing as you attempt to regain your balance. The world seems to be spinning, whether it's from the alcohol or all the dancing you’re unsure of, yet the sky seems to be under your feet. You wished Tim was here… he always knew what to do, always knew how to make you laugh when you’re sad and get you home without a scratch… Stupid Conner, you think, stealing your best friend from you when you need him most… typical.

It's minutes later that you feel someone nudging you awake, shaking you from your place on the stairs. The person's hands are rough and warm and gentle, easing you back into consciousness, accompanied by whispers of “come on, little one.”

You don’t feel very good, the alcohol and the sadness filling your throat with the taste of vomit, yet you find it in yourself to look up. Light invades your senses and that same blaring electronica finds a home in your ears again, a repeated refrain of call on me beating into your bones. You find the eyes of the intruder, green like summer; they’re looking down at you in concern, all squinty like a crescent moon. It's not until the song changes that you realize it’s Jason looking at you, your mystery come to find you.

“Jason?” you ask, your voice covered in sleep and intoxication. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Where’s Timmy?”

“Off with Conner.” You harrumph, sneering at his name as if they aren’t two of your most treasured friends.

“And he left you all alone?” He looks a little surprised by this, and a little upset, a combination that will surely keep you up thinking about what it means.

“Yeah, can you believe that?! He’s a treacherous traitor who betrayed me.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure all those things mean the same thing.” He laughs a little, and you wish you were sober just so you could really hear him, the fear you feel that you might not remember this fills you with dread. It's so rare that you get to see him, so rare that you get to talk to him without Tim around to make things different and tense… your crush on Jason is not so hidden, a truth that eats at you in moments like this. You’re sure they probably all know, can all see how flustered you get around him, but you’d never act on it–you’d never do anything to hurt Tim, (that includes kissing his brothers), thus you pretend like it doesn’t affect you as much as it does. But here now, with Jason sitting next to you on the stairs, sharing space and oxygen and more words than you’ve ever spoken to each other before, you feel it becoming harder and harder to pretend.

“Why are you sitting with me, Jason?” You ask him.

‘What?” He replies, eyes wide in shock or maybe confusion. “You’re my little brother’s best friend and you’re asleep on the stairs, why wouldn’t I be sitting with you.” His voice is pure Gotham, it brings a smile to your lips.

“I see, is it just because I’m Timmy’s best friend.”

“Are you flirting with me, Casanova?” he laughs, bringing a bottle of water up to his lips.

“Never ever, Mr. Todd, I swear it, cross my heart.” You can see how he’s smiling, goofier than you’ve ever seen it, less sculpted than the usual smirky grin he wears around his brothers.

“You’re drunk.” He says, before handing you his bottle of water, “Drink.” He says it like a command, like something you couldn’t say no to even if you tried, so you listen, yet you can’t stop thinking about his lips around it just a few seconds before. It invades your senses– the image of his rosebud lips curling around the top like a kiss… What is a kiss if not two mouths touching? What is a kiss without a kiss? Shared saliva and phantom smiles pressing against your own?

One of his large hands goes to the bottom of the plastic bottle–tipping it up further as if to get you to drink more, his eyes swallow you, commanding eye contact as the water tumbles down your throat. “That’s a good girl.” He tells you, voice low and pleasing. It’s only when the bottle is empty that he takes his hand away, lowering the bottle from your lips and looking back into the humid party.

How handsome he is, you think, it’s obvious he dressed up a little more for this than when you usually see him. He’s in all black, slacks and t-shirt displaying some 90s anime, he even has jewelry on: silver rings and heavy chains around his neck… He looks ravishing, like someone should take him home before other people can perceive him. You remember that first time you saw him, that fifteen year old boy on the news who looked like Peter Pan; you remember how you felt when you read that he was missing, if only you could have told yourself you would have found him one day.

“Jason?” You whisper, “Where did you go?” He’s surprised at the question, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t seem mad, more tired; exhausted by the memory.

“Neverland.” He whispers back, a response that brings a smile to your lips even though it’s not an answer.

“What was it like?”

“Hmm,” he says, thinking about his answer. “Well, it was pretty, there were pirates and mermaids, and little fairy girls like you.” That makes you laugh, a big booming thing that escapes.

“I’m a little fairy girl, now?”

“Oh yeah, I saw you spinning earlier… round and round like you were trying to fly.”

“Well, I’m all out of pixie dust.” You tell him, which brings that goofy smile back to his pretty face.

He doesn’t say anything else, just sits quietly with you, humming songs he knows and snorting at the drunken antics of Dick’s guests. It’s nice, just sitting with him–there is no need to fill the space, just peace and quiet. Finally, when you’re feeling sober enough to be a little worried by his answer, you ask, “Why’d you leave? I mean what made you come home?”

It takes him a moment to answer, but when he does it’s full of secrets and saved up sadness, his voice gruff with the memory of it. “I just had to grow up I guess.”

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

Days later you’re still thinking about that conversation on the stairs, how sad he looked… how vulnerable and young he appeared. When Tim finally showed himself, he was shocked to find you with his brother, thanking him over and over again for keeping you company. You remember how Jason smiled, sweet and sleepy, before he said No problem, Timmy, you just get her home safe. It’s less of a memory and more of a dream, like you went off to Neverland too.

It was difficult to find sleep that night, too shaken and embarrassed by your own behavior… Nerves ate at your brain every time you thought about how natural it was to talk to him, nerves that only got worse when you wake up to a text from an unknown number:

‘Hey, fairy girl, it’s J. just want to make sure you got back alright’

It filled you with heat and parasitic flutters in your belly, but you couldn’t answer… couldn’t get over the guilt you felt when imagining Tim’s reaction, no matter how innocent it all was. So you left it alone, didn’t answer him and went on with your day as normal as you could make it: lunches with Tim and group chat gossip with Duke and Stephanie, anything that could distract you from the fire blazing in your veins.

You were still a little cross with Tim for leaving you all alone, but after making him take you out to breakfast and promise to buy you whatever you wanted for the next week, you thought you’d cut him some slack. He was acting a little weird, he kept making that face that only conjures itself when he’s trying to figure something out, and he repeatedly asked you if Jason said anything interesting to you– a question that has you shaking your head every time.

His words were just for you, you knew that more than you knew anything, so even though it was unfamiliar, you kept it from your best friend.

It’s been a week since that fateful night, a week full of sleeplessness and butterflies when you thought about his bright eyes and warm hands. You’ve always had a bit of a crush, but now it's stifling–incinerating you with the absolute truth of it. Even here at work it suffocates you, presses down in between the dark archives of old newspapers and preserved textiles. It's just another day of paperwork and organization, studying old books on Cherry Hill in hopes to find something that could help stop the impending gentrification.

Tim’s on his way with lunch, something Alfred cooked up to be sure, an exciting but slightly unnerving prospect. You’ve never been afraid of your best friend before, but you’ve also never kept a secret from him… you know it's not a big deal, so what if you and Jason had a sleepy drunken conversation at Dick’s birthday party? It wasn’t like you kissed! Hell, his hands barely even touched your skin except to wake you up, yet the fear of hurting Tim is so massive and encompassing you can’t help but feel like you need to hide it.

You hear him say hello to your coworkers, hear his graceful steps down into the basement, he takes the stairs two at a time. When he finally arrives in front of you, he is jovial–smiling wider than you’ve seen in awhile. He dawdles on, handing you your lunch and telling you about how Alfred made twice the amount so all his kids could have some. It’s nice to hear him speak about his family, you relish in it… how happy he sounds when he speaks of his brothers, Alfred and Stephanie, the smile in his voice when he tells you you’re invited to another Friday Dinner.

“Barbara and Kory are coming too, you’ll be there, yeah?”

“Yeah, Definitely,” You tell him, but your heart isn’t in it. Tim notices it, of course he does, but he doesn’t call it out. You’ve been acting strange lately, but he trusts that you’d come to him if you really needed help. He stays until you both finish your lunch, kissing you on the head before he heads back towards the WE building; the guilt creeps back in when he leaves, roots of shaming entangling you like vipers.

This routine follows you into the week, Tim bringing lunch and stories of Conner and Duke and the mischief they’ve gotten themselves into. Your work kept you busy, working late into the night– the book you found on the Founding of Gotham was interesting, and it was proving to be rather helpful in proving your suspicions that the original City Hall was located in the Cherry Hill suburb of Gotham City. You hoped you’d be able to find all the sources you needed, but it was becoming a bigger and bigger project than you ever realized–a project that was impeding on your life.

It was late into the afternoon when Jason came to see you, bringing with him a smile and something hidden in his book bag.

“Knock-knock, Little fairy, can I come in?” He asks you, halting on the last step. It's dark down here, lit only with lamps and reading lights, still he is beautiful–the white streak in his hair curling down over his eyes. He looks rather comfy, wrapped up in a sweater and a leather jacket, his book bag crossing over his chest and falling around his hip. God, he’s lovely, and he’s here… Why is he here?

“What are you doing here?” You ask, startled by his presence and the life it brings.

“I wanted to bring you some flowers,” He tells you, a secret smile playing on his lips. You look at his empty hands, a confused grin finding its way to your face.

“Where are the flowers, Jason?” You laugh, although it halts when that goofy grin emerges again. Looking at you slyly he takes something out from his bag, pulling out a stack of books and handing them to you. Still confused you shuffle the pile to read each title,

Dandelion Wine, White Oleander, The Chrysanthemums, Daisy Miller, The Secret Garden…

Oh dear, you think, how sweet is this boy? And why? After you’d ignored his message…

“Flowers,” he says, tilting his head towards you, that charming smile still living on his face.

Who is this wonderful, handsome boy? When his brothers speak of him, they describe him as gruff and unlikable–mean and sulky. Yet this Jason is bright and euphoric, sweet and happy and mischievous…

He brought you flowers… flowers that you could keep on your shelf forever; stories of life and sadness and magic.

“Oh my,” you say, “Thank you, Jason.”

“Of course, I wanted to make sure you were okay…” He hesitates for a minute before continuing on, “Y’know, you never answered my text and I thought maybe Dickie gave me the wrong number.”

“Oh, no it was the right number,” you sigh. “I just don’t want Tim to feel weird about the two of us becoming friends…”

“Are we becoming friends then,” he asks you, eyes brighter than before. He looks so young like this, starry eyed and grinning like he won a blue ribbon.

“I don’t know, Jason, are we?”

“I’m inclined to say yes, fairy girl. I don’t steal books from the library for just anyone.”

Shocked, you turn the books over and sure enough, the library's barcode sits against the hardcover.

“Jason! What the hell?! You can’t just steal from the library!” You yell, yet all he does is laugh. It’s such a pretty sound, deep and melodious like a song you can’t forget the words to. You wonder how often he really laughs like this, true and belly-full, like he means it.

“I work at the library, Sugar, don’t worry.” He rasps out, “I’m the person who has to buy the new books anyway… so don’t worry about it.” The pet name rolls off his tongue salaciously, finding its way into your tummy, filling you with warmth and a vision of him at Gotham City Public Library. You’re not sure how you never knew, how you never saw him there in your late night book runs for your work. It fills you with fondness and makes your smile somehow brighter than it already was.

“Well, thank you anyway, J.” You tell him. “Really, no one's ever given me flowers before.”

When his eyes meet yours the floor shakes beneath you, destabilizing you into nervous fidgeting and shy smiles. You can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe your mystery is standing in front you–vulnerable and handsome and smiling. He brought you flowers… God, what are you going to tell Tim?

You see he’s getting ready to leave, so you ask (quicker than you thought possible,) “Do you wanna stay for a while? I’m just reading through some sources, but it might be better with company?” The smile he gives you is serendipitous, magical and dreamlike.

He stays with you long into the night, reading all the left pages as you read the right and sharing his own suspicions. He mentions books at the library that might be useful, and tells you how cool he thinks what you’re doing is, he smiles the whole time. It's late when you finish, yawning and blinking away the strain, he looks more and more like that school picture you once fawned over– young and happy, Peter Pan.

He insists on walking you home, leading you through the still busy Gotham Streets with a hand grazing your back and a watchful eye on the city. Every once in a while he stops to make sure you’re going the right way, and to ask if you’re still alright, a question that brings a smile to your lips and goosebumps on your skin.

When you finally make it home, skin bitten cold and his jacket hanging off your shoulders, he smiles faintly at you, bringing his hand up to push a loose strand of hair back behind your ear.

As he turns to leave he tells you,

“Don’t forget to get those flowers in some water, see you Friday,” And with the way your heart stops, you know you’re doomed.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

Tim Drake is lots of things, but a fool is not one of them. He sees how different Jason is acting during patrol: stumbling over ledges and pulling out the wrong gun. He’s been weird since Dick’s party, quicker to smile and more interested in you than ever before… he remembers seeing Jason try to covertly listen to the Comm when Dick asked Tim how you were,

“How’s Chicken Little doing, Timmy?”

But before he could answer, Damian swiftly responded:

“She doesn’t like it when you guys call her that, can’t you see her nose scrunch up in disgust? Honestly you’re all a bunch of buffoons.”

Tim, however offended he might be at Damian thinking he knows you better than him, couldn’t help but focus on Jason instead. His face might be covered by his mask, yet his body language is unmistakable–he’s more interested than he should be.

“Might I remind all of you, she is off limits, do not disturb, dead end… I will kill you and send your entrails to Lex Luthor to make some weird clone of you if you even think about it.” This message is for all of them, but you’d have to be stupid to not realize it was really only for Jason–Dick and Kory have been basically engaged since they were 20 and Damian still drinks bug juice for God’s Sake… the only other person it could be is Duke, but if the gagging sounds he’s making over the comm mean anything, he doesn’t need to be worried.

Nobody says anything for a second, laughter from Dick and Duke creeping in through his ear piece, yet it all stops when Jason speaks up for the first time that night.

“You know, you really should let her make her own decisions… She’s not a little girl.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Hood?” Tim asks, getting actually truly angry for the first time. There’s a reason why he tried to keep you to himself in the beginning of your friendship, he knows you think it’s because he didn’t want you to date his brothers, but really he didn’t want to have to share another thing. So much of his life belongs to his family, he just wanted one thing to belong to him.

“Don’t get angry, please, Birdie?” Jason replies, there's no heat in it, just exhaustion.

“What. Do. You. Mean? Hood?” Tim says again, getting more and more frustrated by the minute.

“I just mean she’s a grown up, and she should be allowed to talk to whoever she wants to, even if it weirds you out.”

It strikes Tim as something that wouldn’t bother him if it was about anyone but you, if it was Steph or Bart or Cassie, it wouldn’t have mattered. But it is you, the first friend he’s had that's entirely his own–you’re his best friend in the entire world, the person he loves the most, and he doesn’t need anyone, especially not Jason Todd, telling him how he should act with you.

“Keep your advice to yourself, Red Hood,” Tim barks out to his brother, yet there's a piece of him that's thinking about what he said, a voice in the back of his head that tells him maybe he should listen.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

When Tim calls you to tell you not to come to family dinner, you can’t help but be confused and a little hurt. Sure, he said he’d just come over to yours instead, but the thought that someone was upset with you, or worse that Tim used his brilliant brain to suss out your crush before you could tell him, and now he’d never let you back around his brothers again, whittled its way into your heart and wouldn’t let go.

You never wanted to do anything that would hurt Tim, he’s the person who you trust most in the world, the only person you could say confidently that you would kill or be killed for. You love him, infallibly and wholly, and thinking that he might be hurt by something you’ve done, even as innocent as a couple moonlit conversations with his brother, consumes you into a hellmouth of anxiety.

He arrives at seven, the time he said he’d pick you up for family night, but instead of meeting you at your door, he barrels in. There’s a wild look in his eyes, a look you’ve only seen once– when your Philosophy 204 professor fell over and began to aspirate through a seizure–it’s painful and worried, and you wonder what's making him so upset now. However, when you ask, all he does is shake his head, almost like he’s trying to shake out the worries, pound them out like water in your ears. He looks beyond you, into your kitchen and his sighs become heavier and more sporadic, did he run here?

“I’m trying to figure something out,” He tells you, his voice kinder than his body language made it seem like it would be, yet you’re not surprised–in the five years of being his friend, he’s never once raised his voice at you.

“Okay, what's up?” You ask, anxious.

“Are you and Jason in love? Are you having some sort of gross affair?”

“What?!” You exclaim, sure you have a crush on Jason, and yes you think it would be quite easy to fall in love with him, but come on… Two conversations and childhood crush don’t suddenly turn into an affair.

“Don’t “what” me, Chicken! I have Jason telling me to treat you like a grown up and now I walk in here and his jacket is hanging from my chair… MY CHAIR!” He says, shocking a laugh out of you, “The chair I sit in, god what has life come to?”

“Timmy, we’re not having an affair, he just walked me home after bringing me something at work.” You approach him like a snake tamer, slow and kind in your steps–the same steps you saw the zoo keeper take the last time you and Tim brought Damian to Gotham Zoo.

“But you like him?” He asks, suspicious and guarded. You can’t tell what’s happening in his head, can’t seem to read his mind like you usually can, so instead you let your hands fall onto his shoulders–fingers splaying out to run through the hair on his neck.

“Yes,” You say, quiet as a mouse. “Is that okay?”

Tim lets his head fall into your tummy, blowing out a big gasp of air into your shirt, which makes you laugh and push him away.

“Of course it’s okay, Chicken… I just want you to be happy.” He sighs, “I just don’t really know if you will be happy with him… my brother he’s,” He hesitates, thinks about how he should say this without ruining anything, before he continues: “Jay’s complicated, what happened fucked him up… really bad. And I love you, more than him, more than anyone–you’re my girl. I don’t want you to feel trapped in a bad situation, and feel like you can’t come to me cause he’s my brother… I’ll always be on your side.”

You smile and let out what feels like all the air in your lungs. How you love your stupid, silly, best friend, as if Jason would ever make you feel trapped and horrible when all he ever wants to do is be free?

“You don’t have to worry about me, Timmy, I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” The nickname makes him smile, brings him back to college when all you guys would do was watch Chicken Little and drink bottled sweet tea, when you’d call him Timmy and beg him to let you prank call his dad. Yet, the sentiment makes him sad, how are you a big girl if you’re both still just kids? He doesn’t feel that grown up yet.

“That’s what he said you know,” He replies. “Just, why didn’t you tell me?” He’s watching you, looking at you in that way that makes you spill all your secrets, so you tell him,

“I didn’t want to upset anyone, and I don’t know if he even likes me back, so..”

“Are you crazy?! Of course he likes you, my brother hates literally every single person he interacts with other than Alfred, yet he’s coming to your work to surprise you? Come on.” He’s laughing though it sounds a little pained. It does little to comfort your swirling thoughts. You’re so happy Tim’s not angry, so happy that he’s not throwing you onto the curb like you expected, but he still seems so sad.

You wish you could swaddle him up and make everything okay, promise that you’d never stop being friends, make sure he knows that you’re not going away–that all of this is a little dramatic for a little crush.

“Are you okay, Timmy? With the chance that something might happen between me and Jason?”

“Yeah, Chickadee, just…” he sighs, “Don’t forget what I said, okay? About him being complicated.” You nod, but before you can say anything, he speaks up again. “And, Chicken? Remember our pact about getting married for taxes… it’s you and me spending our afterlives together, not you and Jason.”

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

You wake the next morning a bundle of limbs and sleepy energy, Tim is barely conscious next to you and the apartment smells faintly of cheetos and ramen; you’d spent the night watching Avatar: The Last Airbender and reminiscing about the good old days. You told him about everything that's happened with Jason, starting from that first sight of his missing poster and ending with the bouquet of books. He was obviously a little grossed out to be talking about his brother in this way, but it felt good to see you so giggly and happy.

He’d felt bad for making you skip out on family night, a feeling of guilt that shook in his bones as his father and eldest brother texted him about skivving out on family bonding. But, he wouldn’t go back to change it, he was so afraid he was going to lose you, that you’d get tired of him and make friends with other people, that having this night with you was well worth all the lectures he was going to have to put up with.

He’s watching you now, anxious and blushing, and he can’t help but feel in awe of you–his pretty best friend, really crushing on someone for the first time. Some part of him is glad that person is Jason, at least then he won’t feel too bad about breaking his nose if he starts any shit with you.

“Everythings gonna be okay,” He says, using your first name in a rare scene of seriousness.

“Yeah, I know.” You tell him. “I just, don’t wanna ruin anything.”

“You know, he’s working today… might wanna bring him some flowers.”

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

The library is alive, warm and inviting like a lover’s embrace. It smells like parchment and dust and clorox wipes, a combination that instantly brings you back to school–elementary crushes and schoolyard gossip.

There’s not very many people here, too early on a school day for anyone to really be finding solace between the aisles, but you see him. Jason sits behind the front desk, wiry glasses settled on his nose and a book in his lap. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too absorbed in his work to really be paying attention. For a minute, you just stand and admire him–this mysterious creature who walked into your life and never left. All these feelings are brand new and ancient… romantic and friendly, respect and admiration. It would all be so easy, with him–to lose yourself in love and friendship–you want it so badly.

You can see it so vividly, waking up with him and spending nights intertwined, reading together and researching maniacally. Falling for him is easy, loving him will be hard you know, but seeing him now: pretty and warm in the afternoon light makes the decision rather easy.

“I’d like to return some books,” you say once you’ve reached him, startling him out of his reverie.

He can’t believe it’s you, beautiful and bright–like a protagonist out of an Austen novel. He thought he’d never be allowed near you again, thought he ruined it all by bringing you up to Tim, but here you were–lovely like the morning. You’re carrying books, flowers, and your smile is starlight.

“Well, right this way, Ma’am.” He tells you, once he finds his voice. “I didn’t realize you could replant flowers after you’ve picked them.” He’s teasing you, but really he’s not sure why you’ve brought the books back–is it a way to let him down? Or are you just returning the favor?

He leads you into the back, unprofessional sure, but he needs to be alone with you. You’re so anxious, he can tell… he needs to be able to reach out and feel you.

“I just felt like you deserved flowers too, Jay.” You tell him, sweet and lovely like always.

“Hmm, well I refuse them… they’re all yours, I already replaced them.” His eyes are mischievous again, burning with joy as they stare into yours. You’re reminded of that night on the stairs, when he made you drink water and burned you alive.

“I talked to Tim,” You tell him, watching as his smile drops.

“Let me guess, he told you I’m bad news and doesn’t want you around me, right?” He asks, rough with the hurt of past bruises.

“Actually, he told me you’re bad news but he’s trusting me to be able to handle it.” Jason looks surprised, his summer green eyes wide with shock. He guessed he never really thought Tim would be okay with it…

He remembers seeing you for the first time: soft and gorgeous in the lowlight of the manor, he was sitting with Damian and remembers how the breath shot out of his lungs at the sight of you. Dami’s been teasing him about it for years now, bringing you up to piss Tim off and making plans for you to bring him to the planetarium on days when Jason said he’d pick him up–like a goddam parenttrap. He thinks back to that night on the stairs a few weeks ago, you looked so pretty spinning around with your friends, like Thumbelina. When he found you on the stairs he was panicked: worried about you and worried about Tim who never left your side, but you were still just so pretty.

He can’t believe you here now, bringing him flowers and his brother’s approval. He’s waited for this for so long, for the okay from the one person dearest to you, the one person who could make Jason actually care about listening to him.

“He really said that?” Jason asks you, hesitant and careful like he’s worried you’re playing a joke on him.

“He really said that,” You reply, laughing when Jason pulls you into a hug. He holds you for a few minutes, feels the air in your lungs press into his belly as you breathe in and out, it feels so good to have you here, to know that he’s not making anything worse by wanting you.

“So that means you’ll go out with me then, fairy girl?” he asks you, his rough fingers moving up to grasp your chin, tilting it up so you’re looking into his eyes. He waits for you to nod, then waits for the word, yes, to emerge from your pretty lips, before lowering down to kiss your forehead. He feels you sigh, feels your hands shake from their place on his arms, his kisses move down down down until they meet the corner of your lips. You're smiling slightly, like you’re having a happy dream, and when he kisses you for real that smile becomes a big grin.

It’s all teeth and laughter and the awkwardness of a first kiss, but Jason holds you up and lets you gasp into his mouth and swallows your sighs. He licks into your mouth and clashes his teeth against yours and calls you his fairy, his magic girl come to take him back to Neverland. He holds you tighter and tighter, and feels you shake under his affection, how lovely it is, how badly he wants to make your bones rattle.

“I’ll bring you more flowers on our date, sugar.” He tells you, kissing the underside of your jaw, before pulling away. He’s sad he has to let you go, frustrated that he has to stay at work while you get to go and hang out with Tim and Damian at the Museum all day, but the kiss you press into his hand–innocent and earnest–makes it worth it.

He leads you out of the back room and into the well-lit main entrance, pausing only to grab his book from the front desk. “By the way, I found this while I was stacking shelves, I thought it might be useful for your project.”

In his hands is a book titled Gotham City’s Founding Buildings, and on the cover, miraculously an illustration of Cherry Hill.

It’s too easy to fall in love with him, you think again, smiling as you pull him into another kiss.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #tim drake #red hood #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagines #batboys drabble #jason todd fic #jason todd headcanon #dc x reader #jason todd x yn #jason todd images #the batfamily #dc robin #jason todd drabbles

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ilium-ilia · 2 days ago

Text

ichor tongue; salted wounds

simon ghost riley x fem!reader | warlord x servant | masterlist

Chapter Five: belonging

tw: violence, blood, threats, smut, dub-con, hymen breaking, virginity loss, breeding kink

Its iron kiss is algid.

Your hand slips out of Simon’s grasp as you reach for the knife against your throat, but your reaction only makes the assailant’s grip tighten. A toothy bite against your jugular, breaking tender skin until beads of ichor line your neck like the world’s finest rubies. Stronger fingers—a killer’s fingers—dig into your shoulder as if staking some sort of claim on you. For the first time all night, Simon’s gaze breaks from you. Onyx eyes stare dully at your attacker as if bored, but you see the heat lurking in the depths. It’s thick, like molten lava—a fire Prometheus could only dream of.

Having yet to realize the silent battle taking place at the front of the throne, chatter still fills the room as the celebration continues unheeded. But there are some who notice. Old men with twinkling eyes glaring at the man touching you from over the rims of their goblets, soldiers with their hands caressing the handle of their swords ready to cut at a single motion of order from Simon—curious people who are already trying to guess whose blood will paint the floor first.

“What’s your name, boy?” Simon barks. The equanimity he exercises is impressive, but you note the warble in his tone—fierce and sanguineous.

“My name is none of your concern.” Breath is hot on the top of your head as the man’s chin brushes against the crown of your head, but the shiver it sends along your spine is nothing compared to the stark realization that you recognize this voice. Though you can’t put a name to it, this is the soldier who threatened you many years ago. The one who you found outside of the bath house with Caenis.

No wonder your nose is tainted with the scent of pork.

“Isn’t it?” Simon challenges. “Would you prefer an unmarked grave once I’ve gutted you for your transgressions?”

The soldier’s heart thuds so violently against his chest you feel it thump against your back, burrowing straight through your spine. Fluttering and begging, it pairs sourly with the sweat on his palms. It soaks into your skin and muddies your himation. You’re already mourning the loss of this clothing—you won’t keep garments that reek of pig.

“You barbarians are so full of yourselves,” the soldier snarls. “You pretend to be so brave but your idioticacy will be the death of you. Threatening me in such a way when I’ve got a blade pressed to your empress-whore’s throat? Not even a child would be so daft.”

This farce of a performance has garnered more attention now. Not even the men who have indulged in the most wine can ignore the way Simon’s chuckle rings darkly throughout the hall. The stinging on the side of your neck worsens as the soldier’s uneasy grip scrapes along your skin, yet you cannot bring yourself to feel fear. As you stare up at Simon—your emperor, your love—you only feel a giddiness that bubbles through your chest.

This only ends in one way. Water at your feet, jug shattered on the floor—Caenis’s sobs echoing off the walls.

“I’m predictable, am I?” Simon questions facetiously. He’s playing with his food. If he wanted to, this soldier would already be splayed on the floor for all to see, but instead he’s taking his time, scraping his claws over quivering flesh just for the fun of it. To lecture. “You say this not knowing Shepherd’s filth has stained you. You reek of his cowardice. Even now you prove this, grappling with an unarmed woman instead of fighting me. You wonder why your city fell by my hand, boy? It’s because Shepherd’s desire to save only himself rubbed off on you. You don’t know what it means to make a sacrifice.”

Simon’s words nettle deep enough to strike bone—you feel it in the blazing furnace of the soldier’s grip. His breathing quickens, a bull waiting to charge, and suddenly you are no longer in his grasp. Shoved to the side, discarded in the way you always are, the man lunges like a cat with his arm outstretched, blade slicing through the air in an arc that leads directly to Simon’s heart while he roars about wounded honor.

You cry out a gargled animal howl, but you should know better than to fear that something as simple as a boy throwing a tantrum could ever bring the downfall of your lover. Simon’s fingers wrap around the soldier’s wrist, and the snap that follows after it echoes throughout the stunned hall. The blade bounces on the ground as the man yelps and you can do nothing but sit and watch in awe as Simon produces his own blade hidden deep within his himation.

Iron sinks deep into a delicate stomach, sending a symphony of gasps throughout the hall. The soldier isn’t sure what to cradle—his fractured wrist or his split abdomen. It’s fruitless in the end. Simon puts the beast out of his misery with a slash along his throat, matching the one that would have fallen on your own body, before he shoves him to the ground. Blood spills onto stone, mixing with the faded remnants of Emperor Shepherd’s downfall.

Silence rings as torches continue to blaze and moonbeams wander through ported windows—then, there is the triumph. Salutes and cheering, hands clapping together, citizens whistling, old men barking with laughter as yet another young man perishes for a faded and cruel ideology. A dinner and a delicious show.

When Simon turns his attention to you, he finds you crumpled on the ground with a hand pressed against the side of your throat. Ichor pitifully stains your fingers as you stem the bleeding, but you make no visible direction of your pain. There is only a faint smile on your wine-stained lips as you stare at the soldier and how he cools on the marble floor.

“Little mouse.” His voice is tender when he kneels before you, fingers prodding at yours to see the extent of the damage. A small nick mars your skin, not enough to be fatal but enough to sting like salt in a fresh wound. When Simon thumbs over the cut, all coherent thought flees from your brain. “Look at what he did to you.”

You shake your head, an attempt to tell him that you’re fine, but he refuses to listen to it. His hands are on your shoulders, prompting you to your feet, arm wrapped around your waist as if you’ve lost enough blood to bring you to your knees without support.

As soldiers drag away the body of the man who threatened you at his beckoning—another pig butchered—Simon murmurs strict orders to his men to not be disturbed as he brings you to his chambers. Shadows cloak the room for only a moment before he’s lighting several tall-wicked candles. A honeyed glow bathes the bed, clashing like gold against the silvery moonlight that rains through the open window.

Simon directs you to sit on the edge of the mattress, and he kneels in front of you as he twists your head to the side to earn himself a better angle to assess your wound. He mutters to himself as he wipes at the blood left on your skin with the edge of his himation. Somehow, the purple darkens even further—a swathe of tenebrious night captured into the weaving of fabric.

“I failed you tonight,” Simon sighs, beginning his harangue. “Everyone in this damn city should know better than to lay hands on you like that. A knife to your fuckin’ throat, degrading you into a hostage. Had I more time, he would’ve paid for it with more than his life, sweet mouse. I'd've ripped the meat from his bones. There would be no grand farewell for all to see, he’d simply be butchered like the animal he was.”

Despite the gnarly plans Simon shares with you, a smile flitters across your lips as you reach for him. Palms cupping his cheeks, your touch silences him. Through the candlelight, he stares at you, eyes slowly softening as your thumbs move to press against his bottom lip. Then, you tilt your head to the side. The cut on your neck strains as your skin grows taut, but it is an offering. A plea.

Kiss it better.

Putting his lips to better use besides a rant, Simon embraces the side of your throat. Hands falling from his face, you instead wrap your arms behind his head, forearms pressing against his spine, fingers rolling along the angry muscles in his shoulders. The very touch of his chapped lips sends a wave of dopamine coursing through your already torrid blood.

An unfamiliar hum reverberates in your throat. A sweet melody that gives Simon pause. He pulls back with his concupiscence hardly restrained.

“Everything in this city belongs to me. Every person, every home, every rock. It’s my duty to protect it,” he whispers. “But you? My little mouse. You’re the only thing I want to belong to.”

The more he speaks, the closer he gets. Stalking forwards, he’s pushing you until your back is flat against the bedding, animal hides and linens crowning you like a halo. His hands are on either side of your head as he straddles your hips. The entirety of his spine curves forward, a wolf guarding food, a minotaur judging mortals—your heart pounds out of your chest as if to offer itself to him.

“Will you let me belong to you, Mouse? Will you let us belong to one another?” he asks.

Your wine-fuzzied mind sobers up just long enough to nod before it goes blank. Void of all thought, your memories leave you as Simon descends upon you. Nose pressed against your cheek, tongue in your mouth—you explode. Hands reaching for him, pulling him closer, cheeks suctioning in to bring as much of him in as you can manage. You note the way the wet muscle taps against the roof of your mouth, your soft palate, traces the edge of your teeth; incisors, molars, canines.

You wonder what Emperor Shepherd would think of you if he were alive to see you like this—smiling in his bed with the man who helped to bring about his demise. You are about to be the ruler of a city that once hated you. Something that despised you, shunned you with a hollow mouth, degraded you to filth.

It’s impossible to know—and you don’t care to guess—but you just hope that whatever shallow grave he’s been tossed into, he’s turning in it.

Spit dribbles down your chin as Simon breaks your union, and you stare up at him gasping for breath as he leans back. His weight settles on your hips, a comfortable pressure that doesn’t threaten to crush you, as he reaches towards the collar of your himation.

The moment his hands grip the cloth, you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Ah!” You attempt to vocalize your discontent as best as you can as you grab his wrists, head violently shaking side to side.

“I told you, Mousie, I like to rip into somethin’ of substance before I eat,” Simon chuckles. Still, you furrow your brows. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you new clothes. Nicer ones. Whatever you want. Tomorrow, I’ll get you a red veil. Yeah, you’d be a good sight in that, yeah?”

Pausing your silent argument, your body tenses as you realize what he means. Once he feels the slightest bit of slack in your grip, Simon’s hands dart apart, ripping the fabric clean down the middle, exposing your chest and stomach between a valley of frayed cotton.

“Like that, do you?” he teases. Scooting down your body, he continues to rip until there’s a clean line cleaved down the center, decking you in a robe rather than proper clothes. “You look so pretty in red.”

His eyes flicker to the cut on your neck before he’s cloaking over you once more. Tongue licking along your wound, gathering the stunted flow of ichor, swallowing down with a hum—your eyes roll into the back of your head as your back arches off of the bed. Yours and Simon’s heat begins to mix together, forcing your temperature to rise to the point you swear you’ll sublimate out of his very touch.

Then, he wanders down. A trail of kisses mark along your breasts, lips grazing along each nipple before he’s lapping at the sensitive skin just above your belly button. Palms against the inside of your thighs, he presses your legs apart before sitting back on his haunches to get a better view of you.

Warmth bubbles in your face and throat as his fingers begin to poke at your sex. Flippant nudity does not compare to the way he spreads your labia apart, wetness squelching as he prods at you. His eyes narrow, head tilting to the side as he bends forward as if ready to pry you open and climb inside.

“Have you never fed your fingers into ‘er before?” he asks softly. Unsure how to respond, you don’t answer until his fingers slide over your clit, prompting you to shake your head. “You’re still intact.”

Eyes wandering away from your cunt, Simon turns his attention to your mouth. Glistening wet with spit, he smirks as he raises a hand and presses two fingers past your lips. You’ve gotten used to taking him like this—you love it. The weight of something where it ought to be, filling you. He pets the place where your tongue used to be, and you groan.

He doesn’t linger long before he’s back at your sex, wet fingers now prodding at your entrance. You feel the resistance of your hymen and how he circles around the thin tissue. There is a small opening that he pushes one finger into and he scowls at the tightness as you stretch. It burns, like angry bramble against your skin, but once he’s in deep enough to curve his fingers into you, you gasp at the sensation.

It’s as if you’re being filled, more than just the empty space in your mouth, but the hollow cave that was carved out of you long, long ago. A cavern ready for painting, yearning to be marked—your heart flutters at the thought that maybe you are meant to be more than a servant. More than a lesson. You can be something great. Someone powerful.

A second finger is added and you are ripped apart like the clothes Simon tore off your body. Back arching, hips rolling into him, you groan as your eyes flutter shut. He’s drawing more sounds out of you here in this bed than you’ve made since you were ten—when ichor clots replaced your tongue.

“Pretty mouse squeakin’ for me,” Simon croons darkly. His eyes are stuck on the way his fingers push in and out of you, the tight ring of your hymen catching on his knuckles with each exit. “Wonder if I can get ‘er to sing.”

You pout when Simon removes his fingers from you, leaving your muscles contracting around nothing, but your eyes widen when you see the way he lines up three fingers against you. Thick, round, and strengthened from battle, from wielding blades and heavy weaponry, from slicing the throats of anyone who would question you; you nearly shriek as you reach for his wrist and hold him at bay—keeping a dog from a bone.

Simon raises an eyebrow. “What? You don’t want more?”

But oh, you do. A famished beast claws at your stomach. It’s eaten away the softer parts of you, leaving behind nothing but bones and desire, but even you are smart enough to realize that three fingers would rip you apart. Wide, thick, and made for cleaving. Instead, you whine as you pull at his himation as if you’re tugging on a leash.

Entertaining you, Simon obeys your request, though he does not make a great show of it. With deft movement he shrugs his own clothing off as it rolls over his shoulders and slides down his hips until he’s kicking them onto the floor. Quick and to the point. He’s no longer interested in toying.

This is not your first time seeing him naked. You’ve seen the way seafoam clings to his bare skin in the marmalade light of afternoon, and how the stars ignite his pallid skin into silvery blue—but you’ve never seen him like this. Hardened cock weeping in his hand as he kneels between your legs, knocking your knees wide enough to slot his thighs between them. He is red and angry, already anxious to meet you, to kiss you, to know you from the inside out.

He was doing a favor offering you three fingers.

“After we laid siege to this city and freed it from Shepherd’s wretched shackles, John Price told me to lead with honor. To settle and find a wife to bed and raise an heir. I didn’t want any of that.”

As he soliloquizes, Simon’s fingers curl into your hips as his cockhead presses against your sex. He kisses just past your labia, and the pressure on your hymen already feels overwhelming. You stare up at him, mouth open but with no tongue to speak.

“When you came here on that first day, I thought you were here to play. Sweet little bird toying with a lion. I saw the way you looked at me that night we killed Shepherd. Thought you were playin’ hard to get when you wouldn’t speak. Maybe you just wanted a good fuck. To see if the barbarians fuck as savagely as they kill, yeah? But no, as soon as you opened your mouth and I saw that we have kindred scars, I knew it. Knew I could only ever want you.”

Simon’s confession falls from his lips just as he pushes past the point of no return. He leans forward just as you gasp while rolling his hips into you, face falling into your neck so that you can hold onto him as your hymen tears the rest of the way. Thumbs into fruit. Pomegranate seeds shelled from its husk. He licks the wound on your throat as you keen, and you’ve never felt more alive.

When your tongue was taken from you all those years ago, it was the first time that you truly realized the way you draw breath. How it fills your lungs and flows in your blood. The red syrup pouring from your lips was proof that you are living—being so close to death. That’s what this is. As Simon’s cock kisses your cervix, shoving you full of himself, replacing the cavity that was left after the robbery of your tongue, you are alive.

“Do you want me, sweet mouse? Do you want this?” Simon questions as his hips begin to draw back. It’s difficult to swallow the drool pooling in your jaw, but you quickly choke it down so you can nod. “Good. Don’t think I could stop myself anyway.”

There is no holding back the way Simon tears you apart now that you’ve given him permission to take you. Jerking movements leave you trembling beneath his grasp as he fills you then rips himself out until you’re empty over and over again, a vicious give and take that leaves your head spinning. Iron is thick in the air as a pink ring of blood forms around the shaft of Simon’s cock and the scent has your teeth aching for his fingers. Soft pad against hard bone. Suck until you’re whole again.

Each thrust has you crying out in squeaky pules and gutteral moans, and the louder you get, the wider Simon’s smirk becomes. His breath is hot on your face as your nails rake along his back. Long, puffy trails dance beside his keloids until the scars from battle and the marks from love are indiscernible. Both brutal; both a result of taking and giving.

As pain and pleasure morph and mix below your navel, lightning is added to the mix as Simon suddenly reaches down between your bodies. He rubs at the place you’ve only dared to touch on the darkest nights when not even the moon can see you from your old chamber window. The hardened flesh between your labia pulses beneath his thumb as he presses down. It is the trigger that gets you to sing. To squeal like a mouse whose tail has been caught by prey. Legs twitching, torso writhing—a song and dance that your lover already seems to have memorized.

“Yeah, there she is, my sweet singin’ mouse,” Simon croons. His thrusts become more firm, rocking your body into the plush feather and wool mattress that keeps you chained to the earth. Each time you think you’ve got the rhythm enough to catch your breath, he changes it, drawing more of those sybaritic sounds past your lips. “They always say the seed takes better this way. Are you gonna come for me, pretty mouse?”

Your mangled tongue shoves out a sound that mimics confirmation, but if Simon had any doubt he would only have to look to your eyes. Wide, blown pupils, heavy lids, mouth agape and hips wiggling—you want this; you covet this more than anything.

When the pleasure snaps inside of you, thread fraying until there’s nothing but fibres left, you go silent. No breath leaves your mouth, no air is sucked into your lungs—there is only the fluttering of your eyes as everything builds then shatters all at once. A groan, trembling hands against his chest, fingers curling into his pectoral muscles until you’re certain the marks will be noticeable for days.

Your emperor. Your Simon—only you will be able to brand him like this.

He likes the pain. It prompts a thick growl from him—a mark of his own. The sound is smothered when his lips collapse against you, tongue pushing past your lips, hips jutting forward, weight collapsing on you until—

Everything pulses. Cum spills into you thick and heavy as Simon keeps himself sheathed deep enough to kiss your cervix. Warmth. Perspiration and brine. You are full to the point of combustion; of exploding outwards in a mess of ichor and teeth too hungry to keep to themselves.

When the breathing slows and you and Simon lie next to one another in bed, naked bodies melding together, neither of you speak. After your many years in servitude, you’ve learned that words are not needed to convey the ardor that buzzes beneath your skin. You need only your hand on his chest, and his cum spilling from your cunt as proof of your love.

And to think Herschel Shepherd suggested that you end your life instead of experiencing this.

After dawn breaks, and your slumber has long held your body, you wake at Simon’s beckoning. A gentle kiss upon your forehead, and his hand slipping into yours to urge you out of bed. You’ve had little time to rub the sand from your eyes before he’s dragging you out of your shared chambers and through the palace. Remnants of the party still linger in the air—stale food and too much liquor—and your own wine-tainted memory begins to sharpen.

It hits full force the moment a red veil is placed upon your head, and you are kneeling before a priest in the only temple your city has yet to topple. In a way, you always knew things would end up like this. It should have been clear the moment you caught Simon—The Ghost—in the throne. Your lives would be intertwined. Braided strands of fate, now forever holding the two of you together by your little fingers.

Once the ceremony is finished, Simon sneaks you to the cove. The very place you used to bathe to avoid harm and hate from your equals has now become the place for you to laze about with your husband. Warm sand on your bare back, grains sticking to your skin—he spends much time between your legs. Head nuzzled against your thighs, Simon tries to differentiate between the taste of your cunt and the taste of the sea.

When your legs begin to quiver too much, and you’re palming against the top of his head to get him away from you, Simon lies next to you on the beach as the waves attempt to kiss your feet. His fingers trace the rise and slopes of your face; along your cheekbone and the tip of your nose, all the way to your lips as they puff out waiting to accept him.

“My pretty wife.” His fingers push into your mouth where you all-too greedily pull him in. Content with the warmth of you, Simon hums. “My pretty empress. Never realized how nice it is to have a lovely creature like you sittin’ on my lap while I rule this city ‘til I met you. Wild thing, just like me, huh Mousie?”

You nod in confirmation, tugging his fingers along with you, and the action gives him pause. Dark eyes flicker away from where your lips curl around his fingers until he’s pinning you with his gaze alone. He retracts his hand until his palm is against your cheek, holding you as if you’re the most delicate thing in the world.

“I love you.” He whispers it softly. Low enough that the wind can’t carry it away from you.

Smiling, you prop yourself up just far enough to crash into him. Mangled lips mixing together, hungry teeth against tender flesh—you swing your leg over until you’re straddling him. Surprised, he looks up at you with a smirk, and when you giggle it’s as if it comes from the heavens. Bright and melodious; a blessing among mortal men.

And as you collide with him once more, you pray that you can speak with touch in a way you no longer can with your tongue:

I love you, too.

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*full story is currently up for early access, updates will be posted every sunday night (may be a different day depending on time zones)

#ilium writing #sr ilia #it;sw #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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tobeholyistobeempty · 2 days ago

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ok i’ve thought about this for so long but i honestly think drunk confessions with soap would happen when both of you are equally as sloshed. like a full drunken horny spiral where neither of you can shut the fuck up - all of your filter is gone, and suddenly it’s turning into a game of who can confess the nastier thought first. mutual destruction type shit. just a casual descent into unhinged oversharing and both of you realizing - oh no. we’re the same type of feral.

like the bottle is almost empty. you don’t know who had the last shot. doesn’t matter. you’re both on your asses against a wall in some dim corridor, not even trying to get up anymore. your legs are stretched out and tangled, shoulders slumped together, heads bumping every so often when one of you snorts too hard.

you’re both cackling like lunatics.

soap just made a joke about ghost looking like the kind of bloke who asks for ketchup in a steakhouse, and you’re crying. actual tears.

everything feels warm. blurry. easy.

way too fucking easy.

“you’re insane,” you laugh in between trying to catch your breath. “fulllyyy fucking insane, johnny.”

johnny sways toward you. “aye. but yer the same. same fucken’ breed.”

you know you can’t deny that. you and the scot do nothing but cause shit everywhere you go. it’s effortless, with johnny. you two feed off eachother.

and so you smirk, lifting your cup in admission. “idiots with a loaded weapon and terrible judgment? yeah. we’re practically twins.”

he snorts. “aye, but you’re the hot one.”

you turn your head slowly. “did you just call me hot?”

he doesn’t even blink.

“donnae act like ye don’t know it.”

your pulse stutters, but you’re too drunk to even notice. “no, johnny, shut up - you’re the hot one-“

“ye dinnae wanne start this with me lass.” he says, cutting you off with a shake of his head. “ye’ll lose.”

you swat at him. “i won’t lose shit- i’ve thought about how hot you are for months. like months. i dream about it.”

there’s a pause, at that. one that tells you that might’ve actually surprised him and is proven by the way he opens his mouth then closes it. even drunk you see it, the gears that start turning behind his eyes as he exhales a ragged breath.

“ye dinnae even know what i dream of.” he whispers with the type of slurred inflection that surfaces when he’s long past the point of reason. “ive thought about shaggin’ ye in every storage closet on this base.”

you choke.

“johnny-“

“none o’that- listen proper. i mean every. closet.” he lifts a finger like he’s testifying in court. “the one near the gym? bent over the bench. one near the barracks? legs around my waist, beggen pretty in my ear.”

your jaw drops. because holy fuck.

“you’re just saying that?!”

he grins some clueless little grin that is so signature johnny it hurts. “we're bein’ honest now, aye?”

you squint at him, trying to find the bullshit. trying to find the lie or the twitch in his brow that tells you he’s only buttering you up in hopes to get laid. but you don’t find it - you don’t see anything except for the wild in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks that tells you - fucken hell. this might just be the most honest he’s ever been, and it’s exhilarating.

so just like you always do, you match him. this time in your honesty. because it’s always like this with you two. the dance of devils - yours and his.

you shift, head buzzing wild. “alright then. ive thought about you fucking me on the shooting range.”

he blinks. “…ye what.”

you shrug, chewing on your lip. “from behind. pants halfway down while you’re tellin me to shoot it straight.”

his face twists, eyes blaring. “tha’s fucken evil.”

you giggle, nose scrunching. “you started it.”

“nah - nah nah,” he waves a hand, scrambling to face you better. “ye donnae get te drop that and just move on. ive thought about ye - fucken hell - riding me in the armoury. tools clatterin’ everywhere. no’ a care in the bloody world.”

you gasp, pretending to be oh so very scandalized. “in the armoury?! johnny!”

“right on the table. my hands on yer throat te keep ye quiet.”

you’re breathless. flushed. completely fucked but never more alive in your entire life. “oh my god.”

“aye. oh my god is right.” he leans in closer, breath hot, accent slurred and taunting. “top that. i dare ye.”

you’ve never been one to back down a dare, especially when you’re this drunk, so you lick your lips. “you, in the showers, still half-dressed. water running. me down on my knees suckin’ you off while you lean on the wall grunting my name into your fist.”

his eyes roll back and he groans - actually fucking groans like you’ve just stabbed him and slumps back against the wall. something in you begs and your thighs twitch for it.

it’s one of your favourite fantasies to date.

“jesus fucken’ christ.” he grits after a moment of attempted recomposing.

“keep up, mactavish,” you purr, all smug now. “or you tapping out?”

“no’ a fucken’ chance,” he growls, shifting up again. “i think about benden ye over the mess table while everyone else’s sleepen’. pissin myself tryen te keep ye quiet while you’re so fucken wet fer me it’s drippin.’”

every word from his mouth is like fire, scorching your nerves alight. you’re certain you’ve never been more unholy in your life, but all you do is nod like you’re not losing your fucking mind.

then you lean closer. “ive imagined you pulling me into a closet just to put your fingers in me and tell me you ‘just needed to check something.’”

he gapes. fullstop. “oh you’re proper fucked, aren’t ye?”

you’re both hysterical now, half-laughing, half-melting, cheeks burning, equally breathing heavy like the airs gone thin and its burning between you.

“you,” you manage to recollect yourself, pointing a finger in his face, “you’d be the type to say some sick shit like ‘don’t cum until i say so.’”

“aye.” soap blinks slow. “tha’s ‘cause you’d fucken’ listen.”

you freeze, eyes locked. you don’t even realize that you’ve both gone quiet until he speaks again.

“…ye would, wouldnt ye?”

“course i would.” you breathe out, jagged and cracking now until you manage to snap yourself out of it with another laugh. “christ, you’re filthy.”

he flashes you that goddamn grin again. cocky and teasing and totally fucking evil. “ye love it.”

“unfortunate,” you mutter, smiling. “makes me wanna jump you for it.”

he hums. “mm. full offence, i’d let ye kill me with your thighs.”

you blink, then almost choke on your saliva. “you’d what?”

“dead serious.” he gestures at your legs, slurring slightly. “wrap ‘em around my head, cut off the blood flow, lights out. best fucken way te go.”

“well fuck.” you shake your head, but your grin is splitting your face. “i’d let you fuck my throat til i’m cryin. full tears. no air. fingernails bleeding my scalp.”

johnny leans his head back and groans again. “im gonna combust. gonna catch fucken fire.”

you wheeze, face buried in your sleeve. “we're disgusting.”

“we’re perfect.”

and then, quiet.

not awkward. not scared. just two people hovering over the edge of something they both know they can’t fall into.

you feel his shoulder still pressed to yours. feel his breath go slow and controlled like he’s thinking about all the ways this is wrong, and all the ways you both wish it wasn’t.

“im no gonna kiss ye,” he mutters.

you don’t look at him, just whisper back, “good.”

another long beat. then-

“…but if i grabbed ye by the waist right now and dragged ye toward my room-“

“id let you.”

another pause.

“…we shouldn’t,” he whispers.

“i know.”

“ye’d fucken end me,” he adds.

you smile. “right back at you.”

you sit like that for an unknown amount of time. taut, burning, wrecked. he tilts his head toward yours again. nose brushing your temple.

“ye tell anyone about this,” he breathes into your hair, “and ill deny every word.”

you snort. “we both go down with the ship, mactavish.”

he grins, and neither of you move.

you just sit there.

emotionally edged. spiritually wrecked. cockblocked by the entire universe and metaphorically blue-balled by your own drunken stupidity.

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alex51324 · 2 days ago

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Additional reminder: If you took in all that, and you still kind of secretly think that being a subsistence farmer would be in some nebulous way better than what you're doing now, chances are that what you are longing for is un-alienated labor.

According to Marx, a worker is alienated from their labor when they, "cannot decide on their own productive activities, nor can they use or own the value of what they produce." In other words, you aren't deciding what to do, or when or how to do it.

Marx, as you probably know, went on to focus more on the "value of what they produce" aspect, with the idea that the central problem of our society is that the vast majority of people work for someone--a boss, a capitalist--who scrapes off most of the value produced by their labor as profit.

But if you're looking at your own specific life--rather than the whole shape of society--the cannot decide on their own productive activities part is probably the main thing that's eating at you. That, and the increasingly abstract nature of labor today, where a lot of jobs do not have a tangible or observable result, or not one that is in any way satisfying.

So, on an individual level, you can look for ways--other than turning to subsistence farming--to get some of what you're missing. Try thinking about jobs you could potentially do/be qualified for, in the real world, in those terms: what would give you more autonomy/power to make decisions about, at least, how you accomplish your job tasks? What could you do to to get some direct experience of the effects of your work? A job that meets at least some of these needs, some of the time, might feel less draining than your current one, even if it's technically more or harder work.

Or you can conclude that your work for pay is just not going to be how you meet your needs for autonomy and meaning. Aim for a work situation that you can compartmentalize, put your time in, and finish for the day or week with time and energy left to pursue autonomy and meaning in hobbies, volunteer work, activism, community-building, whatever.

Obviously, none of these options are going to be as good as if you could just not live in a society where alienated labor is the norm (but still have at least the same level of material comfort/security that you do now). But that's not a choice we get to make, as individuals.

HALT!✋😐

did you remember to express gratitude for not having to subsistence farm today?

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docrobinavitch · 3 days ago

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force of nature, pull of gravity | part three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What face?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this Dr. Robby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that all you bought from him?”

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

He stared at you silently, jaw clenched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” You said softly.

“You mean that?”

You nodded, “I mean it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I–I don’t know, maybe my leg?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me worry about that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Fuck,” You sighed, heart sinking.

“He’s wasting resources–”

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

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

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

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

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

“How long has she been down?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned, “Shen’s got it–”

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

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

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

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

She nodded, “Yeah, of course, kid.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged, “Fine. Are we done?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know how you could refuse him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you fully disappeared from Robby’s life.

***

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

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

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

All heads turned to you in a panic.

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

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

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

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think I can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Could you just take me to Robby, please?”

She was avoiding making eye contact with you, which you thought was strange. Lips pressed in a firm line and shoulders tensed. It was true you hadn’t seen her since her and Robby had broken up, but you didn’t remember her being so cold to you before.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You swallowed, “Just wait by the hub, I’ll be right back.”

Once you brought Robby to Janey, you went behind the hub towards Dana.

“Seems like Janey still holds a grudge, huh?” Dana said, smirking at you from over her glasses.

Things had finally slowed down enough that they could catch their breath and start getting the emergency room back up and running. You cracked open a can of Diet Coke and took a sip as you turned to Dana.

You frowned at her, “Why would Janey be holding a grudge against me?”

Dana’s smirk widened, “It is so exhausting sometimes bearing the entire historical archive of this emergency room on my shoulders.”

Scowling at her, you waited, “Well?”

“Why do you think Janey and Robby broke up?”

In truth, you didn’t think much about Janey and Robby’s relationship anymore. It was one of Robby’s longer relationships and as such, you had tried to bury your feelings for him six feet under while they were together for fear that it would be the one to take him away from you for good. Besides which, Gemma had died while they were still together, and in the months that followed your memory was pretty fuzzy.

“I don’t remember,” You said slowly, “I don’t remember much from then other than my crushing existential dread.”

She looked at you sympathetically and patted your hand lightly with her own, “Maybe you do remember how Robby was with you nearly 24/7 for a while after Gemma died. Because he was worried for you.”

You shrugged, “Yeah, sure. I think 24/7 might be exaggerating, though.”

“Well, it was enough that it bothered Janey.”

You narrowed your eyes at Dana, “Are you implying that they broke up because of me?”

“Sweetheart,” Dana shook her head, “Robby made the choices he did, it wasn’t your fault. But the way he told it to me was that he was out to dinner with Janey, someone called worried about you and Robby was going to go to you, but Janey made him choose. Said she was tired of being second choice and if he left they were done. So Robby chose you.”

You blinked at her and then turned your attention to where Robby was talking to Janey, “He said that?”

“Yeah, kid.” Dana sighed, “Janey thinks she lost him to you.”

You scoffed and turned back to Dana, “Well, joke’s on her I guess, because we both lost him.”

Dana shook her head as you walked off toward another patient, watched Robby’s head turn to follow your movement as you walked by him, “I don’t know about that, kiddo.”

***

Robby was, quite literally, too close to the edge. The moon cast shadows on the roof of PTMC as he looked out over the Pittsburgh skyline. It was early enough that he could still hear the rush of the cars below and the faint call of sirens. He had just got done notifying Leah’s family and he couldn’t breathe again. All he knew was that he wanted it to stop.

He didn’t want to tell another family he had failed to save their loved one. He was tired of having to hold the whole ER together, he wasn’t sure he could keep teaching incoming doctors when he didn’t think he deserved to keep practicing medicine himself. He wanted so badly to keep them all from making his mistakes, but the fuck of it all was that he thought that was probably inevitable. That it was a necessary evil to become a doctor.

He wanted to stop letting you down, but he thought it was too late for that. You were leaving and it was his fault. No matter what you said earlier, even if you really didn’t blame him, it was unforgivable how he’d treated you.

And a small part of him thought, as he looked over the edge, that things would be better without him. Maybe they’d make you head of the department. It was what should have happened in the first place anyway. PTMC wouldn’t lose you as a result of his failings.

Then he heard the soft padding of your footsteps behind him, a gait he could recognize anywhere, in his sleep, in the busiest train station.

You leaned over the railing behind him and sighed, “Wish you wouldn’t stand so close.” You said quietly.

“I’ve seen you stand closer.”

You huffed a laugh, “Always a competition with us, isn’t it?”

“No,” He said, “Not anymore. I’m done.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “That’s a scary fucking thing to say when you’re on the edge of a roof.”

“Yeah, well, it’s how I feel. Isn’t that what you’ve always asked me to do? Talk about my feelings?”

He heard you blow out a long breath, “The police found the shooter, I don’t know if you heard. It wasn’t David.” He didn’t say anything, so you continued, “Thought you’d want to know. You were right about him.”

He huffed a laugh, “Yippee.” He murmured, heavy with sarcasm, “Doesn’t fucking matter. People are still dead.”

“No one else could have gotten our department through a mass casualty like that with only six fatalities. Except maybe Adamson.” A beat of silence passed between you, “PTMC needs you. I need you.”

He heard the note of fear and desperation in your voice, “You don’t need me. You’re leaving. Because of me.”

“It’s not because of you–”

“Bullshit.”

You sighed, “I’m leaving to prove to myself that I… That I can do it on my own. Without you. I need you. I’ll probably always need you or want you in some capacity. PTMC is home to me, but only if you’re here.” You inhaled a shaky breath, “I’m leaving, just for a little while, because we’re destroying each other. And we both need to heal without the other. You’ve only ever wanted me when things were bad, when you were falling apart. You might not want me once you get your shit together.”

He turned to face you finally, leaning his forearms on the railing next to you, “I can’t imagine a time when I won’t want you. My only problem has ever been wanting you too much.”

You looked at him sadly and shook your head, “It never felt that way to me.”

He watched you carefully, noted the way the breeze blew a piece of your hair into your face. Without thinking, he reached out and gently tucked it behind your ear. His fingers lingered and then traced a path down your neck before he dropped them back to the railing. He nodded, “I know that. And I’m sorry.” He sighed, “But you’ll come back to the Pitt?”

“I hope so,” The corners of your lips tugged up slightly, “Depends on if you really mean it. About getting professional help.”

“I mean it.” He said, “Do you think…” He paused and cleared his throat, “Do you think you’ll ever want to give it a real chance? You and me?”

You swallowed and looked down at your hands, “I don’t know. It’s difficult for me to imagine being with you in a way that isn’t painful.”

He closed his eyes against the wave of hurt that sent through him. It was his own fault, he knew. He had had any number of opportunities to tell you how he really felt over the years. But he had hidden from it like a coward.

“I’m not… I’m not saying never,” You said slowly, “I love you,” You reached your hand forward, running your fingers gently along his jaw, through his beard, “And I’ll always be here whenever you need me. But I… I don’t want to put us both in another situation that’s… unsustainable.”

“I love you, too.” He covered your hand with his own, keeping it anchored to his cheek, “I understand.”

“Will you come down now?” You asked quietly and he heard the way your breath caught in your throat as you said it.

He stared at you for a few moments, committing the image of you up here with your eyes that glinted in the moonlight to memory. The way the softness of your hand felt against his skin. He wasn’t sure when he’d feel your touch again, if ever. The thought sent an ache through him.

“Yeah,” He sighed, “Let’s get out of here.”

***

Six Weeks Later

You and Robby hadn’t spoken since you left the Pitt four weeks ago. Even before that, the conversation had been sparse. You had helped get him a referral to a therapist at the same clinic as your own therapist. You knew he had been attending sessions because you occasionally ran into him to and from your own appointments. But you would mostly just nod at each other as you crossed paths.

Now that you were gone, the day shift felt emptier. He longed to text or call you, but held back each time.

“What’s stopping you from reaching out?” His therapist had asked during a session.

Robby shrugged, “She doesn’t want me to.”

“Did she say that?”

“I–Well, no.”

His therapist had nodded and jotted down some notes, “Do you think it’s possible that the real obstacle is that you’ve always used her as a method to punish yourself and you’re just continuing the pattern of behavior by not reaching out?”

That had stunned him to silence. And he still thought about it now, a couple weeks later, as he walked around the Pitt. He saw your ghost in every corner of this place.

When he walked into the staff break room that day, Perlah and Princess had a bunch of sticky notes around them and looked up in horror when they saw who had walked in.

He smirked, “What’s this? Recent betting pool?” He looked over the sticky notes, “I don’t remember any pools since the ambulance was stolen.”

Perlah looked at him nervously, “Uh, no, it’s uh– It’s an old one.”

He picked up a neon green sticky note that read Marriage. $100.

Robby frowned, “This looks like Adamson’s handwriting.” Princess and Perlah both just stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say, “How old is this?”

Princess elbowed Perlah when neither of them spoke, “It’s from around 2018 or 2019,” She sighed, “There was a stupid bet going around about you and Y/N. We… We were gonna revive it when she came back to the day shift, but…”

But you were gone now.

Robby blinked and waved around the sticky note, “And Adamson was part of it?”

Princess smirked, “He was one of the first to make a bet.”

Robby reread the sticky note, “He thought we were gonna get married.” He said softly, “Can I keep this?”

Princess and Perlah both nodded and then Robby headed out to the ambulance bay, the sticky note with Adamson’s handwriting still in his hand.

With his other hand, he pulled out his phone, waited for his Face ID to unlock before opening the Phone app and clicking on his Favorites. You were at the top of his list and his thumb hovered over your contact picture as he stared at the sticky note.

Do you think it’s possible that the real obstacle is that you’ve always used her as a method to punish yourself and you’re just continuing the pattern of behavior by not reaching out?

He didn’t want to punish himself anymore. He wanted to be worthy of good things, of you. Adamson thought he was deserving of good things, as evidenced by a years old sticky note. You had thought so, too, once upon a time.

He pressed his thumb against your name and brought the phone up to his ear.

“Hi,” He said when you picked up, closing his eyes at the sound of your voice, “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” You said slowly, “Sorry, is–is everything okay with you?”

“Yeah,” He said, running a thumb over the old sharpie ink, “Yeah, I just, I wanted to hear your voice. Is that okay?”

There was a moment of silence, “Yeah, of course. It’s nice to hear your voice, too.”

“How’s Presby?”

You gave a short laugh, “It’s not home, but it’s alright. I’m adjusting.”

He hummed, “There’s always a place waiting for you here, you know?”

“I know.”

He cleared his throat, “I’m off on Sunday and I was wondering, if you’re also off, if you’d want to just– I don’t know, grab a coffee, go for a walk or something. Catch up.”

You’re quiet for a while and he told himself it would be okay if you said no. If you didn’t want to see him.

“I’d like that,” You said softly, “But, just to be clear, I am accepting a platonic coffee date, yes?”

He smirked, “Yes. I just want to see you.”

He listened as you took a deep inhale, “You sound better. Therapy’s helping?”

“I think so, yeah.” And he means it. He is starting to feel just a little bit better.

“Have you called Jake?”

He bent over his knees, resting his head against his free hand, “I have, yeah.”

“And?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“It’s still not great, but he said he’d be willing to come to a therapy appointment with me. To try and start sorting it out.”

He heard you sigh in relief, “That’s great, Robby. I’m… I’m really proud of you.”

He smiled and felt his eyes water. He was so happy he had called you.

The two of you slipped into an unspoken tradition, walking side by side through the park by the river, mostly on Sundays, or whenever your schedules lined up. It was easy and it was fun and for once it wasn't heavy with unspoken grief and trauma. If something triggered a conversation about Adamson or Gemma, for the most part you were both able to navigate it without fighting, without shutting down.

Until six months have passed since you left PTMC and Robby’s walking you all the way back up to your apartment.

“Um, do you…?” You looked at him almost shyly, a flush working its way up your neck. It’s so ridiculous to think that you might have been nervous around him, it had a smirk stretching across his face, “Do you wanna come in?”

He wanted to, badly. He was overjoyed that you seemed to want his company as much as he wanted yours. But the two of you were in a good spot right now and he was so scared he might fuck it up.

Robby had stuck Adamson’s sticky note to his fridge when he had gotten home that day as a sort of unspoken goal for himself. He wanted to marry you one day, if that was something you also wanted. His therapist had told him that if he did want that, he was going to have to do things that scared the shit out of him sometimes.

Like go into your apartment when invited, even if he worried he would make a mess of things again.

“You have to learn how to trust yourself again or you’ll stay stuck here in the same patterns, shackled to your self doubt and unable to move forward.”

He swallowed, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

You lasted all of two minutes before he was pushing you against a wall and kissing you. His hands were almost frantic as they touched you, but he kissed you slowly and thoroughly, almost tenderly.

It had been years since he had been able to kiss you without there being some fight or other tension looming above you. It felt freeing that all he felt now was love and longing.

He took you to the couch, undressing you as he did and you were moaning into his mouth, grabbing at his shirt and running your fingers over the skin there. He laid you down on the couch and pulled his shirt over his head, watched the way your eyes traced down his chest hungrily.

“I missed you,” He murmured, lowering himself over you again, palming one of your breasts in his hand.

You hummed and arched your back into his touch as he watched one of your nipples pebble beneath his thumb.

“I’ve been thinking about this, about being able to touch you again, from the moment you left.” He panted and kissed his way down your chest, your stomach, until he reached the tops of your thighs.

“Me too,” You sighed, and then his mouth was on you, hot and needy, “Fuck, I missed you.”

He’s surprised to find that he still knows just what you like, exactly how much pressure to apply, how fast he needs to go to bring you to the edge. It’s muscle memory, like performing a medical procedure he hasn’t done in years, his hands still know what to do, but his brain is three steps behind. Your hand knotted in his hair and he watched eagerly as your hips bucked up and into his mouth until you’re coming and he’s sucking up every last drop of you.

When you caught your breath, you sat up and pushed him onto his back. He was happy to lie back and watch you and in fact, he relished the way you looked at him. Kissed every patch of his skin you could reach, an adoring look in your eyes. He thought he had to have been an idiot to have never noticed the way you looked at him before.

You sank down onto him, both of you sighing in unison as you adjusted to the stretch of him. “You okay, honey?” He asked breathlessly, gripping your chin in his hand.

You nodded and rolled your hips. It had been years now since he’d slept with someone and the sensation of you around him, just that slow grinding of your hips, had him seeing stars, “Jesus fuck.” He swore.

You sped up your movements slowly and he helped move you up and down, gripping your hips as you pressed your hands to his chest. He could feel that you were already barreling straight towards another orgasm, your walls pulsing around him, and that was fine, because there was no way he was gonna last much longer.

“Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?” He asked breathlessly, “I want to watch you touch yourself. Want you to come with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered open as you processed what he said, and still grinding down on him, you circled your fingers over your clit, “That’s it,” He sighed, “Just like that.”

Your moans grew louder and your hips moved faster and faster. You looked euphoric as you tumbled over the edge again and you were so fucking gorgeous, he was immediately coming, swearing as he did.

Both of you trying to catch your breath, you folded forward, laying down against his bare, sweat slicked chest. He ran a hand over your hair as you settled, watched the rise and fall of your breathing, and was overcome with such tenderness for you his chest ached and his eyes watered.

“I love you,” He said quietly, tears caught in his throat, “In case you were unsure, I still love you.”

You pushed yourself up slightly so you could see his face. Your cheeks were flushed and sticky with sweat, “I know,” You said and smirked, “I love you, too.”

He kissed you again, sighed as your fingers came up to scratch at his beard, “Could I take you out to dinner next week? Only if… If you’re ready. I want to try to do things right, this time.”

You nudged your nose against his and bit your lip. This was dangerous, this hope that was building in your chest. But he was trying, was going to therapy, was voicing his feelings as he was feeling them. Was doing all this for himself, but also for you.

“Yes,” You pushed your lips forward to give him a quick peck, “Take me out to dinner, Michael.”

He smiled against your mouth and thought again of that sticky note on his fridge. One day, he’d show it to you. That was a promise he wouldn’t break.

#dr robby x reader #mine #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt fic #dr robby fic #robby x reader #the pitt fanfic #dr robby angst #dr robby smut #the pitt x reader

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swimming-karyss · 3 days ago

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Sabo's fighting style analysis!! :D

Idk if this was done before or not, but I wanted to take some notes on Sabo's fighting style: I think it's really interesting, fun and rather unique!

Let's get the obvious out of the way first - he's very strong, agile and fast. That’s a given. He breaks metal and bones with his bare hands. His speed(both physical and of reaction) is something I especially want to commend – because it was emphasised a couple of times in the story! First in Dressrosa colosseum, as he was able to act against fighting fish and Burgess’ attack, and second, intercepting Burgess’s attempt to kill Luffy quite literally in a second!

Similar thing happened in the Reverie flashback: in an instant he evaded the guards. We don’t even see the jump itself – he notices the guards and in the next panel he’s already up on the rafter!(? Idk if thats the word) Not to mention, in that little time he managed to pick up Bonney as well!

Now, while I did say that he’s strong, he doesn’t usually rely solely on his strength to defeat his opponents. The first time we see him fight is the most fun one. The colosseum! Because in that fight he used a clever strategy - if you noticed he was actually directing Burgess’ attacks to destabilise the arena’s foundation and take advantage of it when targeting the colosseum’s core! Like - if you’ve seen hnk you should remember how Antarc broke down the glaciers - they first set weak points in the ice before dealing the final blow! (doesn’t only apply to fictional glaciers but I’ve seen a man ‘cut’ a solid piece of rock this way but I couldn’t find a video to show as an example😔) (no major spoilers in the video! only like. antarc's existence?)

youtube

He then used the broken arena to win the mera-mera no mi by a technicality! He didn't need to win by rules btw! The whole thing would be demolished anyway! He just decided to be witty and show off! He’s so silly, you can tell he is having a lot of fun. Literally being :D the whole time.

And using strategy and weak points in battle is the whole point of ‘finding a core’! His primary thing, that he even wanted to teach Robin ^^ And while even in childhood he was more level-headed and thoughtful in fights than, say, Ace, he’s still rather brash and daring. So it could very well come from his strategic and rational mentor - Dragon!

Ooh and look at him stealing that knife! And while that was to cut Luffy's ropes, in adulthood he often targets people's weapons first! That actually seems to be the RA’s signature - rather than overpowering their opponents with violence, they help and encourage regular people to stand up for themselves. Another reflection of Dragon’s disdain for war and likely also Kuma’s pacifism! The same way none of the captains use ‘normal’ weapons or conventional fighting methods, sometimes even preferring support roles. Hehe, you can see how the army and Dragon influenced Sabo’s character even through the fighting style! (actually, there’s a bit more about pacifism, but for now please just believe me that babo isn’t really allowed to kill)

But also Sabo doesn’t just get rid of their weapons in the fight with the marines, he uses the gun against the marine! The same way he takes advantage of Burgess attacks to destroy the colosseum. He uses these things to indirectly cause harm to his opponents! A roundabout way to bypass his mentors' pacifism "I didn't hurt them, they brought it upon themselves 🙄".

Also fun fact - Sabo’s dragon claw functions kinda similarly to Cipher Pol’s finger gun - they focus all the strength in singular points instead of spreading it on a wider surface. I vaguely remember this from a physics class - it may seem silly but it kinda does make sense?

And another thing which… may or may not be true depending on the interpretation. As I said, both his mentors are pacifists, and as someone who literally grew up surrounded by the RA’s values, I think Sabo actually doesn’t kill people.

Well, first of all, the main point of evidence - he originally intended to let Burgess go. The man whose actions led to Ace’s death. The man who tried to kill Luffy in front of Sabo. And yet Sabo lets him go and leaves with a smile. (Before Burgess intentionally riles him up, and Sabo loses his temper which he tends to do when his loved ones are involved. And that guy still survived didn’t he?)

Secondly, the Revs were so mortified at the news of Sabo killing king Kobra that it made it seem like it was the news of him dying again. Even with king Kobra being the good monarch that he was, the reaction seems too drastic for someone who has a history with killing people on impulse/driven by emotions/for fun.

And thirdly, he prefers to threaten people instead. In the sense he wants to appear threatening to his opponents. He tells Bastille that he can crush skulls easily without directly saying that it’d be his skull (well. Could depend on the translation) And after Fujitora’s meteor wiped out the marines he decided to aurafarm in front of the admiral with Bastille’s mask, even though it wasn't even him who actually defeated the guy.

He is really similar to Usopp in that regard - but Sabo actually has the strength to go through with his threats. And while he certainly enjoys enacting violence and frightening opponents, he tries to not take lives. He tries to be a bigger person (which may or may not be a part of his willingness to become a symbol for the revolution, he tries to push many ‘unnecessary’ or ‘unsightly’ things down)

Notably, the two times when he faces his opponents head on is with Fujitora and the second fight with Burgess. Both times included stalling the other side

To conclude this part, we can see that what he lacks in raw strength Sabo compensates with wits, agility and observation skills - he targets weak points and takes advantage of the environment. But his fighting style also has some flaws: mainly is that he mostly has single-target attacks, and the only one which allows him to affect/impact a large group of people is heavily dependent on the battle ground and can be used only once in the same area.

And now to his mera-mera no mi abilities. In short: they suck- cough couhg I mean they could use some work, compared to Ace’s.

You can see that he’s really inexperienced with his devil fruit. In Dressrosa he’s only getting used to it, be it attacking or turning into fire. He mostly uses fire fist as his main offensive skill, but he does try experimenting - with… questionable results? Burning dragon fist flame dragon king tries to combine fire fist and dragon claw, the things he has on hand, probably the first things that came to his mind.

And while we see him practicing on the Baltigo, the next time he didn’t really improve or came up with any fun attacks. ’Rook check’ is really just a ‘fire fist’ with a fancy name so Sabo could be witty and show off his understanding of chess and strategy in front of the most important people in the world.

But all jokes aside, the mera-mera no mi complements his existing fighting style nicely, in where he lacks range and power his fire powers fill in. You know, the way Ace and Sabo would’ve covered each other’s blind spots and weaknesses. And I think that Ace is the very reason that someone, as intelligent, creative and strong as Sabo, didn’t make much progress with devil fruit abilities. Mera-mera no mi is not just a weapon, but also the only connection Sabo has left to his brother. And if Ace had freedom to explore his fire abilities and be as flexible with them as he wanted, Sabo needs to overcome his grief first before he could see the mera-mera as an extension of himself, not just a memento from his late brother which he just barely deserves to use. The reason Sabo uses ‘fire fist’ so much is because it’s the only ability he knows for certain Ace had - it is in his very moniker.

All in all, I hope this analysis helped you get a better look at Sabo! And one more thing - Oda, please please please let him out to fight more he needs enrichment (and I need more material on him to dissect)

#also btw I'm open to comments and critiques #I may be stupid #one piece #sabo #one piece sabo #karyss' rambling #op meta #this analysis marinated in my head for /moths/ which is why I wrote it in one evening #I was procrastinating

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nerdy-hyperfixations · 2 days ago

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Butting in myself when I originally wasn't going to because I saw someone else make fun of op in a separate post for not having "media literacy" for the claim of Harry being gender-conforming and I think to write off that interpretation entirely like that is incredibly rude and lacks nuanced takes

There's a conversation you can have with Joyce, when you bring up Cindy, where she says Cindy is a part of infra-culture, alternative, while her and *Harry* are a part of Supraculture, which is the common/mainstream. Conceptualization butts in saying you're not necessarily sure you're part of supraculture and when you bring it up, and if you say you're part of "disco," she says "I assure you it was thoroughly supraculture. Nothing infra about disco." His attire is pretty normal for a man like him to be wearing if not outdated. She even says something along the lines of 'it was borderline mandatory to be disco back in the day' and so while it's outdated now, it's still not breaking any gender-norms, it's just, as you said, a show of his deteriorating mental state as he clings to some form of flashy-superdom he could've maybe had if he didn't dedicate himself to being a cop

And looking specifically at his clothes, he wears bellbottoms that go all the way down, a dress shirt with the buttons up to the top (in comparison to the smoker on the balcony's dress shirt which is entirely unbuttoned to show his chest), a funky tie, a men's jacket, and heeled loafers. None of this really screams effeminate, not even the heels, because if we look back at our 70s, it was acceptable for men to wear heels if they were men's style heels. It's like how men in the 2000s wore "guyliner" and they had to call it "guyliner" so you knew it was a totally dude bro masculine thing to do. He also doesn't wear any makeup, and arguably doesn't moisturize or maintain his hair/facial hair well, which, though should be the bare minimum, is what a lot of people mean when they describe an effeminate man (such as the Smoker on the balcony, who looks like he takes care of his appearance more.) Harry's not necessarily gender-NONconforming from his outfit alone. Especially when, if you take the fascist route, which would be the most traditionalist Harry could be, his icon is still in his disco outfit.

I haven't actually gotten Harry to call himself "sister" or "pixie girl" in the game, or if I had, I'd forgotten about it. But what has come up many times is that it's impossible to forget is Harry's internal misogyny (and sometimes feminism that seems rather performative). You can be misogynistic to almost every woman in the game I'm pretty sure, and this is actually a pretty important part of the story. The game is about a man, still so heartbroken about a previous relationship 6 years later, he drinks himself to total memory loss. He even mentions that at one point he was a feminist, presumably when he was with Dora, but his bitterness about that previous relationship is shaping who he is, causing him to call other women "carousell cockriders" and "heartless bitches" and part of his story, if you play it as such, is learning how to better yourself and heal in a broken world where true love might never come to you again. Being a man who hates women is, not gonna lie, pretty gender-conforming of him, and over the course of the game, you can break free of that, but regardless, he starts out fairly misogynistic.

Last point, you mentioned that his clothes are definitely non-conforming because disco is queer culture in the game, and while I disagree with that assessment I'm not 100% sure that disco is *not* queer specific in the year DE takes place, all I know is it used to be common, but arguably a lot of common fashion trends become queer specific after a while in real life, so I'm not going to argue against that. What I will say is sexual identity is not indicative of gender expression. Kim is a gay man and is fully aware of his queerness: He has short hair, wears a white tank top, an obnoxiously loud orange jacket, brown... um pants that I can't remember the name of, and boots without heels. He is not really gender-noncomforming in the slightest. There's a ship between him a Titus, which I bring up because Titus is another gender-conforming man that displays a lot of fragile masculinity, and yet its not impossible for him to be queer. Ruby is arguably gender-nonconforming since she's butch, but then there's also the question in all of this that if the norm for queer people is to present opposite of their assigned gender, than is it technically more gender-conforming to abide by those norms even though you're going against standard society roles. The reason there's a bear flag in our world is to combat the idea that all gay men act and dress effeminate. So maybe Kim *is* gender-nonconforming but only in the sense that he... conforms to gender norms? I'm not just trying to ramble here, I'm making a point that queerness is not entirely breaking gender norms, though I do concede that being queer does go against the standard of 'how one should act.' Even then, however, I think it's important to mention how Harry is very reluctant to accept that he is a part of the queer community, deciding to 'just not think about it.' So he's not really acting in a way not expected of him in that sense, either.

Anyway, all this to say, if it can be argued that Harry's outfit is considered 'common', its not necessarily effeminate, he has a battle with his internalized misogyny throughout the game, and that he refuses to acknowledge anything non-standard about himself, I don't believe it is an incorrect assessment to say Harry is "gender-conforming." You can still disagree with the points I've made here, I'll disagree with others, but what I wouldn't like to hear is that anyone who disagrees with any of these points made by either me or Kryaaas just "hasn't engaged with the media enough." (Which I know isn't what you were saying, Kryaaas, I'm not accusing you of that, I'm only making my argument here so it has the context of the rest of the thread) we are all extrapolating ideas and interpreting them USING the text, and constantly refusing to understand the oppositions opinions, instead dismissing it, is ACTUALLY media illiterate. Everyone who doesn't have the same interpretation as you isn't 'dumb' and you aren't intellectually superior just because you agree with something someone who articulated your argument *for* you said.

i hate when people make girl harry dubois like conventionally hot but with like wrinkles and smeared makeup. she literally would also have thinning hair and a swollen face and crooked ass teeth and shit. dont play games with me

#disco elysium #harry du bois #harriet du bois #prying “media literacy” out of fandom discorse's hands #I genuinely hate how everyone is constantly claiming to be intellectually superior than others ESPECIALLY when they're just parroting ideas

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bitters-n-sweets · 1 day ago

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what survived the fire (4th of July special) — jack abbot x ex-combat-medic!fem!reader

warnings: none? just fluffy, and this one's a bit short thank you @gemmahale @ahopelessromanticwritersworld for being my beta readers although the final version ended up being fluffy instead of angsty 😩 tagging: @nerdgirljen

It’s nearing that time of the year again.

Stores are draped in red, white, and blue. Fireworks are already popping off even though it’s only July 2nd. For most people, the Fourth of July is simple—picnics, parades, sparklers, and parties. A day to celebrate freedom.

But for people like Jack… for some veterans… it’s not that simple.

It’s the time of year when the sounds don’t feel like celebration. They sound like the past—like blasts and gunfire, and everything he’s tried to leave behind. It’s the kind of holiday that makes you smile with everyone else and flinch when no one’s looking. It’s a quiet reminder of what your comrades in the field fought and died for. And that always begs the question; was it worth it?

Usually, Jack volunteers to work the Fourth. It’s a chaotic shift—firework accidents, grill explosions, drunk drivers, and even gunshot wounds. But it’s how he copes. He’s made peace with the chaos—or at least that’s what he thinks—and he had to learn it the hard way.

Which is why this year, Jack’s watching you more closely than usual.

If his math is correct, this would be your first 4th of July in the ER. He won’t even hide it; he’s worried. You’re good at pretending, but Jack knows what it looks like when someone starts to unravel. He’s seen it in himself.

You’re not clueless about the holiday. You know what it stands for. You know what people think it means. And when you look at the country you defended, then the silence left behind by the people you lost, it’s hard not to wonder — what the fuck was it all for?

Jack finds you in the break room during shift, looking at a poster someone stuck on the wall. A very bright poster, decorated with the Amercan flag, and the words on it say:

[Thank-you-for-your-service, 4th of July party. This day is for you! Happy hour for all from 10-midnight and free drinks for all veterans—as long as you share your most badass war story!]

It makes your blood boil. Performative. Hollow. A sugar-coated, beer-soaked celebration of something that wrecked lives. Romanticizing war like it’s a movie.

Your brows furrow in anger. These people think you went to war because you wanted to. Like the battlefield was a playground. Like you enjoyed the screams, the blood, the friends you couldn’t save.

“Try to ignore it.” Jack’s voice cuts through the storm in your head, knowing exactly how you feel.

“Easier said than done.” You don’t turn around.

“I know.” He whispers, standing closely behind you. “They mean well.”

Finally, you glance at him over your shoulder. “Why does everyone think we want to be reminded?”

Jack shrugs a little, eyes still on the poster. “Because it’s easier for them if we’re characters in a story. Heroes in someone else’s idea of patriotism.”

You cross your arms, jaw clenched. “I didn’t join the military to be a hero.”

“Me neither.”

You watch the poster for a beat longer. Then you rip it down. Crumpling it with the frustration you have stored and dump it in the trash.

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Feel better?”

“A little.”

He gestures toward the hallway. “Come walk with me.”

You fall into step beside him, his hand brushing yours now and then as you move through the ER. The night shift is already filling up with people getting injured from July 4th preparations, and it’s getting noisy with all the ‘happy independence day’ wishes. But somehow, with Jack next to you, the noise softens.

“You working on the Fourth?”

You exhale, “Yeah, why?”

“I don’t think you should.”

You stop walking. “Again, why?”

He turns to face you. “Sweetheart, you haven’t had to go through it since you got back. Not really. I remember my first year back… I thought I could handle it. I couldn’t.”

You blink at him. “And what, you think I’ll break?”

“No.” Jack meets your eyes. “I think you’re strong as hell. But strength doesn’t always mean going through shit head on. Take the day. Stay home.”

You frown at him. “Are you also taking the day?”

“Can’t. Shen’s off, I’m covering.”

“Okay, so you’ll need extra hands. I’m not—”

“Take. The. Day.” His voice sharpens, harsher than he meant. And just like that, he turns and walks away.

You stand there, blinking after him, a scoff slipping from your lips. Disbelief. Annoyance. But under all that, you know he’s right. But what the fuck does he want you to do, stay home by yourself? Sit at home, alone, while the sky explodes? If he’s not taking the day off with you… wouldn’t it be better to at least be near him?

July 4th

Jack’s jaw clenches when he sees you coming in for the night shift.

“Jesus Christ.” He mutters under his breath.

“Thought you said she’s taking the day.” Dana comments.

“Clearly not.” Jack follows you to the lockers, a disapproving look etched on his face.

You bite your inner cheek, avoiding his stare.

Jack can feel you’ve been upset with him since he told you to take the day. Two days in a row, you reject his offer to go back to his place—the fact that he even needs to offer?—usually you’ll even just start walking together, already knowing the destination.

But this holiday isn’t easy for Jack either, no matter how many times he’s gone through it. He’s spent all his Fourth of Julys in the ER patching people up, albeit in a terrible mood, but it distracts him. And he really doesn’t want you to see that side of him—maybe a little too late.

You slam your locker shut a little harder than necessary. The metallic clang echoes through the otherwise quiet break room, but Jack doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes trained on you like he’s trying to read through you.

“You gonna ignore me all night?” he asks, voice low.

“I’m not ignoring you,” you reply without looking at him. “I’m just here to work.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet, here I am.” You finally meet his eyes, jaw tight.

Jack exhales, hands on his hips. “I told you—this shift, it gets ugly. I’ve seen what it does to people like us.”

“People like us,” you repeat, quietly. “So why are you here, Jack?”

He opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “You didn’t take the day off either. But when I do it, suddenly it’s dangerous?”

“It’s different,” he insists. “I know the signs. I’ve made peace with it.”

“Oh, so you choose to throw yourself into this shit every year? You don’t think maybe I’m doing the same thing?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away. Because the irony finally sinks in, the way your shoulders are just slightly too tense, how your eyes keep darting toward the echoes of the city—it’s not that you wanted to work, it’s that being alone is worse. And that’s exactly how Jack first felt a long time ago. He’d rather be in the ER and working, distracting himself with traumas rather than being at home alone, drowning in his own thoughts and fears.

He feels stupid for not seeing it now.

“…You’re right.” His jaw clenches. “I just… I’m not doing great, sweetheart.”

You soften a little, reaching to hold his hand. “I know. Me too.”

He exhales shakily, his fingers lacing through yours. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?” you ask, gently.

Jack hesitates. “At my worst,” he whispers. “And it’ll get worse through the night.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’ve seen me at mine, Jack.”

He looks at you then, searching.

“I’m here for you,” you add quietly. “Best and worst.”

And you don’t even realize how much those words sound like vows—until Jack does. He blinks a few times, like the weight of it hits him in the chest.

You clear your throat, suddenly shy. “We’ll get through this together.”

Jack’s hand tightens just slightly in yours. He nods.

You and Jack make it through the shift together.

It’s not easy, but you find a rhythm. A squeeze on the shoulder. A brush of hands. A small smile exchanged in the middle of triage. Silent check-ins, saying I’m still here. You okay? Me too.

And then, at 11:59 PM, while everyone else counts down the seconds to midnight, you and Jack slip away to the on-call room.

He clicks the door shut and locks it, and you hand him earplugs. You sit in silence on the small bed, shoulder to shoulder, backs against the cold wall, watching muted flashes of fireworks through the tiny window. Just color and light—no sound. None of the noise.

Jack turns his head, presses a kiss to your temple.

You look at him, and through the soft hum of silence, you catch his voice, low and muffled, “I’m glad you’re here today.”

You smile. “Me too, Jack.”

“I’m glad I have you.”

#dr jack abbot #jack abbot x you #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot #jack abbot x female reader #female reader #the pitt #dr abbot #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot x fem reader

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mysticmoosenger · 1 day ago

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class crush on loser!choso pt.2! ⋆˙⟡♡

synopsis: you finally invite loser!choso over for some shots because hes hot and you can’t keep your hands to yourself!

wc: easily like 5k, I’m too lazy to check sorry I’m on my phone

cw: lots of tension, nervous kinda sub choso, alcohol, mention of smoking, heavy makeout, begging

part 1 here!

the walk back to your dorm feels like a blur, and the state of shock and slight disbelief you are in is hitting you like a semi. theres no way the universe had just blessed you with the perfect opportunity to see this sexy as fuck man outside of class… right? You bump your acrylic nail into the keypad wrong when shakily entering your passcode into the door, snapping it back justtttt enough to remind you that somehow, this was actually real life. and that that fucking hurt.

the sharp bing! of the elevator jolts you back into reality. you exit when it finally reaches your floor and walk down the hallway to unlock your room in a daze. the second you step through the door you drop all of your bags and books and giddily jump onto your bed, still riding the wave of euphoric bliss that you are blessed to be able to bask in for the night. glancing down at your phone and staring at the new friendship profile you have with Choso, you notice his snap score. …what do you mean its only 5,000???

surely someone as hot as him would have a higher snap score than that, right? again, it was like the universe had blessed you. an unbelievably hot class crush that isnt just some frat asshole? you almost arent complaining about not finding anyone but Choso attractive anymore. you realize that now that the first step of getting his number (and his snap!) has basically been made for you, its game time. time to lock in… what should the first snap be? innocent? risky? straightforward? friendly? testing the waters?

your mind is buzzing with so many ideas that you almost feel dizzy. despite being so into him and being fairly confident in yourself and your flirting abilities, the anxiety is eating you alive. you get snapped back into reality by the short buzz of a notification.

nobara <3- hey girl i’m going to be staying over at yuki’s tn, we are going out to the bars so the room is all yours! do something fun and tell me all about it when i get back tmrw morning ;)

wow, maybe the universe is really forcing you to do this, because this situation is perfect timing. thanks Nobara! you open snap back up and take a few selfies, none of them looking good enough to send. you huff to yourself and lean back against the cold cement wall of your dorm room, trying to think of your options. you eye the half-empty bottle of titos on your windowsill and have a brilliant idea. this wont lead anywhere… right? its totally innocent! just inviting him over to drink! as friends! very normal!

to test the waters and see if he will even respond to you, you send him a simple mirror selfie with a short and sweet “heyyy”

you feel like your heart is about to explode out of your chest as you hit send and stare at the delivered status. shockingly, within less than a minute he opens it and responds. that was really fast, maybe he was just on the app or something? no… his snap score hasnt moved in the past hour, theres no way.

“hey whats up” over a mirror selfie of his own. he was in an old band tee with the sleeves cut off into a muscle tank. oh my god. his tattoos, his built arms, his hair down, and his insanely fast response time… was he trying to kill you? at this point, fuck small talk. he needs to be in your room. right now. a sudden surge of confidence and sheer thirsty bravery overtakes you as you snap him a picture of the titos resting on your lap, “you up to anything tn? if not, you want to be? :)” your brain nearly short circuited when he quickly replied, “nah, my roommate is having a girl over so I was planning on just spending most of the night at the library. i’d be down for whatever, beats falling asleep in a study room, wya?” over yet another jaw droppingly sexy selfie, this time with his massive, tatted arms resting on the doorframe behind him and flashing a stunning smile. oh my god.

you quickly send him your dorm hall and room number, then throw your phone onto the nightstand, jump off the bed, look around, and attempt to franticly clean up your room. the random gooner anime figures cannot be in sight. if someone had told you that this was how your night was going to go, you wouldnt have believed them.

several minutes pass and you hear a few short knocks on your door. your anxiety skyrockets as you process the current situation. the guy you have been borderline obsessed with is going to be here. in your room. sitting on your bed. drinking. with you…. alone. your hands tremble a bit from the nerves, fixing your hair and nodding to yourself in the mirror.

you gather your courage and open the door with a shaky hand, being greeted by the most gorgeous man you have ever seen. he’s wearing grey sweatpants that hug the curves of his legs just right and that same muscle tee from earlier, but with the addition of a black zip up hoodie. he gives you a shy smile and hello while making quick eye contact, looking away almost just as fast as a faint blush reaches his face. you have to shove all of your dirty thoughts about what you’d love to do to that face to the back of your mind as you step aside to let him into your room.

immediately, the tension is high as you jump onto the bed and motion for him to join you. he sets down his bag and skateboard and follows you, making your heart skip a beat at the feeling of the mattress sinking next to you. oh, all the things you’d let him do to you on this mattress… no stop! no dirty thoughts! you are friends! drinking and hanging out as friends!

you turn on your TV and reach over to the windowsill to grab the bottle of titos and two shot glasses. Choso’s eyes scan your dorm room and lock onto the anime posters that you have hanging by the door. “Oh, you watch Bleach too? What did you think about the ending of the last arc?” he quietly questions, attempting to break the slight awkwardness of the moment, clearly nervous. he takes a sharp inhale of breath at your reply, “yeah, I’ve loved it for years, didnt know you were into it too. it was really good, animation was gorgeous.”

You try to calm down your heart by engaging in small talk, but lets be real, the tension isnt going away. why would it? know what would help? shots!totally!

Your hands are shaking while you pour the shots, almost overflowing them due to the prickling feeling of his eyes boring into you. Setting the bottle next to you, you hand him his shot, brushing your finger against his, catching the cold metal of one of his rings. …oh my god his hands.. wait! no! fuck! dont stare at his hands! Your breath catches in your throat as you nearly drop the glass, luckily he had already gotten a good grip on it. your eyes catch the small drops of titos that managed to slosh out of the glass and onto his muscular thigh, marking their territory with a dark grey stain. “shit, sorry-“ you start, as you reach down to try to swipe off whatever hadn’t soaked through the fabric yet. you note the way his quad flinches at your unexpected touch.

“cheers!” you start, raising your shotglass out in front of you. “ch-cheers”, he echoes, meeting your glass with his. you both bring the shots to your lips, and quickly chase the burn away with some orange juice stolen from the dining hall. your nerves finally catch up to the moment and realize that Choso had just physically shivered from the slight touch of his thigh, you immediately grab the bottle and pour both of you another generous shot.

you cheers once again, down-up-down, and raise the glass up to your lips, tilting your head back to let the burn of the tequila soothe the chorus of “whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck” echoing in your internal monologue. you take a quick glance at Choso, who was still mid-shot, and catch onto the delicious bob of his adams apple, the cute scrunch of his nose, and the tiny dribble of liquid down his lip that had missed his mouth.

As Choso is reaching across you to the nightstand setting down his glass, he brushes up against you and slightly looses his balance, his shoulder knocking against your own, and his spikey black hair tickling at your cheek, sending electricity chasing down your spine.

Your heart is beating out of your chest with the thick air of anticipation surrounding you. Choso sets down his glass and pushes off the mattress to lift himself back upright. while the titos had certainly started to hit your system, you didn’t want to overdo it. after all, he was just a friend!

you gesture to the worn-out friendship bracelet tied to his wrist, “thats cute, is it from anyone? or just your fav colors maybe?” you internally cringe at the shitty attempt at small talk. honestly, it feels better than nothing, unable to sit in the loud ringing of silence between you both anymore.

he gives a shy grin and twists at the knots absentmindedly, “thanks, my little brother made it for me when I left to come back here from break. he learned at a camp we both went to. he was really excited to give me his first one.”

“you both were at a camp?” you ask, intrigued, a little charmed, and very glad that the small talk topic had amounted to an actual conversation.

he lets out a quiet chuckle that shoots directly to your nervous system and responds bashfully, “yeah, I’m a councelor there every summer. it was the first year he was old enough to come too. he was super anxious about it, it was really cute actually.” the way his eyes light up when he talks about his brother is precious, dissipating a little bit of the strange tension crackling between you two. “while it was nice to have my brother there, it kinda sucked though because that meant I’d actually have to be on good role model mode the whole time.”

wait, the hot, quiet spoken, nerd Choso had a bad role model mode? “elaborate, you have my undivided attention sir”, you joke with him, only realizing how flirty this came out after it had already left your lips. do you regret that delivery? nah. the look on his face in response to your “sir” was worth it.

Choso drew in a quick breath and scrunched up the comforter with one of his fists. He sheepishly sighed, “yeah… I kinda used to just work there to get paid doing easy work during the day. since its a sleep-away camp we stay there for a few weeks in a councelor’s bunk. but to be honest, it was definitely just an excuse to sneak off with my friends at night to get stupid high in the woods without worrying about our parents. my dad’s a dick.”

You let out a surprised laugh, leaning a bit closer subconsciously, “I had no idea you smoked!”

His brows quickly scrunched with worry, “why? do you not? I’m sorry if-“

You cut him off, “nonono! you just didnt strike me as that type of person. honestly in retrospect I dont really know why I thought that, you have the whole hot stoner boy thing going o-on…” you stuttered out the last word as you realize what you had just said. Face burning, you quickly look away to hide your embarrassment from him. FUCK! whywhywhywhy tequila brain!!!

somehow, only now had Choso gotten any hint that you were at least a little into him. the crackle of tension in the air had just been plucked like an overly wound guitar string. His mouth hangs open for a second, drinking in your little slip of the tongue. “d-do you smoke? I brought a J…if you… you know… you want to uhm.. I don’t know how your RA is with it…” he trails off, hoping to get you to turn your face back around to show him your pretty blush.

To his delight, you shake yourself from the mental horny jail you had been trapped in, tilting your head back to face him, the blush still faintly on your ears. “…yeah fuck it that would be great. the RA smokes all the time it’ll be ok. thanks Cho.” did I seriously just call him a pet name? maybe I am a lightweight. fuck. theres no way I can be this tipsy from 2 shots, what the fuck?

You don’t miss the way his eyes drop down to your lips as the nickname rolls off your tongue. distracting yourself, you reach for the remote and click onto youtube, throwing on a random music video and scanning the counter for your lighter. realizing that its not there, you assume that nobara probably stole it again. luckily, you keep a few in your lockbox under your bed.

“fuck sorry, I think my roommate grabbed our light, I have more, gimmie a sec” you mumble, absentmindedly hopping off the bed and dropping down to your knees to reach under for the lockbox. clumsily slipping your fingers through the handle, you give it a soft tug to release it from the pile of clothes you had shoved under your bed in hiding. you fidget with the lock, aligning the numbers and flipping open the lock with a sharp pop! rummaging through the stockpile of loose half smoked joints, dead batteries, and clogged carts you manage to find a purple lighter. closing the lid and flipping back the lock, you reach to shove it back under the bed, slightly grazing Choso’s knee in the process, making you both jump.

you had just noticed the position you found yourself in. on your knees, in between his thighs. while almost too cowardly to look up at his face, you could tell he noticed too by the way his hand reached out to steady your shoulder. “…sorry. fuck.” he rasps out under his breath, catching your eyes as you look up at him, through your pretty long lashes, with your cheeks faintly flushed from the titos. he was a beautiful, pitiful mess. his breath had caught in his throat, his face suspiciously too red to be from just two shots, his eyes glued to your lips.

You react without a thought, grabbing his shoulders before he could sit fully up. “…fuck it” you mumble to yourself, and trace your hands up his shaking arms slowly and bring them to the base of his neck and side of his perfect jaw. Choso is nearly frozen in place, his eyes going wide as he felt the firm, confident pressure keeping his face directed towards yours.

You dont give yourself the opportunity to chicken out, figuring that if things go badly, you can always blame it on the alcohol. with a short breath you whisper, “…can I…?”, leaning closer.

Choso’s eyes go wide for a second, realizing what you are asking. “…please-“, he breathes out, already leaning into you, nodding his head with cute nervous enthusiasm.

You don’t waste time, crashing your lips to his and pushing him backwards down onto the bed. He lets out a groan as you straddle him, giving his jaw a gentle squeeze. His hands tentatively find your back, creeping under your shirt and tracing hesitant circles over your spine.

You break the kiss for a second to catch your breath, letting your body weight fully rest on him. Only then do you notice the massive tent in his sweats, pressing directly into your core. His face turns a shade of scarlet as he tries to stop himself from bucking up into you. he tries to turn his face away and hide, but you tighten your grip on his jaw, refusing to let him, “nononono, stay right there Cho…”

You dip your head down to his neck, tilting his head up to give yourself better access. your lips graze against the tattoos marking his skin, giving him goosebumps and eliciting a shudder from him, as well as a delicious moan, “…fuckkkk… y/n… p-please… I….mpfh!!”

You grin, nipping his neck just enough to leave a little love bite, marking your territory, “hmmm? you what Cho…? I cant hear you…”

His breathing is ragged when he manages to groan out a little whine, “I- I can’t… I- ahhh! I need…”

Dragging your tounge up his neck to his ear you purr out, “tell me what you need Cho…”

“I-umph!! I n-need… you… please…”

smut to be continued in pt. 3 ;)

hope yall enjoy and sorry this took me 1000 years, my laptop decided to stop working and having to type this all out on my phone felt like torture lmfao. been uninspired for the past few months

comment to be added to taglist! current tags requested in dec 2024, sorry for taking so insanely long to get this up!!

@adanfore @getosshampoo @femaholicc @supercoolrawr @mima0127 @vantedaes @munch3025 @hyookka @channnee @tlissablr

#jujutsu kaisen #anime #jjk #choso kamo #jjk smut #jjk choso #choso x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk oneshot #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso #choso smut #choso x y/n #choso smau #choso imagine #jujutsu kaisen choso

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tizeline · 23 hours ago

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What are your favorite Rottmnt headcanons?

Okay these are some headcanons I could remember off the top of my head-

Let's get some popular fanons out of the way - insomniac Leo and medic Leo are two that I like a lot. Medic Leo is interesting to me because I don't think it really works in canon, Leo's entire thing is that he doesn't feel like he has a good "role" to fill in the team, if he actually had the role of medic it would kinda undermine that. But that's what fanmade stories are for, you can explore fun ideas without it affecting canon, so I like it as a headcanon.

Obviously good ol' disaster twins, certified classic. I've talked about this before but I personally view Leo as the older twin, but I also don't think Leo or Donnie would know that so because of that they're constantly fighting over who the oldest one is out of the two of them. But I also like the idea that Leo doesn't really care that much, he mostly keeps calling himself the oldest one because to piss off Donnie because Donnie REFUSES to believe he'd be younger than an immature idiot like Leo. But because of that Leo will call himself the younger twin on occasion if it would benefit him in a certain situation, like if Donnie is mad at him for something and Leo just goes "🥺👉👈please forgive me?🥺👉👈 your baby brother?🥺👉👈" which would also infuriate Donnie LMAO.

I have some headcanons about the brothers' music taste. We already know their canon favorite music genres but I have some extra ideas. For example Raph's favorite genre soul, but I also like the idea of him enjoying blues and lo-fi hip hop and such. Leo's into glamrock specifically, but I also view him as liking a lot of rock music, but mostly 70s-90s rock. Also as an MCR fan I am going to project my love for MCR onto him and you cannot stop me, but also in my defense The Black Parade album is very inspired by for example Pink Floyd and Queen and such which I already imagine Leo would be into so I'm justified in thinking he'd AT LEAST like that specific album. (But he'd also like Danger Days simply because I say so)

When it comes to Casey Jr's origins, I've seen a lot of different ideas in the fandom, either that Casey Sr is his bio mom or that she adopted him. And when CJ is depicted as Casey's bio-kid, I've seen headcanons where either Casey just gave birth to him normally or that CJ is some sorta test-tube-baby-clone or whatever made with the help of either Donnie or Draxum. For a long time I couldn't decide which headcanon I prefered, so because of that I like the idea of it just being a mystery that none but Casey knows the answer to. Like, Casey just had a baby one day that she informed everyone was her kid and no one had any idea where said kid came from. And no one in the resistance really had much time to dwell on it cause they were all too busy fighting the krang. "Casey has a kid now? Okay whatever good for her we don't have time to think about that we're all dying"

Another thing discussed in the fandom, what the heck Baron Draxum's first name? Some people see Baron as his name and some see it as just a title. I already brought this up in another post but I view it as both! His fist name is Baron, and he also has the title of Baron, so he's Baron Baron Draxum. But calling him that is a bit reduntant and silly so he just shortens it down to one singular Baron.

Mikey has the highest spice-tolerance in the family while Donnie has the lowest. Actually I just have a tendency to project my sensory issues with food onto Donnie in general, poor guy lmao sucks to be him.

Mikey is the second physically strongest out of the turtles (after Raph of course)

Donnie is the second most naturally talanted mystic user (after Mikey of course) but because he's trained the least with mystic powers Raph and Leo are both more skilled than him.

Donnie was the first to meet April and kinda tried to gate-keep her by hiding her from his brothers LMAO but they found out about her after like a week

I like to think Donnie is someone that likes to act all villainous for ✨The Aesthetic✨ but really can't handle being intentionally cruel and sadistic. Like he'd act all tough and be like "heh I know seventeen different ways to torture someone for information.... 😈my dark and twisted mind....😈 " but then he gets nauseous from seeing a bit of blood. Like he's all bark no bite.

Another headcanon I've brought up before is the idea that Donnie got REALLY into researching conspiracy theories about Lou Jitsu's mysterious disappearance when he was a kid. And he'd infodump about these theories TO SPLINTER who just had to do his best to keep his poker face through that.

Dunno if ya'll remember that post circling around a little while ago theorising that CJ has a prosthetic hand, but regardless, I've adopted that as a headcanon.

I love love LOVE the idea of Raph and Leo being co-leaders, mostly because I think specifically rottmnt's versions of the A-Team would be the only ones who could actually pull it off LMAO. I think neither of them deal well with having too much responsibility put on them and they overall are able to make up for each other's weaknesses. After the movie I think if they sat down to discuss they'd decide to just split up the leadership role between the two of them and it would actually work.

My headcanon for the turtles' eyecolour is yet another thing I've talked about, but I really like the idea of them having dark brown eyes :]

#tizel talk #rottmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt headcanons

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idiasweat · 2 days ago

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the isekai equation

when idia said he wanted his favorite character for his birthday, he didn't mean IN HIS BED! ft. fem!reader warnings: like two slightly suggestive lines, lonely loser reader do I even have to say that anymore, switching POVs, suspension of disbelief, more notes at the end word count: 4.5k

Idia had seen it all.

RPG, MMORPG, sandbox, otomes, fighters, puzzles, gacha, FPS, tycoons, you name it, he's played it, replayed it, and reviewed it, too. And he's never gotten bored of it. If you'd ask him, there's nothing that beats wasting money on a poorly-written piece of junk he'll completely forget about in a few months... er, anything to keep his hands and mind busy is good by him.

Recently, he's gotten back into gacha. He started off with some girly dating sim that was recommended by a mutual, but he found the concept unoriginal and the dialogue grating (seriously, how many of these magical schools can creators milk until people get tired of em? Geez). And then he tried a gacha advertised towards the male gamer demographic, but all of the female characters were painfully boring and made from the same model- tall, thin, and huge boobs... which, believe it or not, did get old.

He finally settled on an obscure beta he saw mentioned on one of the gaming forums he frequents- a foreign language indie gacha with no coherent theme or plot. Mundane, magicless high school. Almost an immediate no, but his last hyperfixation had worn off and he was starting to feel the pull of reality again. He was desperate.

...And now he's here.

Idia doesn't want to reminisce on how much money he's poured into this "hobby". He's probably personally funded the entire thing for another five years, and then some. His walls, decked out in posters, his bags covered in pins and charms, he even pre-pre-ordered the limited edition plush of the main character- he didn't even know you could do that! His name is first on the list of sponsors, because he's been funding every new chapter single-handedly for four months.

And it's all because of his girl.

This game, set in a strange country Idia was sure they'd made up, written in a language he had to rely on vigilante translators to read, caught his eye (and credit card) on account of three crucial differences from the first two:

It was an original idea; none of that "magic school hunky boy" crap,

The character models were all different enough to be interesting,

Idia's girl.

Because, see, all that it takes for Idia to tank his life savings is just one character he really, really likes. The plot of the game doesn't have to be good, nor does it have to exist at all. The graphics can be shit, the cutscenes can drag on forever, the fighting can be lame, all of this is excusable, as long as there's a cute character for Idia to sink his teeth into and throw around like a chew toy.

And there are- characters, that is, cute ones and funny ones and ridiculously entertaining ones, there's a stoner, a goth rocker, a pirate girl, a stereotypical nice blonde with big boobs and the highest HP in the game who the player character is no doubt supposed to fall for, and they were all fine, but they weren't Idia's girl.

No. No, she was a minor character, only one SSR, never featured in events, usually only there as a foil for the booby blonde.

And she's perfect.

Bitter. Always mumbling something mean about her classmates under her breath, her hands in her pockets and her posture awful, dark circles under her eyes (or is that eyeliner? no one can decide), hoodie hiding half her face. She hardly has any speaking lines, and most of them are unintelligible, nervous nonsense, and sometimes pitiful attempts at a joke. She's everything.

Of course, Idia didn't start calling her "his". That was Ortho's thing- once Idia started bringing a charm outside with him to calm his nerves, it was decided. Since then, even in the tiny online fandom, she's been "his girl". He's commissioned an embarrassing amount of art of his insert with this character, kept in a special folder on his computer. He's paid premium prices to have her voice actress read him custom messages. He's decked out an ita bag with fanmade merch- buttons, charms, pins, even photocards he had specially made. There is... a body pillow involved, and he won't share any more than that.

Now it's been four blissful, wonderful months. She- his girl- has single-handedly gotten him through his third year at Night Raven College. Through the humiliation, the rejection, the suffering, his orientation, his classes, every long, pointless lecture from Headmage Crowley, she's been there, in his pocket, or at his desk, or in his bed.

I don't need 3D women, he decided, some time ago, happily playing the latest chapter update. What I need is my girl to get her own event... I'd trade a thousand IRL dates for that!

And, as if the planets were aligning just for him (or because his begging in the official Discord server was probably getting really annoying), the game mods answered his cries. An event with a new SSR is debuting on his birthday.

Idia has, of course, been grinding non-stop for extra pulls, praying to the gacha gods, lighting candles, holding vigils, having Ortho run and re-run the statistic probability of pulling his girl.

The night before his birthday, Idia sits at the edge of his bed. He looks towards the ceiling, past the roof, past the ground above, past the simpleton plebes living their boring lives, and he begs- just once, to the planets, to the gods. Please, he says, All I want for my birthday is her.

...But Idia doesn't really believe in kiddy crap like making birthday wishes, so once he's done groveling, just to get it out of his system, he slumps over in bed like a dead body and goes to sleep.

EEEP! EEP! EEP!

7am already? he groans, turning over in bed and trying to tug the blankets closer, but they're stuck between the wall. He swears, he just laid down...

It's cold. He tugs on his blanket a little harder, but no budge. Not even a little. Must be really stuck. Damn, he sleeps messy.

Idia yawns into his pillow, and then finally forces himself to sit up, if only to free the blanket from between the-

Oh... fuck.

He blinks. And then again. And then he rubs his eyes, as if the human being in his bed was just an afterthought of a bleary rest.

He looks around the room. Ortho is gone, likely getting him breakfast. The door is still shut and locked. He looks back down. Definitely a person. Yup. That's a person.

A girl, actually.

His stomach drops. He leans closer, if only to inspect that she's real and not a huge human-shaped rutabaga or something. He pokes her cheek. That's the real stuff, alright. Silicone doesn't get oily like that. Neither do vegetables.

She's lying on top of his blanket, not under it, curled up like a cat, her breathing soft and light and she's... kinda cute.

Almost reminds him of...

Squint. NO!

Idia's eyes widen, and in a moment of panic, he turns her onto her back to see her face, and it's-

NO, no, that's- NO.

Wishes don't come true for guys like him!

As far as you can remember, last night you had gotten into your bed at home, turned out the lights, and drifted off into a suspiciously restful sleep.

When you woke up somewhere completely different, you thought it nothing more than a weird nightmare. You don't dream all that often, at least not anymore, so there was some novelty to it- you'd never been in a room like this. It almost looked like... a boy's. Ha! Now you KNOW you're dreaming. You hadn't so much as spoken to a boy, let alone slept in one's bed.

At least you'll have something noteworthy to think about at the breakfast table.

You roll over, sighing contentedly. A more outgoing, interesting person might have gotten out of bed to explore this strange, new world, but you had other things to worry about. Tomorrow is the most important presentation of your life, and you can't waste any energy on a nightmare about being in a boy's bedroom.

Besides... this was a dream, after all. You didn't see the point in poking around your own subconscious... you do enough of that when you're awake. Too much, really.

Snrk. To think, dreaming about sleeping in a boy's bed. As if any boy would like you. It's almost laughable. As far as you're concerned, you are the most boring, unremarkable, bland, plain, depressingly loserish minor character in someone else's story, that could possibly ever exist.

No one would want you.

You toss and turn, trying to get comfortable in your unfamiliar dream room (it smells in here. Can you even smell things in dreams?) and your fingers brush against something warm.

...Which suddenly shoots away, and your primitive human mind can't resist the urge to look. Considering that you were expecting a giant spider, or a venomous snake, or your classmates, or something else mundanely nightmarish, when you see a hand next to your head, you panic.

"Eek!" or something like that, maybe it was more of a "HURGHK!" when you leapt out of bed, tumbling onto the cold, unfamiliar floor- covered in dirty t-shirts and boxers, abandoned magazines, candy wrappers, stray pieces of paper that all read I. Shroud in the designated "name" slots. Who, Shroud? You wonder, but only briefly, because there's suddenly a boy there.

"S-sorry! I didn't wanna wake you up!"

He's leering over you, eyes wide, hair... uh, blue. And moving- flickering? Like a fire? Though it's not burning, but his face is, bright red and embarrassed.

You blink, still on the dirty floor, stuck on your back. Boys don't have glowing blue hair where you're from. Unless that's some secret male power that they keep to themselves.

"A-are you- u-uh- h-haaaah!!" he squeals, voice trembling in a way you've never heard on a boy above thirteen before. He looks... afraid of you, which is understandable considering your just-woken-up face, but, it's not that...

He... he's... smiling.

...WEIRDLY. This is starting to feel like less of a dream, and more of a hostage situation.

"You're real!" he says, sitting at the edge of the bed. "I-I didn't want to believe it, I thought I was getting an insanely good android for- um- actually, haha, don't worry about that..."

Your gaze drifts over the discarded school papers you'd fallen on, and your eyes widen. 'History of Magic' 'Potionology' 'Incantations' this guy must be really into LARPing...

...Or...

No. You can't consider the possibility that you've been isekai'd into a fantasy world. You'd been pathetically begging the universe for that exact thing to happen to you for years, but there's no... no way... that you...

This guy has glowing blue fire for hair, you remind yourself. No one you know would go through the trouble of playing such a bizarre and elaborate prank on you.

"...Where am I..." you start, voice weak from sleep and a mysterious sense of anxiety that you only feel now that you know you're not dreaming.

The boy stiffens, and then suddenly looks quite serious, as if realizing that you have... no idea who he is.

He opens his mouth, and-

"Good morning, you two! I have breakfast!"

You both turn to the door, where a boy, much younger than the one above you, is... floating...?

"Ortho!" the bigger, bluer one shrieks. "You- you knew about- but-"

"I'm so happy to see you finally making friends, Idy! I thought you were having a sleepover!"

You blink. What the fuck is happening...?

"Don't- a-ah, um Idia, call me Idia, in front of company!" Idia says, his face as hot as the steaming breakfast Ortho had carried in. The younger boy, hovering over the floor and... made of metal, or something, sets down the tray of food and giggles.

"Whatever you say! Just let me know if you need anything else!"

You stared, wide-eyed, at the flying metal boy as he left, the sound of mechanical clicks, whirs, and the faint hum of a fan following.

"S-sorry, that was my brother," Idia mutters, slipping off the bed and almost extending a hand to help you up, but pulling it back before you can right yourself, as if afraid to touch you.

"U-uh... um... c-can I..."

He bites his lip, and then takes a deep breath, mumbling numbers to himself. And then:

"What's your name?"

You blink. Okay, maybe waking up in a complete stranger's bedroom warrants a question like that. But you're still not exactly used to being asked about yourself, and you almost look over your shoulder to make sure that there's no one else he could be talking to.

He exhales shakily when you tell him, twitching erratically, like a malfunctioning machine. Speaking of which...

As your eyes adjust to the dark of the room (even though a nearby digital clock says it's 7:23), a thought comes to mind: if this really is a magical world, as indicated by the spells printed on paper handouts as if they were math problems, then it's not a very impressive one. This room is pretty much how you'd imagined any normal guy's- the dirty laundry, the three monitors, the gaming consoles and empty candy wrappers, the lingering smells of sweat and something earthen and strong, shelves full of manga and figures, and then there's...

...Oh... oh... that can't be good.

Idia might just have a heart attack. But what a great way to die, huh? Of all the times he's imagined waking up in bed with one of his all-time faves, he never once entertained the possibility that it might actually happen.

But here you are. And Ortho had seen you, too, confirming that Idia isn't dreaming or hallucinating... but if he was, he would never want to stop. How many plebes out there have begged for their waifu to be real? And how many have had that prayer answered? Only one, that's right!!!!! ONLY HIM!!!

It's what he deserved, after all. Being dealt such a shitty hand in life gave Idia a bit of a complex about these things.

Now, he just had to contend with the fact that a human being from a non-magical, normal, mundane fantasy country just woke up in an arcane academy with no family, friends, worldly possessions, legal identification, or sense of self. Easy! He can feel the grin on his face again- he's gone over the logistics of this sort of situation in his head a thousand times, he even has an emergency isekai instruction manual and kit on standby. Not that he ever thought he'd use it, but, hey, his fanboy delusions are finally paying off!!! As long as you stick by his side, he'll have you a residency card from the Isle of Woe, and a room with your name on it!

What're you staring at?

Idia snaps out of his fanboy stupor for just long enough to catch the terrified look on your face. You're not afraid of him, are you? That would suck...

But, no, you're looking behind him. At the wall- no, the bed...

Oh... CRAP.

What's done is done, but Idia still throws himself over the body pillow in some valiant (but vain) attempt to protect your sweet, innocent eyes. It's no use. You've already seen it. And you don't stop there- you slowly rise to your feet, wandering the room and his possessions with your eyes- posters, prints, charms, pins, his wall of paper printouts...

Idia can't force down the lump of fear in his throat. He laughs, awkwardly. "I-I can explain,"

Well... you were... going to find out sooner or later... right?

"That's me," is all you say, your tone cold and distant, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head. That stunned look on your face isn't helping tamp the flaming anxiety in his stomach.

Idia swallows. "N-no, it's not like that, u-um- see! Wait, see!"

He says, his trembling hands reaching for his phone. The game has never loaded slower- and the second he's past the title screen, he pushes it into your face.

"This is your school!" he insists, though you already know that.

You stare at the screen, your lip upturned in that cute pout (just like your sprite... wow, this really is real!) and you hesitantly take his phone from him.

"S-see, here're your classmates, and... yeah, um, I don't have all the cards yet, but the system is- n-never mind. S-see? I'm not some creep!" Idia rambles. "Well... er, not the kind you probably think I am, anyway..." You blink.

"I... don't understand,"

"It-it's a game," he tries, tapping erratically at the screen. "You're a character in my favorite game. Your world is... this. Here. See? See? Um, this is your card, and..."

You suddenly grip the phone with both hands, your eyes widening at the screen, at the SSR with maxed-out stats and peak HP. The art, the gentle lighting, every detail in your clothing...

"This is me?" you ask, seemingly haven forgotten your fear, if only for a moment.

Idia nods. "Yeah, and there are some R cards here..."

"I look..." you start, your voice softening to its usual quiet tone and cadence... Idia could swoon. "I look so... good..."

"Yes!" he agrees immediately, giving you his phone entirely in a show of unrestrained trust and vulnerability. He knew you, after all- didn't he?

Your eyes widen as you tap through the cards, and then the ongoing event banner, the chapters, the sidestories, the stats, all of the hours and work that Idia has poured into your character, and, then... you smile. It's small, almost unnoticeable, identical to the somewhat unsettling face your sprite makes when you're feeling confident enough to show emotion in-game. Idia almost feels light-headed.

"I-I... ah..." you mutter. "I can't believe... someone actually... likes me..."

His smile drops. LIKES YOU?!

You couldn't really put a word to the feeling.

You've been othered your whole life. No friends, no close family members, no shoulders to lean on, no hands to take yours and pull you out of the muck. Even your classmates ignored you, in your tiny class of twenty, no one even knew your name. You've never been good at anything, or, at least, that's what it felt like watching as everyone around you succeeded.

The idea of someone liking you... or thinking about you at all... is almost laughable. A fantasy you reserve for restless nights in bed, tossing and turning and fussing with your blankets, the weight in your stomach dragging you down, deeper, darker into yourself, trapping you in the bottomless pit of your own mind. The thought, the daydream of being loved, of having so much as a friend to take your hand or tuck away your worst insecurities, was the wick of a candle, guiding you through the dark while hot melting wax pooled in your hands, the weakest of winds threatening to extinguish your only will to live at the slightest turn.

You were worse than nothing; you were only one thing. The flicker of misplaced hope in the hollow of your chest.

Most people are bursting with light and life and energy, storing their daydreams alongside their memories, making wishes for menial things like a thinner waist or better hair when they were already glowing with the bright, blinding light of acceptance, of a family who understood them, of friends who loved them, of a world who welcomed them with the warm, open arms of a loving mother. Most people didn't spend every day cursing under their breath and begging to be taken away, to be somewhere, anywhere but here. They had no reason to.

But you- you had nothing but the hope itself, that someday, things would be different.

That you would find a place that liked you, that understood you, that welcomed you.

And now you're scrolling your tag on some alternate-timeline Twitter, staring at the lewd art under your name.

This is a bit more than being "liked".

You look up at Idia- the boy who had, as he explained, "wished you here", and you hand back his phone. You'd have to get your hands on your own and continue your scrolling soon, but you've seen enough for now.

"Well?" he asks, hands still trembling.

You shrug. "I believe you,"

Idia exhales, the red draining from his face as he sits on the bed beside you.

"Told you," he mutters. "You're not like, the fan favorite, but you're definitely in the top ten. We ran a poll last month... uh... y-yeah. And I'm the top poster! See!"

He shoves his screen back in your face, proudly showing off his profile. Six thousand posts, you note. He gets out of the house about as much as you do.

"All of this is... me?" you ask cautiously, taking the phone from his outstretched hands yet again, scrolling through the thousands of text posts and retweets. You count at least three analysis threads, and that's just from this week.

"W-well, uh some of the main cast, too..." he says. "But mostly you- yeah. And I have a lot of mutuals who are in the same boat."

You glance away for a second. It's surreal; no one in your home world ever gave you a second glance, but here... hundreds if not thousands of young men are obsessively posting about you at every hour of the day.

Is this what it feels like to be famous? You can't say. There's a difference between being an actor or a singer and being a fictional character- these people are talking about you as if you're not real... which, you suppose you're not. Not until a few minutes ago.

Creepy. But you suppose it's a matter of perspective.

So, you have adoring fans who would die in war for you, but to them, you're only pixels on a screen. There's a definite sense of anonymity in that, which helps with the existential dread. Somewhat.

You're still a little hung up on the "being adored" thing.

"What do they like about me?" you ask, scrolling the tag again. Lewd, lewd, meme, cute fanart, ship art of you and a girl you hate, ship art of you and a guy you don't even talk to, lewd...

"H-huh?" Idia asks, red-faced at the question. As if the reason was... embarrassing, or something. You can feel a fever of defensiveness burning in your chest, and your fingers tremble.

"It-it's not that simple... a-and, um... I'm sure it's different for everyone..."

"What's it for you, then?" you snap, without really meaning to- his weird attitude is freaking you out. Is it really so horrible to like you?

Idia blinks, his blush darkening, and he looks at his hands.

"F-for me... um... I guess," he bites his lip. "You're just... real."

Obviously. You shouldn't have to remind him that you are, in fact, a person, and one who's starting to feel a little pissed off.

He catches that look on your face and sits up straighter, coughing and wheezing awkwardly.

"I-I mean! The other characters, they're- they're great, but- they're characters, y'know? Perfect reflections of our imperfect reality... but you, um, you're real. You're not like those standard anime protags, all happy-go-lucky and likeable- er, not that you're unlikeable- w-well... I'm just... not so good at talking, either. And I'm kind of an outcast myself. I guess you make me feel less alone. Like I'm not some horrible unlikeable freak... if I can like you, then someone will surely like me... right?" he sighs. "Ugh, never mind. That's cringe,"

"No," you say, reflexively. You could only make out about half of what he was saying, but that half was all you needed to hear.

"It-it's okay. If I had a character like me... yeah. I get it."

Idia sighs, deflating, the fear and restraint fleeing from his body in a single breath. He pushes the hair away from his eyes, just for it to fall back into place.

The silence lingers a moment too long. Idia looks away, fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie, his eyes still somewhat clouded and foggy from sleep. You shift, crossing and then un-crossing your legs, looking through the dark cavern of his room. Glowing blue boys from other worlds like me, you think.

"...And you're cute," he blurts out, refusing to let the silence continue for even a second longer.

You turn and stare, taken aback by his sudden declaration. He won't even look in your direction, his face (and hair) beet-red.

Glowing blue boys from other worlds think I'm cute, you think.

Idia's heart pounds painfully in his chest, as if trying to make its own escape from the uncomfortable situation.

He had to say it. How could he not? And just let you sit there, thinking all those mean thoughts about yourself... he wouldn't stand for it! Or, uh, sit for it. His legs feel like wet noodles right now, like if he tried to make a break for the door he would melt into a sad Idia-shaped puddle on the first step. Besides, what good would that do? You wouldn't leave his room without knowing what's out there, so you'd be waiting for him to come back. There's nowhere he could go where you wouldn't be- not now, anyway. And he's got a tiny plastic version of you in his pocket.

But you're staring at him now, eyes wide and intense, face blank, and he can't do anything but sweat through his palms and then wipe that sweat on his pants, as discreetly as possible.

Cute... why couldn't he say "well-designed" or something? What's with him and making everything weird?!

After a moment, you look away, at your feet.

"...Yeah... I figured. I saw all the porny art," you say, crossing your legs. Idia sighs, releasing his tension to the wind for the fifteenth time that morning.

"O-oh... right... sorry," he mutters. "I should've put the filter on first..."

"It's okay," you say, quickly, your hands in your lap.

Another moment of silence. Idia's sweat is starting to seep through his sleeping shirt. Not good.

"...Do... you... think I'm cute?" you ask, the tightness in your tone making it rather obvious that you think it's a cringe thing to ask him. Idia blinks.

"Uh... yeah... of course I do..." why else would his home page have been full of-

"...Would you... touch me?"

ACK. You also seem to mentally kick yourself for asking, forcing Idia to recover from his momentary shock and grab your shoulders with an intensity that he usually only reserves for his console.

"YES!" he announces, his hair emoting with him, flaring a fiery red.

You stare, taken aback by his insanity (or enthusiasm) but he doesn't give you the time or breath to question it, suddenly pulling you against him as he had imagined doing thousands and thousands of times before. So much better than a pillow, he thinks, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you, but awkwardly, in the way someone who's only experienced hugs through his screen might have.

Some would say it was an unusual sight, the shy, withdrawn Ignihyde housewarden, curled up against a stranger. But he knew you.

Maybe only though a screen, but that was good enough for him.

AN: I fucking love this genre of fanfiction, whatever it's called, where the reader is a fictional character in the fictional character's world. I've read a few fics like this but I don't think idia was appropriately panicking/geeking out enough in any of them. there's really something so good about the thought of our mundane, ordinary lives being an outside spectator's entire world. I've always been jealous of fictional characters in this way. I want to be lovingly analyzed in a twitter thread once again the cover image and the inspiration for the fictional gacha game is from stu.massa-senpai everyone say thank you!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #idia shroud x reader

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aceecee · 3 days ago

Text

Insatiable - Chapter Thirteen

*This is just my MC, not a depiction of what Mara looks like.

TW/Tags: sexual content (thigh riding, tit play), cockblocking oneself, yandere behaviour, obsession

Synopsis: You reunite with the woman who has you so deeply engraved into her heart.

WC: 3K

Masterlist

Are you real? She wonders.

If not…

...then what a cruel trick.

~~~

For a second no one speaks.

Sylus lingers for a little bit before walking by you, leaving you two alone. His hand lightly brushes yours in comfort, it helps.

You’re both grateful for having this moment be just between you two but the hammering in your heart wishes he would stay, so you wouldn’t be alone as she stares at you in a mixture of awe and confusion.

She’s grown a little taller, something to be expected after all these years but you still tower over her. The memories of all the times you used to tease her about it nearly make you smile. No longer does she sport the long fringed hairstyle, now it’s cut off at her shoulders, oddly reminding you of the way you used to have it styled in your shared childhood. She’s dyed it red. It suits her.

Red means passion.

But it can also be for danger.

She fits into the hunter uniform better than your imagination had served you. The white shirt fits so snug, you can just see a hint of the muscles underneath. It’s intoxicating.

But it’s clear she hasn’t been taking care of herself. Deep eye bags have settled under her eyes, which flicker constantly in exhaustion. You don’t blame her, not after she’s lost two of the most important people in her life at the same time. Not after losing you.

Her eyes give nothing away as they take in every inch of you. You feel your breath catching in your throat as she does so.

Do you look okay?

Will she be disappointed?

You’re no longer the girl who used to smile easily, who gave care out like it was nothing, who expected nothing in return.

But you can be for her. You’ll be anyone for her.

You’ll do anything.

For her, sacrifice means nothing.

Time seems to slow down with each step she takes toward you, drawing the moment out leaving you on edge. And so fucking nervous.

Your heart might give out when a hand comes up to cradle your face – not in affection but to touch and feel if the skin beneath is real.

“I-is this some type of trick,” she whispers finally, eyes glossed in tears. You violently shake your head in response. For the first time, anger courses through you for your situation. You curse the people who took you, who so effortlessly captured your ability to speak. No longer are you numb to the pain they afflicted upon you, not when you can’t tell her so.

All you can do is hold her in your arms as she collapses into tears. Whether from the overwhelming incident currently occurring or because her exhaustion has finally caught up, you don’t care. Not as you cradle her soft body against yours.

[Name], she whispers into your skin. Repeating it over and over again.

It’s easy to carry Mara out of the room, she feels too small in them, too skinny from lack of eating. You’ll have to remedy that during her stay here, she’s lived without yours and Caleb’s food for too long.

Sylus greets you as you exit, one eyebrow raising in controlled surprise. “Take her into your room,” he softly commands.

Mara wakes up in soft sheets with a killer headache.

Her hand comes up to rub the throbbing her temple, smiling softly as she recalls her dream. At least in this one, she got to see how you would look grown up. At least in this one, it wasn’t your young self asking why she had failed you.

None of her fantasies compared to what she dreamt of last night. The length of your hair, the shape of your body, how you had felt so real – how you had wrapped your arms around her. Years of loneliness had disappeared in that moment, for a while you were by her side and all was alright with the world.

For a while.

But her actions halt as she realises she’s in an unfamiliar room, leaping to her feet as she recalls her meeting with the boss of Onychinus. The very man who might be responsible for the deaths of…

For the deaths of…

Perhaps one day, she’ll be able to think or say it outright.

A knock on the door snaps her out of it. She doesn’t respond, mentally preparing for whoever steps through the door when she hears the doorknob turn. In steps…

You.

You’re carrying a tray of food, smiling when you notice she’s awake. Not caring as her jaw drops open, or that she’s in the corner of the room with her hands rolled into fists ready to strike whoever walks through.

Not you, though. Never you.

“It wasn’t a dream,” she lets out, causing you to smile. She remains frozen, unsure of what to do. Taking one hand off the tray, you guide her back to your bed. Too caught up in the warmth of your hand on her, she follows you without question. Mara already shows signs of improvement on her face from the sleep she had, to your relief.

When you try to remove your hand, so you can put the tray down gently on the nightstand, she pulls you right back on top of her. The food goes flying and lands with a loud shatter on the floor but you’re too distracted as you end up straddling her to care. Her hands come up to rest on your hips, like it’s natural, like it’s meant to be.

Mara wastes no time in exploring your body, hands moving across every inch like an explorer in an unknown part of a map. Her hands caress your chest, feeling the blood pumping through your veins, fingers trailing over the goosebumps on your arms, one hand rests over your heart just so she can feel it beat.

She’s real. She’s real. She’s real, repeats in her head over and over again. She doesn’t realise she’s crying when a hand cradles her face and wipes the tears away. She lurches forward, grabbing you into a hug, arms wrapped tightly around you and her head buried into the centre of your chest. You simple thread your fingers through her hair as she wails into your chest, pressing kisses to the crown of her head.

No words need to be spoken for you to know this is all she needs in the moment. Neither of you really know how much time passes nor do you really care. Mara’s cries seem to slowly die down, she settles for breathing in your artificial scent from lotions and perfume.

Her mind seems to reel, no matter how much proof she gathers that this is real, she has a hard time believing the evidence. Slowly her head lifts up, heart clenching in awe as you gaze at her softly. It’s when she finally notices the scar across your neck, eyebrows raising in question. Her hand immediately reaches to trace, dangerously gentle.

“What happened?” she nearly shouts in concern.

You open and close your mouth a few times, unsure on how to proceed. “C-can’t…” you trail off. The tears make a comeback in Mara’s eyes, as she comes to her own conclusion. “Can’t speak?” she finishes for you. You nod.

“I know how to sign,” she confirms. “They taught us in the Academy,” her eyes widen at the sentence. “I’m a hunter now, [Name],” she rests her chin where her head had been, gazing up at you. “Aren’t you proud of me?”

The sadness in the air is replaced by two soft laughs as you nod.

[“You have no idea how much.”]

For a little bit, she stares at you. As if contemplating doing something that she believes might ruin the moment. “I want to do something, angel. Please don’t hate me,” she pleads. You tilt your head in confusion.

[“Never.”]

It’s all the desperate woman in front of you needs. Years of believing you were dead, of finding sanctuary in those carrying pieces of you finally boil over. Her lips are on yours before you can even move, kissing you like the starved fool she is.

Maybe you’re no better as you immediately return the kiss, delighting in the way she hums into your mouth with joy. Her hands slip under your carefully selected night-gown, moving up your thighs and taking the silk material with them. All she has to do is slip a strap off your shoulder to gain access to the skin underneath.

She swallows your moan as a cold finger gently brushes the tip of your nipple, unsure if she can proceed. Taking your whines as confirmation, her hand cups your breast, feeling whatever she can in her hand. You can feel yourself get lightheaded as neither of you have yet to take break from kissing. Your entire body heats at her touch, grinding your lower half into her thigh, chasing friction as you lose yourself in each other.

Yet the rational part of her mind wins as she realises all the unspoken questions between you two. There’s still so much she doesn’t know. Like why you’re in the N109 zone in the first place. She pulls away from you as realisation sinks in, the moment is ruined leaving you staring at confused.

“Was it Sylus who did this?” she asks, pointing at your neck. Blinking as you mentally go over her words, you shake your head.

“What are you even doing with him? He’s dangerous,” she hisses, not wanting to admit to herself that she’s jealous.

“He might’ve even been behind Caleb’s death!”

[“Sylus would never do that,”] you defend.

Mara’s eyes dim at your response, pushing you off her and creating distance.

“You mean the same man that just kept me locked up for three days, forcing me to try and resonate with him?” she snaps.

You look away ashamed, you had gotten used to the changed man Sylus had become for you, that your forgot what he can truly be like. How can you even begin to explain it all to her?

That one day, she’ll come to love him. Just like you do.

“Why aren’t you shocked he’s dead?”

Your eyes widen at her question as you meet her gaze. It’s the first she’s ever looked at you in anger and in betrayal.

“How long have you known?” she whispers.

[“Since it happened.”]

Mara says nothing and it leaves you panicked.

“I was so caught up in you being still alive, I didn’t even see the signs,” she chuckles darkly, bringing a hand up to push through her hair. “I need to talk to Sylus,” she finishes, leaving the room.

Leaving you behind.

Mara steps out into the hallway.

For the first time in her life, she doesn’t want to see you.

Because the heartbroken look on your face is still imprinted in her mind, no matter how hard she tries to remind her heart that you deserve it. Because she’s never made you cry before and all she wants is to go back into that room and finish what she had tried to start.

She takes out her Hunter watch, not shocked as it displays no signal. She comes across a black bird, perched on a pillar. She looks over the bird, deciding it closely resembles a crow despite it being so metallic. Mara thanks her hunter skills as the bird she thought was a statue suddenly zooms past her, into another corridor. She doesn’t know why she follows it.

Soon she comes across a room, her resolve to talk to the man in charge out the window as she hears him talk to a man in that cold manner of his. Every hair on her body stands on edge, a desire to run wins. But a quick flash of your face stops her and it’s enough time for Sylus to force her out.

Mara finds herself in some sort of dining room. Sylus walks over and pours her a glass of wine, like she hadn’t put a bullet through him not so long ago.

“This will be useful for defending yourself in the N109 zone,” he places a gun in front of her with a cold chuckle. As always his indifference to her, leaves her angry.

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m giving you a way out.” He takes a seat in front of her. “Since you can’t escape, why don’t we make a deal?”

“I’m not interested.” She drinks the wine, the strong liquid an escape she desperately needs.

“As long as you have desires, there will always be deals to make.”

Sylus’s right eyes glows that familiar red, the same that gave her all those hallucinations. He flips a coin in his hand. “So many days have come and gone. You should know your own desires by now.”

“You mean [Name]?” her eyes narrow, standing up and gripping the edges of the table as a clutch. “Is that why she’s here? You’re going to use her as a bargaining chip?” And here she was defending you, she thinks bitterly. What do you see in this guy, angel?

“You know what, fine. I’ll accept this deal. I resonate with you and not only do you give me the Aether core from your auction, you let me leave with her-”

“No.”

Mara glares at him. “What do you mean, no?” she snarls. “Is the core that precious to you?”

“No, she is.”

His declaration is like a splash of cold water on her face, the buzz from the wine is all but faded.

“[Name]’s free to go as she wishes anyway,” he tilts his head with a mischievous look in his eyes, bordering on malicious. “But she’s still mine.”

But he’s still not done. “Besides with the way you just ripped her heart out, how confident are you that she’ll even leave with you now?” he smirks.

“H-how did-”

“This is my house,” he responds wryly. “Of course I know what goes on in it.”

Mara finds herself lost in how to respond. She moves forward to clutch his hand in hers.

“Release me. You can’t do that just yet.”

He knows the woman before him is moving in desperation. You do seem to have that effect on all of them.

Mara looks up at him, wondering why he’s struggling in his head. Wondering why his power seems so familiar. For a while she grips onto his hand, trying her best to will her evol to work. Embarrassment at her own actions creep up, Sylus’s lips quirk at her cuteness though she’ll never know it.

“After all that arrogance, it seems like you can’t even control your own evol,” he teases.

“At the very least, it doesn’t want to be activated in front of you!” she bites back. Again [Name], what do you see in this arrogant jerk!

He shakes his head. “Just as I thought. You’re too weak.”

“You’ve seen the scars on her body,” he whispers. “How can you protect her from the powerful enemies she’s made?”

Mara stares at him.

“Face it. She’s protected as long as she’s by my side.”

“What happened to her? What enemies are you talking about?” she questions.

“It’s not my story to tell,” he waves her off causing a scoff out of her.

He pinches the area between his brow. “Eat as much as you want,” he commands.

She turns to look at the long table. It’s filled with exquisite dishes, each one familiar. Sylus clears his throat to get her attention. “[Name] cooked all your favourites. She was concerned at how frail you felt, the least you can do is eat the food. After you’re done, come find me outside the base’s entrance.”

He walks over to the door, turning back to say one final thing.

“You better hope our deal is successful. Otherwise, consider this your last meal.”

The snow-haired man approaches the crouched figure taking refuge in his bedroom.

“First time in the doghouse, little bird?” Sylus teases as he crouches in front of you, eyes softening when your lift your head up – swollen eyes meeting his.

[“She hates me,”] you sniffle. He moves to sit down next to you.

“She doesn’t hate you,” he comforts. “She’s just angry. Rightfully so.”

His larger hand comes to hold yours, tugging you into his side. “Even if you had wanted to go back, I wouldn’t have let you. Not at that time, so we can share the blame.”

[“Don’t be hard on her, this is all to much for her.”]

He chuckles. “I’ll do what I want,” he playfully coos, wiping away tears on your face. “Now stop crying, we have somewhere to be.”

AN: You know it's serious when Sylus has to play the therapist. Sorry for the short chapter! It's also more of a filler, I feel.

Tag List: @serenity-loves-red @crimsonmarabou @reni502 @r0ckb1n @queenkymmie @plzdonutpercieveme @perqbeth @mephisto-with-a-knife @tumblingdevils @angelwhizpers @eolivy @yuurisfavblog @miuangel @young-adult-summer @loreleis-world @macaronnya

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arixella · 1 day ago

Note

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader where the crew makes a comment about how Luffy keeps staring at y/n and how it’s weird and he says something along the lines “it’s not weird if I’m admiring her” or something :3 thanks!

Not Weird If I’m Admiring Her

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x female! reader

a/n: none

summary: Luffy’s quiet, unwavering admiration for the female crew member sparks teasing from the Straw Hats, but he confidently declares it’s not weird when he’s simply admiring someone he cares about.

wc: 580

contains: fluff, light crew teasing, slow-burn romance vibes, fluff and sweet moments, gentle humor

The sun was setting over the endless blue sea, casting a golden glow across the Thousand Sunny. Most of the crew were scattered about, some prepping dinner, others relaxing after a long day of sailing and training.

You sat quietly near the rail, the soft ocean breeze playing with your hair as you carefully patched up a small rip in your shirt. Your fingers moved expertly over the fabric, but your mind was only half on the task — partly distracted by the gentle, unwavering gaze from nearby.

Luffy was watching you again.

It wasn’t the first time. In fact, it had become a running joke on the ship.

Zoro, leaning lazily against the mast, nudged Sanji and whispered, “Have you noticed Luffy’s been staring at (Y/N) all day? Like, nonstop.”

Sanji, chopping vegetables with exaggerated care, glanced over with a smirk. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”

Usopp, who was fiddling with one of his inventions, looked up and nodded. “It’s been a week now! How does he not get tired of staring?”

Nami, folding the maps nearby, rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to know what he’s thinking.”

Meanwhile, Luffy remained oblivious to the side chatter. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

Nami called out, “Oi, Luffy! Stop staring or it’s your turn to scrub the deck!”

Luffy blinked and scratched the back of his head sheepishly but then shrugged with a big grin. “It’s not weird if I’m admiring her.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everyone stopped what they were doing.

“Admirin’ her?” Chopper echoed, eyes sparkling behind his tiny glasses. “That’s like… love!”

“LOVE?!” Luffy’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

You smiled softly, reaching out to gently rest your hand over his. “I like it,” you said quietly.

Luffy’s grin grew even wider, pride shining in his eyes. “See? Nothing weird about that!”

Franky, who had been fixing something near the kitchen, laughed heartily. “Super cool! Captain Luffy’s got a new treasure — and it ain’t the One Piece!”

Brook chuckled from across the deck. “Yohohoho! The heart is the greatest treasure of all!”

Zoro sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “Figures the dumbest guy in the crew is the most straightforward about feelings.”

Sanji leaned closer to you, winking. “Don’t let him hear you say that, or he’ll get even more confident.”

You blushed but didn’t pull your hand away from Luffy’s.

As the crew went back to their tasks, Luffy stayed by your side, still stealing glances, as if afraid you might disappear.

Later, when the stars blanketed the night sky, Luffy sat quietly next to you on the deck.

“Hey,” he said softly, “do you wanna go on an adventure with me? Like, forever?”

You squeezed his hand, heart fluttering. “Always.”

And as the ocean whispered around you, it felt like the start of the greatest journey yet — one where you were more than just crew, but something much, much more.

♡♡♡

#anime #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you

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ttsblogg · 3 days ago

Text

I’ll find you. (part 2)

Rob Rausch x f!reader

a/n: here’s part 2! sorry i kept yall waiting •-• thank you for all the support! it makes me so happy to know how many of you have been enjoying my work! so thank you again!! this fic is hot.. there is smut so MDNI! enjoy! - tt🫧

tags: @sturnioloslut101 @lisiliely @datgirl-audrey @melanie-15 @blow222 @faephoria @nina481 @decod5d @mrsgucci24 @theresclorineinmyeyes (i mostly just tagged anyone that was in my comments because i didn’t want to leave anyone out! if you want to be added to any Rob fics in the future just comment!)

After the villa, y/n had tons of interviews regarding the show. A lot of people loved her and thought she was very mature and a ‘girls girl’ for pulling JaNa to the side to reassure her and being understanding of the girls decision. Y/n was kind of taken back by how many people supported and praised her for it. She saw a lot of comments on her social media saying they wished she was never voted out but the ones that stood out the most to her were the ones rooting for her and Rob..

She decided not to watch the rest of the show, wanting to protect her peace as it was hard to see Rob potentially move on. Though she would still get small updates while scrolling through social media, they were mostly just pictures and videos of Rob, saying he looked miserable after she left and whoever he was with were nothing compared to her, but regardless y/n would still try her best to ignore it as much as she could.

Back at the villa Rob couldn’t wait to go back home and contact y/n. The first nights after she left was brutal for him. There was no joy or excitement for him anymore. Everyone at the villa saw how upset Rob was and would try to cheer him up. Occasionally he’d give in but a couple minutes later he’d go back to his original state of sadness. The girls, especially JaNa, constantly apologized to Rob, he didn’t blame them or feel any betrayal anymore. After some days he truly understood where they came from and their thought process. Everyone deserves a shot at love, it sucked that his was pulled away but he was excited to see his friends find theirs.

At Casa Amor, none of the girls stood out to him all that much. They were gorgeous of course, but when it came down to getting to know each other and their interests, there was no spark, no click, no emotional attraction.

When he brought Daniela back to the villa from casa, it wasn’t on his terms, he was basically forced to by the production. Initially, he thought they could potentially grow their connection but the more they conversed, the more they spent time with each other, he realized it was nothing more than a friendship. It wasn’t even about the physical attraction anymore, he missed the emotional connection he had with y/n, he missed hearing her laugh, he missed their small talks, he missed sleeping and waking up next to her. He missed kissing her, touching her. He missed her.

When the last bombshell, Kassy came in, he knew the production of love island were really trying to get him to connect with someone else other then y/n, as Kassy was in the last season with him. He didn’t care, at this point he knew 100% he wanted to be with y/n. Though him and Kassy tried to rekindle what they had in the past, they fooled around a bit but that was all it was. He liked that Kassy understood that he was closed off, she respected what y/n and Rob had, that was something he did admire about her. She had respect for him and his decision, unlike the production of love island.

Towards the end of the summer it got to a point where Rob was just there for fun and to hangout with the other islanders. They all saw it, he wasn’t trying anymore. The girls hearts broke for Rob, but they were also happy knowing how committed he was to y/n. They’ve regretted their decision everyday after that night, but looking back now, they realized y/n was right. This definitely was their last test to see how strong their connection was and it was indeed very very strong.

And it seems as the islanders weren’t the only ones noticing Robs commitment to y/n, as he and Kassy received the fewest votes for their favorite couple, therefore were dumped from the island along side Kaylor and Aaron…

All Rob could think about in that moment was y/n. He was finally going to be able to be with her, again. He did feel nervous thinking maybe she found someone outside of the villa. He wouldn’t have been upset if she was also with other people after she left. It wouldn’t have been fair for her if he felt that way as he was also exploring other options. Pushing his thoughts of her moving on to the side. He couldn’t wait to leave Fiji to find out if their connection was still thriving..

The love island production unfortunately had Rob, Kassy, Aaron and Kaylor wait at a hotel in Fiji since the season was coming to an end— and to do an Aftersun episode.

That didn’t stop Rob from immediately looking for y/n on social media. As soon as he got his phone back, he wasted no time following her on every platform and sending her a message.

Y/n felt her heart beat loudly from her chest seeing all the notifications from Rob. She confused at first but answered him right away, sending her number to him, wanting nothing more than to hear his voice. They updated each other on what they’ve been up to. Rob was honest and told her about his time at the villa, and reassured her that he didn’t feel a strong connection the way he felt with her.

Y/n felt relieved hearing those words come out of Rob’s mouth. She was happy he still felt the same way towards her.

After the season ended y/n reconnected with the girls through social media. She congratulated them for finding their person. She had no doubt they would’ve. She couldn’t wait to see them all again.

Rob and y/n made a plan to meet up in Las Vegas along with the crew, including the others that were dumped from the island, to celebrate the ending of the season and to celebrate Serena and Kordell winning.

Y/n was so excited to see everyone again, to be able to reconnect with everyone was something she’s been wanting to do the second she left the villa. She couldn’t help but feel bubbly at the thought of having Rob with her again.

“Are you excited?” Y/n’s friends asked her as they were adding their finishing touches for the night. Y/n had brought one of her best friends from her hometown because she wanted her to meet all the girls and guys. “I’m super excited, I’ve missed these girls so much!” Y/n said feeling jittery. “Are you happy to finally see Rob??” She asked her, wiggling her eyebrows at her.

Y/n felt her cheeks become warm at the thought. “Yeah. I’m super happy, I feel nervous too though. I just hope we still have strong connection between us when we see each other, you know?” She said honestly. “What do you mean? If anything I feel like your connection will be stronger.” Her friend said turning around to look at her.

She noticed y/n starting to look a little anxious. “Y/n/n, this man literally went through the last half of a love show without you and made it out without a girl aaaand with the intention of getting back with you. I have no doubt your connection will be off the charts when you see each other again. Trust me.” She said reassuring her. Y/n gave her a smile. “You always know what to say. I’m so happy you came with me, I would’ve literally been freaking out.” Y/n said. “Are you kidding? Bitch I would never let you come alone. Plus I’m excited to meet everyone!” She said.

“Ugh me too. I want you to meet Connor, he’s literally perfect for you.” Y/n said with a teasing smile.

“How we feeling, man?” Kordell asked as Rob took a sip from his drink scanning the bar for a familiar face. He let out a small laugh. “I’m fucking pumped man.” He answered.

He definitely felt nervous too see y/n again but the excitement he felt overpowered it. He just couldn’t wait to have her in his arms, where she should’ve stayed.

“Ahh there she is!” JaNa yelled out. Rob looked over to his right to see his girl coming in through the bar entrance. The bright smile he’d longing to see was plastered on her face. She still had the twinkle in her y/e/c eyes he admired so much. She hasn’t seen him yet as she was bombarded by everyone coming up to her. No one held back, everyone hugged her tightly, Kendall and Kordell being the most cheerful ones which made Rob laugh. “Aaaahh my little sister!!! Finally!” Kendall yelled. “Ahhhhh!” Kordell yelled, joining them in their hug. “I can’t breath!” Y/n yelled while laughing at the same time.

“Oh sorry.” Kendall said giving her a kiss on her head before letting her go, Kordell doing the same. “Look who’s waiting for you..” Serena said pointing in Robs direction.

It seemed like there was a pause, the world seemed to have froze as y/n looked beyond everyone, locking eyes with Rob. A smirk curving on both of their lips. Just by locking eyes, in that moment they knew their connection was way stronger than it was before, like she never left.

“Excuse me, please.” Y/n said to the girls and guys, making her way towards Rob as he was also making his way towards her.

“My fucking girl.” He said before wrapping his arms around her tightly, picking her off her feet. Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck.

The cheering coming from their friends were muffled to them, not caring about anyone else but each other in that moment.

“This isn’t real.” Y/n whispered. Rob let out a laugh. “Told you I’d find you.” He whispered back. “Fuck, I missed you so much you have no idea.” He added, he was cheesing like no other. “Aw I thought you had fun with Daniela though?” She said teasing him.

Rob pulled back from their hug but still held her by the waist. He knew she was joking. “You got jokes, baby.” He said. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” They heard their friends chant.

“Gotta give the people what they want.” He said with a smirk. They locked eyes once more before Rob pulled her in to connect their lips. Y/n couldn’t help but hum into their kiss, their lips moved in sync, their heads switching sides, never wanting to stop. Y/n felt Rob’s hands move lower down to her ass, giving her a squeeze making y/n squeal and pull away from their kiss. Rob bit his lip, feeling satisfied from their kiss. “We said kiss, don’t have sex!” Leah yelled. “Not right now, at least!” Miguel added. “He definitely missed you, bitch!” JaNa yelled out. Y/n and Rob just laughed at their friends comments.

After Rob’s and y/n’s moment, she was finally able to introduce her friend to everyone. As the night went on her friend really connected with Connor, when they thought no one was looking y/n peeped them kissing at the corner of the bar which made her so happy knowing she got along with him.

The entire night was filled with laughter, dancing and a little karaoke. It felt like they were back in the villa, having fun with each other.

Y/n started to feel her feet ache so she decided to take a break from the dance floor and made her way to sit next Rob who was talking to Kendall. When she took a seat next to him, Rob right away brought her legs up to his lap and put an arm behind her. Kendall got the cue and got up from his seat to let them talk. “Havin’ fun?” He asked her.

“I am. It feels nice to see everyone again.” She answered. “But you missed me more right?” Rob teased with his signature smirk. Y/n chuckled. “Yes, especially you Rob.” She said placing a hand on his jaw.

“You know I almost left like a few days after you?” Rob suddenly said. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?” She asked.

“I was literally bored out of my mind there. It got to a point where I was just there to be there, like, I didn’t see the point in trying.” He said, rubbing her upper thigh. “I meant it when I said I wanted to be with you, I knew the second you left there was no one else for me.” He added, looking deeply into her eyes.

“Rob..” y/n pouted. She felt her heart feel so warm hearing him say the last few words. “When we went to casa, I- this is kind of horrible to say but I just took Daniela under my wig because I was forced to.” He started. Y/n tilted her head in confusion. “Wait what?” She asked with slight smile in amusement. “Yeah.” Rob laughed.

“Before they announced we were going to casa, I was literally packing my stuff because I wanted to leave, but the production convinced me to stay. They said that there was no point in leaving now when the show was about to come to an end.” Y/n’s jaw dropped but then covered with her hand. “They promised that if I was voted out I could go home right away. But when it came down to it and I did get voted off, they forced me to do the aftersun episode with Kassy.” He finished.

Y/n scoffed. “Woah… that’s..a lot.” Rob laughed. “Yeah it is and that’s not even the end of it.” He started again. “Oh no.” She said.

“Come to find out, the only reason why they even brought Kassy back was because they really wanted us to work out and win the show since we were in the last season together.” He finished. Y/n laughed. “Damn they really didn’t want you leave.” Rob shook his head. “Or be with you.”

“And here you are.” Y/n smiled, Rob smiled back at her. “Here I am.” He reached a hand forward pulling her into a kiss.

The kiss felt passionate, filled with so much desire. Y/n can feel the warmth of Rob’s body gravitating towards hers. He deepened their kiss placing his hand on her waist while his other was at the nape of her neck, pushing her closer to him.

Their make out session was interrupted by JaNa yelling out for y/n. Y/n and Rob broke apart, y/n didn’t miss his droopy eyes and the way he stared at her lips as she pulled away. She felt him squeeze her waist as she turned her head to look up in the direction of where JaNa and the girls were; like he was giving her a signal of I don’t want to stop and don’t go. Y/n didn’t want to go either until she saw JaNa pointing at the mechanical bull. She knew exactly what she was signaling her to do.

Wanting to spice things up, y/n got up from her seat pulling Rob with her. “Come on.” She said. She heard a groan coming from Rob which made her laugh.

“You have to.” Jana said winking at her as they walked up to them. Y/n looked at Rob for a second, noticing he had started to make his way over to where the guys were by the bar next to the mechanical bull, not even aware of what was about to happen.

“Fuck it.” She said going to the operator asking him if she can go next.

“Alright, cowgirls and cowboys we have another contestant ready to ride the bull! Give it up for y/n!!” Y/n waved at everyone as they cheered.

Rob snapped his head towards the ring as soon as he heard her name. “Ah shit.” He muttered. The boys shook him by the shoulders as they cheered for y/n and teased him.

‘Save a Horse’ blurred through the speakers as y/n seductively made her way around the bull, hoping on to it. She turned her head to look towards the bar and gave a Rob a wink before turning back to the operator. Rob shook his head with a smirk on his face.

“Alrighty miss, are we ready?” He asked. Y/n nodded and gave the girls a wink too as they cheered for her along with everyone in the bar.

Y/n hips moved smoothly with the bull, rocking in every way. Everyone’s eyes were set on her. Men roared and whistled as they watched her, while the girls clapped and cheered, some more then others.

Y/n didn’t have a nervous bone in her body as she rode. She would steal a couple of glimpses at Rob whenever she was turned around. His face was filled with yearn, she could feel his eyes burning on her. His eyes turning a dark shade of green watching her hips move. His mind going a thousand miles per minute thinking dirty thoughts. He couldn’t get his eyes off of her.

After successfully riding the mechanical bull without being thrown off, Rob watched closely as she made her way off the bull. Watching the way she swung her perfectly toned leg off with her ruffle shorts slightly raised, getting a small peak of her ass before she pulled them down.

Rob made his way towards the ring exit, ready to help her out before any other man could. Y/n threw her hands up as people continued to cheer for her. “Give it up for Y/n!!” The announcer called out making the whole bar shake from how much everyone was cheering for her.

Y/n walked towards the exit to find Rob with his signature smirk plastered on his face. “Like the show?” She asked him. Rob shook his head as he held her hand, helping her make it out of the ring safely. “Are you trying to destroy me?” He asked, pulling her towards him to wrap his arm around her waist giving her a squeeze.

Y/n broke from his embrace and walked infront of him. “Maybe.” She whispered and bit her lip as they made it towards their friends. Rob let out a breath. Fuck me, he thought to himself.

The rest of the time they were there, Rob noticed the vibe between him and y/n switched. What they felt now was a sense of craving and passion. Rob couldn’t keep his hands off her, he’d make sure to always keep a hand on her waist, her lower back sometimes even lower.. Y/n on the other hand, couldn’t keep her lips off of him. Whenever she’d get a chance she would lay a kiss on his upper arm, neck, cheek and her favorite spot, his lips. At the villa, they never went to the full extent and, did it. In the language of the villa, he gave lots of finger food and appetizers.. but never the full coarse meal. Whenever they’d feel themselves start to get a little more excited they had to stop. And all that tension has now built up to this moment.

“You take care of my girl now, Robert!” JaNa yelled out as they exited the elevator, they were the last ones to make it to their room besides Rob and y/n. “Don’t worry, I will.” Rob yelled out before the elevator doors closed, leaving only y/n and him by themselves.

Rob clicked their floor button before turning around to look at y/n. She had faint smirk on her lips as she looked up at his dark green eyes. “Hey.” He said walking closer to her. “Hello.” She replied placing her hands on the handle bar behind her. Robs hands made their way to her hips.

“Did you have fun today?” He asked looking down at her lips. “Mhm. Did you?” She replied licking her lips. “Damn right I did. You surprised me today.” He said running his hands up and down her sides. “How so?” She said acting oblivious. “With your little stunt earlier. Ridin’ that bull. Fuckin’ hot.” He said biting his lips.

“Oh yeah?” She smirk. “Mmm. Maybe you could show me the real thing.” He smirked back. “Maybe. Only if you get lucky.” She said. Rob let out a chuckle before bitting his lip and gripped her hips. “Fuck, you have no idea how much i missed you.” He whispered, their faces were now inches apart. “How much I craved you.” His head leaned down to her neck and placed a few pecks on it. “How much I missed kissing you.” Peck. “Touching you.” Peck. Y/n moved her head to the side to give him more access to her neck, as his hands explored her body.

Y/n couldn’t speak as she felt his lips kiss all over her neck, one of her hands reached up and tugged his hair making Rob groan against her neck. He kissed his way up to her lips, giving her a rough kiss before the elevator doors opened. He then grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled her out of the elevator towards their room.

Robs hands slightly shook as her rummaged through his wallet looking for the key card. “Hurry up, Rob.” Y/n whispered giving his upper arm a peck. Her lips traced over his snake tattoo as she watched him finally find the card. “C’mon.” He said as he picked her up off her feet. She squealed as she felt hands firmly grip her ass as he walked them inside the hotel room and kicked the door closed.

Y/n wasted no time tackling his lips. Rob gladly kissed her back as he laid her down on the bed. His hands exploring her body again, making sure he left no part untouched. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered as he kissed down her body. He moved her arms so they were above her head, as he continued kissing down her body, his lips made his way to her thighs.

“S’okay?” He asked before going any further. Y/n nodded. Once he got her approval, he hooked his fingers around her shorts and pulled them down along with her boots, leaving her in her panties and top.

“You can take these off too, it’s okay.” Y/n smirked, referring to her panties. “Oh?” Rob said, very amused. “Impatient are we?” He added moving back up to capture her lips again. “What do you expect? I haven’t seen you in a month.” She whispered. “Feel me.” She added. She moved a hand down and grabbed his, moving it towards her heat. “Fuck.” Rob groaned feeling how wet she was. “You did miss me, huh?” He asked with a smirk.

“Seems you did too.” Y/n said referring to his cock poking through this jeans. She bit her lip at the sight. “Go on then. Touch it baby.” He said.

They both touched one another, getting each other worked up even more. Even if they were both excited to rip each others clothes off, they still wanted to take their time as for the first time, they had all night to finally do whatever they wanted without having to be quiet or hold back.

Y/n was a moaning mess as Rob rubbed her clothed pussy. His fingers teasing her clit before finally moving his hand under her panties causing her to gasp at the contact. Not wanting to wait much longer, Rob inserted two fingers in her making her moan again.

His fingers slowly moved in and out. Y/n threw her head back, giving Rob more access to her neck as he started planting kisses on her again. “Feel good?” He asked. “F-fuck yes.” She replied, loving the feeling of how deep his fingers were. Rob couldn’t get enough of how amazing she looked. Her cheeks were rosy, mascara slightly smudged, her lips were swollen from all the kissing and lip biting, it was such a beautiful sight to him.

“Rob.” She moaned. “Yeah, baby?” Rob asked capturing her lips again. “Please.” She said holding his forearm.

“Please what? Use your words, baby.” He said against her neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“I need you.” She said capturing his lips with hers. Rob gave her a hard kiss back before pulling away. “As you wish.” He said before he hooked his fingers around the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, exposing her glistening heat. Y/n gently untied her halter top and removed it making her completely exposed to him.

He stood back to admire her for a moment. “You look so fucking good.” He smirked. Y/n felt a wave of shyness consume her as she saw Robs eyes roaming her body. He’s seen her in a bikini multiple time back in the villa, and has seen her bare chest during the night time when they were in bed, but this was first time he’s seen her completely exposed.

Y/n hid her face with her hands. “No no, I want to see you. You’re so beautiful.” Rob reassured her, pulling her hands away from her face placing them around his neck. “So beautiful.” He whispered as he gave her a kiss. Their lips moving naturally as Rob reached down to start unbuckling his belt to remove his jeans. As he did, y/n pulled his shirt over his head, breaking their kiss for just a second before going back in again.

Rob pulled down his jeans and boxers letting his cock sprung out, lightly hitting y/n’s stomach. Y/n’s hand reached down to wrap it around his cock and started pumping him. Rob stood with his knees on the bed watching her pump him in her hand. He threw his head back in satisfaction, until he reached down to grab her hand to stop her. “I’ll cum right now if you continue, baby.” He said gaining a chuckle from her.

“Give me a quick sec, okay?” He said reaching down for his jeans to get his wallet. He opened it up and took out a condom. As he unwrapped it, y/n waited patiently, watching as he took out the rubber barrier and wrapped it around his hard cock.

Once Rob came back to the bed, he began giving her gentle kisses all over her face to make sure she was comfortable before landing one her lips. “I need you now.” Y/n whispered. “Okay, baby. Hold on for me.” He said slightly leaning back to line his hips perfectly with hers before slowly inserting himself in her.

Y/n moaned at the feeling of him filling her up. He slowly pulled back out before gently pushing back in, letting her adjust to him. “S’okay?” He asked absorbing her face, looking for any discomfort. Y/n nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck pulling him down for a kiss. After he felt her fully adjust to him he started to quicken his pace.

The light slapping of their bodies, moans and grunts filled the room. The sound of y/n’s moans became Robs favorite sound to hear. The sight of her was became his favorite sight to look at. The feeling of being inside her became his favorite thing to feel. He became in love with everything in this moment.

“So warm, baby.” Rob groaned. “F‘wet and ready for me.” He groaned again. Rob whispering sweet and dirty affirmations was music to y/n’s ears. She loved how he would talk her through it, all the dirty words coming out of his mouth made her grip in his hair harder. She loved it. He knew her well enough to know what turned her on and got her going, which made this moment all more desiring.

“Fuck, Rob.” Y/n moaned pulling at his hair with one her hands. She felt a small knot starting to form in her stomach. “Yeah, baby?” He whispered, sucking on her neck knowing it’ll leave a mark.

“Flip us.” Y/n said. Rob came up to face her, slightly confused. “Let me ride you.” She moaned with a faint smirk on her face.

Rob happily flip them so y/n was now on top and he was laying down. She started grinding her hips against his with one of Robs hands rubbing her clit adding more friction. “Oh my god. You f-feel-” She tried to continue talking but all that started coming out moans. Rob smirked enjoying the view and the sound of her moans. She looked and sounded so angelic. He loved the way her skin glowed, the way her eyes were closed with her head thrown back in satisfaction. The way her ab muscles contracted as she continued grinding her hips. He loved the way her voice was slightly raspy with her moans sounding sweet and high pitched.

Y/n leaned down to connect her swollen lips with his. Her hands on side of his neck where his shoulders connected. Rob noticed her hips slowing down, so he took it as a sign for him to help her. “I got you baby. Tired?” He asked against her hips. Y/n let out a faint ‘yeah’. before moving her head down to his ear. Rob placed a hand on her hip with the other one wrapped around her waist to support her before he started thrusting upwards at a fast pace.

“Oh fuck.” Y/n whispered feeling her clit become more and more sensitive. “Finish telling me, baby. How does it feel?” Rob whispered. “F-fuck, Rob.. Feels so good, baby.” She let out. “Yeah? You like the way my cock fills you up.” He said looking deep in her eyes. The eye contact felt a security. It felt like something unspoken—a stare filled with love.

They were making love, not just having regular sex. The atmosphere around them and between them felt warm and natural—it was comfortable feeling, like they belong here.

“Rob-“ y/n tried speaking. She didn’t have to finish her sentence as Rob understood right away by feeling her tightening around him, signaling she was about to cum. “Let go for me. C’mon, you’re doing so good.” He said to her, absorbing her face, wanting to take a mental picture of the sight above him. “Such a good girl for me, baby. You got it, c’mon.” He continued.

Y/n’s moans became muted for a second as she felt herself reach her orgasm. “Yeahh, just like that, baby. Cum on fucking cock.” Rob moaned feeling himself reaching his own orgasm. “Fuck!” Y/n moaned loudly, she felt her legs tremble as Rob kept thrusting into her harder but slower. Each thrust came with a lot of force, making him hit her g-spot each time. Y/n could see Rob was about to come as he now had both hands on her ass, gripping her harder than before.

Shortly after Rob felt himself cum. “Oh fuck.” Rob groaned followed by a moan coming for y/n as she felt her second orgasm come by surprise. She let all her weight fall completely on Rob with her head now laid on his chest as they both caught their breath.

She could still feel Robs cock twitch as they laid in comfortable silence for a moment. He ran his hands over her back in a soothing way. “You okay?” He asked tilting his head to look at her from his chest. She lifted her head to look up at him. “More than okay.” She smiled tiredly.

“Can’t believe we waited so long for this.” She said leaning up to kiss his lips. Rob smirked bringing a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Definitely worth it though.” He said. “You’re amazing.” He added giving her another kiss, this one lasting a little longer.

Their kiss lead to another round of pure lust. They spent the night tangle up with each other, unable to get enough. They didn’t regret the time they weren’t able to spent together as it didn’t matter anymore. They were both here, where they belonged. And Rob kept his promise. He found her.

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