#and i just want to be there for them through it and help them sort things out

[gothicmisty]

Havin' his baby

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | ao3 | masterlist part 2

summary: "I'm pregnant." His face. His totally normal face that was there seconds ago. It goes blank. White as a ghost. Joel blinks once. "You're what?" "It's yours," you blurt out, panicking. "I haven't been with anyone in awhile, and you were the last person..." The one in which you are pregnant with Joel miller's baby.

authors note: so, apologies in advance. this is a prologue of sorts. there won't be some smut for a while. i wanted there to be a bit of build up at first. i imagine reader is like 30s. but you can make her younger. but i still hope everyone enjoys!! tags: MDNI, pregnancy symptoms, implied age gap, joel is older, reader can be anywhere between 28 and mid 30s. reader is not described in this just that you have breast and long enough hair(eventually), no use of y/n, lots of pregnancy in this one. strangers to lovers vibes, pregnancy test. mention of being a mother, mentions of ultrasounds. tommy is in a few seconds of this. tbh, this can be either game joel or show joel. word count: 3.2k

The morning felt worse than the few before. You had woken up in the middle of the night more than once–not ‘cause you couldn’t sleep, but ‘cause you couldn’t shake that feeling of anxiety in your stomach all night. 

The clock beside your bed says 7:45. Small bits of sunshine slip through your cheap not-so-great curtains. The summer heat in Texas. God. And your shitty lack of air conditioning wasn't helping you feel any better.

You sigh. 

Not because you spent most of the night tossing and turning. But for the first time in a year, you missed work. Not just a day. An entire week. You had to get a substitute to cover most of your days.

Teachin’ life and what not. 

You were sick. Nauseous. Your head was killing you. At first, you chalked it up to some bad leftover chinese you’d had.  But by the second day?

You told yourself it was just from being around kids. Kids carried all kinds of germs. Practically little petri dishes, never washing their hands.

By day four. Most definitely, you were gaslightin’ yourself. Telling yourself it wasn’t anything serious. Until you realized your period never showed. You were never late. Never. Always right on time. 

Instead of staying in bed. You drove all the way to the furthest pharmacy from your house that you could find. You didn’t want to run into a single person you knew. 

Truth was, you’ve never had a pregnancy scare in your entire life. 

Not even when you were a reckless teenager fuckin’ around with Billy Davis behind your parents back.  Or that long term boyfriend you had up until last year, Jesse. 

Never even needed to look at a test. But there is a first time for everything, you suppose. You looked over all the boxes. 

How in the hell were there so many different brands? Different kinds? Some had two pink lines. Some had a blue plus sign. What is the difference between a digital one and a regular one?

You pick up the digital box. Flipping it over. Reading the words slowly. Was there really a need to know six days early when you already were a week late? 

This was all…confusing. You feel it too. How drained you are. Filled with so much anxiety that this is real. You are really standing in the middle of a pharmacy because you might actually be pregnant. 

So, you do the only thing you can think of. You buy six different ones. 

‘Cause there was no way six tests could all lie to you, right? No way one of them could give you a different result. 

The drive home was terrible. 

Maybe it’s the car making you feel sick. The Texas heat since the air conditioning in your car also sucked too. Or maybe it’s just… really all of this.

After an awkward run in with Mrs. Sims on your way into the house and fifteen minutes of standing in the bathroom. Six pregnancy tests are spread out in front of you. 

The first four are the easy ones, the kind with the little lines. Two pink lines on the first two. A large square pink plus sign on the other set. Positive.

The digital ones were next. Ninety-nine point nine percent accurate. The first one you pick up has a smiley face on it. 

Like that’s supposed to make you happy. Instead of making you want to cry on your bathroom floor. 

The second digital one just confirms your fate. 

Pregnant.

Six different tests. Six different ways of telling you that you’re definitely expecting. 

Having a mental breakdown about being pregnant wasn’t exactly on your to-do list today. Not ever. 

There’s no pep talk you can give yourself. Tell yourself that everything is gonna be just fine. You’re not happy. You aren’t exactly devastated. You are just numb. 

The handbook of life never taught you how to react when you’re finding out you’re pregnant. Especially when this wasn’t part of the plan. Any plan. 

The details from that night aren’t really there. You remember the bar. You remember goin’ into his house.

You’d only gone out to that rundown bar a few streets over because of Rebecca, your college friend. Who wouldn’t stop complaining you never went out. Never enjoyed life outside of work. 

Girls’ night, she called it. 

But you’d seen him.  Your neighbor. Joel Miller. 

You barely know him. He lives across the street. Waves back at you when you’re getting the mail. Greets you with that southern drawl. Says, “Mornin’.” Helps with things occasionally.

He’s always working. Has a daughter in college. Not that you ever saw her, or paid much attention to what was across the street.

Joel Miller hadn’t been much of an interest to you. Not until that night.

That night he was sitting by himself on a barstool. At the same bar you were at. 

He’s older. Dark greying hair. Hazel eyes. Spends more time looking ahead than looking at you. Which was a change for once. 

After two hours, it turned out you had a lot more in common than you would’ve thought. Both of you like older music. Spent half the night talkin’ about old records alone. Your friend? She was long gone. You’d practically ditched her to talk to someone else. So, Joel offered you a ride home. 

When you got back to his house. The night faded away. You had a few more drinks. But, so did he.

But you. You kissed him first. Drinkin’ and makin’ terrible choices was a thing that happened to you before. That’s why you never liked to drink. But on his couch, in his living’ room, you made the first move.

From there? It was nothin’ you can remember.

You didn’t talk after that. Not really. You had to leave early for work, and Joel? He was in the shower when you snuck out. Not your proudest moment pickin’ up pieces of your clothes. Heading back home. 

The two of you would occasionally wave. And smile. The same polite nods you’d given each other before. But weeks went by, and now. You’re staring’ at six positive pregnancy tests on the counter wondering where this all went wrong. 

You weren’t on birth control. It’s not like you remember much of what happened that night.

That feeling of needing to throw up already started creeping’ back. You’ve barely kept down crackers and ginger ale wasn’t helping either.

And now, you’re back on your knees. Throwing’ up into the toilet again. 

You’re pregnant with Joel Miller’s baby. Something you never thought would happen in a million years. But here you are. 

It’s been over two weeks since you found out. Three days since you went to the OBGYN. Who confirmed what six home pregnancy tests already told you. 

The first appointment was how you expected it to be. Normal. As normal as it could be. You were alone. Too scared to break the news to Joel yet. 

You discussed your options. Which you had spent way too much time thinking about. Eventually you decided that you were gonna keep it. Even before the appointment. 

The doctor talked to you about what to expect. At almost nine weeks. 

How the nausea might last until twelve weeks. Maybe longer. 

“Every woman is different. Experiences different symptoms,” she said. 

She gave you some suggestions. How you can take something called B6 to help. A few home remedies that you could try. Even a wristband that you could put on a pressure point.

She sends you for a dating scan the next day. To confirm how far along you are. Though, by your blood work she estimates nine weeks. But you already knew. 

You sit in the ultrasound room. The smell of those lemon scented bleach wipes filled the room. It was cold. Freezing. And the sweet ultrasound tech shows you your baby. A tiny little bean lighting up the black-and-white screen. You cry. Not because you’re upset…but because it’s real. All of it. A small part of it might be due to hormones. 

They send you home with a photo. That flimsy photo paper. One small, tiny photo of your baby. Yours and Joel’s baby. 

You’re back to work. Back to a room full of kids. Pretending that you’re okay. Pretending that Brenda’s lunch doesn’t make you a little sick. Or that really nasty coffee they kept in the teachers lounge. How was it possible that an off-brand made you nauseous? But the name brand didn’t? When you get home, you look across the street. His brown house. The porch lights off. His truck ain’t there. It rarely is. Maybe it was on the off chance he decided to take a day off. 

You take out your phone. Pulling up his contact. Just Joel. The only text you’ve ever sent him is still sitting there. Not like you deleted your text messages.

It’s from over a year ago. Something about the school needing’ to hire a contractor. 

You: Hey.  You: Are you home?

You knew he wasn’t. 

But you needed an excuse to talk to him. After all…you needed to tell him. This was his baby too. 

Joel: Workin’ late tonight. You need somethin?

You leave him on read. But the truth was. You can’t avoid it forever. 

Saturday morning, while you ate your breakfast. You decide it’s finally time. You leave early enough. Head to the construction site he mentioned he was workin’ at. It was a longer project. Said it would be weeks worth of work. 

This wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you break over a text message. 

Hey Joel, so I’m pregnant. 

That ain’t the best way to deal with this. You drive thirty minutes out there. When you stop the car, it hits you. God, it hits you hard. Harder than you thought it would. You almost talk yourself out of it. Out of this whole ridiculous plan while sitting in your car. 

You shouldn’t do this. Can’t do this. What if he’s angry? What if he’s upset? What if you start crying ‘cause all these damn hormones racing through you? 

You’ve never seen him angry. Never really been around him enough to know. He’s always been just… himself. Brooding. Seems lonely at times. Keeps to himself. But he’s always just…Joel. 

The courage finally comes. You get out and walk toward the trailer. But Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, stops you. 

You met him a few times. Over at Joel’s. He even stopped to talk to you once when Joel helped you fix a flat tire. 

“You’re Joel’s neighbor, right?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say, giving a small smile. “Is he here? Need to talk to him.” 

Tommy nods towards the trailer. “He’s here. Had himself a day,” he mutters. “Reckon he’ll be glad to see a face that ain’t mine.”  You swallow hard.

Walking toward the trailer. Do you knock? Just walk in? Why the hell do you feel like such an angsty teenager trying to decide all this? 

But, you knock.  Twice. 

You hear his voice through the door and step inside. “Tommy, I ain’t in the mood to–” he starts, then stops when he turns and sees you. 

You stood there. A tired smile on your face. “Shit, sorry,” he says, takin’ off his glasses. “Thought you were Tommy. He’s been ridin’ my ass all day.” 

“He, uh…warned me you were havin’ an off day,” you say. 

He shakes his head. “Ain’t nothin’ new.” 

You are silent. Can’t say anything or maybe there isn’t anything you can think to say. 

‘Cause his day was possibly about to get worse. Finding out he’s gonna be a dad again, and at work of all places, isn’t exactly the kind of news that’s gonna go over easily.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he asks, voice low. “Don’t get a pretty girl showin’ up at my work too often. ‘Specially not a neighbor who didn’t even let me say goodbye.” 

Fuck.

Panic starts to set in. A little bit of nausea too. Was it warm in here? Or are you about to pass out on the floor? Or worse, throw up for the one millionth time. 

“Can I–um–sit?” 

“Course,” Joel says, nodding toward the chair. 

You sit in the old chair. It was metal. Wobbly. But you were fidgeting, picking at your fingernails. Tryin to will yourself to just say it. You take a deep breath. 

“I’ve known for a while,” you mutter, looking at him. “Just didn’t….didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Just say it. Rip the damn band aid off. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

His face. His totally normal face that was there seconds ago. It goes blank. White as a ghost. Joel blinks once. “You’re what?” 

“It’s yours,” you blurt out, panicking. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while, and you were the last person…” 

You don’t finish the sentence. Don’t know if you can. He goes quiet. You get it. You just changed everything in his life with two words. 

It stretches on. That shocked look on his face. God knows how long ya’ll were sitting there for. 

The tick of the clock on the wall.  The sound of construction going on outside. 

He lets out a slow breath. “Well, shit.” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Ain’t usually good with words, ya know that. Sure as hell ain’t right now.” 

You don’t know where to start. If you should apologize. If you should stay quiet. This was such a difficult situation. 

“If you don’t want to be–” 

“No,” he cuts you off, quickly. “Ain’t like that, darlin’. Just surprised.” 

He pauses. “Just strugglin’ to wrap my head around it right now.” 

You get it. If someone dropped this on you at work. On a stressful, exhaustin’ day. You’d be losing your mind too. 

You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact you’re pregnant. 

“How sure we talkin’ here?” he asks. 

“I went to the doctor,” you say. “No doubt about it.” 

Joel sighs. Running a hand over his face. Fidgeting with a pen on the desk. “I know this is a lot all at once,” you murmur. “But it’s…happenin’. I’m keepin’ the baby but I don’t expect anythin’ from you, Joel.” 

“We outta talk ‘bout this I get hom—” 

But Joel’s cut off by the door slamming open. 

“Hell Joel,” Tommy announces, steppin in, shaking his head. “Half the damn shipment’s missin’. Boys can’t do shit without it.” 

“A’right,” Joel says, getting up from his chair. “I’m comin’.” 

Tommy huffs. Muttering something as he slams the door shut behind him.

Joel looks back at you. Hand on the door. “We’ll talk more ‘bout this later.”

It’s been four days since you told him. Not like you’ve seen him. Not once. Every morning when you leave for work. His truck is already gone. You spent the whole day wondering. Did you screw up by telling him? Is this even something he’s gonna want in the long run? Maybe he doesn’t wanna be part of it. 

Between the morning sickness and teaching first graders, it’s been rough. Hard to keep up during the day. You’re sleepy half the time and so fatigued. One cup of coffee was barely helping anymore. 

Pregnancy makes it so you can only have one cup. No more. Limited caffeine. 

It’s a shitty day without it. Not like you can remember the last time you had a normal one. You figure those don’t really exist in these first few months anyway. 

But when you get home that night. Pulling into the driveway. He’s there. 

Sitting on your porch steps. Black t-shirt with the construction logo on it. 

Muddy boots. Jeans that are mostly worn and washed out. 

“Hey,” you say, walking up to the steps. 

Joel looks up at you with those hazel eyes. 

“Know it’s been a few days,” he says. “Ain’t proud of that.” “I dropped a lot on ya,” you reply. “Sorry for that.” 

You sit down next to him. It was something about it, sitting with him. Quietly on the steps. Lookin’ at the cars going down the street. 

He rests his hand on your leg. “Ya doin’ a’right?” he asks. “Feelin’ sick or…any of that?” 

Every single symptom seems to have creeped up on you. If there’s a checklist. You’ve got every fucking box ticked. But you don’t want him to worry. Don’t want him thinkin it’s his problem to fix. 

“Mostly just not feelin’ great,” you admit. “End up gettin’ up in the middle of the night. Throwin’ up. Really, Joel, it’s okay–” 

“You’re carryin’ my baby,” Joel says, eyes on you. “‘Course I’m gonna check on ya. Whether ya like it or not.” 

My baby. 

Words you didn't think you’d hear him say out loud. Words you weren’t so sure if you were ready to hear. 

“I’m just…tired,” you mutter. “Ain’t got much energy between work and this.” 

You two continue to sit on the porch.

Truth is, you don’t know much about him. He doesn’t know much about you either. 

All you know is he’s guarded. Alone. Has a grown daughter you’ve seen maybe twice since you moved in. 

Two people. Two strangers with completely different lives. And now…you’re having a baby. Together. 

“I’ll tell ya,” he whispers. “Didn’t think I’d be doin’ the whole raisin’ a baby thing again.” 

You never expected any of this either. Now you’re gonna be a…mother.

“I got an appointment comin’ up,” you say. “You can come with me. If ya want.” 

“Yeah, darlin’,” he replies, squeezing your leg a little. “Ya just let me know when.” 

Joel’s sweet. You’d expected him to be upset. Maybe even angry. But he surprised you. The way he handled it. The way he was trying his best at this moment. You reach into your bag. Pulling out the photo the doctor gave you. Handing it to him. 

His calloused fingers take it. He looked down at the small black-and-white photo. Your name printed at the top. The tiny blob of the baby in the middle.

“Crazy, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you mutter. “It really is.” 

He goes to hand it back. But you shake your head. 

“Keep it,” you say. “It’s yours.” 

You stand up. Letting out a breath as you stretch. “I feel like I got hit by a damn truck. Gonna go lay down, Joel.” 

If you sat there long enough. You could’ve fallen asleep right there on the porch steps. On his shoulder. With how damn tired you felt. 

Everything felt like it was wearing you out. 

You’re almost at the door when you hear him. “Sweetheart.” 

You turn around. 

“I’m here,” he says. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere. You need anythin’—you just let me know. Kay?” 

“I know.” 

The moment you close the door. You stand there. Waiting to hear his footsteps fade off the porch. 

You wouldn’t trust anyone. Not really. Not in this situation. But for some reason, you decide to trust Joel Miller. Maybe for the first time in your life. You don’t feel alone. 

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[silentaffirmations]

⠀ 💭 ۪ 𓂃 5 BIG BOOTY BADDIES!

─ the hanks x gn!reader. headcanons/thoughts and one drabble of whats to be included and/or expected if you're dating the hanks.

➴ romantic relationship prestablished (poly!hanks believer till i die btw), possibly unrealistic &. weirdly characterized, cursing, fluffy and romantic, hank three (yes, he is a warning), kissing &. making out, complete and utter yapping, post realization but baby hank isn't mentioned, pet names, perhaps even comforting? take it however, cuddling &. cuddle pile. lowercase intended &. not proofread.

THINKING ABOUT... the hanks who all collectively call you goofy ass pet names. whether it be bro-babe, house homie (or, alternatively, house honey/baby), or anything else of the sorts, obviously ^_^

^ thinking about how, more so, hank one calls you honey and sweetheart, hank two calls you pretty and handsome (no matter your gender. handsome, pretty, gorgeous, etc. are all gender neutral in hank twos eyes!) and be the type of guy to ask you what you want to be called, scared of messing something up, hank three who calls you hotstuff and, well, hottie, hank four who calls you sugar and pumpkin.. really anything a little embarrassing, and hank five who calls you lover and honey and sweetheart and baby and (do you get the point im getting at here. he likes pet names alot please spare him)

thinking about the hanks who fucking love cuddling!! they are all over you!! ^_^ i know they give the best fucking hugs ever oh my gosh💔💔

^ thinking about the setup they do when they are cuddling you!! hank one is by your left side, chin gently placed on the junction of your shoulder and neck, basking in your scent with a smile. hank two is (sheepishly) by your right side, fingers hesitantly tangled with your own, leaning into your body comfortably. hank three is between your legs, head placed on your stomach and hands softly braced on either your hips with that stupid shit-eating grin, pressing light kisses over anywhere his pesky lips can reach without moving to much. will relish in the fact your hand is softly carding through his ginger hair, low sighs escaping his throat in contentment. hank four is nuzzled warmly under you, hands overlapping hank threes on your hips and his head dug into your nape with a bright expression, just basking in the warmth, feeling hank ones hand occasionally ruffle his already messy curls. hank five is snuggled up next to hank three, though rather his chin on your stomach, it rests nicely on your thigh, arms wrapped lazily around your leg like a toddler. they aren't doing any funny business, no, but you can't help but feel they all are silently worshipping your body and the comfort carried in the room.

^^ thinking about how barely, if not at all, they switch cuddling positions. they find it unnecessary as their spots were chosen specifically for them, so why change it? if you wish for it to be changed though, they will oblige nonetheless.

thinking about how there is never a truly quiet moment with the hanks. sure, they may have their moments of hushed talking, but it wasn't complete silence. proud believer that hank three and hank four snore too, maybe even hank one but they would be much softer sounding, so even whilst asleep, it isn't silent. they will, and have, chat your ears off, whether it be about their most recent adventure, past adventures, and maybe even some small talk about the dumbest shit. they once had a conversation about what they would eat as their last meal if they were dying, which is honestly not the weirdest thing ever that they've spoken of. be wary at night; the conversations get odder💔

thinking about how if the hanks leave before you wake up (though you usually wake up due to the shifting around, especially from hank four who slumbers under you normally... unless you're a heavy sleeper! if you're a light sleeper, you're cooked), they will leave a sticky note on your pillow. it'll simply state that they have left for work today and that breakfast, usually made by hank five as he is so malewife, is in the microwave as to keep it warm. they let you sleep in if you don't wake up, as they wish not to ruin your beauty sleep. will wake you up eventually though... gotta make sure you're up and healthy, y'know? :3

^ thinking about how the hanks try so hard to resist the urge to stay home and miss their work, but they need that money, so... unfortunately they cannot.

thinking about hank three who genuinely tries convincing you that making out is a sport cause he is a freak. tried paying the others so they could back him up, and it lowkey worked, but you didn't fall for it. paid them money for nothing LMAO. please say you believe him so he will stop nagging you.. plus free makeouts whenever he wants to 'work out'.

lalalalala picks nose here. have drabble:

low whispers were exchanged in the room, talking about gosh knows what. you didn't pay much attention truly, fading in and out of sleep in the warm cuddle pile the five had created around you. it felt comfortable, feeling like a soon-to-be-born butterfly nicely nestled in a cocoon, of which were five hunky himbos.

your fingers flexed slightly, hand held by hank twos loosening. you softly sighed, other hand in hank threes curls almost petting him, which he didn't even seem to mind, as if a cat who purred in utter satisfaction.

"you smell gnarly!" you heard someone say. you didn't really register who completely, eyes fluttered shut, but it was close to your ears so you could only assume that it was hank four. you heard a few murmurs of agreement and you offered a tired, breathy chuckle.

"..thanks, hanks," you respond through a lazy hum.

silence filled the air, if not just for a moment, before cut by the quiet chatter of the hanks once more. it was only really quiet to your right and below you somewhere, which only made you assume hank two was asleep and hank five aswell. hank three was definitely not asleep, not hearing those recognizable snores, and feeling small kisses pressed against the softness of your body. it wasn't lustful, no, but a silent beckoning for you to fall into dream land, and it was working.

listening to the little talking passed among your boyfriends, the nice warmth of their bodies against your own, you felt yourself slowly lulled to sleep. your hand in hank threes hair eventually stopped its motion, sloppily falling off his head to rest somewhere near. slipping into sleep amongst the comfort of the hanks, you heard a few goodnights, but you couldn't get anything back out, finally resting.

all credits to silentaffirmations on tumblr. everything made by me. do not reupload, feed to 🤖, take as your own, etc.

[g00d--m0urning]

Final Destination: Your House (CH. 6)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie? Volt?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[e1e4n0r5]

Got a Lil Sugar: Chapter 2

Masterlist, Chapter 1

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Sugar Mommies Cait & Vi x Sugar Baby Reader

Words: 3051

Synopsis: Your first few weeks in your new 'business venture', and you learn it's not as easy as it looks

Warnings: Financial distress, sex work, creeps on the internet, lesbian reader has to flirt with men, degradation on reader

You sat cross-legged on your bed, the glow of your phone screen casting long shadows in the cramped little room. You scrolled through the app’s inbox, your fingers hesitating over each message.

Show me your tits and I’ll make it rain 💵💵💵

Bet you’re a dirty little slut in real life too. $20 for some pussy?

Why would I pay you? I can get better for free on PornSite lmao.

You flinched at that last one. Your stomach twisted with something sour; shame or anger or both. The same hands that were paying your rent were slapping you in the face.

Still, you opened a different thread from earlier that day: a polite, if bland, man had sent $50 for a voice note. “Just moan for me, baby.” You’d locked yourself in a private bathroom at work and recorded yourself whispering fake, breathy moans into your phone mic, cheeks blazing hot, stomach twisting.

It felt gross. But the $50 had already been sent to your account.

Thankfully you’d made this month’s rent, but now you had to work towards the higher amount.

When the next message popped up, your stomach dropped:

Bet you swallow. $25 if you say you do. $50 if you prove it.

You tossed the phone down and buried your face in your hands.

Mel slid into the seat across from you, immaculate as always. You tried to smile, but it felt like your lips didn’t quite get there.

“You look like hell,” Mel teased gently, though her eyes softened. “What’s going on?”

You stared into your latte. “I don’t know if I can do this, Mel. People are just…So mean. And disgusting. Like, I get what this job is, I knew it wasn’t going to be sweet old ladies sending me flowers every day, but…”

You trailed off, and Mel reached over, touching your hand.

“But it feels worse when you actually read it?” Mel finished for you.

You nodded, the words catching in your throat. “I feel gross. But then I look at my bank account, and my spreadsheet…”

“And you need to keep going,” Mel said softly.

You winced. “That’s the worst part.”

Mel squeezed your hand. “Angel, this is just part of the job. When these people are online, they feel entitled to say anything they want. You decide if their money is worth the words. That’s the power you have. You can block them, ignore them, or keep their cash and laugh all the way to the bank. But don’t let it get under your skin. They’re not real and they’re not worth it.”

You managed a faint smile. “You make it sound easy.”

Mel smirked and sat back. “Oh darling, it’s not easy. But you get tougher, and once you sort the wheat from the chaff, it’ll get easier.”

That Friday night, your tiny apartment was quiet except for the low thump of music coming from a little wireless speaker Mel had gifted you (one of her Daddies had bought her a new one). You stood in the middle of your living room/kitchen in nothing but a matching blue bra and panties set, barefoot, with a bottle of all-purpose cleaner in one hand and your phone set up on a tripod on your table.

The app chimed as you went live.

Hearts and usernames immediately flooded the screen:

There she is

Oh fuck, that set looks good on you.

Goddamn, baby, look at those thighs! Spin for us

Lmfao, her place is such a dump tho

You forced a smile, waving to the camera. “Hi, everyone,” you said brightly, even though your stomach knotted at the last comment. “You’re just in time to help me clean up a little. Let’s have a nice night, okay?”

The chat exploded:

Only if you bend over nice and slow while you dust

I’ll send $5 every time you bend over

Money pinged in as you turned on the music a little louder and started moving around the room.

You’d swept earlier, but you made a show of bending down, slowly wiping the coffee table, arching your back as you reached across it. You kept one ear tuned to the phone: when someone donated $10 and asked you to clean the mirror next – “so we can see those girls jiggle!” – you obeyed, trying to laugh through your discomfort and blowing them a kiss.

The donations kept coming. $50 here. Another $10. Someone sent $20 just to ask you to put your hair up while you worked, which you did with a little twist a clip, strands falling loose around your face.

But the mean ones kept coming too.

You really think you’re hot enough to pull this off?

This chick has no idea what real sugar babies look like lol

Bet her whole place still stinks after this

Your smile stayed fixed. You kept dusting, swaying a little to the beat of the music as you tried to distance yourself from what you were doing, even though your cheeks were burning now and your hands were getting clammy.

You did another spin, slower this time, gently swaying your hips. The cash kept chiming.

By the time you finally signed off, blowing one last kiss to the camera, waving goodnight, you’d made almost $400.

You let yourself sag against the couch when the stream ended, staring at the quiet little room.

Your phone buzzed. A text from Mel:

You did amazing. The mean ones only talk because they’re jealous. You looked gorgeous. Cash out, get some food, and don’t even think about it. You’re working smart.

You smiled faintly and texted back a simple:

Thanks Mel ❤️

You closed the app, pulled on a hoodie, and padded into the kitchen.

The apartment felt dirtier somehow.

Lying in bed, you scrolled again through the inbox. The names blurred together, but you were starting to recognise some.

You saw the same patterns:

You’re a whore, but at least you’re honest about it. Here’s $30, write it on your forehead

$20 for butt without panties

$50 if you bark like a dog

Your bank account was a little healthier. But your heart felt emptier.

Still, you stripped off your sweater, fixed your hair, and completed the requests. You typed out the standard response – Thanks for the tip, enjoy! – and sent them before you could think too hard.

You leant back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The money was helping. But at what cost?

The fluorescent lights of the adult store were somehow harsher than you expected. You kept your head down as the door chimed behind you. The place was quiet – a slow weekday early evening – but even so, you felt the cashier’s eyes follow you as you walked in.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Are you live yet? Mel’s text read.

You swallowed and typed back: Starting now

You opened the app, angled your phone, and hit “Go Live.”

At once the screen filled with little hearts and usernames popping up, numbers climbing higher as more people tuned in. You forced a smile.

“Hey, everyone,” you said, your voice a little shaky as you whispered. “You’re coming shopping with me today.”

About time you gave us some real content, baby

Turn the camera lower, what’s the point if we can’t see those tits?

$10 if you ask the cashier where the freakiest toys are

The chat was a flood – some cruel, some eager, some offering cash in the form of little digital donations that chimed as they landed.

You inhaled through your nose, forced yourself to keep your chin up, and started walking down the nearest aisle.

Shelves gleamed with glass, leather, and silicone in every colour imaginable. You held your phone out at arm’s length, tilting it down just enough to show your breasts in your push-up bra, and your hips as you walked – like they wanted.

Another donation popped up: $20 if you pick up the biggest one you see and show us how it looks in your hand.

Your stomach turned, but you found a scarily wide dildo the length of your forearm, holding it up to the camera with a little nervous laugh.

The chime of money kept coming. $5 here, $10 there.

Someone sent $50 just to tell you to blow a kiss to the camera. You did, cheeks warming, but at least you didn’t have to say anything gross for that one.

As you walked down an aisle, an employee restocking various lubes, a bored-looking man in his 40s, sneered slightly as you passed him. “You gonna buy something with all that attention you’re whoring out for, or just waste everyone’s time?”

Your smile froze, your stomach plummeting. You didn’t stop walking.

The chat, oblivious, continued scrolling:

$15 if you ask him what he thinks would feel best in you

Ignore him, baby girl, just keep shopping

You ignored the man and ducked into another aisle, exhaling shakily once he was out of sight.

$25 sent – get a vibrating plug!

Chime. Chime.

You picked up a slim, vibrating plug, holding it up to the camera with fingers that didn’t quite tremble anymore. Then you picked out a sleek black realistic vibrator.

The donations rolled in.

By the time you left the store, a plain brown bag in hand and what felt like the last of your dignity abandoned, you’d made almost $500 in under an hour.

Your phone buzzed again as you stepped outside. It was Mel:

I knew you could do it, I’m proud of you. Go home, take a bath, and don’t read the chat replay. Just cash the money and move on.

You let yourself smile, just a little, and tucked your phone into your pocket.

You sat in a corner on your break, tucked away in the breakroom with your phone close to your chest.

The message notifications kept lighting up the screen.

Why don’t you just come over and fuck for free like the whore you are?

$25 if you call yourself a stupid slut on video

$10 sent – send pic with ur tongue out like a good little cumdump

Your hands shook as you deleted the first message without responding. But the second and third…You couldn’t quite bring yourself to ignore them completely.

You needed the money.

With the breakroom empty, you opened your camera app, made yourself look soft and willing, stuck out your tongue and snapped a photo. The words you typed to go with it made your stomach knot: Hope Daddy likes it

Another $25 came through: open your mouth wider this time slut

You shoved the phone back in your bag and pressed your palms to your eyes.

Your stomach turned.

But your next rent was coming up.

The next afternoon, you sat across from Mel in a little café, nursing a coffee.

“You’re quiet,” Mel said after a few minutes.

You chewed on your lip. “I blocked eight people yesterday. But I still I sent feet pics to two others. Got another $120.”

Mel nodded slowly, letting you talk.

“And this one guy just messaged me to tell me I wasn’t worth it. Not even money attached. He just said it. And I…” You trailed off, looking down at your hands. “I feel so dirty, Mel. Like I’m playing along because I need the cash but then afterwards I just feel gross.”

Mel reached across and rested her perfectly manicured hand over yours. “That happens to everyone, baby girl,” she said softly.

You blinked. “Everyone?”

Mel smirked, just a little. “Oh yeah. First few weeks are always the worst. You’re learning who to block, who to humour, what you’re okay with. It’s like building calluses. At first everything hurts. But then you figure out what you can handle.”

You swallowed hard. “It just feels like I’m letting them talk to me like I’m nothing. Like I am what they say.”

Mel shook her head firmly. “You’re not. You’re playing a part. They don’t even know you. They’re buying your time. Not your soul. Don’t you forget it.”

You let out a shaky breath.

Mel gave your hand another squeeze. “Block the ones who cross the line. Laugh at the ones who think they can tear you down for free. And cash the cheques, sweetheart. You need this; you don’t need them.”

You sat at the back of the bus, earphones in, a blank look on your face as you scrolled through your inbox.

$40 sent – Show me what your tits look like squeezed together

$75 sent – can you sit on your bathroom counter and spread for me? Another $100 for one without panties!

$50 sent – Baby girl, Mommy wants to hear you moan again. Same rate?

You tapped “accept” on all three. Not even a pause.

When you got home, you didn’t even take your shoes off before dropping your bag, propping your phone against a mug, and peeling off your shirt.

One.

Then two.

Then three.

Send.

You barely looked at your own face in the screen anymore.

Mel eyed you next to her on the park bench. “You’re getting colder,” she remarked, swirling her mocha.

You stared into your own cup. “Easier this way. I don’t feel as much anymore.”

“That’s normal. You’ve already got thicker skin than most girls get in six months,” Mel said, a note of sad pride in her voice.

You gave her a weak smile. “That’s good, right?”

Mel tilted her head. “Good, but dangerous too. Don’t let yourself forget that you’re a person under all that armour. Take a night off if you need to. Block the really nasty ones even if they wave cash at you.”

You knew that wasn't an option for you, but you nodded anyway. “Aren’t there girls who do, like, humiliation stuff? Should I do that?”

Mel shook her head furiously. “Angel, that’s not you. It takes a certain type of person to able to swallow that shit from strangers online all day. Don’t do that to yourself. You’ve got to protect this and this,” she said, tapping your chest lightly then your head.

“But if-?”

Mel shocked you by holding your face, squishing your cheeks a little, and turning your head to look at her. She frowned seriously. “Darling, I will hack your bank account and put money in it myself if I have to. You are not doing that.”

Two nights later, you set up your phone in your bedroom.

This time, you wanted the lighting to be softer, the mood to feel less like a desperate cleaning show and something closer to what you thought this was supposed to be.

You lit a candle on your nightstand, dimmed the lamp, and set the phone on a tripod at the foot of the bed. You wore a silky pale blue robe and matching underwear set underneath, your hair down this time.

Mel had texted you beforehand:

Don’t push yourself too far. You’re in control, not them. End it when you want to.

The words echoed in your mind when you hit the little red “Go Live” button.

The chat was already waiting.

Ohhh she’s in bed tonight??

Holy shit look at her!

Bout time you did something sexy instead of dusting lol

You forced a coy little smile and settled onto the edge of the bed, crossing your legs.

“Hi,” you murmured. “Be nice to me tonight, okay? I’m feeling soft.”

The money started to roll in as you played with the tie of your robe.

$10 here. $25 there. A $50 tip just for lying on your stomach and kicking your legs up behind you.

You swayed to the faint music playing from your speaker, occasionally glancing shyly at the chat.

And then it came.

$200 sent –Fucking take it off already. Stop pretending and just show us something worth looking at

Your hands froze where they’d been smoothing down your robe.

$200.

It sat there in your tip jar on the screen like a challenge. The message stung.

But the numbers on your debt spreadsheet were still there.

You swallowed. Then, slowly, without looking directly at the camera, you slipped the robe fully off your shoulders. The silky fabric pooled behind you. You could feel your cheeks burning already as you sat there in just your bra and panties.

The chat went wild.

Finally!

Holy fuck I love your body

Knew she’d cave. Look at her blush, pretending to be all sweet and innocent

You sat up straighter, acting like you hadn’t read the cruel words. But then your fingers hooked into the strap of your bra.

One side slipped off. Then the other.

And just like that, you unhooked it, pulling it away and dropping it out of frame.

Your breath caught in your chest when you saw yourself on the screen – bare now, arms folded just enough to be modest but still letting them see what they’d paid for.

The chat absolutely exploded. The tip jar chimed again and again, numbers climbing.

You forced a little smile, fluffing up your hair as though nothing had changed.

“Hope that’s worth it,” you murmured softly into the mic, your voice as sweet as you could make it, even though your throat felt tight.

You kept going for another ten minutes, just playing with your hair, lying on your back, chatting lazily with the viewers while the tips trickled in.

When you finally signed off and the screen went dark, you pulled your robe back on, tied it tight, and sat cross-legged on the bed in silence for a moment.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Mel.

I’m really proud of you, angel. Don’t let the assholes get to you. You did great.

You stared at the screen, then typed back: Thanks. Made $700. I feel weird now

That’s normal, you're okay. Take a bath, angel. Be kind to yourself.

You put your phone down on the bed, rubbing your temples as you tried to settle yourself down.

Your phone buzzed again with another message request, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at it. You'd have a bath, eat some food, and get an early night.

If you had looked at your phone, you would have seen the names...

Caitlyn & Violet

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup, @niceminipotato, @fruitfulfashion, @dut1fuldyk3, @youngtastemakerfart, @trinityobsessesovatings, @barmaideneeveewrites, @c1sne, @geminideathrose, @nuianced-tck-enby, @all-things-lilac, @m0ss-gremlin, @notkyleelol, @girlsatourbest, @rainfalls77, @vinvinvin-who, @ispendwaytolongonhere, @lavendercassie54321

[eureka-its-zico]

Residuals Pt. 7.5

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok, the slowest of the burns because we gotta work for it, ok? 😘

A/N: Originally, I was just going to make this chapter a big beefy boy, like always, but I figured I would break episode 5 up into two parts mostly because y’all have been patiently waiting for an update and this chapters a bit…emotionally heavy (honestly, when isn’t this whole series and show NOT emotionally heavy???) But Jake makes an appearance in the next part, and so does a certain Irish officer who comes back to make his big debut return lol, and the side plotting gets plotting, so... I give you this small piece of heartbreak lol. Also, words cannot express how eternally grateful I am for all the continued support, love, and kindness you’ve all shown me and this fic. It means the world. Much Love, Jenn

P.s. thank you to @viridian-dagger for her continuous trust in letting me use and mention her character in this chapter and the next from her Abbot fic🖤

Warnings: Mentions of death, language, infant death, mentions of abuse, ptsd, mild sexual content (under eighteen do not enter)

Words: 6.9+

Previous I Next

11:00 AM - 12:00 PM

For the second time that morning, you found your sanctuary outside amongst potted generic flowers of vibrant violets and orange hues, shaded beneath the hangar of the ambulance bay. 

It wasn’t quiet or oozing with serenity - you weren’t sure you’d survive if it was. The sounds of sirens rang out in the distance, foreshadowing the next ambulance coming with another patient. Someone new. Someone in need of the help that - what sometimes felt like only you - could give. You’d sworn an oath to be that doctor who saved lives and, damn it all, you wanted to be the superhero doctor you imagined you could be back in med school. Swooping in at their patients’ bedside to administer comfort and knowledge of the body through science, with a compassion to heal a broken spirit and an aching heart. 

Sometimes, it was easy for doctors to forget about the patient's minds until a CT came back with something worrisome. They could forget that outside of the body, it was the place where the chokehold of fear and worry took root and gripped patients the moment they came inside these walls. They didn’t need their doctor to be their friend, but they did need comfort of a different sort. 

Robby was good at that - being both doctor and caregiver. 

These patients needed you, and you could be what they needed, an unmovable force to read test results, fix broken bones, and treat life-threatening wounds. All of it was easy because it relies on science and medicine to get you through the day. Of course, it was never just science and medicine that people needed, and you were never able to be that clinical. Robotic or detached. You wanted to give them all the comfort and care that you could muster because when it was you, not so long ago, what saved you wasn’t robotic tones and clinical explanations that felt cold and sterile. You’d been given compassion and empathy. 

The delivery doctor, sitting in a chair beside the bed, her hand clutched with yours, as she explained in soft tones what happened and how they tried to resuscitate him, did all they could - and it wasn’t enough. 

How none of it was your fault. 

“Would you like to hold him?”

Pushing the memory away, you moved to press your back against the prickly texture of the Pittsburgh Trauma Center, applying more and more pressure until you felt the sharp edges begin to puncture the soft fabric of your scrubs. 

You thought over your options, as if you truly had so many, where you could go back inside and play the role of a well-adjusted doctor, because you were a doctor, a fucking good one, but inevitably human. Full of flaws, hopes, and shattered dreams: so painfully human in this moment and broken and right now…right now you couldn’t even help yourself. 

Your eyes closed at the next onslaught of intrusive thoughts that clamored into your head. Each one taking its time in demanding your attention, just so you knew they were there. 

You shouldn’t be doing this - allowing your insecurities and their friends to create a chaotic house party in your mind. You had a patient literally waiting for you back in a room, frightened and on the verge of running, and a mother who was on her way, praying for a miracle. A miracle that you and the team had been unable to perform. 

It was now your turn to prepare to sit beside a grieving mother. To rest your hand on top of hers and explain that none of this was her fault, and how you did everything you could.

“We’ve done everything we can. I’m sorry. Would you like to hold him?”

Blindly, your face fell into the palms of your hands. You were still debating whether you were going to shout into them in hopes of muffling your growing frustration at the haunting memory. Or maybe just scrub at your skin in hopes it would flake off the fresh set of bags under your eyes from all this fresh hell of mental trauma, The Pitt was bringing you. 

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

“You doing alright out here?”

It didn’t surprise you when you dropped your hands from your face, eyes now wide open, to find Robby standing a few inches from you. His shoulder was leaning against the small space of the wall you’d left open. The ray of sunlight that escaped through the trees leaves casting a halo effect in his hair. 

It wasn’t surprising to find Robby checking on you. He was the shift attending. It was his duty to make sure all of his staff were okay after events, and sent to Kiara if they weren’t. Robby was also a good man with a big heart. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m great.”

You tried to muster a convincing smile. It failed right at takeoff since it couldn’t successfully raise your lips from the sullen frown they were stuck in. Because of this, it earned you a reprimanding head tilt to match the disbelief in his eyes. 

“You’ve never been a good liar.”

“That’s because lying’s for—“

“For assholes. I know,” he smirked as he finished the sentence with you. 

Silence wedged itself between the two of you. It wasn’t claustrophobic or demanded to be filled with aimless small talk. Small talk could never be a simple thing between either of you, anyway. There was too much history, too much knowing, held captive between you. Both of you are unable to tear your eyes away from the other, although a part of you wishes one of you would break. 

It was Robby who tore his gaze away first. His vision fell briefly to the space between you before his attention was fully back on you. His shoulder still pressed against the wall with his hands now tucked inside his hoodie.

“Did you want me to talk to the mom when she gets here?”

Of course, Robby would offer to do it - to take the responsibility of being the bearer of the worst news imaginable. You gave the briefest shake of your head. Enough to help turn your head towards the alcove of the ambulance bay and its subdued colors as you cleared your throat. 

“No. You have enough on your plate. I don’t want to add to it.”

“Come on. My plate will always be full here, but there will always be room for you – to help you,” Robby stammered over the last words.

It was a rush to correct. A rush to pretend that he hadn’t meant exactly what he said. Robby would make time for you even against his better judgment, even when he should hate you. 

You were sure the gesture was meant to be professional, simple. Attendings usually took over for their residents, doctors, and nurses working under them; if a patient asked a question they didn’t feel comfortable answering. If a major life-altering event left them unable to process the event - shock, adrenaline crash, or just plain grief – it made them not able to speak coherent sentences. 

But your stupid pride didn’t take it as Robby giving a simple, kind gesture. Instead, you took it as an inability to do your job and the glaringly fucking loud observation that you couldn’t talk to the mother because you’d been a mother for a life-shattering day. As a doctor, you were supposed to be able to put aside personal thoughts, feelings, or whatever baggage you carried around outside these trauma doors. 

It’s what you should’ve been able to do, no matter who the patient was or could be. You should be able to suppress any emotional instabilities of the sorrow that now rested in the marrow of your bones. A grief so easily reignited, it burned down every carefully reconstructed fragment of who you were trying to be. 

Robby saw it inside trauma one, clocking the shift in mood and movement. Who knew you better than him? The question was easily answered, looking up into eyes that roamed the edges of your face, calculating every shift and change because he knew you. 

Because deep down, you know he still loves you. 

And you didn’t understand why that thought angered you as much as it did. Realistically, you knew there wasn’t any reason you should lash out. Robby wanted to be there to help. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be out here. You need to be civil, grateful – he could notice you had to get out of that room before you broke down all over again. 

“Huh, imagine that,” the words ground out through your teeth. “Quite a change of tone from the hostility earlier.”

You swore you were trying to tease him – the words were meant to be light, something to ease the mood and the tension that was always below the damn surface between you two. Instead of softness, you’d trampled through his attempt at mending the fractured space between you. Each of you yelling from atop your hill, just like before, demanding to be heard without being seen. His kindness was met with a bleak air that sent his head shaking and a hand shooting up to grip the back of his neck in irritation.

You were close to asking him if the migraines still made his neck stiff, but stopped cold as his gaze homed in on you.

“I’m trying to give you an olive branch here.”

‘I’m trying to help,’ the unsaid words lingering under the surface. The irritation began to etch into the crease of his eyes, the indent between his brow. His guard drew back up in a matter of seconds, all because you were ashamed to admit you did want him to talk to the baby’s mother. 

You didn’t want him to think less of you for agreeing to give the responsibility over. It felt too much like pawning off a discomfort that was yours to bear - that you weren’t capable of doing it. 

You shook the thought away because it was a damn idiotic thought. You knew Robby didn’t think that – wouldn’t think that. You inhaled deeply and replied in the same breath as your exhale, “I know.” 

You tore your gaze away, pressing your back against the wall just to feel the small sting of the jagged texture. 

“I know,” you repeated, softer this time, allowing your guard to crack in small amounts. “You’re already dealing with grieving parents and children saying goodbye to their father, Robby. Who knows what else might come through these doors today? You don’t need to add another one to the load you’re already carrying. Not when I’m here.”

The funny thing about dealing with other people in the throes of your own grief – it had a way of clawing it out of the grave it’d been buried in. It happened already outside Mr. Spencer’s room, where his children sat diligently by his side. It was a mixture of that room that held the echo of Adamson and his final moments, which no doubt triggered Robby’s own avalanche of unresolved grief.

The funny thing about grief, it could play the long game. Its patience was limitless, while it allowed you to run around putting up blockades to keep it out. You could never keep it out for long, no matter how hard anyone tried, and when it finally collapsed, it left you floundering for solid ground. 

It’s what happened to Robby in the bathroom. You weren’t sure what broke him, but when you’d come barreling through the door, it wasn’t because Robby missed you that he’d anchored himself to you. He’d simply been a man drowning in all he’d tried to suppress, and you’d been the safest place for him to find harbor in the storm. 

“You’re right. It can be a lot on days like today. I can handle it. What I saw in there with you—”

You hated the soft hush in his tone. The caution on whether or not it was safe to mention him. Your eyes closed in a weak attempt to shut the world out around you as your heart slammed against your ribs. A part of you wanted to hear him say his name – to acknowledge him and his importance over Adamson. You’d loved Adamson just as much as Robby. Without question, you loved your son more. 

It wasn’t fair. 

“It caught me off guard, Robby, that's all.”

“A lot of things are going to catch you off guard down here. It’s our job to be able to deal with it because if we can’t, it’s going to crush you and just keep going.”

“Is that what you call having a panic attack in the bathroom, Robby? Dealing with it?”

Fuck. 

It irritated you that he talked to you like one of his med students. As if he forgot you’d spent years down in this pit with him. The words came out molten and unforgiving. Say his name! You were looking back at him now and hated the way your eyes stung. The way old wounds opened up and corroded the present just like it was two years ago, with nothing resolved, because it wasn’t. 

A dry laugh rushed past his lips. This time, it was his turn to look away from you. His whole body ejecting away from you, the few feet of closeness he dared since the bathroom fiasco. You both couldn’t be civil when you stood in a cemetery of unresolved issues. 

It’s what happens when you bury grief. It poisons everything you love and turns it bitter. 

“Wow.”

He muttered the word softly enough that you strained to hear it. At first, you weren’t sure you had heard anything before he turned to face you, and all the delicate good faith that’d sent him out here to check on you was gone. The old feeling of fight or flight sent your adrenaline into overdrive, your back going rigged to prepare for a carousel of a battle you’d long removed yourself from.

“When did we get like this?” 

The question stunned you and left you blinking stupidly at him. The lead up of adrenaline for a possible fight screeching to a halt. 

“What?”

Queen of witty comebacks. That was you. 

Robby came to stand beside you. His back against the wall, but his gaze trained forward. 

“We used to talk about anything – everything. We didn’t hold back details; if it was about your day, mine, or just shit that happened. We didn’t have arguments - we called them discussions. Remember that? We had this life together, and it was crazy and beautiful, and it was ours. We used to fucking talk. When did we replace it with silence-with hostility?”

Robby looked at you then. His eyes hopelessly watching for any sign that you held the answer to the downfall of your relationship. Or maybe, just maybe, he was hoping you magically held the answer on a way to salvage something from the wreckage. 

You wanted to tell him he already knew the moments, small and big, that had accumulated since the pandemic. One loss that shut him off to the world, followed by a shared experience of overwhelming sorrow neither of you saw coming. Robby was right. You both used to talk; if a disagreement occurred, the two of you discussed the issue. It wasn’t until after the pandemic, a year in a half later, the loss of Noah, that discussions became arguments. 

The two of you talking, but never listening; saying everything and nothing all at once. If either of you had been honest instead of denying the loss, things might’ve been different. 

"Truthfully?” You replied, voice apprehensive. “I think we knew once we spoke the truth out loud, it could never be taken back. It’s different if we see and know the saddest, deepest parts of ourselves, but...saying it out loud? That's different. We become vulnerable when telling another living soul. It makes it real, and we can't hide from it anymore. We kept those things from each other at the end, Robby – the sadness, all the loss gave us. We just kept trying to package it all down, and look where that got us.”

Silence crept between you as Robby considered your words. His arms moved to cross against his stomach, chin tucked down at his chest, and body slouched beside you. 

It was stupid to be having this conversation at work. In the damn ambulance bay of all places. It didn’t offer the illusion of privacy, which felt like this conversation needed. You shouldn’t be worried; you wanted to remind yourself. Either one or both of you would end it before it got too deep. Always too afraid to ask the lingering questions, leaving everything unresolved. 

The sounds of the city rushed back to swallow up the silence. It swelled around in motor exhaust, car horns, and muffled sounds of shouting. It should’ve felt closer, but with Robby standing close beside you, it all began to fade into the background of the bubble Robby and you were creating. 

“I haven’t changed anything.” 

The timber of his voice jolted you out of your thoughts and forced you to look at him. Your confusion tightening up your brow to form the question you couldn’t say. 

“Noah’s room. All the furniture and clothes are still in there. I can’t bring myself to step inside his room and remove him even after all this time.” Robby looked at you, and your heart plummeted into your stomach. Your mouth forming around a singular word: Don’t, but unable to speak. “I know you left, but – but I tell myself if I clean out his room, then the life we had, everything about it will just be gone.”

“Robby—” you tried to cut him off, but he spoke over you. Robby was determined to say what he needed and nothing, not even tears or a helpless breath of please would stop him. 

“I realized I’m not ready to let go just yet.”

Your eyes shifted around his face, trying to read and decipher every angle of it for a chance of deception. This felt like a sick joke from the universe that now, fucking now, of all times of waiting for him to open up about practically anything, Robby chose to do it now. Now, at the beginning of a shift you never wanted and were practically strong-armed into taking. 

If you were both supposed to begin sharing truths so freely, what did he expect you to start sharing? It was too personal; none of it felt acceptable to say in an ambulance bay outside the automatic doors of a trauma center. 

Yet, you wanted to tell him everything and nothing all at the same time. All those years spent missing him and trying to replace him, but how do you move on from someone who felt like your heart in human form? The answer was simple. You didn’t. 

Hearing Robby say Noah’s name out loud for the first time in almost three years was a huge step. For so long, he wouldn’t acknowledge Noah or Adamson in conversations. If anyone asked him, he shut down with either deflection or anger to the point that people were scared to bring it up. Except Dana, she wasn’t scared, and Jack was respectful enough not to push. 

Today. Right now, at this very moment, Robby was facing you and for the first time spoke your son’s name. Noah’s room and the crib his father built him still occupied the space that the two of you spent months building for him. 

No. You didn’t know what to say. You could only feel your heart swell with love before grief came to burst it into a thousand pieces. Robby carefully considered you while he took a cautious step towards you. His body converged into your space until it forced your eyes to train on him, with nowhere to run. 

“I have one more truth I’m willing to share, and one you’re not ready to hear but…” Robby turned away from you. The split second of broken connection was enough to give him the strength to say whatever truth lay buried in his chest. 

When he looked back at you, you felt every bit of the crushing weight of the depth of his sadness those brown eyes held. Your mind etched into memory the way his shoulders slowly moved inward, guarded and broken. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, only making the collapse glaringly loud. 

But Robby and you never used to hide anything from one another. You didn’t, until you did, and now you weren’t sure if there would ever be a way back from all the secrets you’d both kept, or if you were ready for the honesty that awaited either of you. 

“It took a long time to admit this after you left. I wanted to hate you. It would’ve been easier; made this realization easier to swallow, but…I will love you for the rest of my life.” The sincerity in his words – the break that clipped in the way he spoke your name with what felt like a lifetime of emotion reflected in his eyes that used to look at you with such warmth. Now, all you could see was a man standing in front of you. The weight of losing everything he cared for was crushing down on him. “And sometimes, I think, what an odd thing to feel when I know you wouldn’t be here for any of it.”

A breath of a moment stretched into an infinite loop as your breath became trapped and screaming in your lungs. While your heart constricted against your ribs, your hands shaking from the strain, struggling against the urge to reach out and touch his face in comfort like you used to. You could feel the phantom weight of his cheek resting in the safety of your palm. The tip of his nose grazed across your wrist before he turned to plant a kiss there.

“I can’t unlove you, and the truth is I don’t want to.” He shrugged into the words, his body caving further inwards with his hands tugging inside his hoodie’s pockets. “The truth is, I miss you every moment of every day. I wake up and, I don’t know if it’s because you’re it, you’re my person,  that I’m always searching for you in everyone else I meet. Or if I’m scared, I’ll wake up and realize I’m starting to forget what your favorite flower was or how you specifically needed the towels to be folded. I love and miss you in equal measure, and I know…I know we broke one another, but I have to believe that we can come back from this, because I can’t imagine living the rest of this life without knowing you’re in it.”

There wasn’t a way to hide the shaking your body produced, even though you attempted to stifle it. Your arms crossed, uncrossed, or fidgeting with your hands, and placing them inside the pockets of your scrubs. Nothing kept out the urge to rush over to him and throw yourself against him. 

“Robby,” you cautioned, “It’s not that simple.”

It wasn’t. Ignoring the cracks in the foundation didn’t stop them from getting any bigger. Pretty words could never be enough to keep it from collapsing, leaving every weak attempt at patching it up exposed. Words were easiest to say when they weren’t having to be followed by action. 

His teeth drew his lip into his mouth, while his eyes darted away from you for the first time since he spoke. 

“I know. I know,” he replied sadly. 

A part of you wondered if spilling your own confession would make the situation worse. You couldn’t leave him out here to wonder if you loved him less - if you moved on completely. You hadn’t. You couldn’t, but maybe telling him that would only make things worse. 

What are we pretending to be here?

It was the real question that ached to be asked, sitting at the back of your throat. It scratched like a cough and begged to be released. It felt honest - an important question that deserved an equally honest answer because, what the fuck was happening? He should hate you. Robby had every right to hate you, and you should’ve both moved on with your lives instead of being here, burning in the purgatory of longing, but…he didn’t. You didn’t. 

So, you did the awkward thing and tried to lighten the mood with all the grace of a car crash. 

“You know,” you began numbly, feeling the wrongness of the words as they formed in your mouth, “I came out here to escape from the trauma inside, not to have more trauma dumped on me.”

You attempted to drown the words in laughter. A quiet huff was all you could muster past your lips; past arms that constricted around your body in a protective layer to stop you from reaching out to him. By the soft smile that upturned his lips and the sorrow that hollowed out his eyes, you knew the mirth you’d tried to build was extinguished the minute it passed through your lips. 

At some point, as you listened to his confession, you felt yours rising in your throat. How many nights have you spent curled in bed facing what used to be Robby’s side of the bed?. Everything inside your house is still foreign, and the missing pieces of him are scattered throughout the home - his glasses sitting on the bathroom or kitchen counters or resting between his fingers in a hand that rested on the soft rise of his sleeping chest. 

It had taken the full two years for you to relearn how to comfortably sleep alone, and yet, you could still feel the ghost of an ache to feel the warmth of his hand snaking around your middle to pull you close. The graze of his lips that trailed butterfly kisses along your shoulder. 

Movies made it seem so easy to start again – pick up right where you left off with the one you love as if no time had passed. As if all the reasons that made you leave, the distance, the avoidance, and the pent-up anger in the first place, magically became a nightmare you’d woken up from. 

No. Unless you could both heal properly, be honest for once about the last few months outside of small confessions in offer of complacency, old demons would always open new wounds. 

It was that realization that left your eyes stinging; losing a battle to keep it all locked up, keep it locked up tight so no one sees you breaking, when the first tear escaped through your lashes and exposed what you couldn’t say. You didn’t need to tell Robby this - the denial of his request was written plainly in your silence, in the way you shattered. He’d seen you broken so many different times, in different ways, that he could read what you struggled to say, mouth gaping like a water-starved fish, and angry hands wiping furiously at your face. 

You didn’t want to watch him break - his own hand scrubbing at his face – but you couldn’t look away. If you were honest, you could’ve told him the silent “No” wasn’t absolute. Shit, it barely held any weight at all because every fiber of your being screamed for you to open your fucking mouth and just tell him  - TELL HIM that this wasn’t no. It was never again. It was a plea to fix things because you knew if you couldn’t do that, the second time around, when you broke one another, no one would survive. 

You opened your mouth to tell him – to stop being such a fucking coward – when the sudden smack of a palm on concrete left you jumping half way out of your skin. 

“Robby, we need you back inside.”

Langdon. Of course, it was always Langdon with his shitty timing. 

Robby didn’t respond right away. He watched you, waited for you, allowing you a few more minutes to attempt to say the words that were left lodged like a traffic jam inside your airway. When nothing came, he hung his head for a brief second before he looked back up. Robby gave one last glance in your direction before his eyes shifted over his shoulder to a waiting Langdon. 

“Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t look at you again as he passed you to head back inside. You gave yourself a few extra minutes to clean yourself up before heading behind the pair and back inside the madness that was The Pitt. 

Robby followed blindly behind Langdon into the room, which was in the midst of chaos. The nurses moved in a synchronized frenzy around the room to start an IV to allow Santos to push in what appeared to be another four of lorazepam, which, from what Robby could catch, was opening up the debate of whether to press Keppra or intubate. 

It was mechanical the way he moved around the room with his body drifting out of the way and back in with the frantic tide that crashed around the island of the gurney. The way Robby found himself asking questions about the length of the seizure, his ears straining to register the response from Santos as she broke down the time and medication given. It was a dance Robby knew all the steps to. For that, he was grateful, because his body was here in this trauma room, but his mind was still outside with you. 

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid! 

The word pinballed around his head with a frenzied velocity. In a brief moment of madness, of weakness (it’s all he could call it), Robby caved into the wild thought that if he exposed just enough of the sorrow his demons fed on, it would be enough. He allowed himself to hope that maybe the kiss inside that bathroom rekindled something for you, too; Robby knew he could be crazy, but he wasn’t delusional. 

You’d kissed him back. 

Or fuck, maybe he was fucking delusional. Maybe he’d been too honest not just with you, but with himself. For a long time, Robby told himself he did hate you. He hated you for coming home to a house so devoid of your presence; he wondered if he’d made you up. A coma patient locked inside a fog-induced dream where his life was good, whole, and burst into a constellation of moments that filled that life with purpose. 

A life scattered with moments of you. 

He hated you because after he frantically searched every room in the house - every room except that one, because Robby knew he’d never find you there, never there - he’d shattered. His knees hinging forward to make contact with the hardwood at the top of the staircase, and he tried to remember how his lungs were supposed to work. 

Robby could say he hated you for everything that came after, but what he hated most was how he didn’t hate you. Not even a little bit. What tore at him - this hatred he built - was born from the grief of loss. First, Adamson, then his son, and now you. 

What had he done in life to earn so much loss? Was he a bad son? Had he not been enough? Did he fail too many people in his life - fail his patients? Did he not care enough? Give enough? What had he done to make everything - everyone - he ever fucking cared about decide he wasn’t enough to fight for?

No, Robby couldn’t hate you. It might’ve been easier, simpler to do it, but it wouldn’t be fair. He hated himself the most because with every waking hour since he’d come home to an empty life, Robby wondered what he could’ve done differently so that you would’ve stayed. 

Robby came back to the present with his hand firmly placed on the patient's forehead. His pen light flashed back and forth into his eyes to catch any hint of a reaction. Robby was aware Santos was informing him about her desire to prep to give Keppra, while simultaneously making it known she disagreed with Langdon’s desire to weigh and press the last two milligrams of lorazepam.

“Dr. Langdon’s patient, Dr. Langdon’s call.”

He hoped the tension he sensed brimming between the two of them was something he could conclude to a shitty projection to go along with a shitty day. At least, that’s what Robby hoped it was because he wasn’t sure he could take any more bad news today. 

You watched from a distance as Robby converged inside trauma one without so much as a glance behind him. You weren’t sure why you expected it or, more truthfully, you hated the fact you had expected something. 

After what transpired outside with his words with that fucking look in his eyes haunting you with every step you took, you almost felt compelled to run back outside, but this time, instead of stopping, you would keep running. Run until lactic acid builds up inside fatigued muscles; until your lungs burn with each new breath and you finally collapse. 

It was a tempting thought until your brain finally clicked on and-

“Fuck!” You muttered under your breath. 

Your patient. The one you’d left with Princess and Javadi was in the room waiting for you to return. You’d left to take in the baby but never returned. Your feet were already bounding you forward, while your hands secured around your stethoscope to keep it from falling. You weaved your way through gurneys, patients, and staff until you came to the doorway of her room and found it…empty. 

Empty was okay. It didn’t mean a damn thing. She did have orders for CT, and it was possible that one of the radiology team came down to get her. Your hands still grasping your stethoscope, your eyes scanned central for any sign of Javadi or Princess. It was more likely that once you’d left, Javadi would go back to find McKay, which left Princess as your best bet for information. 

You moved to circle around central with your eyes scanning inside rooms and down hallways. Eventually, you knew you would see Princess or get lucky enough to see Kat being wheeled back to the room. 

It wasn’t until you were halfway down the south hallway that you finally spotted Princess behind a curtain. Her gloved hands carefully wrapped a patient's ankle with bright blue cling gauze. You could hear your shoes make a good awful screech as you came to a halt to backtrack into the room. 

“Good afternoon,” you smiled tightly at the patient before you directed your attention to Princess. “Patient in 2 North: she in CT?”

“Nope,” Princess replied, being especially sassy by popping the P. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“I mean, Dr. Fullerton, after we distributed the mifepristone, she dipped.”

“Why didn’t you wait to give it to her until after I had my CT results?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to be a mind reader?” Princess directed back at you. Her hands never stopped the procession work in front of her as she looked at you. “You asked me to check in with Javadi and to stay with her until you returned. You’d put in the order for mifepristone, which we administered while we waited for Her Highness to return, which, by the way, was almost a full fifteen minutes.”

“Anything else you’d like to get off your chest, Princess, before I go?”

You didn’t have room to be snappy with her. Princess’s play-by-play of what took place in the last twenty or so minutes went down exactly like that. It was your fault for putting in orders without directly giving directions on how and when you wanted it released. You hadn’t told Javadi or Princess you wanted Kat to have to wait for it - the CT results were more important. 

But you’d told neither of them your game plan because your attention was ripped away from one patient to the next, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. This was an emergency department, and shit like this happened all day, but you having a mini breakdown wasn’t in the cards and had cost valuable time with not only Kat, but other patients. You’d planned on involving Kiara for assistance, and now every plan you’d tried to capitalize on to help that young girl evaporated just like her presence. 

Princess shot you a look that would’ve left Medusa impressed, and you held your hands up in surrender. 

“You’re right, Princess. I didn’t communicate what I wanted to be done,” you relented. “I guess I’m still getting my bearings back from being thrust down into hell,” then to the patient who looked a tad concerned, “No offense.”

You caught the smirk Princess tried to hide by ducking her chin to her chest. Her hands swiftly finished up the angled wrap before securing it and taking a step back from the patient. 

“It’s alright,” she hummed. “I should’ve tried to stop her before she left. She didn’t seem in any shape to be leaving anyway.”

“No,” you agreed. “No, she wasn’t.” 

You moved back behind the curtain as Princess removed her gloves and threw them in the nearest waste bin. You both started moving down the hallway back towards central, with her stopping to get a few pumps from the sanitizer dispenser on the wall.

“Do you think she’ll come back?”

“I’m not all too sure. She seemed worried even while she was in here, and the incident with Langdon didn’t really help matters.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised there. She and Langdon got into it the last time she was here a few months back. Surprised she even came back.”

You stopped just outside the entrance to the central nursing station and looked up at the screen. Princess went inside to find a computer, and you found your feet carrying over to where she’d parked herself. 

“Oh, I forgot to ask: Javadi. How did she do?”

Princess gave a small shrug while she grimaced as if the right words were either hard to find or unpleasant. 

“She seems okay, but she’s really nervous and jittery. Stammers a lot.”

“I meant with the patient, Princess. How was she with the patient?”

“Oh, she was okay. Still jittery and awkward, though.”

It was normal for staff to give the new kids a hard time, clocking every awkward gesture or wrong move in the name of medicine. While some staff would make bets about who would show up again for their next shift or who wouldn’t, it was always clear that it was done with the best of intentions. It was a dysfunctional family down here after all, and a family wasn’t complete without a few odd ducks. 

You drummed a set of knuckles against the counter. Your eyes roamed the board up and down multiple times because absolutely none of it was inspiring you to turn around and get back on the floor. You blew a raspberry as you considered the buffet of options one last time before Princess caught your attention. The gleam in her eyes was the first tell-tale sign she was up to no good. 

“You and Robby were outside for quite a long time,” she observed before giving you a wink. 

“And on that note, I think I just found an ingrown toenail with my name on it.”

“Oh, come on!” Princess quipped behind you. “We just want to know when Mom and Dad are going to make up.”

You gave her an absent-minded wave and didn’t bother to look back. There was a strong chance her accusing gaze was following you, or worse, with the beginning hint of a smirk that she might have caught the blush slowly burning up your cheeks like wildfire. 

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! Much Love.

Tag List: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @travelingmypassion @jupiter-sky @catsgoogander @rosiepoise88 @It-jakeseresin @blackpopcorn @celmentine111002 @dcgoddess @lazyandromeda-temp @sydney-m @imonmykneessir @kniselle @heauxplesslydevoted @nowandajenn @corcovados @teenwolfbitches28 @dulcebloodhnd @callsignvenus @hey-im-jamie @bunnyearsandburgers @valentinevirgo @cannonindeez @evienorville @keerybub @allthingsimagines @hanybunch @calaryssia @ninquellote @profoundlynerdywolf @bunnyearsandburgers @-thatgirloverthere- @katythekitty @m14mags @nommingonfood @sonicbananawithbowtie @msbyjackal @dre6ming @snowflames-world @unhappy-hannah @hauntedduckdefendor @wolfbc97 @meowmeowyoongles @obsessed-fan-alert @itschelseacisneros @chippedowlmug @ezraphalitis @naviaberries @arrenjo @miss-me-jack @midnghtprentiss @letstryagaintomorrow @penbridgertonn @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @dreamamubarak

[hotmusclebabe]

murky water

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sevika x reader oneshot/headcanon combo .ᐟ.ᐟ 3k words.

tags: socially awkward/strange/offputting reader x sevika .... sevika and reader are coworkers! fluff, sevika has one sided beef with the reader for a portion of the fic. completely sfw! :)

summary: a scenario in which sevika and reader both work for silco and rarely interact. co-worker!reader pays absolutely no attention to sevika and has the main goal of keeping to themself and avoiding any human interaction possible. reader is kinda just a weirdo and minds their business... leads to sevika having one-sided beef with the reader, because in sevika's mind quiet means plotting something mischievous. (the beef is NOT REAL!! sevika has a crush > < )

notes: this is sort of a mess but also the first fic i've felt compelled to upload... BIGGEST shoutout to @massiveragingdyke for proofreading my work and being the source of most of my motivation to finish writing .·°՞(˃ ᗝ ˂)՞°·. wouldn't have uploaded this without them! hope you guys enjoy <3

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You've worked under Silco for quite some time, purely on the basis of, "I need money and I also would like to keep my life so I'm going to work for a drug-lord that will provide me money and security. Having said that, you don't quite branch out of your own bubble of comfortability if you can strain against it. You work, grab a bite to eat, and then go to your flat.

When it comes to Sevika, all you can say is that you know of her. You don't speak to her at work, nor do you have the desire to— you don't want to speak to anyone, not if you can help it.

Sevika would be lying if she said it didn't rub her the wrong way. She thinks you have some sort of vendetta against her. Moments you interpret as brief and to the point are the same moment Sevika quotes to Silco as "acts of defiance and disrespect."

Sevika sitting in Silco's office and saying, "Told her to get me a whiskey and she went, is that all?" and Silco replying, "That's her job, Sevika."

Not once had you ever considered that Sevika thought you disregarded her character in this way, which is why you never quite had a change in your attitude about her.

Sevika will eventually start doing things to "get back at you." You don't take it as a sign of hatred or frustration at all, and will completely brush it off— you think she's either made a mistake or did not mean anything by it. It is absolutely shredding her soul that you just do not give a shit.

The back of your hand swipes your forehead as you finish closing up after your shift. Every time you've worked the bar, you'd been the unlucky one who wound up having to wash the dishes. So long as you were allowed to choose what was playing on the juke box, you had no qualms about that. Unbeknownst to you, Sevika had been sitting and stewing on her annoyance. She'd been holding onto two cups of whiskey, half full. She downs both of them, walking straight up to the counter after. "You forgot two," she tells you, voice rough. She'd done it intentionally, right when you finished washing all the dishes up and washing your hands. That'll show you! "Oh. Thanks." You reply, taking the cups to the sink without any other reaction. Sevika's eye twitches.

For the life of her, Sevika cannot understand your attitude. You don't care about dishes. You don't care about annoying patrons. You don't care about cuts or raises in your pay, which she had done through Silco strictly for the purpose of seeing what you'd do.

Most of your other coworkers have noticed your attitude, or, your lack thereof. The better half of Silco's goons and pinheads cannot seem to comprehend why Sevika has such a bone to pick with an employee that does nothing but their job and heads home.

Ran, who is just as silent, if not more than you are, has picked up on Sevika's growing disdain for you as well. Being the curious creature they are, they begin to wonder the extent of what you will not care about. They let patrons in later than allowed. They swap your coffee with water. On one occasion, a man had hopped onto the table, removed his shirt, and swung it over his head— to which you did not even bat an eyelash at, simply shouting, "no climbing on furniture!" before you went back to serving drinks.

One day, Silco calls for the bar to close early— something about an enforcer visit. So, rather than closing at 3 in the morning, the bar closed at 9. Sevika decides that now is her chance.

Getting a break like this is extremely rare. Though you could have utilized your free time to perhaps go out bar-hopping, clubbing, something of the sort… you simply didn't have the energy. Sitting on one of the dusty couches in the backroom, you lean back, head tilted towards the ceiling. There's a bag of cheese curls at your side, and you shove ships into your mouth while your eyes are shut. God, you needed this break… "Hey." A voice beckons out to you, and you nearly jump out of your skin. "What the hell are you doing back here?" You don't have an explanation. "Um," you rub your eyes with the back of your hand, not wanted cheese dust on your face. "Taking… a break?" You swallow, sitting up and looking at Sevika. "Its, um," You don't know how to speak to her. Is she considered your boss? Your superior? Your coworker? "Pilite snack. I stole them from Jericho's stand when he wasn't looking." Without thinking, you hold the bag of cheese curls out to Sevika. "Do you… want some?"

After this interaction, Sevika doesn't know what to make of you. You were strangely nice to her. Moreover, Sevika realized that's the only time she's really approached you. Now that she's done it once, her efforts to speak to you have increased.

Ran, already having been curious about you and Sevika, starts paying attention to how the relationship between you and Sevika was unfurling. They're enjoying the drama. They picked up on the fact that it was very likely Sevika already liked you beforehand, but just did not know how to form a relationship without you approaching her first.

Sevika was usually the one being chased. Women at the brothel fawned over her, Silco's henchmen envied her… and here you were. You just didn't pay any particular mind to her if she didn't approach you. Having to actively ask for attention was a large shift, but Sevika's come to be more partial to the idea of pursuing you-- she's starting to enjoy it.

The Last Drop had hollowed out for the night. Most patrons had either left, or had been dragged out after passing out while drunk. To no one's surprise, you were on dish duty yet again. Humming quietly along to the song playing on the jukebox, you carefully pack away all the cleaned dishes. Sevika had been sitting at the counter, waiting for you to finish silently. She's found herself in your presence more often lately. "Quiet night?" "I wish," is all you sigh in response. "What're you waiting for?" Sevika pauses once you ask her that. What is she waiting for? She thought that to you, the answer would be obvious— she's waiting for you. But she hadn't put much thought into it. "Thought the one thing you were good at was minding your business." Despite the defensiveness in her tone, you smile. "Fair enough. Keep your secrets."

Oh, how Sevika loved that. You never pried, not unless she made it clear she wanted to talk. You weren't quite so interested in her past, rather in what she had to offer towards the future. As more time passed by, Sevika found herself becoming more and more fond of you.

If you're more oblivious to the fact that she likes you, Sevika will begin to feel out of her element. Not one to beat around the bush, Sevika would do things portray her interest in you— but maybe it's a little subtle, too subtle for you to pick up on. She waits for you after your shifts, personally buys you some snacks that she thinks you might like, wards off drunk or annoying patrons; anything she could do to make the burden of living in Zaun a little lighter, she would do.

Due to you not being aware of her silly crush, Sevika begins to think you just don't care. And then she'll become frustrated again— she's not going to be running around and doing little tasks and errands to catch your attention. She's Silco's right hand, one of the most dangerous women in Zaun, and here she is buying cheese curls for a bartender that won't give her the time of day!

In an act of defiance, one day, she won't wait for you at the end of your shift— or interact with you act all. And then one day turns to another, and she's gone a week without speaking to you. The first day, you had noticed, but rather assumed that she was not ignoring you, but instead was feeling under the weather. You assumed the same on the second day, and then the third day began to feel more suspicious…

Sitting at the small coffee table in Silco's office, Sevika holds a clipboard in her lap, eyes skimming the recent shipment reports. Too much work for one person, and not a whole lot of time. Wedged between her fingers is a cigar, ashes falling ungraciously onto the ashtray beside her. Her eyebrows are set in an annoyed expression, which doesn't alleviate when she hears the door knock. "Silco's not taking any visitors." When you realize she's in there, you inhale deeply before opening the door. "Not here for Silco," you say as you step through. She doesn't say anything, her eyes still glued to her report. "You doing okay?" Raising an eyebrow, Sevika gives you a look of confusion. "Why are you asking?" "Haven't seen you in a week," you reply. "Thought you got sick or something." Ego slightly bruised, she sighs. "No. Just got busy." She shifts over on the couch, leaving some room. "Come sit."

Sevika is more direct with her feelings after this. She's more or less aware that you feel something about her, she's just not sure what. Having worked under Silco for so long, especially under the shimmer industry, Sevika has met maniacs and lunatics— though you might just be the strangest person she's ever met. Slowly, your relationship progresses outside of work, and though nothing has been officially established, you've been sleeping over at each others' places…

Eventually, you'll ask her yourself. You're not stupid— you're aware of the romantic connection between you and Sevika. You've just never thought to ask until now.

Having worked the whole day, you finally get off your shift, heading to Sevika's flat the first chance you get. You're not even positive she's home, but you have a spare key anyhow. After taking a shower and throwing on one of her shirts, you gallivant over to bed, laying on your back and staring at the ceiling. The door creaks open, and you hear that familiar loud sigh. "Hi," is all you mutter. "Couldn't even get under the blanket?" Sevika sighs as she sits next to you on the bed. Ignoring her jab, you'd been too lost in your own thoughts. What is this called? Friends? Friends with benefits? Is she your girlfriend? Partner in crime?? "Sevika, what are we?" Tugging the blanket from beneath you, Sevika lays down in bed after she covers both of you. "What do you mean?" "Are we dating? Like, officially?" You hook your leg over Sevika's waist. The answer is obvious, but you'd never established it. She grumbles. "I'm not gay." "Sevika, please."

Now that you've formally established your relationship, you realize that she's truly the sweetest girlfriend. One of the best things about your relationship is that you can both co-exist; working the job that she does, Sevika realizes that she spends a lot of time apart from you. But you never question her feelings or whereabouts, not when she hasn't given you any reason to. Most women she'd spoken to, whether it be at the brothel or the bar, had obsessed over her— so when you brought the form of normalcy into her life that you did, she had assumed you just didn't care. She knows better now.

Before you move in with her, Sevika will just find you in her apartment. Whether you're grabbing something out her fridge, laying on the floor in the living room, taking a nap in her bed— you're usually there. Eventually you'll move in, but it would be lying if Sevika said she wouldn't miss getting surprised with you in her apartment when she gets home from work.

There's casual affection and banter constantly. She usually leaves for work earlier than you, so when she kisses you goodbye, you're still in bed, grumbling, "don't touch me, freak," beneath your breath.

Thumb on the corner of the page, you flip through an old Piltovan magazine. It astonishes you that when given an infinite budget, rich pricks in Piltover will waste their money and fabric to put more ruffles on clothes. Ugh. You curl up into yourself further on the couch, blanket draped over your lap. The front door creaks open, and the sound of Sevika's boots being thrown carelessly into the corner of the room fills the air. Before you can even look up, the couch dips beside you, and Sevika's arm wraps your neck to pull you against her. She presses a kiss to your temple, and you wonder when headlocks became an act of romance. "Hey," is all you mumble, leaning into her touch. "This what you do in your time off? Read Piltie shit?" She questions, looking at the magazine you're reading. You simply hum in response. You had a day off today, miraculously— Silco had given you a raise, as well as today's break. Sevika definitely orchestrated all of it, but you didn't pry. She'd probably avoid the question anyway. "You got a raise," she points out. "Maybe you can start investing some money into the cheese curl debt you've gotten yourself into." Not paying much mind to her jibe, you reply. "Why would I do that when I have you?" "Because you're the one eating them, smartass," she replies. Her body weight is nearly entirely projected on you, but you have no complaints. "Should leave you for your addiction." "Leave me? Didn't realize we were together. You said you weren't gay." Her prosthetic arm is off and laid on the coffee table, so she can only use her one arm to wrap around you. Arm wrapping your waist, she tugs you into her lap, which finally persuades you to put the magazine down. "I'm not," she replies as she allows you to press kisses all over her face.

You find out through Ran that she didn't like you when she first met you, on the strangest basis possible. Sevika hadn't told you because she thought you knew. You make fun of her for it constantly, much to her annoyance. It amazes you that even though you tried your hardest to avoid getting into anyone's business, you still managed to attract the attention of "the most dangerous woman in Zaun."

She absolutely hates the fact that you tease her about her previous hatred towards you. When she threatens to retaliate, you ask her if she's going to make you do more dishes.

Given that you're dating her, most of Silco's goons, as well as the patrons in the Last Drop, are aware that messing with you is not the brightest idea. Much to your content, most people leave you alone when they realize that you're Sevika's partner. Being socially awkward has never been better.

If Theriam is tending to the bar, you'll join Sevika at her table while she's playing poker, and she'll allow you to sit in her lap. When you keep drinking her whiskey without her permission, she'll threaten to put you up as an offering, and then quickly take it back because "you wouldn't sell for much."

Though she'll attempt to convince you otherwise, she's absolutely whipped for you. You're the strangest individual she's ever come across-- you're also her best friend and soulmate.

The gray, murky waters of Zaun's only river pushes against the shoreline. Legs dangling over the water, you sit next to Sevika on the docks, waiting for a shipment of shimmer to depart. Its 6 in the morning, and the shipment doesn't leave until 8:30. Sevika had made up some bullshit excuse about needing to be there early, but you knew better than to trust that she was telling the truth about it. She actually just wanted to spend time with you somewhere that wasn't the Last Drop. Her cloak is draped over your shoulders, and your head is leaning against her shoulder. "Why'd you drag me out here so early?" For a moment, she doesn't reply, which isn't uncommon for her. You're about to start speaking again, assuming she had just ignored your question, but she lets out a quiet sigh instead. "I wanted to take you somewhere. Its not ideal, but its somewhere." Her head gently presses against yours, and your heart melts. "Just wanted to tell you that I appreciate having you in my life. Even if I did hate you before, it wasn't for good reason. It was because I wasn't strong enough to chase something I actually wanted." Hearing her speak of herself as if she wasn't strong enough was absolutely astonishing. She's the strongest person you know, literally and figuratively. "You know," you start, trying to find the right words to say. You allow your fingertips to run down the length of Sevika's arm. "You're the strongest person I know. I mean, even without your muscles. You work hard everyday, and you deal with more idiots than I can manage for even a few minutes. I'm glad I met you." Your fingers intertwine with hers. "I think my life's become a lot easier since I started loving you." You weren't just saying this to make her feel better; you truly meant the words you were saying. Since you had gotten with her, work has been easier, you have a home rather than a cheap rented out flat, and most of all, you have something to look forward to at the end of the day— getting to spend time with her. Sevika doesn't reply to your words or compliments, and you weren't going to force her to. You know that a couple words wasn't going to change her perception about herself completely. She shifts, pressing her lips against your hair. "I love you too." She whispers, quiet enough to the point that you nearly don't catch it. You hope that you'll get to say it to her enough to change her mind.

[evandorkin]

On Depression

I get messages from some folks about my work helping them get through some difficult times, and I'm almost always asked not to respond to them publicly. I am a goofus and I haven't figured out how to message folks privately, but I don't like to not reply, even if folks say it's okay to not respond. Briefly, as someone who has been dealing with their own anxiety and depression issues my entire life, I am thankful if my work provides any sort of relief or distraction or solace to anyone wrestling with the same things. I have been in therapy three times in my adult life, my current therapist, who I have been seeing steadily for about six years, has done a lot for me in helping me deal with my emotional situation. I am also on medication. Therapy can be expensive and hard for some people, it can also be frustrating to not connect with a particular therapist. It's not a magic bullet, the same goes for medication, more or less. I've discussed my anxiety and depression sometimes in my comics, most openly in Dork #7, which is partially about a breakdown I had in the late 90s. I still deal with the same issues. Before I got back to therapy years ago I went through a very horrible time and at one point tried to harm myself -- fortunately, I'm inept with knots and all I did was collapse on the floor. I also used a helpline one night where I was spiraling badly and it helped me get through it before I could do anything drastic. I'm currently dealing with a bad bout of depression but I'm able to push through it, knowing it can and will end at some point, and I want to be here to take advantage of that when it happens. I want to stay curious about what happens next, I want to be here for those I feel responsible for, for my friends and family, my readers, my cat, Winky. I want to make more comics, read more comics, see things, maybe go places if life allows. Some days I can barely get out of bed, but that doesn't happen as often as it used to. If I wasn't here I wouldn't know about all of you out there enjoying the Eltingville Club, and get to answer your questions. If you are feeling like you don't want to be here, please consider using one of these helplines, or turning to someone who can help, or seek treatment. Anything other than trying to stick it out alone and risk spiraling. We are not at our healthiest when we are depressed, which I know sounds obvious, but it's why we should never make important decisions about our lives when depression has us in its grip.

Again, I'm not a therapist or mental health professional, just a fellow traveler. Here's two lifeline numbers if anyone needs them. Take care of yourselves out there.

[seaborgium-dazies]

I just wanna stay at home and smoke my weed~ mdni

You get horny when you're high but your trip sitter sero doesn't really mind. By now he really knows how to resist the temptation. cw: one sided making out, pining!sero, weed, intox, tension, dubcon currently playing: the good kind of chemicals a/n: exam season is OV-ER and i just want to light up so take this filthy thingy

The sticky summer heat was replaced by a cool night breeze after what felt like a decade. The past few days stretched like freshly chewed bubble gum and you were so glad to finally be able to unwind.

Your body feels heavy with warmth, threatening to melt into your bed at any moment. You press your lips together and take a drag of your joint, inhaling so much that your lungs burn.

"Just one of those days?"

Seros deep voice rumbles, it feels so far away, too far away. You can tell that he cocked an eyebrow even without seeing his face.

The room stretches and compresses around you and you sink further and further down - you feel like a black hole of sorts.

With closed eyes you take the blunt from your lips and pass it into Seros general vicinity. He takes it from your fingers with gentle hands and takes a small drag.

It wasn't unusual for Sero to take it easy in that regard. Somewhere along the way he decided that he needed to keep an eye out for you when you were smoking and you were super grateful for that.

It's a win win situation, really. You're able to relax completely, you get free weed, snacks, premium song recommendations and he gets to watch you gaze at him with that lazy facial expression, like you were experiencing pure ecstasy with every single cell in your body.

Maybe he was so protective because you called him hyperventilating that one time.

Or maybe it was because he remembers the countless times you ended up inviting your good-for-nothing ex just to wake up the next day with shattered self confidence and shame pooling in your heart. And there was nothing he hated more than seeing you like that.

Being able to observe the way your boobs jiggle with every silly giggle of yours was a big plus too.

You hum at his words as you peel your eyes open. Your chest was rising with every tranquil breath you took.

"Just another one of those days." , you confirm.

You were donning an old band tshirt that had slipped off of your shoulder and light cotton shorts. While the fabric was swaying in the gentle gust of air coming through your window you somehow didn't feel as breezy as you wanted to.

Your legs were propped up against the wall above your bed while Sero sat in a bean bag next to it. His eyes were fixed on you, his gaze locked on the exposed softness of your thighs.

You were unaware of your body, a certain disconnect that only prompted you to swallow more smoke while sero continued to watch you.

You heard the fabric rustle under seros weight as he readjusted his position, trying his best to hide his boner.

You were too gone to notice the look on his face though. How his eyes lingered on you, how he committed this moment to memory while an insatiable hunger for you burned in his chest.

Your shorts had slipped down and he was able to see your lacy black underwear.

Sero looked at your exposed shoulder as you sat up, his throat painfully dry. You looked at him with lidded eyes before making grabby hands at him.

Thoughts were hard to grasp and words laid heavy on your tongue, the weight of them obstructing the movement of it, still you pressed them through your teeth as you beckoned sero to come closer.

"C'me here~"

Your slightly slurred words ignited a pleasant warmth inside of seros chest. Who was he to deny you this request?

Sero wordlessly climbed into your bed and you immediately snuggled into his lap. When you gazed up at him he couldn't help but wonder if that was the same look you'd have if he had pulled orgasm after orgasm from you.

It didn't take long for you to fall into your usual routine, sero was petting your hair, massaging your scalp as you skipped stones in the sixth dimension.

Whines, purrs and soft moans left your lips as he brought you pleasure. You couldn't help but claw at his back, showing him just how much you really needed him.

His cock throbbed in his pants and he still wondered how you didn't feel it, considering that your face was literally in his lap. It didn't matter, he thanked his lucky stars for it.

After a while you propped yourself up and decided to straddle him. You were uncoordinated, a little sleepy and oh so horny.

You snuggled into his neck, pulling a whine from him as your hands began travelling all over his body. It didn't take long for his neck to be littered with red marks and little bruises.

Your warm pussy provided delicious pressure against his groin and while sero tried his hardest to remain as unaffected as possible, your breathy voice made him grip the sheets in desperation.

"sero~ hah I want you"

A breathy moan accompanied the confession of yours and just like every other time sero swallowed dryly and looked at you with wide eyes.

He knew that you were too intoxicated to make rational decisions and he would never use that to his advantage. That's not how he wanted to have you. No, he wanted to have you shaking under him, completely sober, chest vibrating with love.

Just as seros resolve was crumbling you mumbled something, swayed to the side and let yourself fall into the soft of your bed with a thud.

A shaky breath left sero as he heard your soft snoring. This was a close one.

His body blindly followed the usual routine, tucking you into bed, putting the blunt out, sleeping on the couch and hoping you won't mention any of this tomorrow.

©️ seaborgium-dazies do not steal, edit or feed to AI.

buy me a coffee?

[mari-starz-writing]

Hello dear child!

Quite rare to see me requesting something from others, but I’d like to request you something.

Whether it be Poly or not,

I was wondering, 007n7 and/or 1x1x1x1?

I do not care whether you choose to go for headcanons or oneshots, whichever works for you, will work for me! 💪🙂‍↕️

But please remember to stay safe, healthy, eat well, rest well, and have fun as well! 🫶 I can wait AGES for anything. 🙂‍↕️

(Ciao! Gonna go play some Pokemon Go now, and possibly some Roblox too! 👋)

*Sighs as I look away* Hey moooom... Jokes aside, I feel honored that I'm one of your choices. Thank you. I may have included some hints of Ellin's personality...

007n7 and 1x1x1x1 x reader

007n7

・He was the one who confessed. 007n7 had went to your room, knocking on the door and walking in. He sat on the end of your bed, sighing as he held your hand, staring into your eyes. "You amaze me. I understand if this is a lot... But, would you ever want to be my partner?.." Of course... Knowing you, you reciprocated.

・He'll occasionally try and teach you about the c00lgui, showing you the different components and rambling about what they do as you listen intently. Once, while showing you, he accidentally teleported you to a different room. You were quite startled, but he chuckled before helping you up from the floor and making sure you didn't have any injuries before continuing to yap.

・Going on dates is confusing at times. He's blacklisted from Builder Brother's Pizza, so you can't go there. You're obviously not gonna go to the casino, since neither of you enjoy gambling. You also get anxious from the maps due to the rounds you go through, so those aren't an option. It usually just ends with a movie date or cooking together in the kitchen.

・During rounds, he'll always stay by your side and throw clones if he has to. Being near you makes him feel safe, and he wants to make sure you do as well. If the current killer goes near, he'll spawn a clone to distract them and run somewhere safe with you. He'll make sure to find a medkit or Bloxy Cola for you as well.

・Cuddling 007n7 is always nice... If he's the big spoon, he'll have his arms wrapped around you and a leg around your own, kissing the back of your head gently. If you're the big spoon, he'll rub your hand with his thumb, a smile on his face as he talks about his day, and asking a few questions about yours.

1x1x1x1

・The way she confessed was intense, and you almost considered not accepting. You ran across the sharp grass, as fast as your legs could possibly take you, until you hit the cold, stone wall. The entangled sword stabbed too close for comfort to the side of you as they walked closer, pulling out their sword and pointing the end of it at you. "I feel terrible for doing this. However, after, I'd like for you to consider my feelings. Even if you reject me, I understand. I understand completely."

・His love language is most likely some form of gift giving. Whenever you go to sleep, you'll wake up to a messily tied, yet beautiful bouquet of magnolias she found on a walk. You'll go to the kitchen to make yourself some sort of breakfast before finding eggs and toast on the table. When going out, they'll give you a water bottle and a snack. The little things, right?

・Whenever you're sleepy, 1x1x1x1 will put one arm around the middle of your back and the other under the middle of your legs and carry you to your bed and lay you down before going with you, your head resting on his chest as she puts her arms around your waist. You need to sleep, after all, and with the place you and them are in, you'll have to keep your energy even more.

・(SLIGHT ANGST) He hates the sight of you crying, even if he doesn't know how to comfort you at times. Once she barges into your room and sees the tears spilling from your eyes, she'll awkwardly sit down, putting a hand on your back and asking what's wrong. When you say what the problem is, they'll sigh, comforting you as best as they can, even if it's only keeping a hand on you and talking trash about what made you cry. Even if it was just a bad day.

・If you're injured, 1x1x1x1 will practically force you to stay in bed. Let's say you injured your ankle. You'll be layed down on the bed, a blanket put over you and that dang creation of hatred will grab your ankle, bandaging it tightly before putting an ice pack on it and kissing your forehead, grumbling something about you being irresponsible...

BONUS (moots get VIP treatment.) Some Linburger headcanons I have.

Sorry if I got anything wrong. This is how I see them, personally.

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur’s breath left him in a rush, as if someone had knocked the air clean out of his lungs. His eyebrows knit harshly together, his heart aching; this wasn’t right. It had been obvious from the start that this program was unfair, but seeing it like this had changed something. 

Kane’s voice was too real, cracked and full of too many things that Arthur didn’t deserve. Forgiveness, concern, care; a trust that Arthur had broken twice now, yet was still being offered to him all the same.

It hit harder than anything had, peeling up parts of Arthur’s mind. It forced him to remove whatever part of him that tried to shove away thoughts of what happened; it had been such a short amount of time, only twenty-four hours, and Kane had been treated with nothing but hatred, in such a cruel severity.

Arthur wouldn't forgive himself.

He stood still for a few moments, his hand still holding the mug. His heart was pounding in a way that only caused pain - but Kane wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t flinching, he wasn’t telling Arthur to leave - he wasn’t even sitting there silently, refusing interaction. 

He was asking if Arthur was okay. That fact broke whatever was left inside of the doctor, his legs leading him forward without even thinking. He sat down gently on the edge of the mattress, close enough to touch but not close enough to be imposing; he hadn’t said anything, still. It felt hard to find words, hard to do anything but sit there and look over the other. 

It was always hard, when he felt himself caring in this sort of way. 

“I’m fine,” he promised, first; though it felt tragically comical that Kane would feel the need to ask such a thing. “I was worried I wouldn’t see you again. “

It would have been his fault, of course. All of this was his fault - though he almost wondered if Kane simply didn’t know that. It made sense. Kane likely didn’t have enough of an understanding of the situation to connect the dots that this had happened because Arthur had broken rules. Arthur didn't want to confess as such, almost, out of fear of burning whatever bridges they had left.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, the words coming easier than they normally would thanks to the drug in his system. “For everything. What they did; it was my fault. And I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

He had seen it all, of course. He had watched every bit of what they’d done, and he’d been worthless in doing anything to stop it. He was back now, at least, and he intended to stay here - though he doubted that they had seen the last of Six. 

His breath felt stuck in his throat, at that thought. He had had his own run ins with Six, of course, but the man couldn’t do anything to him. It would have brought comfort to think about that, were it not for the glaring fact that sat nearby - anything Arthur did against Six would be taken out on Kane, now. 

The building was becoming more and more of a trap by the second. 

Arthur took another breath, trying to pull his thoughts back on track. It wasn’t typical for his mind to wander this much. 

“I brought some things that might help you feel better,” he informed, gently. “Bandages, tea - I want to look at your bruises, if that’s fine.” He wanted to get them all wrapped and taken care of; it was the absolute least he could do.

The least he should do. 

“Try to take a deep breath for me, okay?” he continued, his thoughts just now catching up to the mental state that Kane appeared to be in. “Just take a deep breath - I’m going to stay here for a little while. As long as I can, alright?”

He hoped that it brought comfort, to say as such; at the very least, he could keep Six away from Kane. He'd stay until he was asked to leave. 

The well-known hiss of his door opening is enough for Kane to snap back out of the somewhat-slumber, somewhat-trance he'd been in; Muscles stiffen and tense within seconds, a breath getting caught in his lungs, eyes remaining closed at first out of---

...Fear, it might be. Fear that the bastard security guard without a name has returned to go on with whatever he's planned this time - some more pain, some more humiliation, both of it. Kane knows, after all, that the man is beyond displeased with the fact that he did not cry, did not beg in a way he'd hoped for...

Dread sets in, settles next to said fear, causing a stomach to cramp and a heart to miss a beat. Part of Kane wants to run, another part wants to keep fighting; He's been able to hold onto himself so far, kept his emotions in check, but he knows he might not be able to do such for much longer - might fall apart instead, turning into the pretty crier which that asshole had wanted to see just a short while ago.

He swallows again, brows knitting, as the seconds pass---

...But then, something else happens; Despite his eyes being closed, Kane notices the change in brightness immediately - and that surprises him, very much so, has his eyelids flicking open, gaze needing a second to adjust to the outright comfortable glow of soft orange instead of stark white.

He does notice a figure standing there, approaching him after a little while - but it's not that security guard he's so afraid of, nor is it someone else that he hasn't really met before...

No, it's... it's Dr. Harrow. He's just existing, the softness of his voice basically drilling itself into Kane's mind, like a punch to his stomach because of how kind it is in comparison to everything else he's gone through during the last day. Hey, he says, follows it up with chamomile tea...

And Kane blinks, stares as he sits up in a slow but steady motion - eyes wide, brows lifted high, like a deer in headlights, as he takes in the sight of the one who had disappeared not too long ago, but now has come back.

He's here. Harrow is here.

Lips part, the bottom one trembling the faintest bit as Kane blinks a few more times - like he tries to make sense of this, figure out whether this whole thing is even real to begin with. Is he sleeping, perhaps? Is this a dream? Has his body finally given in, with him being unable to keep holding onto his own self...?

Kane smells it, the chamomile tea. The scent of it cuts through the sterile air like a knife, but in a good way - like a blanket curling itself around sore shoulders, a promise of something better, something nice interrupting all the bleak and unkind...

"... Harrow?" A simple ask, a name spoken out in a question, yet it comes out broken and almost a little too high-pitched as that breath leaves Kane, not-Kane, it's lungs. Like someone who cannot believe what they're seeing, overwhelmed with all the emotions that crash down onto them with the force of a tidal wave.

No anger. No hate. None of it, not even a glimpse appearing within dark brown irises.

But so, so much else instead. So much else, in fact, that it's hard to pinpoint what it might be exactly - hope, surprise, relief, anxiety, sadness, happiness, all of them combined?

"I thought...I thought--- I thought you were... I thought they would---" Kane rarely stutters, but here he is - unable to form a complete sentence, his mind racing so fast that thoughts seem to slip right through his grasp, breaths getting stuck, one after another, as unsteady hands hold onto the edge of the mattress - left and right from his thighs, fingers digging into the fabric... "I thought I would never...---" ... "..Are you... are you okay...?"

[fanged-fanfics]

May I request headcanons of Dark Cacao and Dark Choco with their child/sibling who kind of went opposite of Dark Choco's path and became a sort of Robinhood figure? They used to be competitive with their brother, trying to keep it friendly but also desperately wanting their father's approval as well.

After Dark Choco's banishment though, they eventually came to the conclusion that their father cared about that wall more than anything and nothing would ever change that, so they left the citadel to live in the wilderness, helping settlements whenever they could since the king wasn't available. After hearing that Dark Choco ditched the cursed blade they've been on the lookout, hoping for a chance to reconnect.

☆ Searching Day and Night to Find You — Dark Choco & Sibling!Reader HCs ☆

Genre: Mild Angst, Familial || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The weight carried on your shoulders dug heavy into your chest. Knowing your father's priorities and where he stood, you just couldn't connect with him like you once did. When your brother was around, you shared the struggle, making one another laugh and forget about life for a while. But he hadn't been there in a long time

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You could still remember the exact day you heard he'd left that cursed blade behind. You were giving some shipments of scavenged food to a small town, when whispers of the lost prince rippled across the crowd and into your attention. You practically rushed to finish carrying boxes of food before rushing back into the wilderness

ᯓᡣ𐭩 After a few weeks of intense nonstop searching, you had to force yourself to slow down. It was a long shot to try and find him, you knew that subconsciously. But there was hope, and it had been such a long time before even having the chance to see Dark Choco again

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You resigned yourself to your work. Settlements needed your help all across the land, there wasn't any time to fall behind. But you always kept your ears out on the whispers in the icy winds, trying to keep note of word on where Dark Choco might be and following his trail

ᯓᡣ𐭩 One day in particular, you heard a rumor of the prince's camp taking refuge in the nearby woods. Some of the most dangerous on the map, of course. Elated, you had to ditch your plans for the region with a heavy heart, setting off to where he was said to be

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Hours of walking, and fighting, and pushing through the terrible snow. Your hope began to dwindle. Was this another dead end? Was it a mistake to leave your work to run into a harsh winter storm, chasing memories of a brother who might not be the same? Your steps began to slow as your face numbed from the chill

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Right when you wanted to turn around, you saw a faint light. You ran forwards, sprinting past the trees and brush. Branches hit your arms, cold bit your cheeks, but you made it. You stumbled into the clearing, where the snow had stopped, and a fire was balanced carefully on some wood logs. Your eyes widened as a familiar figure turned to see you. Dark Choco froze upon his eyes meeting yours

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "How..." he began slowly, emotions catching in his throat "How did you get here?". "I've been looking for you," You responded hoarsely "This entire time. I-... I'm so glad you're safe". Maybe it was the fact that it was you, or that those were the first soft words he'd heard from family in years. Whatever it was, Dark Choco found his strength, running forward to pull you into his arms. You hugged him tight, breath shaky and shallow as your eyes grew wet with tears. He wasn't home, but he was here, and you finally found him

[jamestrmtx]

Static Light

(Tenna x GN! Reader One Shot)

[Fluff and Humor, Rated Teen]

Summary

When Kris asks for a favour, it seems simple enough: take their old television and keep it at your place, since it means a lot to them and they don't want Toriel to throw it out. You accept, but then they explain the television is actually a man named Tenna, and — socially awkward as you are — you plug him in and try to strike up a conversation. Surprisingly, it works out, and you gain a new friend (and maybe a lover eventually, if you keep up your smooth moves).

You've never actually been to the Dark World, but Kris has told you enough stories that you have a vague idea of what it's about.

          “Take care of him,” they said this morning, handing you an old-fashioned, bunny-eared television as heavy as you remember the type used to be.

          They informed you this was ‘Mister Tenna’, and that he was a friend they couldn't keep at home anymore, since he was a little busted, and Toriel planned to buy a new television today.

          “Um…”

          So now, you've brought the television into your own living room, kneeling in front of it to — somehow — try to start a conversation with... Tenna.

          “Hello?”

          Stars, you're thankful you live alone.

          Otherwise, you don't know how you'd explain to a partner or a roommate why you're trying to chat with an inanimate object instead of them.

          “Maybe I need to… turn you on first?” You consider your choice of words and immediately regret them. “Okay. Not like that, so don't get scared. Just… In a literal, electrical sort of sense. You get me?”

          No response.

          You figured as much.

          Still, you stand up, fetch the plug behind the television, and connect it to the socket on the wall next to it.

          Finally, you kneel once more, scoot closer, and press on the power button.

          “Um…”

          Again, this seems ridiculous as hell.

          “Hello.”

          The channel it's currently on is simply loud static, and — for a moment — it feels like it will stay that way, until…

          “Good morning, everybody,” a weather reporter says, his smile big and bright. “Better get your umbrellas ready! Today's—”

          The channel changes on its own.

          “Gusto en conocerte,” a Hispanic woman from a random soap opera greets, offering her hand out to a man — shirtless for whatever reason — showing up at her door with a six-pack of abs and a six-pack of beer.

          The rest of the audio dissolves into background noise as you process what's just happened, and you even look down at your hands to make sure they haven't acted on their own to drive you insane.

          “Uh…” You blink away the confusion for a few seconds — eyes still fixed on your palms — and then reply with, “Nice to meet you, too?”

          The channel changes to a kid's show, where a group of children are smiling and giggling, bouncing around with a happy clown lady.

          “You're… Mister Tenna, aren't you?”

          The channel changes once more.

          “Correct!” a game show announcer screams, pointing a finger at a goat woman lost in excitement, having won the jackpot prize.

          Now, it's sort of a horror movie scenario more than a happy-go-lucky one, as the channels start to change one after the other, allowing only letters to slip by until… 

          Mister Tenna spells out your name, letter by letter.

          “Y— Yes,” you reply, and you gulp down the sudden fear that's climbed its way to your throat. “That's my name! Kris told you, didn't they?”

          Static, then a change of channel.

          “Incorrect!” the same game show announcer screams, now pointing a finger at a goat man drowning in sorrow, having lost all his bets.

          “Uh…”

          That answer doesn't exactly help with how creepy it feels to be communicating with an entity that's spelled out your name perfectly through quick channel changes.

          “Then… How?”

          He switches to a laugh track that follows while two black men — assumedly brothers or in some way related, if you remember the sitcom correctly — are having a discussion.

          Channel switch.

          “Name?” a different show announcer asks.

          And yet another.

          “Tag!” a red monster named Elmo exclaims, while… tagging himself.

          Your eyes widen at the realization, and you stare down at yourself to see you're already wearing your work uniform.

          At the reminder you have somewhere else to be soon, you aim to look for your phone and check the time, but…

          “Good morning, Hometown! It's currently six thirty-three, and—”

          The channel changes to static, and — for a moment — you swear you see the freaking television blush on screen.

          “Um…”

          You seriously need to expand your vocabulary if you want to impress Kris's astonishingly vocal friend, and yet…

          You know it will be difficult to get used to the oddity of this situation.

          “Wait,” you blurt, and then you realize this practically means you have a roommate now. “Does that mean you'll be able to see me whenever you're turned—” You cough, clearing your throat. “I mean… Whenever you're switched on?”

          Several changes of channel ensue, like he's having a hard time finding the right answer.

          “Yes,” an ecstatic, pale, chubby, and blonde woman exclaims, jumping into the arms of an equally ecstatic, red-haired, muscular, tanned woman as she accepts her proposal.

          “Okay, so…”

          Goodbye to the days you watched television in nothing but your underwear.

          “Good to know.”

          A frown twists your mouth as you consider his situation here in the… Light World?

          “So, that means I should keep you plugged into electricity whenever I can, if that means you'll still be conscious, but you won't see me?”

          Tenna replies by changing to a channel with a teenage cat girl shrugging, rolling her eyes, and saying, “Ugh, whatever. You decide.”

          And then, he clarifies he means that in an excited manner rather than broody, since he follows it up with the same kids’ channel, showing the group of children cheering at the same clown while she crafts different shapes with a bunch of balloons.

          “Uh…” You smile. “Cool! Then, I will. I guess a blackout is kind of like a… Bad day? A coma? A small shock? A… heart attack?” You hum in thought and rub your chin, trying to search for the best way to describe it. “Something like that? You don’t have to answer right now. I'm just… wondering how this works.”

          You figure this is a terrible first impression with how many ‘buts’, ‘ums’, and ‘uhs’, and even a forsaken ‘something like that’ you're replying with, but — again — this will take some time getting used to.

          “Mister Tenna,” you call out, noticing you've kept yourself silent for a bit too long, based on the fact he's changed the channel to one on a commercial break. “Could I ask you one last thing, before I leave for work?”

          He immediately responds by changing the channel to a blue bird monster trying to act cool by asking “what's up?” and leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

          “I know we've only just met, but…” You swallow hard and close your eyes tightly, letting out breath. “Does this mean we can be friends?”

          Oh, no.

          Oh, crap.

          You've done something wrong, because Tenna literally starts shaking — as in — the television goes silent, and into a bright white screen, tumbling left and right like there's an earthquake and it's only affecting him.

          Fight or flight immediately kicks in, obliging you to stand up and step back, fists held up in front of you and legs trembling like you're ready to do both things at once.

          “ABSOLUTELY,” a hyped man's voice shouts, and a — listen to this — a giant red flower blooms from the center of the screen like something from a lucid dream. 

          “Uhhh…” you drone, falling back to your knees like you're witnessing an epiphany.

          This is probably the equivalent of Tenna going into full static, so you hope he doesn't judge you too much for your reaction.

          “C— Cool.”

          Smooth.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Hi! I love your writing style and I had this in the back of my mind for a bit and I’m hoping you would put this into words if it inspires you but imagine Lando and Daniel wanting to prank Max before a big conference by slipping a little blue pill in his redbull but max has a fall that morning and scrapes his palms, and all of it culminates into him hiding in the locker changing rooms, taunted by his friends, unable to take care of himself because of the injuries and the reader as his PR manager finds him like 20 minutes before the conference and tries to convince him to let her help him out as “professionally” as possible (like a handjob maybe?) and maybe max wants to return the favour at some point?

Blue Pills - Max Verstappen

<word count - 3137>

warnings: badly written smut, technically a drink spiking, not proof read

"Max is too calm, we have to do something big this time." Daniel said, thinking over his time in Red Bull with the Dutchman. It was no secret that Daniel and Lando got up to all sorts of trouble together, and now Max Verstappen was their next victim.

So far, they had kept their pranks relatively harmless. They had stolen Charles' phone and texted Carlos some rather... risque messages, they had replaced Nicholas' Nutella with marmite, and they had stolen Kimi's drink. He wasn't very bothered.

Most of them were funny. Well, Charles didn't find it overly funny but Carlos did, so that was at least half of their goal accomplished. For Max, they needed something that was more than just a bit of a laugh. They needed something that people would remember. 

"We could try and stick something on his back?" Lando suggested, and Daniel shook his head immediately. 

"No. We need something that will actually rattle him. It's hard to get to Max." he said, wracking his brains for something. If only there was a way to- oh, oh. Now that would be good. "I've got it," Daniel beamed, the plan formulating perfectly in his head. 

"We've got to be sneaky about it, but we can definitely pull it off. I need you to be a distraction for me, OK? Then we just let the magic happen," Daniel said, and Lando was curious to know what the Australian had up his sleeve, but he was sure that he'd find out sooner rather than later. 

"OK, sure." Lando nodded, already liking where this was going. The papaya pair planned how they were going to execute their devious plan, trying to keep their voices down so that no one would hear them. 

Meanwhile, Max was in medical. On track, he was careful and clinical beyond belief. He didn't make many mistakes. But when his two feet were firmly, or not so, planted on the ground, he was one of the clumsiest men you could find. 

He was literally just walking through the paddock, when he tripped over his own feet and fell to the tarmac. He held his hands out to break the fall, ending up with his palms getting grazed to hell on the rough surface. Thankfully, there was no one around to witness it apart from you, but he could live with that. 

Being Max's PR manager meant that you spent a lot of time with him weekend in and weekend out, so you had become accustomed to his spells of ditsiness. He should have been glad you were there, since he wouldn't have gone to medical if you hadn't forced him to. 

All they did was clean them and wrap them, but he looked like a boxer walking around with his hands wrapped. At least he could hold things and at least he could still race. He just had to look at the positives.

To add insult to injury, Max had a press conference to go to. But first, you dropped him off to the hospitality centre for him to take a second and relax before he had to go into the worst part of his weekend. Of course, he wouldn't be Max if he didn't have his trusty Red Bull in hand, so you picked an ice cold one up for him on your way. 

"You better be here when I go in or else I'm not going." he said, and you knew he was deadly serious. Max didn't give a shit, if he didn't want to go, then he wouldn't. The only reason that he ever went to any of his menial media obligations was for you. 

Your entire job was making sure he said the right thing and was where he was meant to be on time. He felt bad for giving you the amount of hassle that he did, but every driver did it to their PR manager. He knew how hard you worked, so he wasn't going to ruin it by being too much of a handful for you. 

You left him there while you went to run some quick errands, watching as Daniel and Lando approached him. Once you were gone, they waited for him to put his drink down before springing into action. "Hey Max, did I show you that video I got in Thailand? Of the waterfall in the sunset?" Lando asked, ready for everything to fall into place. 

"No, you didn't. Show me." Max said. He was intrigued.

"My phone's on charge. C'mon, I need a walk." Lando said.

"Sure," the Dutchman nodded. He had taken the bait. Lando and Max walked out of sight and left Daniel to carry out his master plan. Looking around to make sure that no one had their eyes on him, he produced two little blue pills from his pocket. 

They were embarrassing to buy, and he had to send some poor intern to get them so that he wouldn't be recognised. The last thing that he needed was people thinking that he needed viagra to get it up, because he most certainly didn't. 

Daniel wasn't actually sure how many he needed, as the pack stated various amounts for various levels of arousal. So, he opted for the one that he thought meant 'hard enough to be visible, but not so hard that it's impossible to get rid of'. 

He popped them through the top of the Red Bull can, watching the blue dissolve into the energy drink through the hole with a fizz. Just as the tablets had melted down, he heard Max and Lando's voices behind him. This was going to be amazing.

Max sat back down in his seat, holding Lando's phone in his hand as he scrolled through the videos from his trip to Thailand. With the other, he reached out and took a few sips of the Red Bull. Daniel and Lando glanced at each other, trying not to give away the fact that they were up to something. It tasted slightly off, but he didn't think much of it. 

You had gotten a fresh one from the fridge; he had seen you do it. It was probably just the heat making it taste a little weird. 

All of the drivers had been pretty on edge around them, not wanting to fall prey to their predatory pranks. Max didn't seem overly phased, though. Then again, he was used to it from having Daniel as a teammate and Lando as a long time friend. 

After talking for long enough, Max had finished the Red Bull. Daniel was stressing slightly. He was trying not to be too obvious as he looked at Max's crotch, looking for any sort of sign that the pills were actually working. 

Max, on the other hand, was trying to ignore the odd feeling of arousal that he was currently experiencing. For some reason, he was suddenly horny. Glancing down, he saw the slight bulge that was already forming in his jeans .

There wasn't even anything around him that he would find even remotely arousing, and now he was getting a full on hard on out of nowhere? Daniel and Lando both noticed the flush in his cheeks as he fidgeted in his seat, knowing that their plan had worked. 

"Just going to the toilet," Max choked out, wanting to get out of there before the extent of his problem could be realised. He was gone before the McLaren boys could make a comment, and they were going to let him sweat for a few minutes. 

"Did you see his face? Priceless," Daniel laughed.

"That is a genius idea, I like it." Lando giggled back, standing and going to follow Max to the changing rooms. He wanted to see this for himself. 

Daniel followed, both of them walking in to find Max pacing the locker rooms with a massive tent in his jeans. "Damn, Max. Didn't know you enjoyed media day that much." Lando laughed, and Max instantly knew. He had fallen victim to the infamous papaya pranksters.

"What did you do?" he asked, unable to hide the bite in his tone. He was all for harmless pranks, but this was downright humiliating. If people found out that he had gotten an erection in the middle of the paddock, he'd never live it down. Max Verstappen, 4 time world champ and the guy who gets bricked up when he has to do an interview. 

"We didn't do anything-" Daniel started with a smirk before Max cut him off. 

"What the fuck did you two idiots do?!" Max shouted, not caring who heard. 

"We just gave you one or two of those blue things..." Lando trailed off, suddenly thinking that this joke had gone a little too far. 

"Viagra? You gave me fucking viagra?! I've got a press conference!" Max raged, now realising that is all made sense. The sudden arousal, Daniel and Lando being a bit weird all day, the strange taste of his drink. They had spiked him, and now he was hard as a rock and had no way to deal with it. There was half an hour before the press conference, and he knew that this stuff lasted a while if the problem wasn't taken care of. 

That was when another issue cropped up: he couldn't take care of it. His hands were bandaged up and, even in his state, that would not feel good at all. There was no way that he could hide it, either. He was screwed. 

"Only two." Daniel clarified, as if that would make the situation better. Looking between Max, Lando, and Max's dick, Daniel quickly sussed out that this may not have been his brightest idea to date. They'd stick to prank texts next time. Well, if there was a next time if Max didn't murder both of them right then and there. 

"Fuck off, both of you. I'm not dealing with you and this at the same time," he warned, and they took the hint and walked out with their tails between their legs. The pair stayed silent as they left, and they spotted you stood in hospitality. You were looking for Max. 

"Have you two seen Max? He hasn't run off, has he?" you joked, but the looks on their faces told you that now certainly wasn't the time for joking.

"He's in the locker rooms. He's got a small... issue." Lando said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You didn't know what they meant, so you took it upon yourself to go to the changing rooms. 

"Max? It's me. We've got to go." you called, opening the door and stepping through. 

"No, wait out there-" he started, but you were already in the room. Max was sat there, his jeans on the bench next to him while his lower half was only covered by his boxers. That was when you saw it. Max Verstappen. The man you spent every weekend with. The man that you worked closely with was sat in the locker rooms with a painfully hard dick. 

"What the hell happened to you?" you asked, trying to keep your eyes on his face rather than the obvious elephant in the room. 

"Those fuckers slipped me some viagra..." he mumbled, glad to admit that he wasn't just really horny but also embarrassed that he fell for it. 

You looked at him with sympathy, feeling bad that he was a prank victim. But, you were also thinking practically. There was no way that he could get out of this, but you wouldn't want to go out there and do a conference if you were like this either. 

"Can't you... sort it out?" you said, not wanting to be too crude. 

"Not with these," he scoffed, holding up his bandaged hands. Even if he took them off, it would still be really painful and wouldn't have the desired effect. It would probably just wind him up more.

That was when Max got an idea. It was a horrendous idea that could ruin your entire relationship, but it was an idea nonetheless. He hated the fact that he had even thought of this, let alone that he was actually going to ask it out loud. "Can you?" he asked. 

"Can I what?" you replied. Deep down, you knew what he was asking, but you didn't want to accept it. Even before he asked, you were contemplating your response. Something in your brain told you to do it. This was for both of your careers, so surely it would be worth it? At the end of the day, it was only Max.

The two of you were close, so what was getting him off going to do to your rapport with each other? Right, stupid question. That was going to do a lot to your relationship. It would make it so awkward, knowing that you had been intimate like that.

What excuse would you give for Max not being at the conference if you just left him to let the viagra wear off? He felt sick? His hands hurt too much? No, there wasn't time to formulate a story. "Can you sort this out? Just a handjob will do... like... just to get it over with..." he rambled, hating the words as they left his mouth.

"We never speak of this again, agreed?" you said, tentatively sitting next to him on the bench.

"Never again." he nodded, not fully believing that you were actually following through with this. "You don't even have to look," he gently said, taking the first step and pulling his erection out of his boxers.

Your eyes widened as you saw it. He was bigger than you expected, but you thought that it was probably the viagra helping him out. Precum was already beading at the tip, and you felt quite bad for him. 

"Ok... here goes..." you mumbled, spitting in your hand to create some lubrication. If he was being honest, Max thought it was one of the hottest things that he had ever seen. It was the first lick of genuine arousal that he had had all day, and he wasn't complaining.

You were unsure of whether you should look or if you could cancel out the awkwardness by looking away. But you found yourself looking as you gently took ahold of his hardened length. Max shuddered at the contact, and both of you knew that this wasn't going to take long. It was better that way. 

You rubbed your thumb over his tip, smearing precum over it while Max had to bite back a moan. If people heard from outside, they would be straight in and the two of you would never live that down. 

You started off slow, your hand moving up and down his shaft. You were trying to remove yourself from the situation, but you couldn't help but look at his face as his head was tipped back against the wall with his eyes screwed shut and his bottom lip firmly caught between his teeth. 

He looked damn handsome like this. Max's face was flushed with desire and his hair was perfectly ruffled from running his hands through it a few too many times. He was trying to keep quiet, but the whines he was letting out made heat pool between your legs. 

Picking up the pace, you pumped his dick faster, wanting to find the sweet spot of how fast he wanted you to go. "Fuck... just like that..." he mumbled, his breath stuttering as he let the pleasure consume him. He had to stop himself from bucking his hips up into the contact, revelling in the fact that he was finally relieving some of the pressure. 

As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, you were thoroughly enjoying this. There was a strange part of you that wanted to find out exactly what he liked and how he wanted you to do things. You got a better reaction out of him when you squeezed a bit harder. Just like his racing, Max didn't like things doing by halves. 

The natural reaction was for you to be just as turned on as he was. You had to remind yourself that this wasn't about pleasure, it was simply business. You were fixing the issue that had been caused by Daniel and Lando - even if the issue was jerking off a world champion driver. 

"I... I'm going to..." he trailed off, and you knew precisely what he meant. You sped up for one final time to get him there, Max's hand reaching out and gripping your thigh as if he were grounding himself as he came, spilling out onto your hand. 

You kept your movements up as he rode through the high, before he relaxed back against the wall and you stopped. Letting go, you just sat there and looked at each other. "Thank you..." he softly smiled, glad that you had saved him from definite embarrassment.

"That was... well I'm not going to lie to you and say that you weren't amazing," he chuckled and squeezed your thigh. He noticed how you were clenching your thighs together as if you were also craving some sort of friction. 

Before he could comment, you stood and went to get tissues. You passed him a few, and you went to the sink to wash your hands. You were washing your hands of Max's cum, which was something that you never thought you'd ever do. 

"Ha, thanks." you quietly laughed as you dried them off. Max was cleaning himself up, glad that Daniel and Lando hadn't given him any more pills than they had. One hand job was enough. "Come on, we've got to go."  you said, trying to distract from what the two of you had just done. 

"You'll have to let me return the favour one day, yeah?" he said, and he was being sincere. Max was all for fairness, and he wasn't just going to let this happen without you getting your fair share. He saw how much you wanted it, and he could see the faint hints of arousal still lingering in your eyes. 

"We're never discussing this again," you rushed, walking out of the locker room swiftly in front of him. He knew you wanted it just like he did, and he could feel himself stirring naturally this time. Now wasn't the time, though. 

As the two of you walked through hospitality and towards where the conference was taking place, Daniel and Lando watched on from afar. Max didn't have an erection anymore, and you looked flustered. Their minds were running at a thousand miles a minute, and it was like both of them connected the dots at the same time.

If looks could kill, the two of them would be dead as Max glared at them. They'd have to let sleeping dogs lie. For now. 

A/N - I loved writing this I can't even lie to you, this is one of my favourite requests that I have ever gotten! The smut is awful, I know it is 😂 Leave anymore requests in my inbox!

|masterlist|

[i-suggest-scumplane]

Ok so au where in order to course correct in case anyone finds out that Shang Qinghua knows to much the system makes Zhao Hua monastery actually worship Airplane Shooting Towards the sky instead of being Buddhist and makes this prophesy about their reluctant and remorseful god reincarnating into a mortal form to change the fate that he wrote

Shang Qinghua decides to befriend Shen Qingqiu to save the plot and as they get closer Shen Qingqiu gets suspicious about how much he seems to know about things like near mythical plants and demonic politics only speculated about by cultivators. This leads to a confrontation where Shen Qingqiu asks Shang Qinghua the location of a plant he had read about that no one had found and Shang Qinghua answers confidently. When pushed on how he knows that Shang Qinghua panics and says that he can’t tell anyone or there will be grave consequences (which is true) so Shen Qingqiu backs off but keeps looking into it, suspecting someone is threatening his shidi

It’s then when the system kicks in and sends Shang Qinghua, and Shen Qingqiu along with some other peak lords to do a political meeting with Zhao Hua. Conveniently it just so happens that the meeting coincides with a celebration they have yearly to show their support for Airplanes reincarnation.

So Shang Qinghua, who of course wasn’t told about any of this by the system, panics and acts suspicious as hell while he tries to convince his martial siblings to leave as soon as possible. Shen Qingqiu latches onto this immediately and starts asking all sorts of questions about the religion and the prophecy, mostly just to watch Shang Qinghua squirm at first but the more he learns the more he realizes that Shang Qinghua being a reincarnated god come to fix fate would actually make a lot of sense.

He’d never actually believe his shidi was this mighty “author of fate” but maybe there was a bit more truth to this myth than he gave it credit for.

Things come to a head when the celebration reaches its climax and the high priest gives a speech about how even if Airplane made a world and wrote a fate less than kind to his creation, it was enough that he cared enough to fix it. No one is beyond redemption as long as if they are willing to put in the work and repent for their mistakes. if this god wants their help they will welcome them with open arms.

Shang Qinghua starts crying in the audience, just full on sobbing as all the guilt and repressed emotion he’s felt for years catches up to him. He tries but he can’t stop and Shen Qingqiu has no idea what to do so he just sits there with him. People start asking if Shang Qinghua is okay but Shen Qingqiu gets them all to leave them alone until they are ready to leave

Once they get back to where the peak lords have been staying Shang Qinghua asks if Shen Qingqiu wants him to explain

“You can when you’re ready, but we can wait as long as you need,”

“You don’t understand I-“ Shang Qinghua chokes on his words. “Everything you’ve been through, it’s all my fault! I’m the reason for all of your suffering,”

Shen Qingqiu is silent a moment, considering before responding

“And yet you are still here. You know me and you are still willing to help and defend me. That’s certainly more than anyone else has done for me,”

[d3cay1ngst4tic]

— CURSE ME A LITTLE AT THE END.

★ contents. suguru geto x gn!reader x satoru gojo. yeah, it’s . . angst. pure angst. grotesque imagery.

★ jiah’s notes. @edensrose and @satorus-princess egged me on, i suppose. also this is pure brainvomit bc im high on the night air rn.

the sun had always been an arrogant dancer.

it was beautiful, sure, but it always seemed to burn everything in its wake whenever it died. like the whole world owed it an apology for something that blazed inevitably like a doomed forest fire. for something that could not be helped.

(for something that was doomed to devour.)

yet, it came back. always peppered the ground with little kisses before rising once again; like it was mourning its own death— an apology wrapped in saccharine loathing.

(but it always came back.)

no matter how much it wept, it always dried the blood after.

not right now, though. the red seems to cling onto the light like a second skin, wrapping its claws ’round the golden and consuming it whole— till there’s nothing left but a sick sort of gleam that makes something bubble up at the back of your throat.

suguru doesn’t wipe it away. his hands— that’s strange, why does he keep holding onto his shoulder?— don’t even move when a trickle of scarlet slithers down his chin and into your throat, going deep, deep, deeper still. you dare not swallow it, holding onto the words on your tongue still just so he could fit inside.

(it might be the only bits of him that you would allowed to keep.)

you don’t look down at him. you’re not sure if you’re going to make out of this alive if you saw how intimate he seemed with death in this very moment.

what’s worse is that he seems to smile at the proximity. not full of remorse but overspilling with a quiet, knowing sort of acceptance.

but then his eyes are what betray him.

(god, those eyes.)

the stars seem to twinkle too much— like they keep shutting their eyes to not see what’s happening in the hopelessly mortal world down below. like they want to shy away and not witness how unfair their scriptures are, frightened little cowards unwilling to see their own creation.

then again, is it their fault?

(or is it yours?)

no, not yours. not just yours. it’s everyone’s fault. everyone’s. you. satoru. the world’s. everyone.

you deserve it— they deserve it— the gaze he looks at you with, which makes your insides shiver with self disgust. that achingly tender flame down your throat, that stench of his holy blood which invades your lungs entirely without a second thought.

the world doesn’t deserve suguru. neither do you.

“i told you to stay at the school.”

(neither does satoru.)

there the strongest ??? stands— snowy locks sticking to his forehead, a result of running his jittery fingers through it for a bit too long. eyes barely open, like he longs to just stare at the sky instead, like you are. nose flaring at the sheer scent of doom that consumes the three of you entirely.

satoru looks every bit of the epitome of sorcery he is, despite being so tender a tall child.

“. . oi,” he says, again, and you hear his voice crack, “did you hear me? i told— i told you to stay at the school, didn’t i? why don’t you—”

“satoru,” both satoru’s mind and yours goes blank the moment suguru speaks, your throat clinging onto his voice and feeling the sweet clots of blood pile up, “let. . let them stay.”

and then it happens again. all over again.

you chew onto your lip, jaw aching from you clenching it so hard. but you daren’t look at suguru. you can’t.

and yet, you feel when his eyes see without seeing, anyway, despite trying so hard not to. despite trying so hard to shield your eyes, the sun dies down to a hollow shell of what it once was— never to rise again in the empty casket you and satoru have for a world.

(suguru smiles.)

[kyoshithewriter]

Pomum. (Part six).

Wc: 4.3k

Warnings: violence, mentions of mental health issues, angst, mature themes (18+)

A/n: I couldn’t do too much of his pov because I felt like that would give too much away😭. Also, did you guys know that his mom is blasian???? I had to do something with that information. I also apologize in advance for this loool. Enjoy?

The mug of half-drunk coffee somehow manages to steal his attention despite the important presentation, Mr. McLeod, the COO, is currently giving at the front of the conference room. The tendrils from the cup now rise in sparser intervals and are a lot less prominent. They probably wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t paying keen attention like he is. But it’s not the black liquid that’s cooling in the cup that has his attention— no, it’s the mug itself. White porcelain and plain, just as he requested. He likes things simple and pristine; it brings a sort of peace that cuts through the constant buzzing in his brain, like thousands of bees are always in his vicinity. Simplicity, order, cleanliness and recently, Sofía. But the more Virgil stares at the mug, the louder the buzzing seems to grow. There’s a chip on it. It’s minuscule, but it’s there: a light grey patch that sullies the glistening white.

“Mr. Van Dijk?"

On instinct, his fist folds into a harsh clench at the use of his surname. A reminder of the man who has made him everything he is today. A man he is torn between despising and admiring.

“Yes?”

Mr. McLeod quivers under his stare, so he hurries to relax his features: empty—blank, rather than the harsh furrowed brows and piercing glare he knows he first pinned him with.

“Oh I was saying um…” the Caucasian man clears his throat, adjusting his tie out of nerves. But it only manages to tick Virgil off more because he now makes it crooked. It leans a little too far to his left.

“In summary, operations are good and profits are even better since we started importing goods from China.”

“Good. If that’s all?”

Relief ripples throughout the room and it annoys him further. He hates the way his employees in office cower in his presence because they dub him as intimidating. Sure he’s not looking to attend after work socials, but he treats them all with respect, listens to their opinions or concerns and pays them all handsomely. ‘Maybe if you’d try showing an ounce of emotion around them rather than annoyance?’ He ignores the rational side of his brain to focus on his surroundings.

“That’s all.”

“Then the meeting is concluded. Who seconds?”

The CFO raises his hand to second the motion. Virgil stands and everyone else follows suit. Before exiting the conference room, he turns to address his assistant; “I need a new mug. White, plain and porcelain. Please.”

**********

“Have you decided if you want to move forward with the plan yet?”

Scratching at his goatee four times, Virgil reclines in the plush chair in Mr. Zhào’s humble space. The smell of burning Chinese herbs in his small ‘doctor’s office’ helps bring a level of calm the rational side of his mind chooses to combat; he’s not one to believe in the use of plants and weeds to regulate emotions or stall one’s mind from collapsing in on itself. He had witnessed his father trying and failing for years. Mr. Zhào’s face is textured with wrinkles, crows feet and dark brown moles. His black hair is thinning in the middle and he now has a characteristic hunch to his shoulders and bend to his knees. But Virgil is no fool, he knows weaponized helplessness when he sees it. It’s easy to underestimate a man like him— a fool’s first mistake. This man not only has a high rank in the Chinese Triad, but he’s also a master of martial arts. He helped mold Virgil into the parts of himself that he despises a little less than the others and is still a valuable ally.

“A certain… complication-”

Mr. Zhào cuts him off with a wheezing laugh. It’s scratchy from years of tobacco abuse. It also shows in the yellowing of his teeth.

“Complication, huh? What’s her name?”

Virgil stiffens in his seat; his fingers tap against his thigh: once, twice a third time. He pauses and tries to physically fight against the buzzing in his brain but concedes after only two painful seconds to bring his finger down a fourth time.

‘You waited too long; the rhythm is lost. Go again.’

His brain is almost screaming at him despite his calm demeanor. He hurries to tap four times then clenches his fist.

“Why are you so sure it’s a woman?” He eyes the man whose wisdom is always something he has been envious of. Mr. Zhào is patient, strategic and wise; always armed with old Chinese sayings and information from leisurely strolls throughout the streets of California.

“Or a lover. I’ve been in our world a long time, Virgil. ‘Complications’ usually mean only one thing, especially for levelheaded, smart men like yourself.” He states in a matter of fact tone. He reaches over to hand Virgil a cup of ginseng tea he had been steeping since he stepped into his office.

He takes the offered white mug. Porcelain and pristine. Mr. Zhào has known him since he was a child, after all.

“Not exactly a lover but…”

“Ah, you want her to be. It’s that daughter of his, isn’t it? Don’t look so alarmed. I’m old and I know things, you know this, nephew.” He says with a small laugh at the slight widening of Virgil’s eyes.

“What have you heard?” The mug is starting to burn his palm that he has clasped tightly around it.

“Don’t worry, no rumors about the two of you. Just that she’s supposed to marry the Ferrante heir and that she’s all bright eyed and beautiful. The Chen’s wanted to make a move when word started going around that her father was looking for a suitor to strengthen his position. And many others in fact— a beautiful bride that comes with the Hernandez last name. A name that has been respected in these parts since the 1970s.”

Virgil exhales a relieved breath, placing the cup on the dark wooden desk between them.

“A name that is also slowly starting to lose the respect it once had. Barka is slowly amping up his reputation because he keeps getting away with blatant disrespect. The Ferrante’s are slowly starting to earn more respect because their shipments of drugs are now more reliable. I have been here for almost a decade and you have been meeting me here for the better part of two years and he still has no idea.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Mr. Hernandez, xū zhāng shēng shì.”

Virgil’s mandarin is a little rusty but he knows that saying well; ‘all bark no bite.’

“It took you going to the club to scare Barka in his shell a little. But since Mr. Hernandez told you not to… handle him properly, he’s out and about again. Virgil, Mr. Hernandez needs to be dealt with. He still thinks this is 2011 when people were scared of his name; as distance tests a horse’s strength, time reveals a person’s character. Mr. Hernandez was not only respected because of his last name but because he was loved. His actions these past few years have turned people against him.” He pauses his rant to take a tentative sip of his tea. And Virgil knows all too well. He understands the world they’re in but even they have certain moral codes. Mr. Hernandez has been despicable, and he worries how Sofía will react when she learns just how cruel her father can be.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Virgil? The longer he’s allowed to keep believing the illusion that he’s still top dog, the worse it gets for everyone around him. Your reputation is being muddied and the surrounding families will start going to war for territories that’s slipping from his fingers. I understand your instinct to remain loyal for the sake of the young woman, but remember, bīng bù yàn zhà.”

“Soldiers don’t hate deceit.”

Zhào nods solemnly at his contemplative translation. All is fair in war. The war might not have started yet, but they’re on the brink of it. Everyone, except the clueless man he chose to partner with, can feel it.

“We have to be smart about it, though. We cannot go for the head first. Something small to… hinder certain things.” Zhào looks up at him and quiet understanding passes between their gazes. Virgil tries to contain the quiet relief that passes through him. He can now justify his plan as strategic rather than done out of rash emotion.

“Is everything in place in case I make a decision soon?”

Zhào offers a solemn nod.

“Good.” Virgil downs the lukewarm tea in one swallow. The liquid warms his throat and chest as it glides through his body.

“How is your mother?”

Virgil’s nostrils flare. “Uncle…”

“You need to speak to her… she misses you. You have this idea that she wouldn’t be proud of the man you’ve beco-”

“And I’m right.” He clenches his fists four times rhythmically in his lap.

Zhào scoffs. “Are you forgetting she’s my sister? Despite what I do? Despite who I am? Did she keep me estranged from the family? She willingly dated your father as well. Sure, she would’ve preferred a doctor or a damn engineer but you’re a product of your environment. She knows that, we all know that. Wiring hundreds of thousands to her from secure accounts every month is not enough. She wants to see you. Bǎi shàn xiào wéi xiān.” He chastises sternly. (Among hundreds of virtues, filial piety comes first).

For the first time in a long time, Virgil feels a hunch to his shoulders. He’s ashamed.

“You’re right, Uncle. I’ll… I’ll speak to her, I just need to…”

“Yes. I know. Just promise me you will.”

Virgil gives a firm nod.

“Good. And stop by one of these days for a sparring session. Or do you think you’re better than me now?” Zhào asks with a smirk.

“Only a fool would underestimate you, uncle.”

Zhào barks a sharp laugh. “And don’t ever forget it.”

Flipping his wrist in his line of sight, Virgil eyes his Patek. “I need to get going. Hernandez wants me with him to escort them to the Ferrante’s for dinner in a few hours.” His heart thumps in a way that’s embarrassing at the thought of seeing Sofía again.

Zhào stands with him to escort him to the door of his little cramped office. The building is so unassuming and only labeled in mandarin that translates to “Zhào’s alternative medicine shop.”

They eye each other in quiet understanding. “Okay, nephew. And remember to please take care of your mind. Stop by one of these days so I can take care of you.”

“Uncle, burning herbs and acupressure to unblock chi won’t help. It didn’t help my father.”

“Because your father was already broken beyond repair when we found him. Your mother helped for a while but it wasn’t enough. He was too… damaged.” There’s a hint of melancholy in his voice.

“I might be too.”

*************

His feet take him around back before he even alerts Donavon of his presence. He doesn’t question it or think too deeply; he just allows himself to go where the air smells earthy with an underlying scent of bitter citrus. There he finds her, humming softly to herself while she fills a little basket with lemons. Her curly hair is secured on top of her head with a colourful scarf— it makes her cheekbones more prominent. Her brown skin seems to always glow along with her pretty brown eyes and moisturized pink, plump lips. Lips that he has already missed. She’s wearing a little flowy, shorts set— perfect for the summer but terrible for his self restraint. It shows too much skin and the ample curve of her hips and ass. Rational thoughts flee his mind for a moment as he marches in her direction with laser-like focus. She startles when she finally notices his presence when he’s a few feet away.

“Virgil! You scared me.”

Her pretty eyes blink up at him in wide eyed stupor as he grasps her hips, moving them in the shadow of the lemon tree. It’s reckless doing this in broad daylight, but he feels starved. Her little moan is sweet when he captures her lips in a kiss. Lemons clatter by their feet and her hands, sullied with soil reach up to grip at the lapel of his jacket. And Virgil realizes that his brain remains quiet. There’s no buzzing or the need to wipe at it until his muscles burn. Because all that matters is Sofía’s pliant little mouth and her soft skin beneath his palms as he cups her behind. She eagerly sucks his tongue into her mouth, drawing a groan from the pit of his stomach. He can feel himself harden beneath his slacks and boxers, his control is slipping fast. The way Sofía moans almost helplessly while she grinds against him doesn’t help. She’s such an eager little thing; that night she cried as she came all over his fingers while thanking him might’ve costed him a little bit of his already fragile sanity. He needs to have her fully at his mercy; he’d make her forget everything but his own name. The whisper of her touch against his growing bulge forces a heavy exhale from his flared nostrils. He allows her another two seconds to tentatively feel at him before breaking the kiss and grabbing at her wrist. Sofía looks up at him in awe.

“It’s so big.” The words seem to be blurted from her mouth in a breathless whisper.

Virgil quickly moves away from her body. Wiping at the sticky essence she left behind on his lips, he eyes the entrance of the greenhouse to ensure they’re still alone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Let me-”

He watches as Sofía, clearly panicked over something, leaves a dirty trail behind on her clothes as she wipes her hands on them in haste. Then she hurries over to brush her hands against his abdomen. It takes him a second to realize that she’s trying to get rid of the dirt she accidentally left on his clothes. His brows furrow in confusion at her frantic movements and the apologies that fall from her mouth almost desperately.

Gripping at her wrist, he speaks; “It’s fine, Sofía. Relax.”

“No it’s not! I know how you are with things like this. I’m so sor-”

“What do you mean?”

Sofía blinks up at him in confusion. “Um, being clean and um… immaculate is important to you? I figured you might have ocd or something closely related.”

“What?” He can’t mask the disbelief in his tone. Ocd? He figured something was wrong with him but he never gave much thought as to what exactly.

“Uh… your suits are always clean without a single wrinkle. If your jacket is off, your shirts are folded four times up each arm neatly— if they aren’t folded, you adjust the cuffs on each arm four times; you brush your hand over your hair to make sure it’s slick often and always four times; you scratch at your goatee four times; you clench your fists four times… Virgil, you’re a man working in organized crime with hand sanitizer in your cars.” She whispers the words cautiously.

“I…” Virgil eyes her unsurely. He’s not exactly sure how to reply and he’s torn between being impressed by her observation and wary of it. He doesn’t enjoy being… read.

“I could be wrong. I just googled after I noticed and…Where did the obsession with the number four come from?”

“My father. He was somewhat of a bodyguard to very important people. Someone he was assigned to protect died in his service because he shot the assassin three times but he somehow survived; tricked them all into thinking he died then killed the target anyway. I was very young but he came home almost crazed and he kept repeating to always…” He trails off, jaw clenching almost painfully.

Sofía nods; without him having to finish, she easily pieces the rest of the puzzle together.

“Why are you always wearing a suit anyway? Is it to conform to the apparent rule of this… kind of business?”

His shoulders start to relax at the change of subject. “I have a job.”

Virgil smirks a little at the way she gapes at him.

“As in… a legitimate job outside of all this?”

“Of course, Sofía. I’m not an idiot.”

“What kind of job?” Curiosity lights up her already pretty eyes.

“I own a business; it deals with…import.” He says cautiously. Sofía rolls her eyes, cocking her hips to glare at him. Fuck, the things he wants do to her for that attitude.

“Importing what?”

“Produce.” He answers truthfully.

“As in… fruits and vegetables?”

Virgil nods easily, watching as her skepticism changes to something contemplative.

“A legitimate business that explains your finances; one that also requires regular shipments coming in for you so that your goods are under less scrutiny. Perfect cover for you to smuggle your apparently ‘very special’weapons from The Netherlands with a lot less hassle.”

Virgil is not sure how many times this woman is going to surprise him but it’s now a bit concerning.

“Don’t look at me like that, the men around here don’t respect me, remember? I heard them speaking…” Virgil's eyes narrow as she licks at her lip and avoids his eyes.

“You have something else to say.” Not a question, a statement.

“They put off my dinner with Romano for three days but we’re going later. That means the arrangement isn’t off; I thought you were going to fix it.” She pouts her pretty mouth while glaring at him.

“I’m working on it, little rose. I promise.”

Virgil’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he knows without looking it’s Mr. Hernandez wondering why he’s not in his office yet.

“I need to head inside. You should too, to start getting ready for dinner later.”

****************

Sofía eyes her reflection in the mirror of her bedroom. She’s adorned with pearls and a creme coloured Chanel dress that hugs her figure all the way to the middle of her calves. Her heels are closed toe and pointed with a thin delicate strap. Modest. Ever since Sofía found out about the horrors her mother has been suffering in silence under her father’s cruel hands, she has made a point of reigning in her subtle acts of rebellion. Her fear for her mother’s safety has now taken priority over whatever else she’s feeling. Everyone is already gathered in the living room by the time she ambles down the stairs. Virgil’s eyes do a quick sweep of her from head to foot before he turns his attention back to whatever her father is saying. Sofía notes through the warmth that floods her face the way Virgil stands within the small semicircle formed. He angles his body slightly away from her father completely; he’s not showing outright disrespect by standing outside the circle and not giving his attention. But the little gesture isn’t lost on her. Raúl, Enrique, Joaquin and Galo complete the small group and she wonders if this means that Galo’s rank has changed recently. He has been more… involved lately.

“It’s decided. Celeste, you and I are riding with Raúl and Enrique. Sofía, you’re with Virgil and Galo. Joaquin will stay just behind with Juan, Sal and Mendes for extra security.” Her father says with finality before leading everyone out the house.

And if the tension between the two wasn’t obvious before, it is now. Her father always rode with Virgil. Celeste mirrors her shock but they both know better than to say anything. So quietly, they move to obey.

Sofía makes her way to the passenger side of the vehicle but she’s stopped abruptly by a gentle hold on her bare forearm.

“No. Galo rides up front.” Virgil says sternly.

Sofïa glares at him but moves to enter the backseat as he holds the door open for her. He fixes her with a look that screams ‘behave.’ The door is slammed shut with a muted thud that makes her even more annoyed as her ears start ringing. Raúl pulls out of the driveway first with Virgil right on his tail and Joaquin just behind. The ride is tense and quiet; Galo is not someone she has spent a lot of time with, so she isn’t sure what the man is like. Folding her hands in her lap, she glares at Virgil’s side profile. There’s a certain tension that’s visible on his frame even more so than usual and she wonders if it has to do with Galo being in the car.

“Can we turn the radio on?” She asks with faux sweetness dripping like honey from her voice.

“Sur-”

“No.”

Galo clears his throat as his approval is cut off by the Dutch man in the driver’s seat. Sofía hopes her stare actually scorches his skin. She watches the way he squeezes at the steering four times before turning onto the main road. Red lights from the stop sign at the intersection illuminates the inside of the vehicle; and as Sofía sits in the backseat eyeing both men up front, a sudden feeling of unease washes over her. Her heart suddenly starts beating a little too fast; she wills herself to breathe, watching the lights turn green. Just as the vehicle lurches forward, a pair of bright head lights descend upon them from the right.

“Virgil!”

Sofía’s body is flung against the door as Virgil swerves sharply to avoid being bulldozed by the matte black suv. A flurry of loud, black motorbikes suddenly appear from both sides and another black suv breaks the red light to pull in front of Raúl’s vehicle up front.

“Little rose, down.”

It takes a while for her brain to properly process Virgil’s words. Time seems to slow watching as Galo fumbles with his gun in the front seat; but Virgil; Virgil moves with calm efficiency to examine the bullets in the cartridge before chambering and locking it in place.

“Sofía!”

Sofía ducks just as the first round of shots ring out. The car starts moving again as bullets thud against the bulletproof exterior. Cupping her hands over her ears, Sofía stays cramped on the floor of the backseat as chaos unfolds around her. The vehicle swerves again, this time with a hideous sound as the tires skid across asphalt. Her chest tightens painfully; she was already on the verge of hyperventilating before and now she’s sure she might pass out from the lack of oxygen. A shrill scream is torn from the pit of her belly by the sound of a gun going off. This one sounds so much closer than the others. There’s a choked off groan and the sound of something splattering in the vehicle; something warm and wet drips onto the back of her neck causing Sofía to start clawing at the skin of her chest.

“Virgil?” She calls out in a timid whisper.

“Shit. I’m okay, little rose. Keep your head down, okay, baby?”

The car swerves again before she hears the front door open and close just as quickly. Police sirens wail in the distance while the car pulls a dangerous u-turn and starts speeding. Sofía is not sure how long she stays down while he drives but she’s too scared to move. Low vibrations hum from his direction before he starts speaking.

“Yes, she’s fine. Galo was not so lucky.”

Galo… Sofía feels like heaving.

“No, I’m taking her somewhere safe. Don’t go home, go to the safe house and call more reinforcements; we need to regroup. I’ll call in 30 minutes.”

Silence stretches on for another minute after his phone call.

“Little rose, you can get up now.” He says softly.

Sofía limbs shake violently as she gingerly hauls herself off the floor and onto the leather seats. Virgil eyes are brimming with concern when they make eye contact in the overhead mirror. Keeping one hand on the steering, he reaches the other around for her to hold onto for dear life. She’s so desperate for an anchor, anything to stop the tremors that wrack her body and to slow the erratic pace of her heart.

“Don’t cry, you’re safe now.” He promises. Sofía wants to believe him but her eyes keep scanning the roads in every direction. Wherever he’s taking her, looks to be away from the city as the amount of cars on the road lessen significantly.

“My mom… is she alright?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yes. Raúl and Enrique kept them safe. I’m not sure about Joaquin and the others.”

“Galo…” she eyes the now empty front seat with something cold pitting in her chest. Galo was just there— he was alive and breathing. Hair with copious amounts of gel like he always liked to wear it. Liked. Past tense— because now he’s gone.

“I’m sorry, Sofía.”

Virgil words sound like they are coming from underwater. She can’t look away from the front seat. More specifically, the window by the front seat. There’s blood and what she’s sure is marrow splattered all over it. But that’s not what really has her attention. It’s the glass itself; still intact with only a little dent with small splinters surrounding it. The glass on all her father’s suvs are bulletproof after all. The realization makes Sofía break out in immediate cold sweat. The glass wasn’t penetrated, so Galo couldn’t have been shot from outside. He wasn’t. Swallowing thickly, Sofía slowly turns her gaze back to the overhead mirror to find Virgil already watching her. His gaze is piercing, knowing. He watched her put the pieces of the puzzle together. Sofía drops his hand like it burns, scooting away to the corner behind the passenger’s seat. His jaw clenches, now empty fist squeezing four times before he brings it back to the steering.

Sofía sobs softly before asking; “Virgil… what did you do?”