#and isn't that just what a monster deserves

[richeeduvie]

✭ THE LENGTHS ✭

PART ONE: GUILTY CUBICLES

DARK(ISH) JACK ABBOTT x READER

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

You don't know the lengths to which he'd go.

Jack finds you. You're a new nurse working the night shift for the first time, and even though his introduction to you is you dead asleep at your desk, his time stuck with you and your eccentric, peppy behavior doesn't stop him from realizing your capabilities that are beyond what you should be able to do. With that, there's something about you that manages to grasp onto him despite what Jack knows best, to the point where even he's not willing to let you go for the sake of staying sane. For the sake of staying himself. It's an all-too-close work friendship that, again, for the sake of staying sane, he denies is anything more than a healthy and professional relationship with you. But when he can finally get rid of his degrading thoughts referring to him as an old sad fuck who doesn't deserve the sunshine of the E.R? When the two of you experience the tension and bond that only the walls of the Pitt can close in on?

You tell him you have a boyfriend. But even in the sudden anger and disappointment over this, Jack knows there's something about the claim that isn't adding up. Others believe, at first, that it's only Jack attempting to cling to you without admitting it, but when situations arise with their sunny, resilient nurse becoming someone they can't recognize, they find they have no choice but to let Jack protect you.

But what happens when the protection consumes him? There's no telling.

PART ONE DESCRIPTION: Jack meets the new nurse Robbie's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.

WORD COUNT: 7.9K || SLOW(ISH)BURN!! EVENTUAL SMUT (p in v sex, rough, unprotected) graphic depictions of violence, assault, death, and blood. Abuse (Not from Jack) Jealousy, obsession, possessive behavior, Dr. Robby x Reader if you squint like there's no tomorrow. Age gap (the reader is just younger than Jack, you can decide by how many years). Mentions of suicidal behavior. Manipulation (is it manipulation if Jack really believes what he's saying??). Delusional behavior (That Jack is very much aware of and hates himself for, but delulu be deluluing). Very inaccurate depictions of the healthcare system and medical terminology. This is probably my one and only Jack Abbott fic, if his characterization is off I'm sorry...let's just chalk it up to him being too much in love like how he does here <3

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Robby, my brother.

I don't even know where the fuck to begin. But I am so, so sorry. For everything. Please. Take care of her.

————————————————

Although there is solace in the darkness, that doesn’t mean there aren’t monsters hiding in it. It almost feels too fucking childish for him to think like this, but it’s too easy. 

This night tempts harm. It tempts Jack to hold himself too tightly, or to hide his tension away in his anger. He already readies himself for the slight guilt he’ll feel when he’s too harsh and quick in correcting mistakes while taking too long to give credit when it’s earned. But tonight? The few outwardly kind things about his soul can’t make their way to his bones and eyes…but what’s the truly awful thing about this shift to make Jack feel as if there’s violence and internal misery around every corner of the hospital? 

“Oh, Abbott, I was wondering–” 

“Sorry, not now.” 

No patients have died. No patients are near death. Jack has failed no one yet, and yeah, thinking that staying true to his vows of medicine as the most terrible thing about tonight is shitty, so fucking shitty that it goes against the said vows that have consumed his instinct to work and manage the ones who need help, but to him, he just remembers the worst about what’s steady about him. That sometimes he’s not steady, that even on good shifts and quiet nights, his pain will make its way back to him.

This is trauma. It’s never new, but sometimes wordless, nameless in the feelings that are brought to a boil, like now, and there-fucking-fore, it’s much easier to hide in the dark as it waits for Jack to get comfortable in his skin. Apparently, this is progress according to his therapist. That it’s good that his trauma finds way into even the best of shifts because that means he is comfortable enough to let it in on the good days, that he’s not beating the worst of his emotions into a little box he’ll save for opening up on a shit shift as he makes his way up to the rooftop. Well, sure as hell doesn’t feel like progress, but he has to trust the therapist he pays 120 dollars an hour. 

“Abbott, the patient in room three, the elderly man with a breath like death, is there a possibility-” 

“Sorry. Not now. My bladder is turning against me.”

“...Didn’t need to know that.” 

“Okay. Sorry, I’ll never make a quip as long as I live.” 

“Not now” is his phrase for the next ten minutes, and he’ll feel a slighter slight guilt in how he’ll take a breather in the bathroom, or next to the vending machine, because there is a job to be done and it’s not hiding in the dark with his monsters. But Dr. 240-bucks-for-80-minutes says these breathers are needed for Jack to be the best at his job. For others. Something like that.

Unfortunately, Dr. 240 bucks for 120 minutes is right. Jack tries not to choke on the breath he can’t let go of. He tries to stay strong because he’s here at his job, so he tries to keep the walls standing up right and unblurred, which he should be able to do on good days. Easily.

It’s almost a strong stride to the bathroom until the nurse's station. Jack slows in his step, brows slightly furrowing as he looks around. Only by eyes, not by the turn of his head. 

And like that, under the scene of unprofessionalism, the way he feels is no longer unbreathable. So.

Thank you for that.

He doesn’t notice how quick he is to turn his sights back on you. This girl. No, this woman, just a younger woman…a nurse he’s never seen before.

You’re dead asleep. He means dead asleep. There’s no other name for the way your body leans its weight onto your swivel chair, head lifted back, breath deep.

It’s the 3rd most unprofessional thing he’s ever seen.

Jack lets out a breath. He takes one in. Let’s that one out, and it’s continuous as he studies the way you almost snore. He must’ve found it easier to breathe in standing instead of indulging his restlessness by pacing all over the trauma center. Makes sense. Makes a hell's lot more sense than this newbie who’s taking a nap on her shift. And Jack allows for the slight hand of his anger to curl. You are sleeping on the job without a care in the world, and considering that he’s never seen you before, you’re probably doing this while new to the crew. 

He ignores the ten seconds of the way he watches you almost-snore before he knocks his fist on your desk to wake you. 

“I’m up! I’m…I’m up.” 

You rub your eyes as you force yourself to sit up straight. Jack continues to stare as you collect yourself. 

Jack's eyes slightly narrow when he notices you're beautiful, but he doesn't think it, not when there’s a lecture to be had. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Jack tilts his head forward in a way that’s curt. 

“...I am glad you are. Considering that you’ve taken the hours when you’re on the clock as hours to have naptime, it’s good that I can see you’re apologetic.” It seems that you truly are in the way your brows twist in the soft lines of your face, as you scratch your nose.

Jack looks away. He puts his arms behind his back, squeezing his wrist because it feels right to do here. “That’s not what we’d consider professional. Or safe. For the patients we’re watching, I mean. I hope you know that?” 

“I know, I know. I promise you, sir–I’m not as stupid as I look right now. I think.” You pull on your scrub top, fixing the sleepful parts of you. “I arrived maybe ten minutes ago? I’m covering for…Princess.” 

“...I don’t think she was supposed to work tonight.” 

Jack blinks when you put your head in your hands, rubbing your temple.  

“I don’t even know, this is my first time working a night shift ever. I woke up to being called in, so here I am.” 

Jack blinks again when you spin in your chair. Not once, but twice in the way your voice goes high at the end of your sentence. 

Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?

You drop your smile when he doesn’t say anything, and yeah, it’s because you deserve to be a little uncomfortable with your mistake, but also…Jack doesn’t know what to say. 

“It won’t ever happen again, sir.” 

“No. Not if you keep to the day shift.” 

“Oh. Hopefully.” You swallow with a small smile, twirling a pen in your hands. “No offense to you night owls.” 

Jack doesn’t look away when your smile reaches him with your eyes on his. Why would he? 

The only other question to ask is why he knows his chest would feel less hot if he did. 

“Not everyone can find the dark shifts fun enough to stay up for.” 

“No, I enjoy a healthy sleep schedule too much–” You break your words with a yawn that you try to stop. Literally. It’s like you try to wave it up and out of your little neck. “...for that.” 

Jack’s brow furrows down with his eyes going slightly wide. You’re an oddball who’s pissed him off a little, and he wonders if this charming, sunny banter is purposeful to get him off your case. 

“Anywayssss, sorry for keeping you off duty, sir.” 

He won’t give you that satisfaction, because you aren’t supposed to be sleeping on the job. You won’t get away that easily. He means, he’ll quit when he sees a properly embarrassed pout, or something that can prove to Jack that you’re serious about said embarrassment…

Yeah. That’s why he doesn’t walk away to spend his last free minutes in the bathroom. You seem alright…bright, but if you’re new, you simply need to learn. It’s not against you, that’s just the way it is. 

“You decided to prioritize a healthy sleeping schedule before or after nursing school? Or did you realize how much you love to sleep when you decided to become an E.R nurse?” 

Jack lowers his eyes to where your elbow rests on the table as you let your chin fall into your palm. Is that purposeful too? The softness of it all? 

“Ha ha. I try my best, which is why this is my first night ever. I’m surprised I made it this far without taking up…what the darkness offers.”

…Should he kill himself for noticing the way you’re soft? Maybe. It isn’t professional how he notices, and it’s a bit intense, like he’s a schoolboy who can’t control the way he oogles. Whatever's going on with your face shouldn't make a different.

"...Sir?"

He’s not oogling, really. He’s noticing you’re pretty, and you’re lit in the way you’re pretty. He doesn’t know you, but with the way you smile even though you’re being snarkily reprimanded, with the way you tap your pen, with the way your hair shifts with every head tilt…that’s not on him. That just means you’re pretty. He’s not reacting to what he’s seeing. Besides, even if he was, killing himself would probably be the more unprofessional and intense thing, right?

Besides, a pretty face doesn't mean anything here. Not to him. Blood sprays far and wide.

“...Yeah. Well, if I find you again and I report you to healthcare management, you’re not making it further than tonight.” 

The way Jack says it, he’s pretty sure it was supposed to be serious in reprimand, maybe not, but it comes out weak in that context. He doesn’t know why it falls on his tongue like he’s joking with you. But really…he can’t keep up when you laugh. 

“So, I’m assuming I can’t eat at my desk either. Alrighty.”

Why can’t he keep up when you laugh? And how does he stare and turn away when you do? 

Why does the sound and look of you sear him at the skin and chest?

“Just–don’t knock yourself out on the clock again. You hear me? Not cool.”

Jack doesn’t care how he realizes then, when you nod curtly with your smile under your soft and blinking focus, he really doesn’t care for it…how he doesn’t have to ask for eye contact with you.

Even more so, he’s the one to look away first, as if he has to if he doesn’t want to feel the heat of the sun hurling towards him. That bit of Jack is lost and replaced with something unlike him, because why? 

“Can do.” 

This could be something he never has to think about again if he just leaves at that, if he continues to walk to do what he planned on doing five minutes ago, but for some reason, he’s willing to face whatever insecurities this introduction is brewing, because…despite all his flaws, his many, many flaws, acting like a shy and flustered little guy at the first sight of someone like you isn’t one of them. 

It takes ten seconds for you to look up at him again when you realize Jack hasn’t moved. 

“What’s your name?” 

Your smile drops. 

“Sir, please don’t report me to healthcare management–or Dana! God, no! I came in ten minutes ago, and I close my eyes for a minute and–” 

Jack goes to put the palms of his hand on the counter, but it’s a movement he decides against before putting his hands behind his back again. Well. One hand. The other makes a fist at his hip.  

“That was a joke. As long as you’re not kicking patients out their beds to use them, I wouldn’t risk this hospital losing nurses. It was a joke.” 

It became one, didn’t it? Your eyes close with your sigh. When they open, you take to looking at the tile.

“Hey. I was joking. I think.” 

This is familiar, the way he leans his head forward, slightly demanding your sight on him. This is him, and he deserves to be himself, apparently. Or, it’s good that you know he’s not a flustered stumbler if you’re gonna stick around. 

“I’m definitely going to take your word for my sake. Okay.” 

You stick out your hand with your name greeting him past your lips. Jack nods, and he doesn’t take his eyes off yours when he takes your palm firmly

He shouldn’t be proud that he does this without surprise, smacking him across the face, but he is when your name fully registers in his head. He’s heard about you before, as people hear about new people before they get the chance to meet them first. 

You’re the new nurse who showed up about three weeks ago.

You’re the new nurse. Robby’s nurse.

It hasn’t even been a month and in the chances he gets to spend his moments talking with Robby in the handing over of shifts, Robby's mentioned you way too fucking much. With your name in the squeezing of your smaller hand, Jack knows too much about you. He guesses that if you’re as capable and talented in your duties as Robby says you are, then it’s warranted. But still, he was happy to know the nursing shortage was challenged by the Pitt gaining a competent addition to the team at first, but in every other conversation, your name just happened to pop out of Robby’s mouth. 

“She’s just–it’s not just about having no complaints about her and her abilities. She’s great.” 

“...I gathered that, Robby. These past weeks, I’ve been a gatherer of information for our new nurse. Besides the last story and the last story, just tell me, does the sun shine out of her ass? 

Robby smiled a smile that was almost as bright as yours, even though Jack didn’t really ask it as something to laugh at, his words were dead in the pan.

“Medically speaking, yeah. You know, man–could just be that you’re expecting a good nurse and you end up with a great one who’s knowledgeable in a way that’s beyond her paygrade.” 

“All nurses are underpaid.” 

“I’m meaning…that she’s basically a third-year resident and a nurse combined. I don’t give her the tasks of a resident, but it’s like, like…if it came down to it, I could trust her with it. The tasks.”

“...Hopefully you’re not projecting this professional infatuation onto her, because the last thing I need is a cocky-connie trying to run my shifts.” 

And Robby gave him a look, as if their conversation was no longer banter. 

“Cocky-connie? That's just something you made up right now, and it’s not infatuation if she’s that fucking good, man. It’s just the truth. But you don’t gotta worry, she’s humble. She doesn’t wallow in self-degradation, but she’s just humble.” 

“Oh. Good. I’m wondering how I haven’t met the savior of Pittsburgh's nursing community.” 

“Yeah, she kinda makes sure to leave right when her shift’s over. Which is a shame for you, all her baked goods are gone in an hour.” 

“...She bakes?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“...Okay. Robby?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Everything you’ve claimed her to be in the past half-month has been invalidated just now.” 

“What??” 

“The baked goods have gone to your head. I can’t trust your recommendation.” 

“Oh, come on, brother! People can have multiple talents, and this place can benefit from all of it.” 

“...Sir?” 

Jack blinks himself sober. “Sorry. Nice to put a name to the perpetrator.” He squeezes your hand again. “Jack Abbott.” 

You’re the first one to let go. 

You blink, mouth parting slightly. 

“Oh! Dr. Abbott, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

…He guesses Robby told you about him, or maybe it’s just the perpetual gossip that exists in the walls of this hospital that’s led his reputation before him. For a second, the tenseness of his hands begs the question, what have other people said about him to you?

Another question is begged at the curl of his palms, why the hell does he care?

“Robby’s told me so much about you. Dr. Robby.” 

Jack could scoff. There are things Robbie didn’t mention about you, and he’s assuming that was for a reason. 

“Good things? Or do I have to beat on him?" 

“I thought when we’d be introduced, there’d be light trailing you.”

Jack’s head shakes once. What?

“...What?” 

“You are apparently so, so badass. And also good at your job. I guess the latter is more important, or you’re badass because you’re so good? Anyways.” You scoot your chair in closer. “Excuse my language, I’m just surprised the sun doesn’t shine out of your ass with the way he talks about you.” 

…Huh.

Jack nods as if this is an expected thing to hear, because if he doesn’t, he’ll notice the way his face has gotten hot, and if he does, he’ll find a one-way ticket to the rooftop a reasonable thing to joke about. Ha-ha. 

“...Yeah, yeah. That’s good.” 

Apparently he’ll never make a quip as long as he lives.

“Yeah.” 

“...Yeah! Well, I guess I should actually do my job. Again, nice meeting you, Dr. Abbott.” 

Jack watches you get up from your chair and away from your desk. You nearly brush shoulders when you do. 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you.” 

He scratches the back of his ear as you walk away. 

“I better not find you knocked out in a supply closet.” 

His words almost echo, and he almost smiles when you throw a thumbs up without looking his way. 

When he turns back to the nurses station, whatever’s on his face drops immediately. 

“Dana?” 

“...Nothin’. See you met our new girl. She's smiley, ain't she?”

"I didn't notice."

"...I'm gonna let that one slide."

"What--"

"I'm taking my smoke break."

…Alright. The bathroom. The bathroom, right? Jack takes his way there. 

You’re alright, and he doesn’t know if he’ll see your capabilities tested tonight, but you’re alright. They’re lucky to have a new addition to the center to make the days…and nights easier, but he wouldn’t mind if it were a night. Singular.  

He wouldn’t mind if it were in the plural, either, he guesses. In the end, what he’s felt tonight are the bits of him that aren’t him, the unusual – and he’s allowed to be unusual when he’s meeting someone who can be that cheery and mutually quippy five minutes after waking up from the dead.  He’s allowed to feel confused about what he felt in his chest as much as he’s allowed to ignore it, and he’ll ignore it because it’s nothing. Nothing but a funny, pretty nurse who knows how to get out of trouble and make Robby go...gooey. If he ignores it…well then, he can take advantage of your talents without a problem. 

That and your possible baked goods. That he'll take advantage of.

Other than that, he’s sure the night will keep the distance between the two of you. Not that he isn't capable of doing that himself.

Not that he even has to, and that's nothing against you.

————————————————

Jack moves quicker when he sees you running towards him the next night. His brows rise with widening eyes. 

“...Well.” 

You look up at him with that same smile that finds the pit of his stomach, and when it happens, he almost doesn’t register the seven pudding cups in your hands. 

A surprise night two and he’s already seeping with…ridiculous, unnecessary ardor. If he can even call it that. But he’s not gonna blame you, you can’t be at fault for something that’s supposed to be nothing. Unless you know how unbaringly bright your smile is, and he’s not gonna create an issue for the suckers up in H.R just to ask a stupid fucking question. It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, because there shouldn’t be a faltering on his end just from a smile and a laugh and some banter from the new nurse. There’s not.

But still, Jack kinda wonders if you do know. 

“Hey! Lookey, no need to sound Reveille for me.”

…No need to sound Reveille? 

“How much did Robby tell you about me?” 

“You’re too cool to keep a secret. But why? Did I say something–” 

“No. No. But…lookey indeed. You got lost in the dark to the point you couldn’t find your way back to the day shift?” 

Your smile softens with a sigh. “Yep, you and any other night-preferred physician are stuck with me for the next five days.”

His head gestures to the pudding cups. “Do I wanna know? Wait, rephrase. Do I have to know as your attending physician?” 

“Not really. Lucky you, Dr. Abbott.” 

Jack allows what's almost a smile to creep on his face, because this is sorta funny, and you know what? He’s glad to see you again, despite what’s seeping in against his best interest. Which is nothing.

He crosses his arms. 

“We’ve got you for the week, why?” 

“I was covering for Princess last night. She has COVID, and her mandatory five-day stay away from the world has me covering for her. So, if you’re empty-handed right now, there’s a man in room six desperate for a doctor to guide him through the motions of taking the light bulb out of his ass.” 

You’ve allowed yourself comfortability with Jack already. Even he wasn’t like this with Robby in the early days of their friendship. 

Maybe you don’t know how you smile or tilt your head or fiddle with your body language, because if it’s everyone that can see it, maybe they’re not purposeful or even impulsive decisions outside of what you usually do, it’s just who you are. Who the fuck ever knows who they are? 

Besides, if they were uncommon, purposeful movements, why would you choose to do them towards him? That’s where it seems pretty fucking impossible. 

“I was told you always leave exactly when your shift is done, and that seemed true last night.” 

It is. You took off the minute your time in the Pitt was over. But your smile faltering isn’t purposeful, Jack thinks. Here, he shames himself for yesterday, the way he was secretly relieved he didn't see much of you or you as a nurse during the shift. The begged questions wouldn't do him any favors with the night he was having. But the sun came up, and you were gone before anyone knew it.

He doesn’t know you, but for once, there’s almost something of a…serious nature on the lines of your face and lips. Just like that. 

“Yeah…yeah, you were told right. Responsibilities in the world outside our castle stop me from going above and beyond as a nurse. If there’s ever a moment, day or night, when I have to work overtime, I will definitely, but you know. Life.” 

“...Okay. For Pittsburgh's sake, let’s hope it never comes to that." Jack scratches his ear.

The name-dropping from his mouth is natural, he thinks. Acceptance at what's been given to him, turning fatigued lemons into banter-full lemonade, because you know what?

At the end of the day, he cares for the group of people he's partnered with. The people he teaches, the people he saves others alongside with. But none of them have ever made him feel likes he's bits of a newer, flustered-fuck of a man on the first day of meeting them. They don't affect him that way. You shouldn't.

He can play with them on occasion and is more than cordial. He should be no different with you.

"Am I able to look to you first for nursing assistance if I need it tonight, sleepy?

He crosses his arms when he can hear your footsteps halt past him. Saying it nearly dead-panned was purposeful.

“I cannot be given a nickname from a five-minute mistake. Please, Dr. Abbott.” 

“I’m not giving you a nickname, I haven’t known you long enough to deserve that kind of bullied affection. It’s just…” Jack delivers his word deadpanned, he turns to you with your face already pleading. His eyes shift quickly to the floor, then back to you with a curt nod or two. That’s purposeful. That’s feigning thought. 

He’s in a better mood tonight, he doesn’t know why. “It fits.” 

He can tell you stop yourself from rolling your eyes, because you’re probably smart enough to know where to tow the line when it comes to dry-humored conversations with a senior attending you barely know. 

“Are you saying I have to earn your professional friendship to earn your harassment?” 

“Let’s not use the word harassment, sleepy. Healthcare management has eyes everywhere.” 

“You know what, Dr. Abbott?” You ready a pudding cup in your hands, swinging it like you’re about to throw it. “Challenge accepted.” 

“Hey! Don’t–”

You throw the pudding cup that was never gonna be hard to catch. Still. 

You've accepted this easier than Jack would've thought. Sure, you're obvious in your light and...medical pep, but you're willing in play already.

Well. That reaction really shouldn't effect him either.

“Don’t throw objects in the walkways.” 

You begin walking backwards. 

“And don’t walk backwards.”

“If that name reaches the day crew, you’re in for it.” 

“...Excuse me?” 

And like that, you’re gone with a light jog when Jack can hear a voice screaming “Nurse!” throughout the curls of the halls. 

The strangeness of you found questions in Jack, too many for a night that’s tolerable. It would be too much for Jack and Jack alone, really…because maybe those feelings can be chalked up to what you claimed, a professional friendship, and despite the parts of his bones that are hardened, guarded, and whatever else his therapist accuses him of being, he’s not entirely closed off. Being closed-off doesn’t make a good doctor or caretaker; it doesn’t help anybody, especially not himself, if he somehow does deserve help by the end of the day. 

Nobody knows the whole of themselves, but these are the few things Jack is sure of, and with that, you're about to be what everyone else is to him: A person he can get along with. What more is needed?

————————————————

Dr. Jack Abbott is a nice man. A cool guy. And you’re glad you trusted Dr. Robby’s word on him. He is pretty badass. Even though there hasn’t been much chaos in the two shifts you’re partnered with him on, you can tell he’d be able to thrive under it. 

And he’s funny. He’s a person you can find yourself comfortable with easily. Although…it’s been a long time since you were yourself that you’re not sure if you should be giving credit to Dr. Abbott or to yourself for that, but–

“Sleepy.”

You jump when Dr. Abbott is just suddenly in front of you. 

“...Hey. I didn’t mean to make you jolt out of your seat, but…hi.”

But he’s gone now. You have more than enough time to figure who you are without him hurting you. 

“No–no. What’s up?” 

Dr. Abbott puts his hands at his sides. “Tonight’s the night you take me up on my offer. A lady’s in room seven with what looks to be a non-critical issue. Diaz was gonna check her in, put down the vitals and lab sheets for me, but with it being a slow night on your minor rotation…and with what I’ve heard about you,” His hands make his way up to the counter, one palm lies flat. “Am I allowed to put your skills to the test? Or should I let you take another nap?” 

You smile with your heart speeding in its beat. He’s funny. You think he likes you, or maybe he’s the person here that can be easy with others, make others smile. But, either way, the night shift isn’t looking to be so bad, after all. 

It doesn’t hurt that he’s so handsome either, not that that matters. But it’s…you’re in a place where it can and you won’t be hurt for it. You’re in a place where you can get along and care for others and you can exist for other people, people who you can tell are already great at their jobs, great at being. 

You can exist for others and not be bruised for it. That’s how it should be, your therapist says. It’s valid to feel guilty after how long you were with him, what he forced your mind to learn, but this is how it should be. 

“Of course.” 

…Even though you’re suddenly terrified. Still, you keep your smile along your face.

You are confident in your capabilities as a nurse, you have to be if you’re gonna be working with emergency patients, but you trust Dr. Abbott to be a great doctor, and even if he isn’t, he’s obviously a superior, and putting your skills out there for anyone to observe is terrifying, especially when you’re newer, you want to impress everyone, and that feeling is intense, the anxiety that comes at the idea that you won’t is even worse. 

But you’ve been through worse. You’ve felt worse. 

“Room seven, you said?” 

“Yep. I have some charts to finish, another patient to check on. When you’re done, come find me and give me a debrief.” 

“Alrighty, Dr.” 

You throw a salute at him. Dr. Abbott only confuses you when his brows go low with a stare. 

“...How much did Robby tell you about me?” 

“I don’t know what I’m saying that you would ask that.” 

“...Just get on the patient, please.” 

You do. She’s a 57-year-old woman named Lillian. She’s nice enough.

“What happened to that young Hispanic man? I was looking forward to being examined by him.” 

It’s the not worst sexual harassment you’ve ever witnessed or have received from a patient, but even in the shameless comment, you can tell she’s pale and uncomfortable. 

“I hope my face does just well enough, ma’am. You’re stuck with me. So, what’s exactly the matter, tonight?” 

You find that what’s been the matter with the patient for a while is that she was previously healthy to only come in with intermittent chest tightness, dyspnea, and a dry cough with a bit of lightheadedness. No on COVID. No on the flu, but most of her concern is how every hospital before yours claims it’s only a cold as her immune system weakens into old age. 

“Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll try our best to stop you from feeling like this.” 

As you slowly make your way to Dr. Abbott at the nurse’s station, you do more than you’re supposed to in your head in thinking about her symptoms. You are a confident nurse. You’re proud to be one…even if it wasn’t your first career choice, but still, you do know you’re not supposed to be the one to make the conclusions. You can suggest, offer, assist, but you cannot allow your confidence to lie in the things you’re not allowed to do. 

Still, there’s something wrong here. It’s more than all the things that have been ruled out, and even though you know there is risk of seeming pushy or out of your depth at bringing up your theory to Dr. Abbott if he comes up with it first, but for the sake of the patient, you have to. The wellbeing of them outrules…the rules. 

This is not about seeming impressive to him…or to anyone, but if it does, you wouldn’t mind the emotional benefit of that. 

“Dr. Abbott.” 

Dr. Abbott turns around, stern in the movement…strong in the arms. You wonder if you’d noticed that before. 

“You’re done already?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“I was told to be expecting a mystery illness.” 

“Yeppers,” You hand him the chart and he’s quick to flip through it, studying it with a practiced eye. “She’s been two primary care doctors and urgent care before going to another E.R in Philly.”

He continues his study, and this is really the first time you’re able to see Dr. Abbott doing his job, and although he’s literally just looking at a chart, his focus is natural. Admirable.

“Normal ECG, troponins are slightly elevated but not screaming at us. Is the echo still pending?” You nod. “Labs are not gonna be for another couple of hours.” 

“Mhmm. But if it’s the same as the last department, they’ll probably run clean. Still,” 

“Mhmm. What?” 

“...Did you just mock me, Dr. Abbott?” 

“Mm-mm. What is it?” 

You stop yourself from rolling yourselves with the rush of blood against your arms. The way his jokes come out as if they’re fact, as if he’s not joking. 

The night shift isn’t so bad. And Dr. Abbott is more than a good man, he’s much too likeable already. 

“I’ll wait on the echo before I suggest anything.” 

Dr. Abbott looks up. He blinks before his eyes slightly narrow. 

“Alright. I suppose it’s my turn to examine her now, and whatever comes from my assessment, you’ll sit with me on the next patient after.” 

“Alright.” 

Your word is not unkind, but curt in a slightly lowered voice. 

You try to not let your smile get so wide when Dr. Abbott points a low finger. 

“I’m just going to state my rules, well, my preferences. I couldn’t have specifics rules for a nurse, I’m not your superior, Dana Evans is–” 

“Damn right.” 

It’s Dana flying past, covered in a fluid you will not ask about.  

You turn back to see Dr. Abbott’s eyes on you first. You suppose he’s more used to Dana or any nurse or fellow attending or resident covered in fluid. 

“If you’re gonna take to the night shift, I’d rather not have you mock me. But I’ll be in room seven with…” He takes his sights back to the chart before handing it back to you. “Lillian.” 

You wait a few seconds before Dr. Abbott’s away from you.

“Right back at ya.” 

You smile when Jack stops in his tracks. He takes two seconds to turn and takes seconds to stare at you when you blow a finger gun. His brows raise. His eyes go small. 

“You are so strange.” 

Your smile keeps at his simple statement, despite the fact that you’re shocked at his easy bravery. You suppose you’re glad he can already feel comfortable around you to bully, that makes for good teamwork. That seems to be the truth for your time with Dr. Robbie, and his little group of residents and students you’re trying to get to know. 

He turns back, and for the next twenty minutes, he’s gone. 

Dana’s suddenly next to you, chair against chair. She sighs shakily.

“People need to stop shoving shit up their anuses. At the very least, the country needs to make a law against it. Why is it that every nurse that has been and is to be will encounter butt stuff?

“I don’t know about lawmaking, Dana. That won’t stop anyone.” 

The blonde woman smiles thinly, but sweetly before it fades slightly. 

“How’s the night shift treating ya, so far?”

“Alright, actually.” 

“...How’s Abbott?” 

Dr. Abbott? “He’s great. For a conversation where I’m bullied, I mean. But he’s a pretty good doctor, yeah?” 

“One of the best, don’t tell him I said that. Tell him I said he’s good. Just enough praise to situate confidence, but not enough to build an ego. Same goes for Robbie.” 

You chuckle at Dana’s rightful plan, chin resting on your hand when you squeak your chair closer to her. 

“...How do the others like him?” 

You already regret the question when Dana’s brows raise, but you don’t know why, it’s just a question where you want to see if the others you’re getting to know like him as much as you do. 

You like him. And that’s okay. You can exist around him and it’s not a crime. 

Nothing about the way you feel deserves punishment. Remind yourself of that if you want the way you smile and the way you want to make others laugh and feel good feel real. If you want to be yourself. 

“In this department, with his ability? He’s easy to like and learn from. He’s not sunshine in a can like you, but you’ve obviously seen he’s able to…appear like he has a will to live.”

“...Sunshine in a can?” 

You’re completely confused in the way you blink quickly. 

“You’ve been here for almost a month and one would think we suddenly have a teddy-bear rotation. The fact that I have not come to resent your constant smiling or surprise granola says something about you.” 

“...Dana–” 

“Take the compliment, sunshine. If I have to hear our Mckay bitch about the lack of brownies since you’ve been put on the night shift, that means you belong here.” 

You smile small, and you’re smile being small doesn’t mean it’s any less genuine, but the idea of people perceiving you, or at the very least, your charge nurse perceiving you as someone who already belongs here makes your heart unbelievably shy. 

You’re glad that the person you can finally be is a person others like, but even in the confidence you need to relearn, you’ll keep that thought down for the sake of being humble. 

“Tell Cassie the day shift will have assorted scones ready for them when I come back. And speaking of my sunny absence, how’s you with the double shifts?”

“It’s probably my 15th anniversary of double shifts tonight.” 

“Sleepy,” You and Dana both look up at Dr. Abbott in front of you two, arms stretched out, palms flat on the counter. “On your feet, we’ll leave Evans to take a nap she actually deserves. Seriously, slugger, you running back and forth tonight worries me.” 

You almost moan when Dana’s mouth parts with a scoff readied on her tongue. “Sleepy? Oh, sweetie, that’s much better than sunshine.” 

You only burn when Dr. Abbott looks at you, then Dana, then you again, all with a stiff head and unblinking eyes. 

“Let’s go.” 

And you can only mouth “why?!” at Dana as you walk backwards behind him. 

“Stop doing that, please.” 

You stop walking backwards. 

“Thank you.” 

Before you know it, you’re standing alongside the newly introduced attending in the intake bay. A patient’s chart rests in his hands, and there. He’s focused again. 

His face is beautiful in his stern, simple sight, and the only issue is your instinct to blush instead of teasing him about it, so you try to focus on what must be the rare reprieve of the night shift, no drunk college kids or wounds from bar fights, right? The fluorescent light hum you know this place for is almost enough to not notice the way Dr. Abbott scratches his leg, and when he does, the pant leg pulls up by a few inches. 

And what’s underneath is metal instead of flesh and bone. Another life that’s built into him. 

Oh. To sound the reveille. The salute. The leg. Or lack thereof. That’s probably a cruel thought to have. You’re sorry. 

He must be a vet, and although you like him, and you want to get to know more of him, you feel like knowing that now without Dr. Abbott’s own words feel wrong. But you can’t think like that. 

These simple things do not deserve punishment. 

You clear your throat, dropping your body on a wheeled stool to spin. And spin. 

Dr. Abbott doesn’t look back down when he looks up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“You look like you’re trying to decode the Zodiac letters.” 

The small, clueless smirk you pressed your lips together for fades when Dr. Abbott puts the chart to his chest, and his face is plain, but already, you can tell by his eyes that he doesn’t find the joke in this. 

You stop spinning. 

“You must be very good at baking. Good on you.” 

You blink. “Oh! My reputation precedes me. And I am, if I do say so myself…” You blink again. 

Is he saying what you think he’s saying? 

“Dr. Abbott, if…my attempts–if I ever get too much, you can tell me. Whatever you’ve heard about me, I can assure you, I’ve definitely caused eye-rolls before.” 

Dr. Abbott gives you no reaction. You can’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, but the way he simply looks back down at the chart strikes you. You swallow. 

Impress. Make do. Make people feel good. 

“Let me guess–non-traumatic, vague abdominal pain, vitals are stable, and the labs could bore you?” 

Dr. Abbott looks up and holds the chart over his legs, his head slightly lifted, but his eyes only on you. 

“There’s nausea, some lightheadedness. Minor tachycardia but not sustained. He says it gets worse after meals. Negative for ulcers. No fever. Nothing glaring at us in the CBC or BMP. You’ve ever caught smoke with your bare hands?” 

You shake your head. He blinks. Oh. 

“Of course you haven’t.” You try not to smile when he shakes his head. “I’d say it feels pancreatic, but the clarity on that isn’t as clear as I’d like it to be. Could be early gallbladder, but the imaging’s clean. I could go get Dr. Shen, or leave it to Robby in the morning for a second opinion but…I don’t know, sleepy.” 

“Can I?” 

You point to the curtain and Dr. Abbott doesn’t take a moment to nod, he only crosses his arm and narrows his head. 

You end up glancing through to see the patient. He’s mid-thirties, male. Seemingly alert and coherent, annoyed but not in distress. 

“May I?” 

Your hand gestures to the chart in Dr. Abbott hands and he gives it to you to study. Here, you wonder what it is he’s trying to do with you exactly, other than figuring out the situation with the new nurse he’s only met yester-night. 

…Is he challenging you? Trying to disprove what others believe? It makes you wonder what’s exactly been said about you to the point where Dr. Abbott or anybody else would think you’re more capable than the average nurse (and the average nurse is nothing short of God here in the Pitt, you think). 

And then you wonder what it is about the other parts of you that might make it harder for him to believe you are what you are, which is a nurse that knows more than she should. 

You can’t blame Dr. Abbott exactly, considering you were just playing spinsies on the chair two minutes ago. Still, the answer to his problem comes to you easily, and you can’t help but wonder what face he’ll make when you tell him. 

“I’m seeing he started a new ‘clean eating’ thing two weeks ago?” 

“No red meat, high fiber, the load of raw veggies.” 

You nod thoughtfully after he drags out the word load on his tongue. “Did you palpate the LLQ?” 

Really. You try not to smile when Dr. Abbott makes no face, but only shifts his crossed arms to folding his knuckles over his stomach. That says enough. 

“Yeah. He winced. No rebound, but no rigidity.” 

“And what about percussion on the sigmoid? Or the gas pattern?” 

And even though you’re not looking, you can feel his eyes watching you, asking a question. 

How the hell do you know exactly what to ask?

“...Some distension, but nothing dramatic. You…what are you seeing in this chart that I’m not?” 

You smile something that all too quickly turns into a smirk. You hate to break down your humbleness the way you do when you hand Dr. Abbott the chart.

“I’m thinking, and only thinking, not diagnosing–that’s your job. But…it could be acute colonic pseudo-obstruction.” 

You lean against the wall, growing taller on your tippy toes and dimples coming along wide. 

Dr. Abbott flips through the chart. 

“He’s ticking all the boxes, don’t you think? Sudden dietary shift, high fiber, gas buildup, some mild nausea. It’s rare, so I don’t mean to think of zebras instead of horses, but if the labs and tests are coming up empty with more common illnesses, you can claim it’s not impossible in a younger patient, you know? The imaging’s not gonna catch it, and even if it did, no one thinks to look for Early Ogilvie’s in someone his age. 

You let the Dr. blink in the moment of silence. 

He puts the chart down on the counter before leaning against it. 

“You’re serious.” In the moment, you’re almost thankful for him taking his sights off you to watch the sterile glow over the tile, but when he looks back up at you, there’s something new in his eyes. It’s odd, you try your best to be confident in the way you talk, the way you comfort patients and your colleagues, but you don’t think you could be as confident with your eyes as Dr. Abbott is with his, but you hope your confidence has the same effect as his focus. 

That it puts trust in others. 

“Ogilvie’s?”

You shrug before leaning into Dr. Abbott’s space, you only do it for dramatics as you whisper. “Just a theory, but I’d put my money on it. You, good sir, could ask for KUB focused on his distal colon, or maybe a contrast if you want to go fancy. But you probably already know that, because if everyone thinks you’re great, well…what can I do but follow?” 

You think that after this, you have to keep looking in his eyes, because what’s the point of proving yourself to him if you can’t appear confident in your proof? Still, you’re thankful that he’s the one to look away first. 

“If you’re right, excellent job.” 

And there it is again, your veins and bones trying to sit still when it faces a compliment. 

“...Thank you–” 

“Excellent.”

And they possibly can’t when you realize that Dr. Abbott is truly serious in his words. Almost…breathless, but that must be how he sounds when he’s not facetiously bullying you. Still, you have to stop the corners of your brain close in on its believability. 

Impress, but relearn how to accept the praise when you finally do. 

But here…it’s different with Dr. Abbott, and you couldn’t know why, but it’s easy for your system to accept his praise, and maybe it's because it wants it badly enough that it’s willing to ignore his voice. His words. 

“If you’re wrong, I will call on Evans to severely reprimand you.” 

“I’ll start a betting pool when you walk off to order the imaging.” 

Dr. Abbott nods before lifting himself away from you and your sights, and it’s only a matter of this being a calm shift that you’re able to sit next to Dana again. 

You only regret when you meet her knowing look. What could she know? You wouldn’t.

“Aw, shit. You glowing from your diagnostic confidence or from Abbott’s praise when you did whatever the fuck it is you did this time?” 

“...I’m allowed to be proud of when I’m right.” 

“Mhm-hm.” Whatever it is that Dana’s unconvinced about, you can tell she is still when she stands up with two pats to your shoulders. “Sure.”

And when she walks away from you, she’s only more unconvinced when she meets Abbott in the walkway. 

“Her. What is with her? How do…others like her?” 

And Abbott’s only as confused as you when Dana snorts.

————————————————

It was just all...so different in my head.

[streamsofmoon]

vi x gn!reader

a/n: reader really does not like caitlyn here so if that's not your cup of tea, you have been warned.

"i don't like you," you tell caitlyn bluntly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "i don't like you nor do i respect you."

"and that matters to me because?" caitlyn says, ever sharp with her retorts. she doesn't even give you the decency of eye contact, keeping her gaze towards the distance.

it angers you, has your blood boiling to the point you're sweating. it takes all that you have to not punch her in her prim and perfect face. because that isn't what vi would want; she would want the both of you to remain civil, even if caitlyn didn't deserve it.

"just wanted to tell you," you reply, keeping your eyes on her. "y'know, vi may be wrapped up in your promises, but i'm not. i see what you're doing here, and it's, frankly, one of the cruelest things i've seen someone do."

caitlyn doesn't answer, but you know your words are affecting her. you can tell by the tick in her jaw, the slight narrowing of her eyes and the brief curl of her fists. your words are slicing through her flesh and burrowing into her skin, mercilessly and endless.

"to ask vi to join the enforcers," you say with a mocking laugh. "telling all sorts of bullshit lies. making her believe that what she's doing is right, as a way to atone for sins she didn't commit, i—" you draw in a deep breath, trying to cool the fury flaring up from within. "you truly are a monster. truly the worst i've seen."

with that, the silence between you falls heavy, and the air feels stifling. it doesn't lighten when vi appears, instantly smiling at the sight of you. it dims when she catches sight of caitlyn, of whatever look she has on her face.

"you okay, cait?" vi asks, too concerned for her own good.

"...i'm fine." is all caitlyn can muster, and it's almost too pathetic.

[ninus9607]

To love a witch pt2 - Wanda Maximoff

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x Female! Vampire reader

Word count: 6.1k

tags: l content: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Vampire!Reader, Slow Burn Romance, Dark Themes, Blood & Violence, age-gap, Morally Grey Protagonist, Supernatural Abilities, Blood Drinking

The story contains graphic violence, dark themes, and slightly possessive behavior

AN: Hiii guyss! here's the second parttt i hope u liked itt, alsooo sorry about every mistake I finished this at 4am ahhahah alsooo 3rd part asap.

xx

Avengers Tower, a few weeks later...

The mood in the Avengers meeting room was terrible.

Thick glass and steel walls couldn't contain the storm that was rising between those who sat around the long table.

Steve walked the length of the room, his heavy boots slamming against the floor with each step,

"She's gone too far this time," Steve muttered, eventually pausing with his palms firmly planted against the tabletop. "Another building has been destroyed. Twelve men died. Three of them are security guards with families. "How long are we going to let this happen?"

Tony Stark leaned casually against the wall, a glass of bourbon in hand, but his eyes lacked the typical glint of irony. "It's not like she's taking out Girl Scouts, Cap," he observed dryly. "Most of those men had deep ties to Hydra, were protected by fake firms, and had clean records. Do you think the government would have intervened in this situation? We both know they won't."

Steve turned, "She isn't a vigilante, Tony. She's a murderer. And every time we let her slip past our grasp, she leaves another body behind."

Natasha pulled away from the window, having remained silent up to that point. "He's right," she admitted, folding her arms. "I warned you the night we saw her at the gala- she doesn't stop. It is not in her nature."

"She's hunting people worse than monsters," Wanda said finally, her voice calm but alarming. The tension in the room increased like static before a thunderstorm. "People who have done unbelievable things that will keep you awake at night. She is cleaning up messes that your governments pretend do not exist."

"By burning down half the city in the process?" Steve shot back.

"Because no one else will."

A deep, strange hush settled over the room. The team had always understood what you were: a beast that formed centuries ago in bloody warfare, improved into something both deadly and beautiful. They knew when Wanda stood for her that they were betting on more than just politics. They were gambling with their lives.

"I got a call from Ross this morning," Tony explained gently, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. "They are putting together an operation team. And, before you ask, it's not one of ours."

Steve muttered under his breath.

"We have to find her before they do," Natasha replied, looking at Wanda.

Wanda tightened her grip on the chain around her neck,

"I can reach her," Wanda said quietly.

"She's not going to listen to you," Steve warned.

"You're wrong," Wanda murmured softly, but her confidence was fading.

"She's had weeks to come here. She has not. You think that was an accident?"

"She's confused," Wanda said.

Tony snorted. "Kid, this is exactly what she is. The question is whether we can use it to our advantage or if we will end up burying a teammate."

Wanda's stomach twisted. No one else saw how her fingers trembled as she placed them against the table's edge.

"I still believe in her," she murmured, sounding more like a prayer this time.

Steve shifted his gaze away. Natasha just sighed.

"You're acting as if she's the problem," Pietro hissed, his Sokovian accent wrapping around the words like a knife. "You forget the kind of people she's taking out."

"No one's forgetting anything," Steve said, his tone strict but not harsh. "But there is a line, Pietro. And she crossed it."

"She's doing your job for you."

"And people are dying," Steve explained solemnly. "People who don't deserve it."

Natasha sighed and leaned back in her chair. "She is unpredictable. Unstable."

Wanda's voice sliced across the room, "She won't hurt me."

Tony scoffed, "Okay, witchy. Here is my question: What is your genius plan? What, you're just going to walk up to her, bat those pretty eyes, and poof... vampire killer becomes house pet?"

"I'll find her," Wanda stated, her Sokovian accent increasing with the weight of her words.

"And then what?" Steve inquired, calmer now. "Wanda... I need to know you've thought this through."

"I have," she replied, and her expression softened for a short period. "I know what she is. But I also understand who I was. A threat. A liability. Dangerous. You did not give up on me."

"That was different," Steve remarked.

"Was it?" Wanda replied quietly. "Or did you just decide I was worth saving?"

Steve took a moment to stare down, his jaw hard, before returning his gaze to her. "You are. You still are."

"Then trust me when I say she is, too."

Pietro grinned as he leaned against the wall. "Well, isn't this touching?"

Tony pointed his finger at him. "Don't push it, Speedy."

"Fact is," Pietro said, ignoring him, "everyone in this room has blood on their hands. But because it is hers, you are prepared to fight."

"She's not stopping," Natasha replied. "You don't understand it. She will not."

"I'll make her,"

Tony sighed and rubbed his palm across his face. "Look... as much as it physically pains me to say this, she's got a point."

Steve lifted his eyebrow. "You're siding with Wanda?"

"I'm siding with not having half of NYC demolished by a pissed-off woman," Tony quipped. "If Maximoff's the only one who can reel her in, we let her try."

Wanda's lips formed a stiff, humorless smile. "Stark, don't get comfortable. I still hate you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, " Tony replied, raising his glass in a false toast.

Steve exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "Wanda, you have one shot at this. One. But if you go too deep"

"I won't."

"Then go," Steve said softly.

Wanda gave him a small nod, and without another word, turned for the door, Pietro on her heels.

With a slight push, the door clicked open, and Wanda walked inside, shoulders sagging from yet another disagreement. Steve's disappointed sighs and Tony's angry words were still playing on repeat in her thoughts, as was the tension she had felt earlier. All she needed was silence so she could think about the plan.

But, of course, fate would not let her do that.

"Finally," a familiar voice said from the direction of her bed. "Took you long enough, сестрa."

Wanda blinked, surprised to see Pietro spread out lazily across her bed, one arm behind his head, a smug grin written across his face like a bright light.

"What are you doing in my room?" she groaned, throwing her jacket onto a chair.

He let the stillness last, his hitting stare never leaving her face, looking at every flicker of emotion she tried to hide. Then, in an almost sadistic tone, he said:

"Y/N?"

Wanda scowled instantly, her cheeks burning up wildly. "Pfft. What about her?"

Pietro's grin spread like wildfire, slowly.  "Oh, come on. That was the worst acting I had ever seen. And I've seen you pretend to like Vision's cooking."

"Shut up."

He laughed and sat up, elbows on his knees. "I knew it. I knew you had a thing for ladies; don't attempt to deny it. But a vampire assassin, сестра? That's bold, even for you."

Wanda crossed her arms, attempting to fight off the flush creeping up her neck. "She's not just"

"A total stranger you've shared maybe three conversations with?" Pietro finished for her while grinning. "Yeah, no, sounds like the perfect base for a relationship."

"I never said"

"You did not have to. I can see it on your face. "It is written on your soul, little sister." He smiled widely, with a taunting glitter in his eyes. "You're gone for her."

"I hate you," Wanda whispered.

"Love you too."

For a moment, the joking faded into calm sibling harmony. Then Pietro cocked his head. "So... what's the plan?"

Wanda paused, biting on her bottom lip, her defenses down.

"I'm going to find her," she said, her voice low. "And when I do... I'll bring her back."

Pietro snorted. "Figures. You've never been good at letting things go."

"I'm serious."

"I know," he replied, rising up and ruffling her hair as he passed. "That's what makes it fun."

"So," he drawled, "are you going to tell me what brilliant plan you've created, or should I just guess?" Let me see... stalking your vampire girlfriend?"

Wanda grumbled and flopped onto the bed alongside him. "She's not my girlfriend."

He grinned. "Yet."

"Pietro."

Wanda glared at him while he chuckled.

"I'm serious," she mumbled. "I have a lead."

That made him sit up a little straighter. "Oh?"

"There's a gathering tomorrow night in the old district. Arms dealers, black market traders... and a contact swears she'll be there. Alone."

Pietro took a deep breath. "That's risky."

"I can handle it."

He snorted and shook his head. "You always were stubborn."

Wanda smirked. "Runs in the family."

He stood and ruffled her hair before she could slap him away. "Okay, alright. But if you get yourself murdered, I'm going to be annoyed."

"Noted."

When he looked back, he was about halfway to the door. "And for the record — still terrible taste."

"Goodnight, Pietro."

You hear quiet footsteps behind you before she speaks. You don't have to turn around to recognize her.

"You're late," you say, your voice quiet and slightly mocking.

Wanda reaches view, hands put in the pockets of her jacket, face guarded but not cold. You can see nervousness in her eyes, despite her best efforts to seem calm.

"Didn't realize you were waiting," she says.

You smirk. "I always know when someone's looking for me."

There is a moment of silence between you that neither of you seems willing to break. The tension remains thick and biting, just as it has since that night. You try not to think about how good she looks under these streetlights, but you do. Of course you do.

"I didn't come here to fight," she explains.

"They could have fooled me. I expected you and your small team would have kicked in my door by now."

"I came alone."

You narrow your eyes. Brave. Or foolish. Perhaps both.

"Dangerous choice, sweetheart."

She shrugs and takes a step forward. "I can handle myself."

That makes you smile. God, she's stubborn. And for some reason, you enjoy it.

"Then why are you here?" you ask.

"I want you to stop."

This takes you off guard more than it should. You raise an eyebrow. "Stop what exactly? Doing what I am good at?"

"You're not like them."

You gave a quiet laugh and shook your head.

"I think you've got me confused with someone else, Maximoff," you comment, resting against the wall as if you have all the time in the universe. "I don't do the hero thing. I don't play nicely. And I definitely don't take commands."

Wanda does not flinch. If anything, she moves closer.

"I'm not asking you to be a hero," she explains calmly. "I'm asking you to stop killing people who don't deserve it."

You tilt your head and study her face. That beautiful accent wrapping around her words. Her jaw tightens when she tries to remain calm. It's frustratingly charming.

"And who decides who deserves it, huh? You? Stark? The government?" You smirk. "I have seen enough of the world to know that no one is innocent. Not even you"

Wanda's eyes spark with a mix of rage and other emotions. It causes a rise in your pulse.

"I never said I was."

You grin. "Good. Would've hated to ruin that perfect little illusion."

There's a long pause, tension thick between you. You should leave. She should leave. Neither of you moves.

"I'm not here to save you," Wanda says after a beat. "But you could be more than this. You don't have to be their weapon."

"I'm my own weapon," you shoot back. " I like it that way."

And you do. The blood. The freedom. The chaos. You've made peace with it a long time ago. There's no guilt left in you. Only hunger.

"You don't have to trust them," Wanda continues, her voice lower now, her gaze fixed on yours. "Hell, you don't even have to trust me."

You raise an eyebrow. "Then what exactly are you offering, Maximoff?"

She hesitates for a second. It's short, so most people would miss it. But you do. She's good, but you've been reading people longer than she's been alive.

"I'm offering you a choice," she continues. "Stop running. Stop hiding behind whatever nonsense you are telling yourself. Do you want blood? Fine. But use it for something important."

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. "And what, I join your little club of morally confused misfits? Fight for some cause I don't believe in because you asked nicely?"

"I'm not asking nicely," Wanda says, stepping in close now. Too close. "I'm asking because whether you want to admit it or not... you're tired. Of all of it."

You clear your throat, and the grin slides back into place. "You talk like you know me."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't."

Another beat of silence. Her lips curled into a knowing scowl.

"I'm starting to."

You look aside, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, then return to her. "Say I'm considering it. What makes you think I won't turn on you the moment things get boring?"

"I don't," she responds casually. "But I'm willing to take that risk."

God, she's reckless. Stupidly brave. And you kinda love it.

You gave a quiet, humorless chuckle, your eyes narrowing as you closed the gap between you and Wanda again. She was close enough to feel the icy edge of your power sliding in the air around her if she looked closely.

"I could kill you right now," you say quietly, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Right here, without anyone even hearing you scream."

Wanda does not flinch. Does not even blink.

"If you wanted to," she tilted her head to the side, "you would've already done it."

And it's frustrating because she's right.

You stare at her, jaw tight, a hundred conflicting things racing through your mind hunger, anger, that goddamn spark of something you can't name or get rid of when it comes to her. She isn't afraid of you. And that's dangerous.

Your fingers flex at your side before you step back with a frustrated scoff, running your tongue across your fangs like it might bite back the irritation.

"Maybe," you mutter, the word foreign and reluctant on your tongue. The closest thing to a concession you've given anyone in centuries.

Wanda's lips twitch like she knows it, too.

You reach for her hand. Take it gently, you place a lingering kiss on her hand, your eyes fixed on hers the entire time.

"Goodbye, Miss Maximoff," you say softly against her skin.

Then, like mist in the night, you vanish.

That night, you and Wanda couldn't sleep....

2:03 AM, Avengers Tower... two days later

The alert sounded as if the world was ending. Red lights flashed across the peaceful tower's walls, and doors slammed open one by one as half-asleep Avengers flooded into the corridor, guns ready.

Steve was already in full Captain mode, shield raised.

"Who the hell is breaking in at two in the goddamn morning?" Tony grumbled, his suit half-deployed and his hair sticking up as if he were in a dream.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.," Steve said. "Where?"

"Kitchen level, unauthorized entry detected."

"Kitchen?" Wanda mumbled, falling into stride with Pietro, whose hair was a jumble, and his eyes were drowsy yet keen.

They turned a corner.

And there you were.

Leaning against the kitchen island as if you owned the place, hair perfect, a wonderful expensive satin shirt half-unbuttoned, legs crossed at the ankle, sipping red wine as if you'd just walked in from an underground jazz club. The refrigerator door was open, and a trail of food was scattered across the counter, including several luxury pastries, a stolen bottle of Tony's best whiskey, and a blood bag from medical storage.

What is the best part? You were chewing something.

"What the actual hell," Tony began.

You stuck up a finger, still chewing, and took a plate off the counter. "Who cooked this?"

You asked casually, pointing with the fork to a strange, gelatinous gray mass that smelled of damp paper and despair.

"That'd be Vision," Steve mumbled.

"Figures," you exhaled deeply, spitting the bite onto a paper towel. "Jesus, you guys let a robot cook? "No wonder you're all so tense."

Pietro snorted before Wanda elbowed him again.

"Why are you here?" Natasha replied, her tone so harsh it could cut glass.

You didn't even flinch, simply finishing the rest of your wine. "To chat," you said with a smirk. "Maybe a snack. You know how it is."

"You broke in," Steve hissed, moving forward.

"I do that," you said with a shrug. "Don't act so shocked."

The alarm finally turned off, leaving a strange silence as the red lights faded back to normal.

You slowly set down the wine glass, your stare fixed on Wanda like a hunter who has just spotted her favorite prey. "Relax, Miss Maximoff," you murmured. "I'm not here to kill your friends."

"Could have fooled me," Tony murmured.

"Oh, if I wanted to," you told him with a harsh grin, "they'd be dead before the alarm went off."

You sighed, as though you were already bored. "Let's remove the dramatics. I am here because you would not stop sending people after me. It's becoming annoying."

"Then stop murdering people," Steve shouted.

You tilted your head, mockingly offended. "I only murder extremely cruel folks. Or extremely boring ones. Which, depending on how this conversation develops, may include you."

A beat of quiet.

Wanda moved forward, her Sokovian accent softly curling over your name. "Y/N."

And, God, the way she said it. It instantly triggered your hunger and long-buried humanity. You despised it and loved it at the same time. You may have drowned in it.

"Save it, I don't give speeches."

"Then what do you do?" Natasha asked coldly.

You grabbed another piece of Vision's weird culinary experiment, sniffed it, made a face, and hurled it straight into the trash without a word.

Pietro outright laughed this time.

"Conference room," you said, swiftly rising up as if you hadn't just insulted half the team's cooking and threatened to murder the other half. "Now."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

You flashed him a lazy smile. "Or I will begin renovating your beloved tower with the guts of whoever is nearest. Your call, Stark."

Natasha moved first, which was typical. Silent and threatening, with a careful regard in her eyes.

The others followed one by one, complaining or frowning but with a tinge of curiosity on their faces. Wanda lingered in the doorway as you passed, her eager green eyes tracking your every movement. You did not look at her.

With a loud thud, you dumped an overstuffed black leather folder onto the table. A few stray photographs and bloodstained documents flew across the glass surface, including crime scene photos, ledgers, coded communications, and the faces of those who had died by your hand.

"Here," you said simply.

Then, like the total threat you were, you dragged a chair back, kicked your boots up onto the table, pulled a blood bag from your jacket pocket, and took a casual sip via a straw, as if this were a brunch date.

Steve grimaced.

"Dramatic," Tony mumbled.

You tilted your head. "That," you motioned to the pile of paperwork, "is the complete inside story of the Donaletti family—human trafficking, arms smuggling, contract killings, underground operations in five countries. Or should I say was? They won't bother you anymore."

Wanda blinked. "You... took down the Donalettis?"

"In a night," you replied, comfortably twisting the bag between your fingers. "Boss, soldiers, hired muscle, and the accountant- poof. "As if they never existed."

"Why?" Steve's voice was low.

You grinned, your teeth slightly sharper than usual. "I was bored. And you guys wouldn't quit following me."

Natasha sorted through the files, inspecting them. "This is solid data."

"Of course it is. I am many things, sweetheart, but sloppy is not one of them."

Steve's voice was harsh. "Why are you giving us this, Y/N?"

You did not respond right away. Before reaching for your blood bag, take a cautious, deliberate sip. The squish of the plastic in the dead quiet room caused Tony to move in his chair.

You slapped the bag down on their clean conference table, putting a smudge on some unfortunate intern's printed report. Then you smiled.

"Because," you said softly, "this isn't the end, lads and girls. Not even close."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "You gonna explain, or should we just assume you're here for dramatic effect?"

"Oh, goatee," you groaned, "While taking apart Donaletti's small playhouse, I stumbled on something worse. A cult. The kind of thing your government likes to pretend doesn't exist. They're here, in this city. And trust me, you want them dead."

"Why bring it to us?" Steve demanded.

Your eyes glowed, "I need something. And you're the only ones foolish enough—or desperate enough—to give it to me."

Tony furrowed his brow. "What kind of something?"

You allowed the silence to last a beat too long. Then you spoke, your voice velvet-soft yet ice-cold.

"Diplomatic immunity."

Steve's face stiffened. "You're out of your goddamn mind."

"I want to be untouchable," you continued, still calm, still smiling. "I want every bounty, every warrant, every record of me erased. I want access to your protected databases and the freedom to kill whoever the hell I please, as long as it isn't one of you. And in return, I'll hand you the biggest threat this world's ever seen. You'll get your cult, your conspiracies, your bloodless little world peace... and I'll get my freedom."

Tony actually laughed, a short, humorless sound. "Jesus Christ. You're asking us to hand you a goddamn license to murder."

You stood, slow and smooth, gathering your files and blood bag. "Oh, Stark, I don't need a license. I just like watching you suffer."

"Forty-eight hours," you whispered, your gaze moving across the strained faces in the room. "Decide if you want your world burned... or cleaned."

You slid a sleek black card out of your pocket and onto the table. The number shone under the light. No name. No hint of identity.

"For when you're ready to beg."

Steve scowled. Tony rolled his eyes.

And then you turned to Wanda. The room felt heavier, as if the air had thickened. You took out a single blood-red rose, a thin black ribbon wrapped around its stem, and a short letter hanging from it.

You took a step closer, the brush of your fingertips intentional, and placed the flower in her hand.

"Para ti, mi amor," you said softly.

(For you, my love)

Wanda's breath caught, and her gaze met yours - no fear, no hesitation.

You smirked and took a step back, saluting everyone in the room with two fingers.

"Tick-tock, Avengers."

And then you were gone.

The stillness was dense until Pietro smirked at his sister. "Ты попaла, сестра," he teased.                                       (You're screwed, sister,)

Wanda said nothing but stared at the rose, tightening her fingers around the stem.

In the weeks that followed, everything changed...

You were officially a consultant - an external resource, according to the documentation. In practice? You were the person they called when things were so bad that no one else wanted to touch them. Assassinations, sabotage, and covert activities unrelated to the Avengers. You handled the dirt as if it were nothing.

A compromise has been made. The offer is accepted. They didn't want to, but they had no choice. You'd presented them with something they couldn't pass up: the leader of a crime empire on a silver platter, along with knowledge on a violent underground cult that made Hydra look like amateurs. You made yourself indispensable.

At first, the team barely spoke with you. You were a ghost in their universe, always present when they needed you, but gone before they could decide how they felt about it. But things gradually changed.

Natasha was the first to crack. She appreciated effectiveness, and you were nothing if not efficient. You'd cross paths in conference rooms and hallways, exchanging dry remarks as a wordless understanding developed between two people who'd seen and done far too much.

People who had witnessed and experienced much too much.

Tony despised how good you were. Hated the fact that when no one else could provide results, you could walk into a room and have it done in minutes – violent, brutal. "She's a walking PR disaster," he complained one night, sipping whiskey. However, he still invited you to his lab when he needed old-world expertise about cult symbols or ancient blood rituals.

Steve was cooler. Every time you walked into a room, you could feel his suspicion. You did not blame him. You did not care either.

And then there was Wanda.

God, Wanda.

She surprised you. Not only did she look at you as if she could see every broken part of you, but she also did not flinch. She was not afraid. Even when you casually mentioned cutting out a man's throat in an alleyway, she simply arched an eyebrow, as if challenging you to surprise her.

Late-night planning meetings were your favorites. Most of the team would be asleep or avoiding you, leaving only you and her in the conference room, paperwork spread out, blood bag in your hand, and coffee in hers.

Wanda mocked you about your fascination with classical literature. You called her a youngster because she didn't know what a phonograph was. She accused you of dramatics; you accused her of terrible taste in movies.

There was tension. Thick. Electric. Not just because you were meant to be on opposite sides of the moral range, but because, despite all odds, you found yourself yearning to be near her.

You've stopped avoiding the tower. You started leaving your blood bags in their refrigerator. Tony protested, Clint made vampire jokes, and Natasha simply shook her head.

And Wanda? Wanda kept popping up.

Some evenings, you found yourself on the Tower's balcony well past midnight, feeling the world change under you. Wanda would show up as a ghost by your side, no words necessary.

Pietro, of course, noticed first. He'd nudge Wanda, smirking and mumbling jokes about her "little vampire problem." She hexed him frequently.

The invitation to Tony Stark's infamous party had arrived wrapped in as much glitter as the man himself.

You arrive at Stark's gala dressed in shadows and silk, every step precise and every movement showing the confidence that only power and money can provide. You want to be noticed on your own terms.

Heads turn as you glide through the room, but you're too used to having eyes on you to be afraid. Wanda is easy to spot—her posture is rigid, her eyes flit uncomfortably to Pietro, who is sitting at the bar with that terrible sneer on his lips. Pietro always manages to rile her up.

Wanda gives him a pointed glance, her cheeks swollen slightly, but you can see a little spark of curiosity in her eyes.

Before you can take another sip of your wine, Wanda approaches, strolling purposefully but with a tinge of nervousness.

"Miss Y/N," she adds, her voice soft but full of weight, "I believe I owe you a dance."

You bend your head and allow that slow, seductive smile to spread across your lips. "Is that right, Miss Maximoff? I don't think I could turn down a request like that."

She gently grabs your hand, and the world narrows to just the two of you. The music builds, and you allow yourself to be drawn onto the dance floor.

You're not sure when one dance blossomed into two... Then four, then the whole night.

Maybe it was because Wanda's hand lingered just a second too long against your shoulder. Perhaps it was the teasing look you wore as you drew her closer during a slow waltz. Or perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to admit what this was becoming.

The party around you kept spinning: drinks poured, laughter rang, and glasses clinked. But for you, there was just Wanda.

You'd exchange scathing remarks between turns, quietly enough for only the other to hear.

The music eventually faded, the guests walked away, and the Avengers were the only ones remaining, sprawled across couches in different states of tiredness and tipsy contentment.

You lie out on one of Stark's extremely priced couches as if you owned it -  because, why not? Wanda plopped down next to you, Pietro nearby, Tony nursing a drink, and Steve loosening his tie as if it were the most rebellious thing he'd done in years.

"So..." Tony started by elevating his brow. "I guess we survived another party. Barely."

"Speak for yourself," you said, smirking as you reached for the glass someone had left behind. "I could go another round."

He slapped his hands together with a way too big grin for the hour, his tie loose around his neck, and a drink in his hand. "Alright, kiddos," he proclaimed, standing up a little too dramatically, "I say it's time for a game."

"Oh god," Natasha murmured, half-laughing and burying her face in her hands.

"What kind of game?" Steve asked

Tony shrugged and smirked. "Something fun. Something damaging. Something slightly illegal in at least three countries - like everything I do."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Now you're speaking my language."

Pietro grinned as he slouched on the arm of a chair. "If it involves shots, I'm in."

Thor gave out a loud laugh. "Yes! A test of will and strength—I welcome this challenge."

Wanda drew in toward you, her voice low, amusement in her eyes. "I probably should warn you..." His previous 'games' resulted in arrests.

You grinned and said in a dark, mischievous whisper. "I've broken out of worse."

Tony pointed at both of you. "See, this is why you're my favorite threat to national security, Y/N."

"Flattered, Tony."

He spun towards the group. "All right—truth or dareBut no wimping out, no playing nice, and if somebody throws a punch, you replace my coffee machine."

Steve moaned. "Do we have to?"

"Cap, come on," Tony said, smirking. "Let loose and live a little. You may even smile."

"I smile plenty."

"No one's seen it since '42," you teased.

The crowd burst into laughter as Steve rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Fine. I'm in."

The first few rounds were exactly what you'd expect from a group of emotionally disturbed, augmented people with no supervision.

Pietro quickly challenged Tony to shotgun a can of beer while upside down. To everyone's dismay and small surprise, he did—only to tumble straight off the counter and take a lamp down with him.

"Worth it, tho," Tony said from the floor, holding the empty can in victory.

Natasha coolly won every truth round by flat-out refusing to answer and daring people to test her. No one did.

"Alright, alright," Tony clapped his hands, moving whiskey over the rim of his glass. "Y/N. Your turn. "Truth or dare?"

You took a slow sip from your drink, smiled over the rim. "Truth."

A series of loud gasps filled the room.

"Booooring," Pietro mocked, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

Tony's eyes glinted, indicating that he was already planning something. "Okay, vampire queen — here's your question: what's the most messed-up thing you've done to someone... y'know, before you joined our lovely dysfunctional family?"

"Well..." you began, swirling the blood-red wine in your glass, allowing the expectation to hang in the air for too long. "There was a duke. 1894. "Arrogant little thing who used to hunt people like me for fun."

Wanda's brows rose with interest, and you caught her gaze.

"I let him think he was winning for weeks," you said, your voice slick and incisive. "Then, on the night of his wedding, I drained the entire wedding party. I left him alive. Tied to a chair. Made him watch. "And when the sun rose...you can guess the rest."

A brief and startled hush.

"Holy shit," Sam said.

Thor gave a strong, slightly unpleasant laugh. "Remind me not to cross you, Lady Y/N."

Pietro's grin grew like a child on Christmas morning. "Okay, сестрa...Truth or dare?"

Wanda squinted her eyes, hating her birth with a twin. "Dare."

The entire room gasped and cheered.

"Oh, she's brave," Sam laughed, raising his glass.

Pietro tapped his chin impressively before snapping his fingers. "Okay, okay — I dare you to... use your powers to convince Thor to give Captain America a lap dance."

The room has lost it. Sam doubled out laughing. Tony nearly fell off the couch while gripping his chest. Natasha only smirked and murmured, "This I gotta see."

Wanda's jaw dropped. "You're an idiot."

"I'm a genius," Pietro said

You were amused by the situation: "Now this is comedy."

"Come on, Wanda," Tony taunted, elbowing her. "You're not scared, are you?"

Wanda groaned and hid her face in her hands for a moment before sighing. "Fine. But if I'm struck by lightning, I'll haunt you all."

With a flick of her fingers, a soft crimson glow flashed around her hand as she turned to face Thor, who was already chuckling, utterly oblivious of what was about to happen.

Thor's look slowed for a second before brightening with a grin as he clapped his hands. "Captain Rogers!" he exclaimed.

Steve suddenly appeared terrified. "Wait, what's happening—?"

Before anyone could blink, Thor began bouncing his hips and making his way toward Steve.

"Oh my God," Sam exclaimed, pointing. "It's happening!"

"Wanda, stop him!" Steve yelled, attempting to stand up, but Thor was quick.

Wanda cackled, letting go just as Thor arrived.

Thor blinked, perplexed. "Why am I...? Why do I feel like I'm about to—?"

"Nothing!" Wanda called swiftly, laughing so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.

Steve scowled at Pietro. "You're dead."

Pietro only shrugged, smirking like a proud evil. "Worth it."

You lifted your drink to Wanda with a mischievous look. "Impressive, Miss Maximoff."

Wanda performed a fake curtsy. "Thank you, malysh."

The night dragged on after the chaos of the game. People began to leave one by one, with headaches or outright shame. Thor left first, complaining about Midgardian customs being weird. Sam and Pietro quickly disappeared, most likely to plunder the kitchen again. Steve fled, grumbling about decency. Even Tony, half-drunk and yet beaming, went off to his floor.

You stayed.

Not because you couldn't sleep—you didn't have to. However, there was something quietly pleasant about how the Tower felt at night. The hallways are empty.

Then you heard it.

Faint at first, but your senses sharpened without permission. A voice—strangled, sobbing. Another scream muffled behind a door, somewhere down the hall. Wanda.

Something inside of you moved before your thoughts could catch up with the harsh and broken scream. The book dropped from your lap, pages fluttering shut. You were already out the door, the gentle click of it closing behind you drowned by the beating of your own dead heartbeat.

You didn't think about it

Only her voice did.

You were on her floor in seconds, your steps soundless on the slick flooring. Another stifled sob pierced the air, and you did not hesitate.

"Friday," you said, your voice low

A gentle chime rang above you, the AI's tone polite. "Miss Y/L/N, Miss Maximoff's room is locked." Should I ignore security?"

You did not pause. "Do it."

"Access granted."

The door slid open with a hiss, and you slipped inside before it even completely opened.

The room was dim, with only a gentle glow from a bedside lamp throwing long shadows on the walls. Wanda lay tangled in the covers, her face contorted with misery even while sleeping, tears streaming down her cheeks. The tiny red flicker of her abilities danced wildly at her fingertips, and her breath came in loud, uneven gasps.

You crossed the room, dropping to a crouch beside her bed, your hand hovering just above her shoulder. "Wanda," you called her name softly, "Wands... wake up."

But she didn't. The nightmare had her in its grip, powers crackling faintly.

Your jaw clenched.

"Wanda," you whispered, voice barely there. "It's me."

Her eyes widened, glassy with panic, and she lost sight for a second. She shrank back, confusion on her face.

"Shhh, it's fine, little witch. It's me. Y/N." Recognition showed up, bringing with it something raw. She nearly threw herself into your arms, burying her face in the crook of your neck while her body rocked with tears.

"I...I dreamed you were gone," she gasped out, her voice trembling. "They killed you. And I couldn't stop it."

Your throat clenched. You hugged her closer, one hand caressing her hair and the other around her waist. She was warm and delicate in a way that no one else saw, including her brother.

Your throat clenched. You hugged her closer, one hand caressing her hair and the other around her waist. She was warm and delicate in a way that no one else saw, including her brother.

"I'm not going anywhere, darling," you said softly into her hair. "I am alive. I can't die, remember? I'm cursed, immortal,  whatever word makes you feel better."

It provoked a weak laugh from your throat, and you smiled softly, brushing your lips against her temple.

"You'll have to do a lot worse than a nightmare to get rid of me."

"Promise?" She whispered, so little and afraid.

"Promise."

You could feel her fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, as if she was frightened you'd vanish if she let go.

"Stay," she said quietly this time.

"I'm not leaving," you said again. After a while, you could feel the way her breathing slowed, she fell asleep again..

You gently pushed your lips to her temple, allowing her warmth to soak into you.

And in a low, soft murmur meant just for her, you muttered, "You have no idea how long I've waited to hold you like this."

She shifted, burrowing her face more into your chest, and even though she didn't say anything, the way her lips curved against your skin gave you the impression she was smiling.

"I'm yours," you said quietly into the darkness, stroking your hand through her hair. "Always. "No nightmare, war, or death could separate me from you...."

[mettleplex]

I'm sorry for speaking so harshly. I will change that. I regret saying you "deserve" negative feelings. My apologies. I let my own triggers inhibit my communication which was unfair.

Please. If anyone reading this is having suicidal thoughts. Call the hotlines. Look after your life.

Feel free to block me, otherwise, maybe we can talk...

You don't want me to use presumptuous wording. Fair.

Of course, it's foolhardy to dehumanise MAPs. They're not monsters. They're humans who need serious help and an appropriate space to really open up.

MAPs tend to have experienced CSA & other traumas. You're a sibling community, currently going off the fucking rails 😩 and you're not the only ones, honestly.

I'm well aware not all MAPs act on their attractions. Risk level can change over life.

this sub is simply to remove negative thoughts and energy. Not guilt.

So can we talk about the logistics of this?

Suppressed feelings don't fade, they wait.

If people are struggling with their thoughts - from attraction to minors, to suicidality, so on - "removing" those thoughts is far from what's needed. It's not even possible.

Cut short - no competent mental health professional will ever recommend or attempt to "remove" any part of you.

I'm not against belief in subliminals - I actually was an active creator in the 2010s. But people don't all end up with the same results.

That's why I'm pointing out that attempting to remove your "negative thoughts" with a pop-culture* delineation of subliminal messaging isn't as risk-free as it might seem. Especially not once it's posted with intent to be shared.

*(cuz let's be honest, the sub community is far departed from scientifically understanding what we do...)

Temporary relief gained through a placebo will not hold.

This could cause a false sense of security;

that would not only potentially endanger the life of the individual, but could also cloud their emotional awareness.

If the root to your negative emotions is still in you, you may cut it back for a while, but eventually you'll have to uproot it. Right?

Here's what I've heard: emotions are your intuitive language. You feel things for a reason. They are complex and layered.

Not all MAPs act on their attractions, yet they still be treated like monsters and predators even though they're not,

Some even become suicidal. This sub is to remove those thoughts

I'm curious about your usage of "remove".

Remove: To move from a place or position occupied

Once "removed", can "negative thoughts" fully exit the psyche? Should listeners expect them to return?

If we're playing into the 'law of attraction', the vibrational energy of acceptance and abundance will get you further.

~ "I accept how I feel" • "I know I am more than my thoughts" • "my self-respect is abundant" • "I am in control of my mind" ~

Are you anticipating people whose subjective view may include emotions surrounding having offended to be simply "negative thoughts"? That could include guilt. Are there limitations on what's ok to "remove"? /genq

I ask because..

Not guilt..

nothing to be guilty of..

Not all MAPS act..

they're not [monsters and predators]..

What of the MAPs who do act, and do feel guilty? Are they part of your target demographic?

I made a friend at 16; by 18, he was a predator. The minors around us were affected.

One day, just before I cut him off, we really got talking and I asked why the hell he did that. He said he didn't know.

"But don't you think about it?"

"No."

With further questions, I discovered he deliberately suppressed it. Every day, it ate away at him. Now he has a record...

"I didn't want to feel it, so I just tried to push it back." His words actually haunt me.

Moreover, what if these negative feelings were layers over the missing pieces to an individual's recovery? Deeply negative feelings can, at times, be a 'fire up one's ass' to seek help.

From a psychiatric perspective, acceptance is generally the first step to recovery. From anything.

For those reasons, I'm concerned that your affirmations may not - as you put it - "remove suicidal thoughts". I respect the sentiment.

I think you could do better.

Your response to my (obviously very poor) critique was that you're trying to save lives here. But is "simply remove negative/suicidal thoughts" a realistic goal?

Is it simple?

I've used subliminals with intent to quell negative feelings in the past. It's like an over-the-counter painkiller. It's no cure and feeling pain is only the surface of any issue, mental or physical.

In my experience, I gained the best results when the sub was about building healthier thoughts and habits. Add, instead of take-away.

I have also heard that negative language (e.g not, won't, can't, remove) will be inferior to positive language (e.g is, will, can, gain). Sub-makers overwhelmingly believe that the subconscious doesn't fully process the negative aspect and will "ignore" it.

So, "I am not blue" would become "I am .. blue". You may prefer, "I choose my colour freely."

I never found a source confirming nor denying this.

Point being: subliminal messaging is anything but simple... All the little scientific(/spiritual) factors determining its efficacy are beyond me. Hopefully you're much more adept at it than I was.

You can help people, and with this attitude, you will. But this shit is beyond serious. Mistakes can & will be made. To be brutally honest, telling me your intentions when making this didn't reassure me at all. I hope you can understand my concerns regarding how this could go wrong.

The worst part is, you'll never know if it's gone wrong for someone - so all we can do is try to provide the most solid content possible. There's no rush.

Having thoughts you wish you could "remove" is never easy.

Btw, I clicked on your content expecting just a cute edit here. That's why I was so horrified as MAPs are a trigger for me due to abuse experiences. Turns out I'm, like, vehemently opposed to loads of your views...

I saw your post about how antis are stubborn. Well, beyond my emotional outbursts - I like to think I'm open minded.

Feel free to block me, cuz if I feel like replying to you I probably will! I like to debate, so, here I am. Cheers.

🗺️ positive subliminal!!

With music

🩷 - a positive sub to remove all toxic thoughts from your head about being a map. Be proud! And love yourself your amazing ^^ first sub btw

I don't feel uncomfortable with Posting on YouTube. But I don't mind if you reupload on YouTube yourself. But PLEASE give me credit.

[yashley]

[lord-squiggletits]

Y'know I kind of feel like when Megatron killed Tarn and said 'I want you to spend your final moments thinking of this: that everything you've done has been for nothing' he was kind of self-projecting onto Tarn? Mainly because at Megatron's statue, M and T had a conversation where Tarn explicitly asked if all the Decepticons in service to Megatron died for nothing, if HE did everything he did for nothing. (And I think M even gave an answer along the lines of 'idk I think we basically did'). And then after Megatron killed the DJD and Rodimus teleported in to rescue him, there was that silent moment where Megatron just stared at Rodimus not moving at all before he finally took his hand at the last moment.

It honestly feels to me like for a while, Megatron fully intended to murder-suicide himself. Murder the DJD, his monsters and his creation, and then take himself out alongside them, because he is also a monster. Because he also feels that everything he's ever done has been for nothing.

Goddamn it's no wonder I liked that scene so much LMAO, as someone who thinks villain Megatron > Autobot Megatron, literally one of his key traits is that Megatron basically took his pain/trauma/worldview and used it to lash out at the universe and try to subjugate it to his vision. So the fact that he took his own pain and brutally murdered the DJD while telling them the very same thing that puts him through so much agony is so very deliciously ironic. And a return, however brief, to the Megatron characterization that I know and love.

[pagesofkenna]

i wanted to make a post about a thing but the more i think about it the more i want to say and it's just going to end up being a big ramble essay, so instead i'll just give the thesis statement, thusly:

as the #1 Ratgrinders Apologist (self-appointed), of course they're the final boss fight to the death. i expected nothing less and the people trying to make discourse about it are ignoring the entire context of this being a Dungeons and Dragons game

[lennonhead]

so, now that I can type without getting super dizzy, can we talk about Hachiware turning into a monster

[chryseis]

happy saturday evening besties

[coinsweepermaster]

Bela should have either came back in the finale (15x19 was the finale what are you talking about) and saved everyone by shooting Chuck in the back with some magic gun she "procured" or came back in Season 12 by breaking into the British MoL facility to stop Lady Bevell from brainwashing Mary. Either way, it should have involved her shooting someone and one upping the Winchesters as usual

[txrks]

Tag Dump 1

[differenteagletragedy]

The one where Simon Riley gets a roommate and the roommate is you and eventually you fall in love etc.

There's a bar in Simon's neighborhood where he goes sometimes when things get a little too loud in his head. A few nights a week or so, when he's home, he finds himself there, sitting at a corner stool at the bar and nursing a whiskey. He doesn't like being around people, not really, but he likes this better than he likes being alone with his thoughts.

That's why he started going anyway, a long time ago. Now, he mostly goes for you.

A pretty little bartender with a past -- one you haven't told him about, but he can smell it on you. It's in the way your eyes dart to the door every time it opens, and in the way the tension builds in your body when some drunk gets a little too loud. He'd noticed how gorgeous you were the first day, but now the pull is in the mystery.

Where did you come from? What happened to you? And why do you smile at him like he's not the most dangerous man you'd ever met?

He doesn't understand it, but you're always kind to him. You always greet him warmly, pour his favorite whiskey with a heavy hand without him asking. Sometimes, when he comes in on a slow night, you'll lean over the bar to talk to him about nothing until someone pulls you away. You laugh at his jokes.

You're too pretty for him, the scarred, hulking monster of a man that he is. And you're entirely too sweet. You deserve someone better, younger, more stable, more whole. You deserve more than whatever it is that you'd gotten before, and a hell of a lot better than him.

But one night when he comes in and sees you looking quietly frantic, eyes red-rimmed and anxious as you flit about the bar, that knowledge goes out the window.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly, studying the slight shake of your hand as you pour his drink.

"Nothing," you answer automatically.

"Bullshit."

You sigh, and after a little more prodding, you tell him: the owners of the bar are selling the building to developers, who are going to tear the place down, so soon, you'll be out of a job. But worse, you rent the small little attic apartment over the bar, so you'll be out of a home as well.

Simon can see it in your eyes, knowing the look all too well: you feel hopeless.

"I've got a room," he says.

And it's a stupid thing to say, because he has no business offering you something like that. He doesn't know you, not really, and you don't know him, and the room isn't a guest room so much as it is an empty space in his house that he's never had any reason to fill.

What can he really offer you? Not just with the room, but at all? Whatever it is, he knows it would never be enough.

But you give him the tiniest of smiles, and he sees something flicker in your eyes, and it doesn't matter how ridiculous the idea is. If you want it, it's yours. If he has it, you can take it, and he'll give it gladly.

"Really?" you ask. "I don't have a lot of money or anything."

"Don't need it."

"I haven't had a chance to look for a new job yet, but I'm gonna start tonight," you assure him. "So hopefully I can find something right away and --"

"Don't worry about it, love," he interrupts. "Not offering because I need the money. Room is yours if you want it."

He speaks gruffly, as he always does, and he hopes that you won't ask too many questions, because truthfully, he won't be able to answer them, not in any way that makes sense. He doesn't want to lie to you, but how could he say that the thought of you in his space was enough to stir something in him that he’d long thought dead?

Thankfully, you don’t ask. Instead, you lean across the bar and wrap your arms around his neck. It’s an awkward hug, but it means something, and before you pull away he’s already making a mental note of everything he’ll need for the spare room.

Your room.

“I can’t thank you enough, Simon, really,” you tell him, smiling a little easier now. “I’ll get another job soon anyway, ok? And I can clean and cook and --"

"Start by getting me another whiskey, yeah?"

Your smile turns a bit sheepish, but you nod and turn to get the bottle, and he takes a breath.

This is a bad idea. There's no way it isn't. It's going to go poorly, one way or another, he's going to be too much or not enough, and one day you'll leave and his house will feel even emptier than it already does.

But Simon is no stranger to bad ideas. And this one, at least, should prove to be a little bit of fun along the way.

PART TWO

[deikshen]

One day, Shen Qingqiu comes from the city with a little baby in his arms. He says: "His mother died during childbirth and I am taking care of him." He names the child Shen Yuan when he is old enough to give him a name, and the child grows up in Qing Jing.

Everyone, absolutely everyone, believes that Shen Qingqiu is the biological father of that child. Only have to LOOK at them both and see the resemblance: the same eyes, the same hair, the same facial structure, the same lips, even the same angry pout. Rumors - Shen Qingqiu had a child with a prostitute who died and now he is taking care of him!! - are open secrets.

Shen Qingqiu, as usual, ignores them. He cares for his little one, raising him with the closest thing other Peak Lords can call love. Impeccable robes, the best meals, the best early education. Shen Yuan grows up as a polite, gentle, kind-hearted, sweet-faced child. He frees insects before killing them, isn't afraid to dirty his robes if he must go after someone, and has an avid interest in beasts and monsters beyond comprehension. The Peak Lords jokingly think: this child has taken his father's face and surely the good heart of his mother, may she rest in peace.

When he comes of age, he doesn't even have to dig a hole to be chosen for Qing Jing Peak - everyone knows that Shen Qingqiu has already made a place for him there. However, Shen Yuan insists on doing it on his own! He wants to earn his place. The Peak Lords respect him for it, and there are various interests, but he still ends up in Qing Jing Peak.

And Shen Yuan becomes Shen Qingqiu's clear first disciple. He is a skilled scholar, excellent martial artist who is not afraid to tear someone rude with foul words, but with an almost natural disposition to be kind, sweet and gentle with those who deserve and require it.

It is then that Luo Binghe arrives at Qing Jing Peak.

The Peak Lords hear of the rumors and they spread them like pollen in spring: apparently there has been a HUGE discussion between Shen Qingqiu and his spoiled son! Something involving a child with water burns, a beating, and a woodshed. No one understands what happened, but a day later, Shen Yuan completely disappeared from the Cang Qiong Sect.

And he has taken a young disciple with him.

Shen Qingqiu begins to act as if he never had a son - as if his whole life has been all about him, hostile and unpleasant. His mood is worse than ever and his cruelty is undeniable. No one understands what has happened between father and son, but these are rumors that even if whispered, bring the very bad faces of Shen Qingqiu. And no one wants to be behind Shen Qingqiu's wrath when it is unleashed.

(Shen Yuan had transmigrated. Into a baby! Into Shen Qingqiu's son! Yes, indeed his memories had been gradually unlocked, thank god. It would have been so weird to be a baby with the mindset of an adult... And he had believed, for a long time, that perhaps Shen Qingqiu could change. That loving him and caring for him would make him better when Luo Binghe reached Cang Qiong.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

So, Shen Qingqiu can hate him for this reason if he wants! But Shen Yuan has to leave there and take Luo Binghe with him. He will teach him cultivation and do everything to make him become a powerful cultivator before his demonic seal is unleashed, he will do everything possible to prevent him from the Endless Abyss, and will prevent Shen Qingqiu from being turned into a human stick.

Probably, a single night of punishment and humiliation wasn’t enough for Luo Binghe to want revenge so hard. Actually?? He just would save the lives of all his martial uncles and his father in the process to kindly educate Luo Binghe and make him as powerful yet happy as possible. They should thank him!! He's sacrificing himself, his comforts, and his reputation to save everyone's asses!!!)

...

(Although Shang Qinghua had wanted to give Shen Qingqiu a son - a magical pollen pregnancy between Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu, which Shen Qingqiu would NEVER tell Yue Qingyuan was his child until the very last moment - for the drama and secondary revenge and angst 7/9, that had been a damn draft!!! He didn't even get to develop the background of Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu!!! And now that son ran away with his Protagonist!? System, what's going on!? Why do HE make sure the Endless Abyss arc be completed!? He doesn't even fucking know where the protagonist is!!! System have mercy on AND HELP!!!)

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Parade Performer

Dpxdc Prompt #18

Every year Gotham hosts a parade where performers dress up as Gotham villains and go riding on a parade float around town while gothamites throw anything they can manage at them. These performers are paid an obscene amount for going through the abuse of every person living in Gotham. The more hated the villain the more the performers are paid, so obviously being the Joker pays the most.

Though, this doesn't matter much because every year the Joker kills the person that plays him during the parade.

So obviously Danny Fenton, a broke runaway that has already died once decides to be the Joker for the Gotham Villain's Parade.

Danny hates clowns.

Everyone in Gotham hates clowns, so he isn't special in that regard. No, he's special in that his hate for clowns does not stem from the Joker.

It's that specialty, along with the fact that he's used to people hating him his home town never really liked his protection, no matter how much they needed his help , and that he needs money to help him survive Gotham that has lead him to become a parade performer.

He joins a very short line of people who are desperate enough to dress as the worst Gotham has to offer.

He's the only one that's there for the role of the Joker.

All the people there look at him like he's a dead man walking.

He sits down and allows the makeup artist to turn him into an unrecognizable monster. She looks at Danny like she is stabbing a knife into his heart—which for all intents and purposes she is.

As he stares into the mirror he allows a change in his previous statement. He was turned into a monster for sure, but there was nothing unrecognizable about the man that had hurt every single person in Gotham City in some way.

He steps onto the float and prepares himself mentally. Whatever they say, whatever they do, they don't mean it about him. They are just taking out on him what they can't do to the man that has ruined so many lives.

Danny stands still as rotten tomatoes are thrown his way. He stands as still as a statue for all of the insults. The only time he moves is when knives and bullets rain upon him, he doesn't plan to die, not to misplaced anger.

He gets his money, it's enough that could last him into retirement. It doesn't matter too much as he is kidnapped 3 days later.

The Joker beats him with a crowbar, smashes all of his bones into pieces, and televises the whole event.

"This is what happens to those that mock me," he says, "There's only one Joker and that is me."

Danny knows he won't die, he doesn't have bones for the crowbar to break.

Red Hood doesn't know that. Jason Todd just sees a desperate kid that's about to get killed on live TV.

He loads his gun, find's the murderer that's haunted his dreams, his death, and his life. He shoots, no Bruce to stop him.

He picks up the kid and brings him to a safehouse. Jason is too late for the kid the same way Bruce was for him. He has no pulse, no breath entering his lungs. He deserves a peaceful resting place.

And then the kid's eyes open and Jason's world is turned upside down.

[kurooandkenmasslut]

jjk dilfs x pregnant!reader

(reader is far into the pregnancy, much to jjk mens excitement yet worry.)

no minors! (I didn't feel like aging up yuuji and megumi and so on..) && no sukunaaa sorryyy

tojis is super short, I apologise!! if this gets enough attention I might make it longer but i wanted this out asap lmfao

⭒​SATORU GOJO↫​

when dream becomes reality

“But!-”

“no buts, sweets. just rest your cute lil buttocks on the couch.” gojo fought back. everytime you'd protest to do something, he'd always be there to retort. Especially since your due date was nearing.

you bit your lip, staring up at him. You felt kind of bad. He does everything for you, cleaning, shopping for you everyday, even learning a new skill which was cooking, just for you.

lying on his chest as you both watch your favourite tv show, his large hand caressing your belly bump.

“what do you think the baby'll be?” you ask, staring up at his face. Gojo stared at your face for a moment, not thinking, just admiring his wife.

“a boy.” he says, no hesitation.

“ehhh? why do you think that? I think it's a girl.”

“my dreams, sweets.” he smiles and you chuckle. At the near the start of your relationship, satoru had a dream of where you are now. Him being the strongest sorcerer, you his wife, with a baby boy. He had his absolutely gorgeous eyes and long lashes and most of his features, the cute baby taking your haircolor and your pretty smile. Oh if only younger gojo saw him now, he would of cried in happiness.

with a flushed face, he admitted it, completely out of his mind. drunk gojo smirked as he told described how beautiful it was, not knowing how embarrassed he was, but he didn't mind the part where his dream came true.

as embarrassing as it is for gojo to recall the memory, he still laughs with you, because if you find it funny, then he's content. maybe revealing another embarrassing secret, just to make you laugh, isn't that bad.

⭒​CHOSO KAMO↫​

First time daddy!

as soon as choso found out you were pregnant, he typed up on google what pregnant means, he was happy for the most part but.. worry and nervousment still lingered. He was actually surprised he could reproduce since he was a half curse. Negative thoughts was set on his mind. He felt as if his child would be scared of him. And if they were, which in his mind, they were likely to, he would curl up and bawl on the floor.

You gave told choso over and over again everyday, saying there's nothing to be worried about and that he'll be an amazing father, but he still felt like it, no matter the words you repeated. Not to mention, the people outside your relationship gossiped, especially about choso. On how he is a 'monster', a curse, not fit to parent with a human, that you deserve better. He would hear them on the streets, anywhere and everywhere. He did try not letting them get to him, but hearing it constantly everytime he went in public was very exhausting.

any time you tripped, or just an honest accident, choso felt like he was responsible for not taking care of you properly. Even though, it wasn't his fault.

So when that baby pushed through, God, he wanted to cry. Although the nurses rushed to clean him, he clenched your sweaty palm. Wiping away the stray hairs that stuck onto your sweaty forehead. You panted, leaning into his touch.

the nurses carried your baby gently and carefully, placing him into your arms. The nurses cooed before leaving you with choso.

Choso wasn't an emotional person, but big fat tears swam down his pale face, his hands covering his face. You lightly chuckled.

“do you want to hold him?” funny how that small, little sentence almost made him faint.

“b-but.. what if I drop him?” choso muttered, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. Nervous was an understatement. “nonsense! we practiced for this, remember? Here, my arms are tired, cho.” you say, yawning. Gently pushing the newborn into his hands, choso cradled his head in his hand, while his arm held his body.

You didn't get time to oogle, as your bufy shut down like a light.

The baby opened his eyes, big doe circles looking back at him. They both held eye contact before the baby started laughing, having his small little hand on chosos pale face. Choso was shocked to say the least. He didn't think his baby would giggle when he saw him, but he certainly isn't mad.

Waking up a while later, you rubbed your eyes with a yawn. That was a good sleep. Turning your head over to see where choso went, you stared at the cute sight.

Choso, in the seat next to your bed, was sitting there, sleeping. The baby was cradled in his arms with a strong grip, but not a uncomfortable grip. They both snored away, making you giggle a bit, reaching out to hold chosos hand and whispering,

“I love you two boys.”

⭒​SHIU KONG↫​

personal taxi..

Staring at the cars passing out the window, looking bored. You then started having a competition between two raindrops on the window.

Seeing that the specific raindrop that you were rooting for to win had lost, already soured your mood.

“im hungry, shiu. Can we go to the bakery? Pretty pleasee? I really, really want to get that new donut flavor they released!” you begged. Shiu, your very lovely husband who may or may not drive to the shop, sighed.

“babe, you just ate. We literally had a mcdonalds 10 minutes ago.”

“okay, but im carrying your baby. You do realise that there's another mouth to feed, and that im going to tear my body trying to give birth to your baby right?” you whined, batting your pretty lashes at him. No matter what, he always gives in. I mean, who could argue with that? That's the truth.

Smiling cheekily at him, you began to slightly kick your feet, excited he's complying. Works everytime.

looking at all the buildings that passes the vehicle, you can tell your almost near your destination.

feeling the baby kick, you accidentally let out a grunt. “that damn baby..” you mutter through furrowed brows. Shiu laughs, “no way you're already cursing out our baby.. not even out yet, doll. Im sure theyre just excited as you are going to this damn bakery.” you roll your eyes, not wanting to retort back to his remark. I mean, you don't blame your baby for being excited, because you love it too. as soon as they were born, you can bet that your taking them here every time possible.

seeing the building you were dying to see, a smile formed on your face. Hunger took over your body, jumping out of the car as soon as shiu parked and turned it off.

“aye, woman! Would you wait on me, jeez.. impatient women these days..” shiu called out, muttering the last part so you wouldn't hear. He knows he would get a red ear if you did. hurrying out as he also knows that you would huff if he dared to take 5 seconds longer and would've went without him. Not only that, but he didn't want you to trip over anything to hurt yourself.

shiu put his hands around your waist as you two walked. A cute little detail you adored.

The bell rang when you opened the door, the waitress greeting you when she walked passed. The aroma was hints of warm coffee and cinnamon. It felt really comforting, whixh is why your a usual customer.

Thankfully, there wasn't much of a line, but long enough for time to think about your order.

You were up next, so you two ordered.

Getting seated down the back right next to the window. You finished your pastry in about a minute while shiu was mid way into a bite, staring at you like you were crazy.

Both of you held eye contact before breaking it with a fit of laughs. You and Shiu couldn't wait for a third person giggling aswell, possibly a specific baby..

⭒​SUGURU GETO↫​

suguru's house rules

as soon as suguru found out that you, his wife, his one and only, got knocked up by him, he immediately made everything in the house baby proof. Even at the start at the pregnancy.

Raising two girls by himself wasn't easy, but now that he's experienced parenting, he knows all the tips and tricks.

“you will not be lifting a finger, unless you need to go to the restroom or something.. anyway, next if you need anything while I'm away, the girls will always be by your side if you need anything. If you need me at any time, I'm keeping my phone on me all day, just incase.” suguru says, with his cute little smile. You blink at him blankly, as if he doesn't tell you this everyday.

“sugu, you do realise I can do stuff by myself, right?” you say, tilting your head. You have this conversation everyday, yet you don't know why you bother because he never budges. You didn't want to treat your two angels, mimiko and nanako, like your servants while you sat there like royal.

“nonsense! I don't want my princess in there and my angel here moving around alot, don't want you to fall or anything, you know?” he mumbles. You glare up at him as he smiled sweetly at you. As if he didn't make a cheeky reference to the one to many times of when you got up when the two girls weren't looking, your poor knees gave out. And when suguru got that certain phone call, he seriously almost passed out in worry. After all of that, he still is wary of leaving the house most days, afraid something might happen again and he isn't there.

suguru sits back in satisfaction after just smothering you with kisses, something he usually does before he leaves for his cult. He hates dealing with them damn monkeys, but one of his many goals is to get as many curses as possible, so he'll take what he can get.

standing up, he calls put to the girls, who were currently making you lunch.

“mimi, nana! I'm leaving now, you coming to say bye?!” he yelled not to loud, not wanting to damage your hearing because of him. The two girls pounce on him, his arms full of his two angels.

“come home safe!” “hurry up coming home, there's a new cafe that opened and I wanna try it!” they squealed, suguru only chuckling in response, patting their head with his usual smile.

“take care of mommy over there, mkay?” suguru slightly bent down to their level, his voice low. They nodded enthusiastically, giving him one final hug before he went.

suguru closed the door, summoning his rainbow dragon. If he could marry you over and over, he would.

⭒​NANAMI KENTO↫​

worry 'bout yourself, baby!

wiping the slight dampness off your forehead, you finally made it to your destination. the nursery room. Putting your hands on your hip, you stared at the random peices of the unbuilt crib on the floor.

Peaking our the door and looking at your husbands closed office door, hearing him on the phone to his coworker. Perfect timing.

Recently, nanami has been working at home to watch over you a bit more, even though he has papers half the height of you to fill out. You didn't wanna bother him from his work again today, and plus, you wanted to be independent and brag about how you built this crib by yourself to your baby later. But, you knew nanami would get kind of mad that you lifted a finger, you didn't care.

If you sat down on the floor to even sort it out, you wouldnt get back up again and would need kentos help. And so, bending down to pick up the peices, you started to feel dizzy after a bit of back and forth of putting the pieces on the table.

'only a few peices left.' the thought trailed through your mind after each peice. Although, your baby thought otherwise, giving a nice brutal kick on the walls of your belly. A sudden yelp came, followed by a quick slap to the mouth as you have now blown your cover. Thr house was silent. Not hearing the mumble of kentos voice, now hearing the footsteps coming to the nursery. Mentally cursing our baby out, the door opened.

“honey? whats wrong? why are you- don't tell me you're trying to build the crib again?” kento said, scratching his blonde undercut. Smiling sheepishly with a slight nod.

“dear, I told you I would build it as soon as I get through the paperwork, didn't I?” kento says, shaking his head.

“but! you were in your office, already filled to the brim with workload and that damn paperwork. I didn't want to make it your new problem, you know? You're always taking care of me. And who told you that even a quarter of that shit was alright? I can have a word with them if you want.”

“my love, you will never be a problem to me, ever. What kind of husband would I be if I thought that? You're crazy.” Kento says, a small smile forming on his lips at thought of you worrying about him and his wellbeing. A rare sight indeed.

“and instead of worrying about me, worry about yourself, yeah? I'm sure your back is broke, my love. Please rest yourself, it's not good for the baby if you don't get rest, i told you this. Lets get you to the living room, yeah?” kento says into your neck, not giving you a choice.

Kento put his hands on your lower back, slowly massaging the spot you usually get sore. guiding you down the living room humming your favourite tune. almost in time for your reality show to be on, your luck.

Wasn't long until your eyes was stuck on the tv, drama brewing on the first few seconds.

Kento stands there, content. Not because of the tv show, no, its you. He wouldn't know where he would he standing, whether it would be on earth or the skies, without you.

⭒​TOJI FUSHIGURO↫​

short tempered woman and tired husband.

“woman, I am not going to feed you toothpaste.”

“well, why the hell not?!” you responded, rasing a brow. Toji grumbled, absolutely set on not giving you toothpaste for food.

“would you just sleep? I'm not giving you toothpaste to eat. Why the hell are you so weird?!”

“hhaaah?! What did you just say?!”

nights went on like that. Different item, same outcome. Toji with a red ear and your back to him. Toji doesn't know if your stable or not as you requested for a bowl of dirt to eat a few nights ago. He only knew about women's weird food craving a while ago when he saw you eating a chocolate bar with ketchup as a dip.

(toji finds it kinda hot when you get angry... kinky)

Toji put his head in his hands, covering his eyes. He let out a sigh before questioning you.

“are you eating toast and ice cream again?”

“yeah, so what? Any odds to you, old man..”

“oh, your so gonna regret that. We've been here before, and your belly bump is the result.” toji smirks, chuckling at your flushed face. And yet, his outcome is the same.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

do you ever think that the ending of six hundred strike, actually added to the poseidon & athena beef? like i can just imagine them both in beds in apollo's olympus infirmary, just arguing with/at each other! meanwhile poor apollo is just tying to heal them both.

athena: *ranting* i've been odysseus' mentor/friend since he was a teenager! and he still didn't listen to me!

athena: i told him to put his emotions aside but noooooo, he had to let the cyclops live!

apollo: athen-

poseidon: are you forgetting he literally stabbed me? repeateDLY? WITH MY OWN TRIDENT?

apollo: poseid-

athena: *ignoring poseidon and continuing her rant* ruTHlesNEsS iS meRCy UpOn OUrseLVEs. isn't that what you said?!

poseidon: well yeah, BUT HOW WAS I TO EXPECT THAT SAD WET CAT OF A MAN WOULD BE FILLED WITH SOME FORM OF DIVINE RAGE?

apollo: please you two are gonna open your stitche-

athena: oh you deserved it. you literally showed the man his island before trapping him AND THEN you started THREATENING his wife and son? oh that was your final mistake.

poseidon: whatever! so much for you calling him a warrior of the mind. he's a monster!

athena: *wipes tear away* i know, im so proud.

apollo: *tired of their bickering & now glowing in anger* please for "dad's"sake will you two just shut up and let me heal you both?!

poseidon & athena: *shuts up immediately* o-ok