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sunsburns · 2 months ago

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forget it — joaquín torres (marvel) !

⟢ synopsis. request: reuniting with ex!joaquín after his near death experience, but you’re the nurse assigned to his care after he gets out of surgery. you broke up a couple years ago because of your very demanding careers, and you don’t see him until you realize they put YOU on babysitting duty to nurse him back to health, yikes!

⟢ contains. spoilers for brave new world! joaquín torres x nurse!reader, so much angst you’re gonna want to block me!! mentions of death, blood, gore, possible inaccurate medical procedures (i am not a nurse idk how that works), open ending but it's honestly realistic and cute.

⟢ word count. 13.7k+

⟢ author’s note. i learned medical terms for this

You like to think that every decision you’ve made has shaped you into the best version of yourself.

A better student, a better nurse, a better person. You’ve spent years honing your skills, pushing yourself past limits, ensuring that when it matters most, you’ll be capable—prepared. You might not have superpowers, enhanced genes, or combat training, but you have your mind, your steady hands, your patience. That’s what makes a difference in the field you’ve chosen. That’s what saves lives.

And it’s paid off. You don’t work at just any hospital—you work at this one. A private facility that caters to soldiers, government agents, and the kind of people who make headlines when things go wrong. The kind of people who disappear into classified reports. The kind of people you don’t expect to see lying unconscious under your care.

But you love your job. You love the structure of it, the control. You love the fact that, in a world constantly spinning off its axis, you can still do something that makes sense. You have your patients, your colleagues, your friends, your family. You still go out when you can, still make time to shop, and still remember to water your plants. Life is steady. Good.

And yet—

There’s something missing.

It creeps in during the quiet moments, when the hospital halls are still, and the steady beep of a heart monitor is the only thing filling the silence. It lingers in the space between breaths, in the pause before you check a chart, in the phantom weight of something you can’t quite name. A presence that once was, or maybe never was, but should have been.

You have everything you’ve ever worked for. So why does it still feel like something’s missing?

You don’t let yourself dwell on it. It’s ridiculous. You have your health. You have your life.

And you know better than anyone how fragile both of those things can be.

You remind yourself of how lucky you are because you’ve seen the alternative too many times. Lives wrecked and ruined by things far beyond anyone’s control. You’ve watched the light fade from seven pairs of eyes. Seven people who didn’t make it. Seven moments that carved themselves into your memory, no matter how hard you try to forget.

You haven’t even been working for three years.

And yet—

You’d hate to see the day when someone you love is one of them.

The thought grips you too tightly, too suddenly, and you only realize you’ve been staring at your hands under the running faucet when the sound of your name cuts through the fog.

“Look what I made!”

You blink, water still rushing over your fingertips, skin already pruning. A slow exhale leaves you as you reach for the faucet, shutting off the tap. The chill lingers on your skin even as you tear a paper towel from the dispenser, crumpling in your damp grip as you turn.

Maria is sitting up in bed, dark eyes bright with excitement as she holds out a carefully folded piece of olive-green paper.

She beams at you, her small fingers cradling the delicate shape with a reverence that makes your heartache. It takes a second for recognition to click. An origami bird.

“What’s this?” you coo, stepping closer.

Maria is a few weeks shy of nine. She should be at home planning her birthday party, picking out a cake, laughing with friends. Instead, she’s here. Confined to this sterile room, surrounded by too-white walls and the soft beeping of machines monitoring the inexplicable changes in her body. She isn’t dying. But she isn’t getting better, either.

Exposure to some strange quantum disturbance in San Francisco had led to her transfer here, to Washington, under your care. Away from reporters, away from speculation, away from anyone who might pry too closely while the government tries to figure out what happened to her.

“It’s a bird. Like the one on TV.” She explains, her tiny fingers carefully adjusting the wings.

You glance at the television, expecting to see another nature documentary—the kind she’s grown fond of in the past few weeks. But when your eyes land on the screen, you freeze.

A news channel. A live interview. Captain America and the Falcon, still in their gear, standing at an Air Force base. The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen is a blur. Something about a mission. About another near disaster averted.

Falcon stands just behind Captain America, posture sharp, hands clasped loosely in front of him, expression serious but composed. His suit still bears the scuffs of combat, a faint tear along the armoured plating at his ribs. You wonder if it hurts. If he’s bleeding. If he even let anyone check.

A small huff leaves your lips before you can stop it.

You can’t remember the last time you saw him. Now, here he is again, on a screen in a hospital room, larger than life.

“You like superheroes, Maria?” You force a lighter tone, turning back to her, moving to check her monitors. It’s unnecessary—you already did this when you came in—but it gives your hands something to do.

“You like superheroes, Maria?” you ask, forcing a lighter tone as you move to check her monitors. It’s unnecessary—you already did this when you came in—but it gives your hands something to do.

“I love superheroes,” she exclaims, voice full of unshakable certainty.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

She watches you closely, studying your face with a look that’s far too perceptive for someone her age. Then, after a beat—

“Who’s your favourite Avenger?”

You pretend to think about it. “Hmmm... I don’t know. Maybe... Hawkeye?”

Maria immediately groans, rolling her eyes so hard it nearly makes you laugh. “That’s so boring!” She throws her arms up in exasperation, nearly tugging her IV loose in the process.

“Hey, hey—“ you reach out, gently taking her hands, steadying her before she can do any real damage. “You’re really gonna judge me for that?”

“So boring,” she insists, her signature sass making an appearance. “My mom likes Thor because he has big muscles.”

You snort. “Wow. Okay. And what about you?”

Maria’s expression turns mischievous, blushing slightly as she glances back at the screen.

“The Falcon.”

The words land like a punch to the ribs.

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat stays put. You should have seen it coming, the way she lit up at the sight of him on TV, but it still catches you off guard.

Because for Maria, it’s admiration.

For you, it’s something else entirely.

“He’s so cool,” you manage, your voice lighter than you feel. “I don’t think he’s an Avenger, though.”

Unless he is and you have missed that entire chapter of his life. A lot had happened in the last few years—you wouldn’t put it past him to just forget to mention something like that. Not that either of you were on speaking terms anyway.

Maria grins, a small, mischievous thing, and before you can move, she takes your hand in hers and presses something into your palm.

“Here.”

You glance down.

The bird.

You blink at the delicate folds of olive-green paper, the slight tilt of its wings. It’s small, fits perfectly in your hand, but somehow, it feels heavier than it should.

“You have it.”

You open your mouth—to tell her she should keep it, that it’s hers—but the words never leave your throat. The sincerity in her gaze keeps you quiet, so instead, you close your fingers carefully around the paper bird, holding it like something fragile.

“Thank you, Maria,” you say softly.

You still have the bird.

It sits on your nightstand even now, weeks later, its delicate folds untouched, a reminder of that small moment. Of Maria.

You hadn’t thought much about that conversation at the time. Maria’s gift had been sweet, and you had found it endearing—the kind of innocent kindness that children offered so easily.

It wasn’t every day you cared for someone so young in this hospital, and while that was a blessing, it didn’t make it any easier when that child was rolled in on a stretcher.

And it wasn’t until a week later that you remembered Maria’s words.

Not until you watched a familiar face get wheeled into the hospital.

You had heard about it first—on the news, in passing conversations between coworkers. Another mission. Another near-tragedy. Another casualty.

And then you saw it.

The frantic rush of bodies in the emergency bay. The whine of a helicopter’s rotor blades still echoing through the halls, rattling against the glass doors. The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic burning your nose, mixing with the metallic tang of blood—so much blood, too much of it pooling beneath the stretcher, staining the floor, the sheets, the hands of every ER staff trying to keep him together.

Your coworkers moved fast, their voices sharp and urgent as they swarmed the broken, battered body like bees to a collapsing hive. You barely recognized him at first. His suit—scorched in places, torn in others—hung off him in tatters, the once-pristine armour dented and smeared with something dark.

His skin was pale—too pale.

His lips were slightly parted, chest rising and falling in short, uneven gasps like every breath cost him something.

The blur of medical jargon barely registered in your mind, words overlapping, breaking, reforming into pieces that didn’t quite fit together. But certain ones still made it through the haze, lodging themselves somewhere deep inside you, where they twisted like a knife.

“Heart palpitations—“

“Severe burns—“

“Broken arm—“

“Breath is weak—“

“We’re gonna need a defibrillator—“

“Won’t make it to the OR—“

Your heart stuttered.

You would’ve rather never seen Joaquín Torres again for the rest of your life than see him like this. Like that.

And after that, you were moving on autopilot.

The rest of the day blurred together, slipping through your fingers like sand. You went through the motions, nodding when spoken to, keeping your hands busy, but nothing really stuck. The only thing that did was time—how it crawled, stretched, and bled into itself.

One hour turned to two.

Two turned to four.

Four turned into a sharp, sickening pause.

You were just about to punch out for the night, car keys hanging loosely from your fingers when you heard it.

“His heart gave out. Medically dead for T-minus 30 seconds. Extra hands needed.”

You froze.

The words echoed, hollow and distant like they were being spoken underwater. A strange ringing had started in your ears. You weren’t sure if it was real or just something inside your own head—maybe both.

You had already been hesitant about leaving without checking in on him. You could’ve gone in. You had clearance. But you didn’t.

And now?

Now, you were hearing his heart gave out?

Your mind ran ahead of you, filling in the gaps before you could stop it—could almost hear the faint, dull whine of the machines, the inevitable, lifeless flatline.

The surgeon calling out the time of death.

Your own heart lurched violently in your chest.

Your feet were moving before you even made the decision, carrying you faster than you thought possible. You nearly crashed into the doors of the emergency wing, swiping your card into the OR viewing room, stumbling into the dimly lit space. Your breath came short, choppy, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Your eyes locked onto the glass.

And then—

“Clear!”

Joaquín’s body jerked violently, his back arching off the table before collapsing again.

From where you stood, you couldn’t see or hear the monitor. Couldn’t tell if there was a beat or if it was still that awful, empty silence.

“Clear!”

His body seized again, limbs convulsing before falling limp.

You flinched, a breath hitching painfully somewhere inside you.

The panic clawing up your ribs only loosened when you saw the doctors start to relax, their frantic movements easing back into precision. You watched, rooted to the spot, as they worked—saw the ventilator strapped tightly around Joaquín’s face, the way they were cutting into him, the deep burns covering his side.

But it didn’t feel like him.

He looked dead.

He looked so, so dead.

Your fingers dug into the ledge of the viewing window, knuckles white.

And suddenly you can remember the last time you saw him. A memory that grabs you like a vice.

He was so alive, and he was crying.

His eyes were red and bloodshot, but he wasn’t making a sound. Just staring at you, jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grind. His hands—warm, steady even in their trembling—gripped yours, his touch so familiar, so safe. His fingers curled around your palms like he could keep you here just by holding on tight enough. Like if he let go, he knew he would never get to touch you again.

His skin burned beneath your fingertips.

Like home.

But the warmth of him, the heat of his touch, it didn’t reach his eyes. And you knew—God, you knew—this was the last time.

The ring that sat on your finger was like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

You hadn’t even noticed the way your breath had started to shake, the way your shoulders had drawn in like you could shield yourself from what was coming. The weight of his forehead pressing against yours was the only thing keeping you grounded, the rise and fall of his chest meeting yours in a rhythm that was almost enough to trick you into believing, for just a second, that nothing had to change.

And then he pulled away.

It was slow like he was giving you time to stop him. Like he wanted you to stop him.

But neither of you moved.

His fingers ghosted over your left hand, tracing over the ring like he was committing the shape of it to memory. You swore his breath hitched when he touched it, but he didn’t hesitate. Not when he curled his fingers around the band. Not when he gave the gentlest, barely-there tug.

The metal slipped from your skin.

The absence was instant. A phantom weight. A missing limb.

Your breath stilled.

He turned it over in his palm once, twice, before slipping it into his pocket, the movement almost absentminded. Like he wasn’t crumbling apart inside. Like he wasn’t shattering this thing between you both with his own two hands.

And then you kissed him. And he kissed you back.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate. A broken thing—raw, aching, more plea than passion. His lips pressed to yours with the kind of hunger that tasted like regret, like grief, like goodbye. There was no hesitation when his fingers slid up to cradle your jaw, no distance between your bodies when he pulled you in, chests flush, like he was trying to fuse himself to you, trying to rewrite the ending of this moment with the press of his lips alone.

You tasted the salt of tears.

Yours or his, you couldn’t tell.

You felt his hands tremble when they skimmed over your skin. It hurt—fuck, it hurt—the way you knew neither of you wanted to pull away, but you would. You had to.

But you stayed. For a minute. For a breath. Lips lingering, foreheads pressed together, hands gripping tighter even as the seconds slipped away from you both.

He was the first to move.

The absence of his lips was instant—a cold, hollow thing. But he didn’t pull away entirely, not yet. His nose brushed against yours, his fingers curled at the back of your neck, like if he could just stay here for another second, one more second, maybe none of this had to be real.

Then, finally, painfully, he let go.

That kiss was one that lingered, burned, long after he was gone.

He was alive then. And so were you.

But when the door shut, a part of you had died.

And watching his body, motionless on that operating table, you thought maybe a part of him had, too.

It was hard to grieve someone who had never died.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been standing there, staring through the glass, until someone says your name.

Your body jolts, and when you spin around, you're surprised to find Sam Wilson standing a few feet away. His voice had been steady, but his eyes—God, his eyes—heavy with something unspoken, something worn. You wonder how long he’s been there. You think it must’ve been a while, judging by the exhaustion shadowing his face. The bags under his eyes aren’t just from one night of lost sleep.

You’ve met him plenty of times before—hell, you’ve had dinner with the guy on multiple occasions—but something about seeing him now, here, leaves you speechless. Maybe it’s because he’s not just Sam. He’s Captain America, the man Joaquín idolized. And he looks... helpless.

You feel your entire body tense. “Sir—“ Your voice cracks at the word, and you hate it.

Sam exhales, long and slow. “I was gonna call. I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re still the kid’s emergency contact.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I just... I didn’t know what terms you guys were on. I know the breakup was pretty bad and...” He trails off, looking at you like he’s bracing for impact. “I didn’t know if you’d show up.”

“I…” You swallow thickly. You should say something. Anything. But you don’t know how to find the words.

“Were you working?”

You glance down at your scrubs as if you need to confirm it. “Yeah... I just... I heard about his heart, um... how long was he...?”

Sam hesitates. He doesn’t want to say it. But he does. “Two minutes.”

You suck in a breath, sharp and cold, and instinctively look back through the glass. Joaquín is still now, the chaos momentarily subdued. He’s always been restless, always in motion, a man who never seemed to sit still to save his life. And now he’s just... lying there. You feel nauseous.

You don’t know what to say. You think Sam doesn’t either.

“I’m sorry, kid.” His voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry. For Joaquín. I never meant for this to happen. I’m always telling him to be more careful, but you know how he is—”

Do you?

You don’t know how much someone can change in the time you and Joaquín have been apart. You think you still know him. You remember how he used to be—stubborn, hard-headed. Kind, too. Always quick with a response, always teasing. Always warm.

You don’t think you’re remembering him the way Sam asks you to.

“Um... sorry.” You blink, realizing how long you’ve been zoning out. You should say something more. Something meaningful. But your throat is tight, and your hands shake at your sides. Sam looks just as lost as you feel.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mutter, rubbing at your face. “Are you okay?”

Sam blinks. He looks genuinely surprised by the question. “Am I—? Are you okay?”

You nod too fast, stuffing your hands into your back pockets. The heart monitor beeps steadily in the background, grounding you in the moment. “Yeah, I just… You were out there too. Did you get hit? I can check for a concussion.”

Sam says your name, and the way he says it—soft, sad—makes your lip quiver. When he steps forward, you don’t resist. You meet him in the middle, letting him wrap his arms around you, his warmth solid and steady. You tuck your face into his chest, only realizing you’ve been crying when you see the darkened patches on his shirt. He smells like coffee, and—funnily enough—a little bit like Joaquín.

“I’m sorry, kid.” His voice is tight, thick. Like he’s been holding back his own grief for too long.

You hum under his hold. “It’s not your fault,” you say because you think it’s what he needs to hear. You don’t know what happened out there, don’t know who made what call, but Sam relaxes just a fraction at your words. You hug him back.

The hours bleed together after that. You sit with Sam in the waiting area, watching the surgery unfold from a distance. Neither of you leave for long—only to grab coffee, maybe splash cold water on your face—but you don’t sleep. Sam doesn’t either, even when you suggest it. He stays rooted to his chair, jaw clenched, watching the clock.

He doesn’t move until the surgery is almost finished, until the surgeon is finally stitching up Joaquín.

And even then, he stays put.

So do you.

It’s nice, in a way, sitting in this heavy, aching silence. You don’t know what you would’ve done if Sam wasn’t here. You don’t know what he would’ve done if you weren’t.

Sam seems to relax even more when a friend of his shows up—Bucky. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him in person before, but you recognize the way Sam’s shoulders loosen just slightly like something fragile inside him can take a break. Bucky nods at you, then at Sam, and without a word, he takes a seat next to him.

You don’t say anything either.

Because you don’t need to.

For the first time in hours, Sam exhales like he’s not carrying the world on his shoulders.

You leave only when he urges you to, though it takes less than a minute after Joaquín is sent out for recovery.

You barely remember the drive home. The world outside the hospital blurs past in streaks of streetlights and empty roads, your hands gripping the wheel just a little too tightly. Every red light feels longer than it should, every breath harder to take. By the time you step inside your apartment, exhaustion settles in your bones, but sleep never truly comes. You close your eyes and see glimpses of him—Joaquín on the operating table, still and silent in a way he never should be.

You wake up before the sun rises, restless, your body aching with the kind of fatigue that sleep can’t fix.

By the time you return to the hospital, it’s at a strange hour—too early for the day shift, too late for the night crew. The hospital is caught in that eerie in-between where the halls are too quiet, where the few people still moving about do so in hushed voices. The fluorescent lights overhead hum, stark and artificial against the pale blue of the walls.

You’re running on espresso shots and the growing pit in your stomach, a weight that presses heavier with every step.

Joaquín is here. You know that. You have known that for almost twenty-four hours now.

But the thought still makes your hands cold. It was easier when you didn’t know what State he was in, or what he was doing—if he was even in the country.

You don’t let yourself think too much about it. You go through the motions, moving from patient to patient, checking vitals, signing off charts, trying to push through the fog in your mind. It almost works—almost—until you step out of Maria’s room and spot Amanda, the Chief Nursing Officer, walking toward you.

She smiles, clipboard tucked under her arm, but there’s something in the way she looks at you. Something unreadable.

You can already feel the dread start to wrap itself around your ribs.

“Hey, how’s it going?” she asks, falling into step beside you.

“Good,” you reply automatically. “What’s up?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes your tablet, her fingers brushing against yours for just a second too long. You furrow your brows, taking it from her, but your stomach twists at the hesitance in her gaze.

“There’s been a bit of a change,” she finally says. “Kit’s taking over Nicholas now.”

That makes you pause.

You've been taking care of Nicholas for a little over a month, an older man who came back from the blip different, well… different was a nice way to put it.

“Oh?”

Amanda nods, opening a new file on your screen before watching you closely. “Here,” she says, passing you the updated patient file. “Your new assignment.”

You take the tablet, adjusting your grip as you glance down at the screen—only to feel the air sucked from your lungs.

Captain Joaquín Torres.

The name alone makes your heart lurch, when did he become a captain? But then your eyes drop to the image beneath it.

You freeze.

Joaquín, unconscious. His skin is bruised, his face pale under the harsh lighting of the hospital room. The ventilator is taped to his mouth, bandages covering his side where the burns must be. He looks… wrong.

Your stomach turns.

“Um.” You barely recognize your own voice. “I don’t think I can take this one.”

Amanda’s brows knit together. “Why not?”

“It’s…” You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of how dry your throat feels. “It’s a personal case.”

“I know.”

That makes you look up, and when you do, Amanda is already watching you with that same careful expression—understanding, but unwavering. “That’s why I’m assigning it to you,” she says, soft but firm.

You stare at her, trying to process the words.

“Familiar faces help in recovery,” Amanda says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Waking up to someone he knows might do him some good.”

Your grip tightens around the tablet, fingers pressing into the smooth surface as your pulse pounds in your ears.

“Not everyone gets shot out of the sky by the military and lives to tell the tale.”

She’s right. You know she’s right.

But Joaquín isn’t just anyone.

And it’s been a long time since you’ve been a familiar face.

Would he even want to wake up to you?

You don’t ask that. You don’t let yourself. Instead, you swallow around the knot in your throat and force a nod. “Okay.”

Amanda watches you for a moment, searching your face like she can see everything you’re trying to hide. Then, she squeezes your shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. “You got this.”

You wish you believed her.

You suck in your pride as Amanda walks away and your fingers tighten around the tablet as you glance down at Joaquín’s medical file, his name printed in bold letters at the top. You already know his blood type, his medical history, his baseline vitals—things you shouldn’t still remember but do anyway. It feels strange seeing them laid out so clinically like he’s just another patient.

Your thumb swipes down the screen, scanning through his injuries. Severe burns on the left side of his torso. A broken radius and a fractured humerus on his right arm. The notes estimate he’ll be unconscious for a few more days, maybe a week at most. The doctors don’t think it’ll be a long coma.

He might wake up anytime.

Your stomach twists.

The live security feed on the tablet shows a grainy, black-and-white image of him, still and silent in the hospital bed, wrapped in layers of bandages and hooked up to machines that beep in steady intervals. The sight of him like this, unmoving, is almost more unsettling than the injuries themselves.

The elevator ride to his floor feels endless, but when the doors finally slide open, the hallway ahead stretches on like something out of a dream—too long, too empty, too quiet. The soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead fills the silence, and your shoes barely make a sound against the polished tile.

You’ve never hesitated like this before. No patient has ever made your heart pound this hard before you’ve even stepped into their room.

You stop in front of the door, your ID card clutched tight between your fingers.

He is hurt, you remind yourself. A wounded soldier. He needs care. That’s all this is. Just do your job.

Your hand trembles slightly as you swipe your card for clearance, and for a second, your eyes flicker down—out of habit, maybe—toward your left hand. The ring is gone. Has been for a long time.

You press your lips together and push the door open.

The room smells like antiseptic and fresh flowers.

Your eyes find him instantly.

He’s barely recognizable beneath the layers of medical care—IV lines, gauze, the rigid brace securing his arm. But it’s still him. His curls have grown out, the longer strands curling over his forehead, though the sides are still neatly trimmed. His face is slack with unconsciousness, lips parted slightly as he breathes in slow, measured rhythms.

There’s already a small collection of bouquets on the bedside table, a mix of bright yellows and deep reds—he always liked bold colours. You know more will come, especially once his mother finds out what happened. You pity whoever has to make that phone call.

Your pulse is loud in your ears as you move toward the sink, washing your hands on autopilot before slipping on a pair of gloves. The scent of hospital soap clings to your skin even beneath the latex.

You set the tablet down and step to his bedside, the weight in your chest settling heavier now that you’re standing this close. You can see the damage now. The discoloration where the burns peak through the bandages, the bruises blooming beneath his skin. His arm rests stiffly in its brace, fingers curled loosely at his side.

You hesitate before touching him.

Then, with careful hands, you reach for the hem of his hospital gown, lifting it just enough to expose the bandages on his torso. The dressings are damp, already beginning to seep through.

Too gentle.

You’re taking too long, moving too carefully. This should be routine—cleaning, reapplying, monitoring for infection. But your hands linger a second too long over his skin, your fingers ghosting over the edge of a bandage before you force yourself to focus.

You work in silence, methodical but deliberate, peeling away the old dressings and replacing them with fresh ones. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your hands, the only sign of life in his otherwise motionless body.

When you finish, you pull the blanket up to his chest, tucking it carefully around him.

You don’t leave right away.

You should. You have other patients to see, and other rounds to make. But you linger for a moment longer, just watching him.

Being here—being this close—feels like stepping into something half-forgotten. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to remember.

With a quiet exhale, you turn away, stripping off your gloves and tossing them in the bin before grabbing the tablet again.

This is just a job.

And you have work to do.

The next few days slip into a pattern—one you follow carefully, almost methodically, because routine is easier than thinking too much.

Joaquín remains unconscious, but his condition improves. You can see it in the subtle things: the way his breathing becomes steadier, how his colour starts to return beneath the bruising, how the tension in his features eases little by little. His body is still healing, but it’s doing what it’s supposed to—recovering, piece by piece.

Somewhere along the way, his mother and grandmother are flown in.

You make sure you’re nowhere near the hospital that day. You tell yourself it’s because you need the rest, that you’ve been pulling extra shifts, that you could use the break. But you know the truth.

You aren’t ready to face them.

You can barely bring yourself to stand in the same room as Joaquín, let alone look his mother in the eye. She always had a way of seeing right through you, of reading between the lines of what you said and what you didn’t. You don’t want to know what she’d find if she looked too closely now.

So you take a sick day. You ignore the tight feeling in your chest when you imagine them sitting at his bedside, his mother smoothing down his curls, his grandmother murmuring quiet prayers over him. You wonder if she blames you. If she thinks you should’ve been there when it happened. If she wonders why you’re here now, after all this time.

But you don’t ask. You don’t want the answer.

The next morning, when you step back into Joaquín’s room, there are more flowers.

The table beside his bed is overflowing now—bouquets of sunflowers, carnations, lilies, roses in every colour. Some are from coworkers, others from people you don’t recognize. A small card tucked between them catches your eye. You don’t pick it up, but you already know who it’s from.

His mother’s handwriting is easy to recognize.

A fresh wave of guilt washes over you, but you push it aside. You busy yourself with checking his IV, adjusting his blankets, making sure everything is in order. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room, save for the occasional rustling of flower petals when a breeze drifts through the open window.

Sam visits often.

He comes at random hours, able to bypass the strict visiting times the hospital has set up, sometimes lingering for only twenty minutes, sometimes staying for hours at a time. You catch glimpses of him in the security feed before you even enter the room—his tall frame slouched in the chair beside Joaquín’s bed, one ankle resting on his knee as he flips through a book.

He plays music sometimes, a quiet hum of familiar songs drifting through the room. You recognize the playlist—the same one Joaquín used to blast while working late, the one he’d force you to listen to whenever he got too excited about a new artist. It’s a mix of genres, the kind that shouldn’t work together but somehow do.

You pretend you don’t notice the way Sam watches you when you walk in, his eyes lingering like he’s waiting for you to say something. But he never pushes. He just nods, sometimes offering a small update about Joaquín’s family or a passing comment about work before settling back into his chair.

Neither of you talk about the fact that Joaquín still hasn’t woken up.

Instead, you go through the motions.

His burns are healing faster than you expected. The bandages come off, revealing raw, pink skin that will take time to fade. His arm is no longer suspended from the ceiling, the rigid brace replaced with a looser sling. His body is catching up with itself, putting itself back together the way it always does.

You try to keep the windows open as the sun sets later and the spring weather gets warmer, letting the sun come into the room. You hope it might bring back that golden tan to his skin.

The air in his room changes as the days go by. The tension shifts—subtle, but there.

The sun sets later now, casting golden light through the blinds in the evenings. You start leaving the windows cracked open, letting the spring breeze filter in, replacing the sterile scent of antiseptic with something softer.

It makes the room feel less like a hospital and more like something else. Something warmer.

But warmth can be deceptive.

Because the closer he gets to waking up, the more real this all becomes.

And you still don’t know what’s going to happen when he finally opens his eyes.

One day, while cleaning his burns, you notice something—something small, but enough to make your breath hitch.

The heart monitor.

The steady rhythm you’ve grown so used to suddenly shifts—just a faint change, barely noticeable, but it’s there. You freeze, your gloved hands hovering over his burned skin, waiting to see if it happens again. The beeping stabilizes after a moment, falling back into its familiar, constant pattern.

You swallow hard, exhaling slowly through your nose.

Maybe it was nothing. A fluke. You’ve seen it happen before—small involuntary fluctuations that don’t mean anything. You force yourself to shake it off, to keep going.

But the moment your hands brush against his skin again, the heart monitor spikes.

This time, you see it. The sudden jump, the erratic beep, the undeniable reaction.

You pull back immediately, like you’ve been singed. Your heart lurches, panic flashing through you because—did you hurt him?

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you scan his face, searching for any sign of pain. His expression doesn’t change. His eyes remain closed, his body still. But the numbers on the monitor flicker with every beat of his heart, betraying what his body won’t show.

And then it hits you.

He feels it.

He’s not just lying there, unaware of the world around him. His body is reacting. It means he’s drifting, slipping from unconsciousness, slowly clawing his way back to waking.

Your chest tightens.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you should want.

You should be relieved.

But you’re not.

Because for all the times you’ve wished he’d open his eyes, you never stopped to think about what it would mean when he finally did.

What if the first thing he sees is you?

What if he looks at you and all you find in his face is resentment?

What if he asks why you’re here? Why you even bothered?

Your breath catches in your throat, torn between anticipation and fear. Your fingers curl into your palms, gloves crinkling under the pressure. You wait, holding yourself still, eyes locked on his face, waiting for the inevitable flutter of his eyelids, the slow, unfocused squint as he adjusts to the light.

But it never comes.

His breathing stays even, his lashes unmoving, his expression unchanging. His body is stirring, but his mind isn’t ready yet.

Your hands feel cold.

You force yourself to take a step back, creating distance—just in case. You reach for the tablet to record the change in his vitals, trying to make sense of what just happened, of what almost happened.

You practically jump out of your skin when a voice cuts through the hallway, sharp and frantic.

“¡Mija!”

Before you even see her, you feel her—Esperanza’s presence sweeping toward you like a storm, her heels clicking against the tile. The next thing you know, you’re wrapped in her arms, your face pressed against the soft fabric of her floral blouse, caught in a hug so tight it knocks the breath out of you.

“Mi amor, ¿cómo andas?” she asks, her voice thick with worry and affection.

You barely have a chance to respond, still stunned by the unexpected embrace. She smells the same—warm vanilla and roses, a scent so deeply tied to holiday dinners that it nearly knocks you off balance.

When she finally pulls back, she doesn’t let you go completely. Her hands clasp yours, fingers curling over your knuckles like she’s afraid to let you slip away again.

“Esperanza,” you manage, breathless.

Her eyes shine with unshed tears, her lips pulling into a grin so familiar it makes your chest ache.

“What are you doing here? Visitors can’t be here for another hour,” you point out, grasping for something—anything—to ground yourself.

She waves a dismissive hand, scoffing like the very idea is ridiculous. “Ay, enough with that,” she chides. “When has that ever stopped me?”

And then she stops. Really looks at you.

Her expression softens, and suddenly, you're under a gaze so warm it makes your throat tighten.

“Wow, look at you, my dear. Hermosa,” she murmurs, shaking her head like she can’t believe it’s really you standing in front of her.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, flustered. “I look like a mess,” you correct, glancing down at yourself. You’re in scrubs, nearing the end of a long shift, and you know you must look exhausted. Especially after dealing with Maria throwing up glowing vomit all over you earlier today. There’s no way you look anything close to hermosa.

But Esperanza just smiles knowingly, squeezing your hands once before tugging you toward the chairs lining the hallway. She sits down, keeping her grip on you like she’s afraid you might disappear through her fingers if she lets go.

You follow, hesitating only slightly before settling into the seat beside her.

"It’s been so long," she says, her brows furrowing with something between disappointment and relief. "You haven’t called in months. I thought you were sick! Do you hate me?"

"I could never hate you," you say quickly, shaking your head, a little horrified she would ever think that.

And then she smacks your arm.

"Then why haven’t you answered my calls?" she scolds, her voice laced with exasperation. "Your mother tells me you moved away and what? I don’t hear a word from you?"

You blink. Your mind stutters at the revelation.

"Wait—" you pause, trying to piece it together. "My mom… and you? You’ve been talking?"

Esperanza gives you a look, like it should be obvious. "Of course," she huffs. "What, you thought just because you and Quino broke up, I was going to stop talking to my comadre?" She rolls her eyes like the very idea is ridiculous. "Por favor."

Your mouth goes dry.

Your mother and Joaquin’s mother—keeping in touch this entire time. Behind your back. Talking about you, probably about him, too.

Your stomach churns, and suddenly, there’s something heavy pressing against your ribs.

You open your mouth, but she’s already shaking her head.

"Oh, lo sé," she sighs, exasperated. "The dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. If it were up to me, you two would’ve been married by now. Given me a grandchild, too."

Your laugh comes out a little too flustered, a little too forced. You glance around the hallway, avoiding her gaze, trying to ignore the way your heart wrings at the thought.

"Yeah," you mutter because you don’t know what else to say.

Esperanza exhales, her posture softening. She lets go of one of your hands just to reach up and brush your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with the same gentle touch Joaquín used to.

The same way he always did when you were talking too much, or overthinking, or when he just wanted an excuse to touch you.

You let out a long, quiet sigh, blinking hard against the sudden sting in your eyes.

It’s too much.

Too much familiarity, too much of your old life creeping back in all at once. You don’t think you’ve gotten enough sleep to process any of it properly.

"Mija," she murmurs, her voice softer now, more careful. "I don’t care whether you and Quino are together or not. I loved having you around. I still want to have our little chats. You are like one of my own. And when he told me you broke up, I just…" she shakes her head, pressing her lips together like she doesn’t want to say it. "I hate that it took him getting hurt for us to talk again."

"Esperanza…" you start, but she just shakes her head again.

"I know, I know. Perdóname," she says, waving it off as she stands up. She smooths down the front of her dress and sighs. "It’s so good to see you again, mi amor. You keep taking good care of my son. I’ll be in the city for another week, so please—call me. Maybe we can get coffee."

Before you can respond, she scans her visitor’s pass on the key panel and walks into Joaquín’s room, disappearing behind the door without another word.

But she leaves the question hanging in the air, thick with nostalgia and something painfully close to longing.

And she leaves the scent of rosy perfume lingering in her wake.

You stare at the closed door, your heart thudding unevenly in your chest.

You should go. You need to go—your tablet is already beeping, pulling you back to reality, reminding you that there are other patients who need you, that there’s a crisis waiting for you three flights down.

Still, you hesitate for just a second longer, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat before finally turning away.

There’s no time to process this right now.

But you have a feeling that, no matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to shake this conversation anytime soon.

Maria’s hand grips the IV pole tightly, her small fingers curling around the metal as she rolls it beside her, careful not to let the wheels catch on the tile. The fluorescent hospital lights cast a soft glow over her—too pale against her skin, too sterile—but despite it all, she beams.

You’ve never seen someone so excited just to walk.

But today is special. It’s her birthday.

She didn’t ask for much—just this. A chance to stretch her legs, to be somewhere other than her hospital room. Her parents had begged you to keep her busy while they decorated, slipping streamers and balloons inside the room like they could somehow make up for lost time.

Maria hadn’t argued. She had just grinned up at you when you asked if she wanted to go outside.

Now, she’s practically glowing, her feet sinking into the grass as you lead her through the small hospital garden.

She tips her head back, eyes fluttering closed as the breeze ruffles her hospital gown, lifting strands of hair from her shoulders. Pink cherry blossoms sway on the branches above, petals drifting onto the ground like delicate confetti.

"Did you know cherry blossoms only bloom for a few weeks?" you tell her.

Maria gasps. "Really?"

"Yep. It’s called hanami in Japan. People go outside just to watch them bloom."

Her eyes widen in pure delight. "That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. They should be watched. They’re so pretty."

You smile. "Yeah, they are."

For a moment, she just stands there, soaking it in. And you let her.

It’s one of those rare times when she doesn’t look like a patient. No tubes, no machines, no sterile smell of antiseptic—just a kid. A kid enjoying the sun, the air, the simple beauty of something fleeting.

She sighs, finally pulling herself away. "Okay. I’m ready to go back in."

"Are you sure?"

She nods. "Yeah. I don’t wanna get in trouble for being outside too long. It’s my birthday, but I think Nurse Kate would still yell at me."

"Yeah, probably," you say with a chuckle.

The hospital halls are quieter than usual, the usual hum of voices and distant beeping fading into soft background noise. Maria walks beside you, still clinging to her IV pole but with a bit more confidence in her steps.

She doesn’t drag her feet anymore. That’s new.

Her body is stronger than it was weeks ago—no more trembling hands, no more laboured breathing after short walks. It’s a victory, even if it’s small.

Maria suddenly gasps, gripping your arm and her feet skid against the floor. You barely have time to react before she jerks to a halt, her entire body going rigid, eyes locked on something ahead.

Her mouth falls open.

"The Falcon?!"

Your stomach drops.

"Maria—"

"The Falcon is here?!"

Before you can stop her, she takes off, darting toward the digital display outside one of the hospital rooms. The screen flickers with patient information, vitals, and medication logs—

Torres, Joaquín

Maria’s hands slap over her mouth. "Oh my God."

"Maria," you warn, but she’s already clambering onto one of the chairs lined against the wall, pressing her face to the glass window beside the door.

"Oh my God! It's him! It's really him!" She whirls around, panic-stricken. "Is he dead?"

You lurch forward. "What? No." Your hands instinctively find her waist, steadying her before she tips over. "He’s just sleeping."

"Can I go say hi?"

"No."

"It’s my birthday."

"Maria—"

"Please!"

You close your eyes, inhaling slowly.

This was not in your job description.

You glance at the window, frowning. You weren't supposed to let anyone into a patient’s room unless they were authorized. Especially not another patient. There were rules. Strict ones. The last thing you needed was for someone to get sick, for someone to get hurt, for someone to wake Joaquín up before he was ready—

But then you look at Maria.

She’s practically vibrating with excitement, hands clasped tightly like she’s holding back from bouncing on her toes—the youngest patient in the entire building. Wide-eyed and full of wonder, she’s looking at Joaquín because he’s a real-life superhero, someone she’s only ever seen in headlines and shaky phone recordings.

And Joaquín… Joaquín loves kids.

He always has.

You’ve seen it firsthand—the way he kneels when he talks to them, the way his face lights up whenever he makes one laugh, the way he always offers high-fives like it’s second nature. Even now, even unconscious, the thought of him being the reason behind Maria’s uncontainable joy tugs at something deep in your chest.

It feels like something he would want.

And maybe… maybe this is okay. Maybe this is good—a reminder that people out there care about him, even the ones who have never met him.

Still, you hesitate.

You’re comfortable taking care of him now.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

No more denial. No more excuses. No more pretending that seeing him like this—unmoving, caught somewhere between here and wherever his mind has drifted—doesn’t scare the hell out of you. You’ve accepted that you miss him, that you still... care for him, even after everything. But stepping into that room again—with Maria, of all people—feels like a step toward something you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

Because Joaquín is here. So close. Close enough to reach out and touch, to whisper his name and wait for that slow, teasing smile to appear—the one he always gave you when you were being too serious. Close enough that you should feel relieved.

But he’s also impossibly far.

No teasing smiles. No dumb jokes. No knowing looks from across the room. Not even anger of having you near. Just silence. Just the faint rise and fall of his chest, the machines working to keep him stable.

For days, you’ve watched him. Sat beside him. Checked his vitals. Changed his bandages. Waited.

But then Maria looks up at you, eyes round and pleading.

"Okay," you exhale, already regretting it. "But you have to be really quiet so he doesn’t wake up, okay?"

She nods, lowering her voice, "Okay."

Maria is practically bouncing with excitement as you swipe your keycard and push open the door. Sunlight spills in through the half-drawn blinds, cutting warm streaks across the floor, across Joaquín’s blankets, across his still form. The midday hum of the hospital filters in from the hallway, muffled but present. The steady beeping of the monitors tracks his heart rate, a slow, even rhythm, while the IV beside him feeds a clear solution into his veins.

Maria tiptoes inside like she’s afraid of disturbing something sacred.

You don’t blame her.

Because up close, he looks even more unreachable. The bruises along his temple have faded from deep purple to a softer yellow-red, but the cuts on his face are healing. His lips are chapped. His hair is messy against the pillow, a sharp contrast to how put-together you remember him.

You move—more out of instinct than anything—because lingering in the doorway makes it worse. The small cart beside his bed is stocked with fresh bandages, antiseptic, gauze—everything you’ve used to help keep his wounds clean these past few weeks. Without thinking, you pick up his chart because you've forgotten your tablet, scanning the latest notes, his most recent vitals. Stable. No new concerns. No change.

Maria whispers something, but you don’t catch it.

You blink, glancing at her. "What?"

She’s staring at Joaquín, her small hands gripping the edge of his blanket like she’s afraid to touch him, but wants to.

“He’s even prettier up close,” she breathes.

Despite yourself, you smile. "Yeah? You think so?"

She nods seriously.

There’s something achingly familiar about the way she looks at him—like she’s trying to memorize him, like she’s afraid he might disappear if she blinks.

You know that feeling.

Because you’ve caught yourself staring at him the exact same way.

Like if you look long enough, you might commit him to memory all over again. Like you can make up for the lost time, for the time that has slipped through your fingers. You study him—not just the broad strokes of him, not just the familiarity of his face, but every little thing you’d forgotten during your time apart, the things that had slipped from your mind.

There is a faint stubble that’s started to grow along his jaw. And now you notice little moles dotting his skin, scattered in ways you don’t recognize from your memories or dreams of him—they were always focused on the bigger picture, the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he loved you.

Now, it’s the details that root you to the present.

The soft rise and fall of his chest beneath the hospital blanket. The steady hum of the monitors. The warmth of his skin when you reach out, pressing two fingers to his wrist, feeling the familiar, comforting rhythm of his pulse beneath your touch.

You check his vitals—his heart rate is stable, his oxygen levels are good, and his IV fluids are running properly.

Maria exhales softly, still watching him, her voice quiet as a breath.

"I think he’s gonna be okay."

You let out a slow, measured breath, your thumb grazing over the back of Joaquín’s hand—just for a second, just enough to feel the warmth of him.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Me too."

It’s enough. For now.

Your fingers slip away from his, the warmth vanishing almost instantly, and you start to usher Maria back toward the door. But as you move, something shifts—so small, so quick, you almost think you imagined it.

Joaquín’s fingers twitch at his side, just as yours leave his.

Your heart stutters.

A rush of warmth blooms in your chest, something fragile and desperate, something that wants to hope, to believe that it means something. That he felt it.

Swallowing, you make a quick note on his chart, recording the small movement even though it could be nothing.

Even though it could be everything.

You exhale, trying to ground yourself, trying to shake off the way your heart is pounding now, loud and heavy in your ears. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until Maria tugs at your sleeve, glancing up at you, her own expression somewhere between curiosity and uncertainty.

You force yourself to move. To turn away. To guide her toward the door, because whatever flicker of hope just sparked inside you is too fragile to hold.

But then—

A sound.

Low. Faint. Hoarse from weeks of silence.

Your name.

Spoken.

Maria gasps softly.

And you—you freeze.

The breath leaves your lungs in a sharp, startled exhale, and your fingers go rigid against the door handle. A slow, involuntary shiver runs down your spine, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

Did you imagine it?

You must have.

But then you feel it—Maria’s small fingers wrapping tightly around your hand, clutching at you with quiet urgency.

Because she heard it too.

Your name. A whisper, raw and barely there, but there.

And it came from him.

Joaquín.

The hospital room feels smaller now, charged with something delicate and terrifying all at once. The air thickens, pressing against your chest as you slowly—slowly—turn around, terrified that if you look, it’ll be gone.

That it was just a trick of your desperate mind.

But it’s not.

Because Joaquín’s fingers twitch again.

His brow furrows, lips parting slightly, throat working as he struggles to form a sound, his voice raw and unfamiliar after so many days of silence.

Maria gasps, gripping your sleeve, her excitement barely contained, but you don’t register it.

Because Joaquín’s eyes are fluttering open.

For a moment, he stares blankly at the ceiling, his chest rising in a shallow, uneven breath. His body remains rigid, like his muscles haven’t caught up with the fact that he’s conscious. There’s no immediate recognition in his gaze—just a hazy sort of confusion, as if he’s somewhere else entirely.

Then, he moves.

His fingers twitch against the sheets, then curl. His breath hitches. The faint beeping of the heart monitor quickens. His body tenses, his shoulders pulling in as if bracing for impact.

His gaze shifts—and lands on you.

The second your face comes into focus, his entire body jerks.

A sharp, ragged inhale drags through his chest. His pupils constrict. His hand flinches at his side, like he wants to reach for something—like he’s searching for something solid.

His breathing changes. It’s not just uneven anymore—it’s too fast, too shallow. The rise and fall of his chest is quick, erratic, his ribs barely expanding with each breath.

Then, a whisper, barely a breath—words spilling from his lips before he even realizes he’s speaking.

"Me morí."

The words repeat, over and over, almost like a prayer.

"Me morí. Me morí. Me morí."

His voice trembles. His fingers fist the blanket. Tears well in his eyes and slip down his temples, silent, unchecked.

Your heart lurches.

You move instinctively, stepping closer, hands steady even as your pulse pounds in your ears.

"Hey, hey," you soothe, voice low and careful, placing a gentle hand on his good shoulder. "It’s okay. You’re safe."

Joaquín flinches at the touch, his muscles twitching beneath your fingers. His head turns slightly, his gaze darting, frantic, searching—taking in the room, the medical equipment, the IV in his arm. You can tell his body wants to move, to fight, to run, military instincts kicking in. But he’s still weak, his limbs heavy, uncooperative.

His pulse pounds beneath your fingertips. Too fast. His whole body is reacting before his mind can catch up.

"Joaquín." You keep your voice steady, careful, like speaking too loudly might shatter him completely. "Can you hear me?"

His gaze snaps back to you.

Something flickers in his expression. Recognition.

His chest is still rising and falling too quickly, his hands still tremble against the sheets, but his shoulders drop just barely. Some of the tension bleeds away.

His lips part, but no sound comes out at first. His throat works through the effort.

Then, at last, a hoarse, broken whisper.

"Hi."

Your breath catches.

Your fingers twitch against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin grounding you as much as you hope you’re grounding him. You press your palm there just a little longer, just to reassure yourself he’s real, that he’s awake.

"Hi," you whisper back.

His lashes flutter as he blinks at you, slow and deliberate, his eyes still wet with tears. Still searching. His gaze drifts over your face like he’s trying to map every detail back into his memory.

Like he’s afraid you might disappear.

"Hi," he says again, quieter this time.

Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat.

"Hi, Joaquín."

A slow, trembling exhale leaves his lips. His body sags into the pillow, exhaustion catching up to him all at once. His fingers unclench from the blanket, the tension in his muscles fading—but not entirely.

Because when you start to let go, when your fingers begin to lift from his shoulder, he twitches beneath your touch.

The hesitation is so subtle that you almost miss it—almost.

A flicker of something crosses his face, something unspoken, something aching. You worry he's hurting.

It reminds you of another time, a different moment in a different place. Years ago, Joaquín slouched in the passenger seat of your car, showing you his newly earned stitches after getting beat up by a Flag-Smasher, laughing through the pain while you frowned.

"You gotta stop scaring me like this."

"I’m trying, I swear."

You remember the way his eyes had softened in the dim streetlight, the way he had looked at you then. The way he kissed you to take your mind off of his pain—how neither of you had wanted to let go.

And now—now, as your fingers hover over his shoulder, as he doesn’t look away—it feels exactly the same.

Only this time he can't kiss you.

Only this time you can't wipe his tears away.

You force yourself to pull back, to let your fingers drift away, even as your hand aches to stay.

Joaquín swallows hard, blinking sluggishly as his gaze flickers to the IV in his arm, the monitors beside him, then back to you. His lips press together briefly as if he’s gathering himself before a rough, scratchy mutter escapes him.

"Ah, shit. I screwed up so bad."

The sound of his voice—dry, raspy, but carrying the faintest hint of that familiar humour—makes something in your chest crack wide open.

A breathy, wet laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly swipe at your eyes, shaking your head.

"I'm... I'm gonna go call a doctor, alright?"

Joaquín doesn’t say anything. He just watches you.

There’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, something too much. It makes your pulse stutter, makes your breath feel too shallow in your lungs.

You don’t give yourself time to process it.

Instead, you turn, pressing the call button for the doctor. "Come, Maria," you say, voice quieter than before.

Maria, who's gone strangely silent since Joaquín woke up, rushes to your side without hesitation. But she does nearly break her neck to keep looking back at him until you pull the door shut, sealing that moment away.

You exhale, resting your back against the wall for half a second longer than necessary before forcing yourself to move.

The doctor arrives quickly. You straighten up, rattling off Joaquín’s vitals, every detail you can remember—his initial reaction, his moment of panic, his response to stimuli, everything. The words come automatically, like muscle memory, like routine. You focus on that, on the familiar rhythm of procedure, handing off the responsibility to the doctor so she can begin running tests, checking his neurological responses, assessing how much damage—if any—his body has endured after so many days in forced stillness.

The weight of your exhaustion presses heavier against your shoulders as you upload his files to the system, sending them over before turning your attention back to Maria.

"You did good, Maria," you tell her softly as you lead her back to her room.

She just nods, but there’s something distant in her expression now.

You get it.

She’s just witnessed the moment. The one where everything changes.

It’s the moment where the panic stops being panic and turns into something else—something messier, something heavier.

It’s the moment where the question “what if he never wakes up?” turns into something just as terrifying:

“He’s awake. Now what?”

Her parents are waiting when you bring her back, and you don’t stay. You let them have that moment for her birthday, closing the door gently behind you before turning back into the hallway.

And then you’re alone.

For the first time in hours, in days, you’re alone with nothing to distract you.

Your hands are shaking. You hadn’t even noticed at first, but now you can’t not notice—the tremor in your fingers, the way your pulse hammers too fast against your ribs, the way your body suddenly doesn’t know what to do with itself now that you’re not running on pure adrenaline.

You sink into one of the chairs outside Joaquín’s room, bracing your elbows on your knees. The motion feels stiff, foreign—like your body isn’t quite yours anymore.

Your eyes sting.

Joaquín is awake. He’s awake.

He spoke. He looked at you. He recognized you. He remembered you.

You should feel relief. You should feel something good.

And yet.

It’s like coming up for air after being stuck underwater too long—except just as you’re about to take a full breath, it’s ripped away again.

Because now that he’s awake… he can speak to you.

He can react to what you say, to what you do.

Maybe he’ll ask for a different nurse. Maybe he’ll ask to be transferred to another hospital back in Miami or something. Maybe, when his voice isn’t so raw and broken, he’ll tell you exactly what he thinks about the fact that you were the one sitting by his bedside all this time.

And God, you don’t know if you can handle that.

You drag your hands down your face, pushing out a breath. You don’t have time for this.

The sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway reminds you that Sam—or Joaquín’s mother—is bound to show up any minute now. The news will spread fast, and soon, his room will be filled with people who have been waiting for this moment, praying for this moment.

Shit.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a second before forcing yourself up. You should be in the room right now with the doctor, checking over Joaquín’s vitals, taking actual notes instead of spiraling in the hallway. Get your shit together and do your job.

Your movements feel sluggish as you reach for your tablet, swiping your ID card at the door. The scanner beeps, and for a split second, you hesitate—your fingers still lingering on the door handle, your chest tight.

Then you force yourself to step inside.

The room is brighter now, bathed in soft afternoon light filtering through the window. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm glow, a stark contrast to the sterile white walls and the quiet hum of machines. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor is too steady, too real.

The doctor is already mid-assessment, having raised Joaquín’s bed into a slightly upright position as she runs through a neurological check-up.

Joaquín is watching you.

His dark eyes flicker to you the second you enter, and you feel it in your chest, hot and unrelenting.

You swallow hard, gripping your tablet like it’s a lifeline, and take your place near the doctor, prepared to focus on numbers and stats and anything else except the weight of that stare.

You wonder if you’ll get kicked out for distracting him.

"Oh, great, you’re back," the doctor says, breaking through the static in your brain. "Do you mind grabbing some water for Captain Torres? I’m just about done here. Everything looks good and healthy. He’s recovering well."

You nod, already moving before your thoughts can catch up. Autopilot. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded at this point.

Still, you feel it.

The way Joaquín’s gaze follows every single one of your movements, tracking you like you might disappear if he looks away.

You crouch, retrieving a bottle from the mini fridge, fingers twisting at the cap before stepping back toward the bed. That’s when it hits you—he can’t take it. His muscles are still sluggish, his coordination not quite there yet.

You pour some into a paper cup instead, stepping closer when the doctor gives a nod of approval. Joaquín doesn’t say anything.

The tremor in your hands is almost imperceptible, but you feel it when you lift the cup to his lips. The moment your fingers brush his skin, a muscle in his jaw tenses.

His heart monitor beside the bed jumps.

Your eyes snap to the screen, but the doctor catches it first.

"Interesting," she hums, her tone just teasing enough to send heat creeping up your neck. But she lets it go.

"So, Joaquín," she continues, "We’re gonna have to do some blood work tomorrow, just to make sure everything is alright internally. We’ll up your dose of painkillers now that you’re awake."

"Awesome," he mutters, voice scratchy but laced with dry sarcasm.

She smiles. "They’ll make you a little drowsy, which is normal, but we’ll need you to try and stay awake until sunset. Just to make sure you’re not slipping in and out of consciousness. But I doubt it."

Then she turns to you.

"I’ll let Amanda know he’s awake. But you did a good job—woke up sooner than we expected."

You blink, caught off guard by the compliment.

"Thanks."

"I’ll come back later for a check-up."

And then she leaves.

The door clicks shut, and there is a silence that follows.

You stand there, hands gripping the tablet against your chest, unsure of what to do. Well, you know what to do—your duty is clear. You should be checking his vitals, updating his chart, making sure he’s comfortable.

But that’s not what’s stopping you.

It’s him.

Awake. Looking at you.

Joaquín Torres, alive and conscious and blinking at you like he’s still trying to convince himself this isn’t just another fever dream.

His voice comes quiet, hoarse, a low grumble you barely hear over the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor.

"You took care of me?"

Your breath catches.

It’s a simple question, but it knocks something loose in your chest. Because it’s him asking. Because he’s here to ask it.

You swallow, shifting on your feet. Your gaze flickers over him—not just the wounds, but all of him. The way the sunlight filters in through the window, warming the stark white of the sheets, reflecting in the deep brown of his eyes. He looks more alive now, and maybe it’s the light or the steady rise and fall of his chest, but for the first time in weeks, you allow yourself to believe it.

He’s here.

Breathing. Talking. Alive.

And yet—his dead face still haunts you.

The memory lingers in the corners of your mind, just out of reach but never truly gone. His stillness, the unnatural slack of his features, the too-loud silence of a body that had once been so full of energy, of life. The image is burned into your brain, playing over and over again like a cruel loop. The moment you thought you lost him.

The tears in his mother’s face.

The look of dread on Sam.

The guilt.

"Uh, yeah. I did."

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Joaquín exhales, long and slow, as if processing your words. Then, he tries to smile.

It’s small, faint and unsteady like he isn’t quite sure how to do it yet. The corners of his lips curve, but there’s a hesitation in the movement, like his face isn’t used to the motion after so long.

Still, he tries.

And when his eyes meet yours again, your stomach twists, sinking deep like an anchor dropping into dark water.

"I… I know it’s just your job, but—" His voice falters, but his gaze doesn’t. "Thank you."

Right. Your job.

The words settle into your chest like a weight—familiar, suffocating.

Because you remember the last time he said that to you.

Your last fight.

Well—it wasn’t really a fight, was it?

Not the kind with screaming and shattered glass, not the kind where anger built up and spilled over, reckless and sharp. It was quieter than that. Heavier. Because in the end, it wasn’t about anger.

It was about exhaustion. About wanting so badly to hold on to each other but realizing, little by little, that neither of you had hands free to do it.

You had barely been sleeping.

Between overnight shifts at the hospital, classes, training, and trying to be the best nurse you could be, your time wasn’t your own. It belonged to the people who needed you—the patients, the emergencies, the long nights where your body ached and your mind ran on fumes.

And Joaquín?

He had thrown himself into working with Sam, into proving himself, into becoming something bigger. His missions got longer. The risks got greater. He was gone more often than he was home, and when he was home, he was bruised, exhausted, a shadow of himself trying to piece together the scraps of a normal life between deployments.

You tried to make it work. God, you tried.

You spent so much time missing each other—passing like ships in the night, phone calls that never lasted long enough, conversations cut short by a code blue or a mission call.

At first, you thought it was temporary. That one day, things would slow down. That eventually, you’d find a rhythm that let you breathe with each other again.

But that day never came.

Instead, the gaps between you grew wider.

The distance stretched, and stretched, and stretched—until one night, you were sitting across from each other, and you both knew.

"I can't do this anymore, Joaquín."

You had whispered it.

Not because you didn’t mean it, but because saying it any louder might have broken you.

He had looked at you, like he was waiting for you to take it back.

Like if he just held on long enough, you’d change your mind.

"I know... You know, I love you," he had said, low, firm, desperate.

And that had been the worst part.

Because love wasn’t the problem.

It had never been the problem.

It was everything else.

Your job. His job.

The nights spent apart, the exhaustion, the never-ending fear of opening your front door to a folded American Flag. You couldn’t stand watching him bleed.

And he couldn’t stand knowing that one day, you might not be there to stitch him back up. That was the last time he said it. "But it’s my job."

Like that was supposed to make it better.

But now, you’re standing in his hospital room, staring at proof that it never got better. Because you had left to protect yourself from seeing him hurt. And now you had seen him dead.

"Of course," you manage to say, wincing when you hear your voice break.

Joaquín hums softly, but his eyes don’t leave you. He’s looking for something in your face—like he’s searching through memories neither of you have spoken aloud in years.

But then, his gaze flickers away. Over to the table. To the mess of flowers stacked in unsteady vases, their petals bright in the afternoon sunlight. The kind of display that only happens when someone is lucky enough to wake up.

His brow creases. "How bad was it?"

You swallow, feeling something sharp lodge itself in your throat. "You were shot out of the sky by a missile."

His lips part. "Right."

"It was pretty fucking bad."

A beat.

"Right."

You don’t know what you were expecting. Some kind of reaction, some flicker of acknowledgment for the hell he’s put you through. But instead, he just takes it—like it’s another report, another piece of intel.

You hesitate, something bubbling up inside you. You can’t tell if it’s anger or sorrow. "You died."

The words hit the air, heavier than you expected.

Joaquín blinks, his breath hitching almost imperceptibly. His fingers twitch against the blanket.

"I died?"

You nod, biting your cheek so hard you taste iron.

"Yeah," you force out. Your throat tightens. Don’t cry. Not in front of him. Not again. "Two minutes."

He’s staring at you now. Eyes wide. Disbelief creeps into the edges of his expression, but not enough—not enough for someone who actually understands what that means.

What it means to you.

"Oh."

You scoff. "Yeah. Oh."

Your laugh is brittle. Sharp around the edges. Because what else is there to say? Joaquín dies for two minutes, and you’ve spent days living inside them.

He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

"God," he mutters. "Sam’s gonna be so mad at me."

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Because this wasn’t how you imagined seeing him again.

In your head, there were a million other ways this could have gone—maybe you’d run into each other in the future when you were older. When things had settled. When you’d moved on.

Maybe you’d both be married to other people.

The thought makes you sick. But this? This is so much worse.

"Do you, um, do you need anything else? Are you hungry?"

"No."

You nod, but you don’t believe him. Patients are usually peckish when they wake up—a sign of life returning to their bodies, a reassurance that things are moving forward. And while he’s not allowed solid foods for another twenty-four hours, you could bring him a smoothie, something light.

But if he really wants something, he can call you.

You tell yourself that as you turn toward the door.

"Can you stay?"

You linger because you didn’t expect it.

Because you kind of hoped he would ask.

Because he didn’t ask you to stay last time.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, gripping your tablet a little tighter, as if the tension in your body could be contained in that single movement.

"Yeah," you say softly. "I can stay."

You turn back to him, and Joaquín is already looking at you.

His eyes are pleading.

It takes everything in you not to break right there. To not spill over.

You force yourself to move, careful, measured steps toward the chair beside his bed. It feels like you’re wading through something thick, something unseen, like grief or memory or all the what-ifs you’ve tried to bury.

You sink into the chair slowly.

A strand of hair falls into Joaquín’s face as he leans back against the pillows, the bruising on his cheekbone catching the light just enough for you to hate it.

Your fingers twitch again. The urge to brush it back is unbearable. But you don't.

He exhales.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asks suddenly.

You blink, caught off guard.

"Last night." you answer, almost automatically.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Not really."

A beat.

"Nightmares?"

"Something like that."

"Something on your mind?"

"Lots on my mind."

The words slip out easily, like an old habit. No walls. No defences. It’s like no time has passed at all, like the space between you hasn’t been filled with anger, regret, and time apart. Just raw, open honesty in the quiet of the room.

The weight that’s been crushing you for days feels a little lighter in the space between his questions and your answers. You exhale, and only then do you realize you’re holding back tears.

You wipe at your face absently, surprised to find wetness there. You hadn’t even known you were crying.

Joaquín shifts in the bed, his gaze sharpening. There’s concern in his eyes, guilt, and maybe something else—something deeper. He looks away, clearing his throat, as if trying to fight it.

"I hope it's not me you're worried about,"

"I'm always worried about you."

You glance away from him, pretending it’s nothing, but the words hang between you both, too heavy to ignore.

His breath catches, something in him faltering, and then you catch the slight, almost imperceptible way his fingers curl into the sheets. His ears are pink, the flush spreading down his neck. He’s always been terrible at hiding how he feels, and you’re helpless against it. You always have been.

You can’t look at him. You don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed him. How much you’ve been carrying around since the breakup. How much he’s haunted every quiet moment since you walked away.

"Joaquín," you start, tugging at the ring finger on your left hand, the absence of his name there like a wound you forgot was still open. "When they brought you in here—"

"I miss you."

Your chest tightens. "Joaquín—"

"It's true, I do." His voice is quiet, almost vulnerable. "I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk to you again, and I just…" His gaze drifts from yours, like he’s struggling to put it all together. "I couldn't get it out."

You swallow hard, feeling that familiar ache well up in you. “I miss you too. It’s been... it’s been really hard.”

"Yeah." He nods slowly, his voice softer now. "It has. But, you know, I’m the Falcon now. Can you believe that?" He chuckles, but it’s almost nervous, as if he’s trying to lighten the mood, trying to make you smile. "I work with Captain America. I’ve got big shoes to fill. I’ve got to show up, but this... this is all I’ve ever wanted, since I was a kid. I’ve got it now. But... there’s something missing."

You look at him, really look at him, seeing the difference in his eyes now—less brash, more tired but still so much the same. "Yeah. Yeah, I feel it too. It’s like a nagging feeling, right? No matter what we do, it’s there."

"Make me feel guilty." His lips curve into a faint smile, but it’s tired.

"Like I wanna vomit," you reply dryly, the familiar banter slipping back into place before you can stop it.

Joaquín’s eyes soften as he lets out a breath, and there’s an edge of regret in the way he says, “I’m sorry I left.”

Your heart aches at the words, and you feel the old wounds crack open. "I’m sorry I made you leave." You’re not sure whether you’re trying to make him feel better or punish him with your own guilt. Either way, it burns.

“No,” he says quickly, “It doesn’t work that way.”

"But it does," you insist, your voice soft but firm.

He presses his lips together, brow furrowed, as if trying to work through what you’ve just said. "I should’ve fought harder," he murmurs, voice cracking just slightly.

"Joaquín... c’mon. Let’s talk about this later, okay? You just woke up from a coma. I can’t be putting this much stress on your mind."

"But I wanna talk about it," he presses, desperate.

“I know, I do too,” you admit,

“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, leaning forward just a little.

"Rest first." You place a hand on his shoulder gently, urging him to lay back. “You’ve been through a lot. I can’t let you burn yourself out again.”

“I’ve been resting. Had the best nurse in the world take care of me,” he teases, trying to distract you with a smile.

You feel the tug in your chest at his words. "And I will still take care of you. But you need rest. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow," you confirm, trying to smile, to soothe the tension you’ve both built up.

"Will you still be here?"

You glance down at him, a familiar warmth flooding your chest at the sight of him so vulnerable, so human. "I’m not going anywhere. Will you still be here?"

His smile softens, a quiet promise in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#listen to blood orange while reading 🫶🏽#they make out and fuck after this i promise #faye’s writing ⭑.ᐟ #joaquín torres #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres fanfiction #the falcon #the falcon x reader #joaquín torres smut #joaquin torres smut #joaquín’s wings

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peachesofteal · 3 months ago

Text

Simple Math / Part Twenty

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse reader, feelings of fear and panic, PTSD, references to domestic violence. Trauma, blood. Flashbacks. Dubious ethics and morality, dark content.

“Are ye comin’ inside?”

“I need a minute.” He needs more than a minute. He needs days, weeks. Needs to wind back the clock and slam it into the ground, over and over again, until the springs and hands and tiny numbers splinter into pieces.

Failure. He failed. They failed.

They failed you.

“Wait, go back.” The video pauses and rolls backward, all the way until Simon tells Kate to stop it when you step out of the elevator. “What’s in her hand?”

“Dinnae,” Johnny’s nose is practically touching the screen.

“The recording is pretty low quality; I’ve tried enhancing it with no luck.” Kate’s voice crackles through the speakers from the other side of the laptop, the other side of the world. This is the first time they’ve managed to get a hold of her in weeks, and even now, the connection is half static.

“Looks like a piece of paper, or a picture?” Johnny murmurs, leaning back.

“This is just before she bolts,” the playback continues, and they watch as you walk down the hall, bright smile fading when you reach the corner. “She’s here for a minute and then runs…” Simon is glued to the screen, forward on his haunches, and Johnny rubs his back, kneading his knuckles into that ever-present knot in his shoulder. He watches your head turn, your back stiffen, and Johnny sucks in a breath.

Kate nods the confirmation. She’s already put the puzzle together.

Graves.

You’re reacting to Graves, seeing Graves. Entire demeanor shifting, changing from their sweet, smart girl with newfound confidence, to a deer, shocked and startled, running from a scope.

Graves.

It’s simple math. Plain as day. You take one look at where he’s come around the corner, running his mouth, chewing that fucking gum, and split.

It’s Graves.

And it all makes sense.

“-you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.”

“He always finds me.”

“He has resources. Has followed me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I’m originally from Texas.”

Texas. Texas. Texas.

There was a conversation, months ago, that slipped through Simon’s fingers. A wisp of a suspicion, one pushed away by doubt, by disbelief.

Not possible. A coincidence.

He was wrong, about being wrong. He was right, all along.

Johnny nearly flips the table before Simon urges him back down. “Where… where does she go after this?”

“She gets the car,” Simon answers, timeline clicking into place, “she borrows that gits car, comes home, packs a bag, and runs.” Johnny’s hands are shaking, fingers white against his knees.

They’ll kill him. He’ll paint the walls with Phillip’s blood. They’ll do what should have done in the first place.

He should have protected you, should have seen it all clearly. Should have applied more pressure and made you crack, if only for your own safety.

He failed.

They failed.

“That piece o’ shite, I’ll-“

“Kill him.” Simon finishes simply, and they exchange a look. A promise without words. Simon will shatter his skull between his palms if he has to.

Johnny nods. The gears are already turning. Are they so different from a man who has stopped at nothing to drag you back to him?

No.

They'd burn the world for you, to protect you, to bring you home to them.

Kate clears her throat. “There’s more.” More? “I was checking some records, looking at her last clock out, when the last paycheck was paid out and I pulled her personal information, her medical chart.” Kate’s tone is wary, hesitant, and Johnny straightens.

“What is it?” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, unsure trepidation that’s so unlike Kate the hair on the back of Simon’s neck stands up.

“Kate…”

“She’s pregnant.” You could hear a pin drop. Johnny’s rage turns to panic, and an ocean of blood rushes in Simon’s ears.

“She’s- she’s what?”

“She’s pregnant. By now, she’s probably twenty weeks, maybe? I’m not sure. I don’t know much about those things, but her chart notes say both of them are… were in good health. Low risk.”

“Twenty weeks,” Johnny echoes, faraway look in his eyes.

A baby. You’re pregnant.

Pregnant. Pregnant and alone, and scared. Running away.

From them.

Simon’s trying to wrap his head around it, but he can’t. The information doesn’t fit. It doesn’t make sense.

“If she’s twenty weeks, then she’s been pregnant since before she left.” Johnny’s talking to himself at this point, because Simon can’t force his mouth to make words. “Why keep it a secret?” Kate is telling them something about index hits and cameras, but it all amounts to nothing after you board the train, and Simon still fails to make a sound.

And then, she piles it on.

“Graves is in the wind.” Simon’s heart stops like he’s been struck by lightning, electricity jolting him alive.

“How?”

“He went offline. No traceable activity in the last week or so. Last known location was Texas. After that, I’m not sure. Yet.”

‘He can’t be in the wind,” Johnny whisper shouts, all too aware of Penny upstairs, napping. “We need to know where he is. Now.”

“I’m doing all I can. He has resources too, you know. A lot of them.” The screen goes black for a second, before she reappears, lips pressed into a grim line. “I have to go. I’ll keep you updated. Sorry guys.”

They can only nod.

It’s clear as day, what happened now. How you saw them in the hallway, how you drew the conclusion, one that seemed so painfully obvious, connected the dots that appeared in your mind, stringing together bits and pieces until it all made sense.

He knows what will have to happen now. They both do.

Simon presses his forehead to Johnny’s. “We’ll find her.”

“An’ bring her home.”

“No matter what.”

The rest is left unsaid.

You’re having a dream.

It’s a lovely one, more of a memory than anything else, but a dream, nonetheless.

“This still feels like a bad idea.”

“Isnae, ye’ll do great bun. Jus’ the ‘hawk now.” You’ve already finished the sides of his head, which were easy enough, but using actual scissors to cut hair is well outside your wheelhouse.

“What if I mess it up?”

“It’s jus’ hair, pretty girl. It grows.”

“How’s it going out here?” Simon leans out the sliding door, Penny in his arms, and you try to plead with him with wide, nervous eyes. He chuckles. “Looks good so far.”

“See?” Johnny smiles, one of the big ones that stretches his whole face and makes your knees weak. Penny loves them too, and she claps her hands together, giggling.

“But… I don’t… I’m going to mess it up.” Johnny stands, warm hands on your arms.

“Ye could shave me bald and wouldnae mess it up, bun.” You nod, but the acid, noxious taste of worry is still there on your tongue.

“I just… I…” you’re starting to shake a little, fingers squeezing together. He tugs you into his chest, kisses your temple.

“Ye’re alright.”

“I know.” You do know. You’re safe. They’d never hurt you, never betray your trust or even yell at you, but muscle memory doesn’t forget. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Ye dinnae have to be sorry.”

“It’s okay, bunny.” Simon murmurs, but it’s not.

Is this how you’ll spend your whole life? Afraid? Shaking?

No.

Not anymore.

“If I ruin his hair… it’s not my fault.” Simon chuckles.

“We’ll blame him.” You turn back to Johnny and put your hands on his shoulders, taking a deep breath, surveying the mop of unruly brown strands, and he covers one of yours with his own.

“It’s okay. If ye-“

“No, I can. I can do it.” You don’t know why you’re so nervous. It’s just a hair cut, for crying out loud, but for some reason it feels like plunging into the deep end of a pool. “Okay,” you breathe, making the first snip. He nods encouragingly and you roll your shoulders.

“See? Not so bad?”

“Not so bad.” You cut again and again, trying to manage it all into a proper length, shaping as best you can.

Each snip, something grows. Your hands tremble a little less, your jaw unclenches, lips flexing upward into your cheeks. You breathe deeper.

When Johnny turns around, he doesn’t care about his hair, or the slightly uneven chunks, or the fresh clippings on his shirt.

He cups your face, kissing you before pulling away to rub his thumb across your cheek.

“There she is.”

Spring rain. There’s nothing like it.

It washes away the gloom of winter. It’s the turning of a page, the spine of a brand-new book snapped open with a splintering crack. Cabin fever becomes walks in the park, lunches and coffees outside, hanging out on balconies and patios.

Dead things turned to soil now sprouting new life.

Like you, you guess.

You’ve been dead before. If someone looked really closely, they could see it in your eyes. The grey of decay, the separation of iris and pupil. Dead and brought back not quite right, every time. Sally, stitched together incorrectly, the wrong pieces of patchwork, poorly aligned.

Every time he ripped another piece of you away, you found a different one, one less like you, to put in its place.

Every time, until you weren’t you at all. Until you were a girl in a mirror. Until you were a ghost.

It makes sense that you don’t know yourself now, haven’t known for years. On the run, there’s not a lot of time to stop and consider things like that, those pieces. Coffee or tea? Chocolate cake or vanilla? Do you like snow? Do you like the beach?

Do you like yourself?

You could have had these answers, you think. Could have learned these things, if it hadn’t turned out the way it did. If Simon and Johnny hadn’t turned out to be a hydra, mouths open, waiting to devour you.

Sunbeam kicks. They nail you in the bladder, and you wince, rubbing over the crest of your belly. “You’re killing me, you know that?” You feel like you’ve been hit by a bus, every day. The aches and pains are never ending, your back and hips screaming by the end of a shift. You can’t sleep, the heartburn makes it hard to eat, you’re never comfortable.

The whole time, you curse them, Simon and Johnny.

Their fault, it’s their fault.

And yours too.

But no matter how tired, how sore, how cranky you are, you can’t bring yourself to regret it, and in your dreams, it’s like all the bad, all the awful betrayal didn’t even happen. You dream of a family with them, Penny holding her little sibling, the five you together. It’s all been buried in your mind, too deep and nearly impossible to dig out. The visions of them, the longing, the good memories. You’re infested with them.

You didn’t want this. You wanted them, you wanted it all, and that might be the hardest thing about it. You weren’t given a choice, this decision was made for you, taken from you, just like almost everything else.

Except little sunbeam. You wanted them, chose them, will choose them, over and over, forever, keep them safe, make sure they know they’re loved.

No matter what.

It’s the train, always the train.

Not the long rail train, the commuter train. The one that takes you to and from work, the one that’s sometimes-standing room only, though most people offer you their seat, which is surprisingly kind, compared to where you’re from.

Regardless, you feel the gaze on the train, and no matter how hard you scan, dissect, watch the people around you, there’s nothing. All three faces, three sets of eyes, three profiles, are never anywhere to be seen.

It’s overwhelming, unsettling. The stress of this prickling unease combined with the stress and physical strain of your job is taking its toll on both you and Sunbeam, as the midwife likes to remind you.

Take it easy, take some time off, try to relax. Stay hydrated, eat well.

Yeah… okay.

You rub your belly anxiously, tugging your hood farther over your head, trying to look around without being so obvious.

“Excuse me?” You jolt, startled by a man standing at your elbow, pointing to a vacant spot on a bench. “Would you like my seat?” His smile is subtle, matching an encouraging but not overly intrusive demeanor.

“Sure, thank you so much.” He nods, stepping to the side, into the space between the seat and the divider, close to the door. You try to swing your backpack in front of you, but it gets caught, and he snags it before it falls. “Sorry, thanks.”

“Of course, no problem.” You give him another glance. Really handsome, rich brown eyes you could get lost in. He’s got a baseball cap on, but it’s not pulled down over his face like your hood, he’s not trying to hide. “I’ll move when your stop comes up.”

“Okay, it’s not for a while so, no worries.” He might be kind, but he’s still a stranger, and you’re not going to divulge anything specific. Stranger danger.

Not everyone is a threat but…

“How far along are you?” You blink.

“Uh, about twenty-five weeks, give or take a few days.” He nods.

“My wife is due next week; it’s been a rollercoaster.”

“Yeah, it’s not the easiest.” You laugh, a little apprehensive, but also, a little glad, secretly, to have a casual conversation with someone. He sticks his hand out.

“I’m Kyle.” Your tongue rolls with the practiced name you’ve memorized, the one you’ve drilled into yourself over and over again. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” The next stop is announced, and he moves gracefully, reaching for his bag and tugging it over his shoulder, barely giving you a second glance.

“This is me, have a good day.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t look over his shoulder at you when he’s getting off, doesn’t watch you through the window from the platform. He’s completely uninterested, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

The box is delivered on a Tuesday.

The Scottish government gives you almost everything you need. Clothes, thermometers, baby books, a changing mat, a mattress, a sheet, a blanket, the list goes on. The box even doubles as a bassinet.

You cry over it. Rifling through everything, tears drip down your cheeks and you bury your face in your hands. You didn’t get to share an ultrasound with anyone, or have a shower, or hold someone’s hand to your belly as sunbeam kicked, but there’s this. A box full of baby stuff, a box that says no matter how hard it is, you and sunbeam will have a good start. Even Sunbeam’s room is halfway sorted at this point, crib set up, dresser half stocked with clothes, collection of diapers and burp cloths and bottles starting to pile up in various places in their room. You’ve made it comfortable, slowly, mix matched furniture and all.

Every day feels like a year, but as each one passes, you slowly adjust to a new normal, a new life. Something you made, again, from scratch, for yourself, your survival.

And now, for Sunbeam.

One day, maybe it will feel like home.

You really need to stop buying so much crap at the store.

You practically have to drag your grocery loot into the elevator, bags overflowing with fruit, vegetables, cans of formula. Random cleaning products, stuff for baby proofing, a new candle.

Apparently, some call this nesting. You just call it annoying.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a moment, shifting your weight to alleviate the pressure on your spine.

Thirty weeks.

Ten weeks left.

Ten weeks left. It’s wild to even think about, to even say to yourself, or out loud. You’re going to be a mom in ten weeks. Going to have a whole human depending on you for every single thing, in ten weeks.

You’ll be alone, with a newborn, in ten weeks.

Alone.

It still aches. Stings. Salt in the wound-

Lit end of a cigarette against your skin.

You instinctively cup your belly, thumb rubbing over where one of your burn scars has been stretched by Sunbeam, and shiver.

You’re fine. You’re safe. Get it together.

“We’re home!” You announce to no one, no one except Gus the goldfish who’s swimming circles around his bowl. You got him two weeks ago on an impulse, following a pathetic, sad desire all the way to the pet store.

It’d be nice to have something to come home to.

You tap a few flakes into the water and watch him gobble them up, oddly soothed by his presence in the flat.

This is how far you’ve fallen. Taking comfort in a damn goldfish.

You blow out a breath and fall onto the couch, swinging your legs up onto the cushions, dragging the pillows under your ankles, or what used to be your ankles. They’re more like overstuffed sausages now, tops of your sneakers cutting into your skin. Every chance you get, you’re finding places to sit at work, caught yourself leaning most of your weight on your patient’s beds, more than once. Thankfully, your coworkers are overwhelmingly understanding.

And when you come home, you do this. Collapse on the couch. Talk to a goldfish, or Sunbeam, or both.

The oddest trio: Mom, baby, goldfish.

You manage to limit yourself to three bites of ice cream before putting the carton away in the freezer. You’re supposed to be watching your sugar intake, apparently, not because you’re at risk for gestational diabetes, but because Sunbeam is already projected to be on the bigger side.

You look mournfully at container, spoon still in hand.

One more. What’s it going to hurt? One more bite isn’t going to turn Sunbeam into a giant, it’s-

Knuckles rap against your door.

Your blood goes cold, colder than ice, and you instinctively find the floor, crouching by the fridge, using it to shield yourself, keeping away from the door’s direct line of sight.

The knocking gets louder.

Someone’s saying something on the other side of the door, but you can’t hear it over the buzzing, beeping sound in your ears.

How.

How? How did it happen so fast? Where did you fuck up?

The fear you once felt for yourself pales in comparison to the true fear you feel now. You’re supposed to protect Sunbeam, supposed to keep them safe.

You’re supposed to be a mom.

A sob claws its way out, and you clap your palm over your mouth, agony squeezing your heart, panic clutching your throat in a vise, choking off your air, throttling you until you’re gasping.

You should run, should sprint into the bedroom and grab the gun from under your mattress, should start crawling out the window to the fire escape.

You should do these things, but instead, you’re trapped, immobile, watching with horror as the deadbolt turns horizontal, sliding the lock free with a bloodcurdling click.

Your baby. You were supposed to keep your baby safe.

You failed.

You stand, so unsteady you have to support your weight by leaning against the counter. The only thing in here are kitchen knives, and you rip two from the block, one hiding behind your back, the other brandished in front of your body like a sword.

You’re going to die.

But not without a fight.

Tears wet your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you choke, sliding a hand over little Sunbeam, “I’m so- so sorry.”

The creak of the door handle is unmistakable, a metal whine scraping against the frame. You close your eyes.

“Bunny.”

Your heart stops.

The men you thought love you are standing just inside your kitchen, the sight of them turning your stomach, their eyes flicking between you and the shiny, sharp knife in your hand.

Johnny inches forward, his voice a low, gentle murmur, one that cracks your heart. “It’s okay pretty girl, we’re here to take ye home.”

“Get away from me.” The knife is practically rattling in your hand.

"It's alright. We’d never hurt ye, either of ye. We know what ye saw and-“

“N-no,” you sob, voice cracking, shoulders shaking, “don’t come near me.”

“Put that down, sweet girl, it’s alright.” Simon edges around the counter, caution and wary weighing his steps. They’re supposed to be muffled you think, soft, but they ring so loud.

“Stop!”

“Just let us explain, give us a minute-“

“I saw you! I saw you w-with him.” Your vision is blurred by tears, and you look down at your belly, desperate. “Just let us go, please. Don’t- don’t let him-“

“Listen to me, sweetheart. We have nothing to do with Phillip.” His name makes your flinch, and you inch backwards.

“You know him.”

“We do. He tried to kill us, betrayed us, on a mission. Nearly succeeded with Johnny.” The words conflict, mash together into a scramble you don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.

More lies.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know, I know you don’t. I wouldn’t if I was in your position either, but we’re telling the truth.” You shake your head.

“No. You’re just… you’re just trying to trick me.”

“We’re not,” Johnny murmurs, “We’ve always told ye the truth, bun. And we’d never hurt ye.” He steps forward. It’s too close, way too close, and you pivot, both knives still clutched in your hands.

“Put them down.” Simon instructs, a little bit of steel in his voice now. He can obviously see the one behind your back, and your heart starts to sink.

There’s no way out. You should have run when you had the chance.

Stupid.

The girl in the mirror stays silent. She says nothing.

For all you know, she’s dead already. Killing blow dealt by your own hand.

You think about Sunbeam, all warm and safe, protected from the world, and despair swells in your chest, an entire ocean beneath your feet, waiting to swallow you up, drag you down and drown you.

“Now, sweetheart. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You laugh. It’s a sickly, nervous thing, too tinny and high pitched.

You’re falling apart. You’re not a fighter, you’re a runner, shot lame in a race rigged against you from the beginning. They’re closing in, wolves stalking the bleeding lamb between them, predators about to fall on prey.

“Don’t,” whisper, fingers tightening around the knife in front of your body, unable to hold it steady through the trembling.

“Bunny, listen to us, please.” Johnny is reaching and you get trapped in his gaze, spiraling into the swirl of misery and fear, mirroring your own. “I love ye, we love ye. Ye belong with us, at home, where we can keep ye safe.” You slam your eyes shut, trying to block him out. “I’ve loved ye since the day I opened m’eyes and saw ye leaning over the bed. We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Simon moves. One powerful, huge step, and he’s on you, grabbing your arm, applying pressure to your knuckles to release the knife.

You scream. It’s instinct. Everything shuts down, narrowing down to one objective.

Run.

“Johnny,” he half shouts over your keening, holding gentle pressure against your arm as you try to rip yourself free. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” You thrash, trying to twist out of his grip, shoulder shrieking in pain, and he goes with your momentum, providing slack so there’s no tension in your arm. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself sweetheart, you’re okay.”

You’re not.

You’re not okay. You’ll never be okay.

The walls close in, and it all becomes so clear. Your future, what will happen if they take you, if you leave here with them.

They’ll take Sunbeam. They’ll turn you over to Phillip, throw you out like trash, and you’ll die.

Are you going to let it happen, just like you let everything else? Are you going to roll over? Let it all be stolen, again and again?

No.

Simon reaches for the other knife and you swing it wide, slicing through the air until the blade meets flesh.

He hisses. Blood spills, drips down the handle, coats your fingers, and you stand there, frozen, gobsmacked.

Did you-

Did you just-

“Johnny,” he barks, but it barely registers, you’re too transfixed by the blood, hypnotized by it, too entranced to even register Johnny at your side, too stunned to see what’s in his hand.

A needle.

He whispers your name, cradles your face-

And then everything goes black.

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap

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jinwoosungs · 5 months ago

Text

12/01/24; 06:41pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you steal a kiss from them ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

always known to fall asleep during the daylight hours, you decided to be a good girlfriend and allow sylus to get some much needed rest.

but of course, sharing a living space with luke and kieran provided double the challenge for you. throughout the day, it seemed like your main mission involved preventing the twins from making too much noise-

or from blowing up the whole mansion in general.

their laughters and overall abundance of energy was wearing you down, and it got so bad that you decided to set them off on a scavenger hunt you had made up on a whim, just to get some peace and quiet. once they were out of the house and roaming the streets of the n109 zone, you let out a sigh of relief, heading back to your shared bedroom. now in the confines of your sanctuary, you shut the door behind you while letting out a gentle huff.

trailing your gaze towards the bed, you smile upon seeing sylus still resting comfortably in bed. the comforter covered the lower half of his body, and you could feel your heart pounding in response to the sight of his perfectly sculpted chest and how it lay bare for your eyes alone.

it didn’t matter how many years you’ve spent together with sylus. without fail, your abdomen would always erupt with butterflies at the sight of his beauty. as if caught in a trance, you step closer to the sleeping man, heart already racing with anticipation at what you were about to do.

you stand over your lover, admiring the tranquility of his sleeping face when you heed your heart’s desire and lean your face down closer to his, pressing your lips against sylus in a gentle kiss.

“hn, i was wondering when you’d come back to me.”

sylus’s rich voice catches you off guard, and you gasp in response, feeling sylus open his eyes before placing a large hand behind your head, keeping you still before crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. the tip of his tongue traces at the border of your lips, and you steadily began to lose all of your senses the moment you open up to him, allowing him to slide his tongue in and get a taste of you.

sleep had long since evaded sylus when he keeps you close to him, taking advantage of your newfound privacy as he quickly morphed your simple kisses into something much more passionate.

zayne had locked himself within his office once more-

and you felt incredibly disappointed in the fact that he was still working despite it being his day off.

however, you did your best to forgive him in such situation, since he was someone who saved lives with his profession.

you just wished there was something you could do to help with easing his stress.

as the hours went by, you look at the clock to see it was already 7pm, with no signs of zayne coming out of his office anytime soon. letting out a sigh, you figured you could help your boyfriend destress by ordering some good takeout for dinner. not in the mood to cook, you figured it was fine to treat yourself to some of your favorite takeaway while sharing it with zayne. with your orders placed and paid for, you hesitantly walk toward his office and give the door a series of knocks.

“it’s unlocked, honey.” zayne’s tired voice was heard coming from behind the door, and you could feel the heat travel up your neck at the sound of his affectionate nickname for you.

with a sheepish grin, you enter his office, your greeting for him settled at the tip of your tongue, yet something stops you. your eyes take in the sight of zayne, dressed comfortably in a grey sweater as his eyes poured over the various patient charts settled on his desk. his reading glasses remained settled against the tip of his nose, and his hair appeared messier than usual, like he had been running his hands through them throughout the day.

a compulsion was felt coursing through your veins, your heart and mind both telling you that you needed to kiss him at this very moment. for some reason, zayne looked incredibly alluring to you, and you found yourself falling in love with him all over again.

you take gentle strides toward zayne, calling out his name while in an almost trancelike state. zayne meets your gaze and acknowledges you-

only to let out a gasp when you suddenly crash your lips against his. the shock he felt lasts for a mere second before he responds, moving his lips slowly as he slots his lips against yours, kissing you back with just as much passion.

when the need for air proved to be too much, you were the first to pull away from him, feeling embarrassed when zayne gives you a knowing smile. “i apologize, had i known you had missed me so much, i would have spent more time with you.”

you could only manage a series of stutters in response to his sweet words, earning a sweet chuckle from him. grasping at your hand, he places a lingering kiss at the back of them, “forgive me?”

you shake your head, getting rid of your nervousness and smile, feeling zayne place you on his lap. being closer to him now, you allowed your hands the pleasure of running through his soft strands of hair, “of course i forgive you. i always do because you’re a good man who saves lives for a living.”

a rich chuckle escapes from zayne as he takes off his glasses, leaning into you with another smile on his face, “i suppose you do wish to be spoiled after all.”

and when zayne suddenly surges forward, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss, you allowed the rest of the world to melt away-

not even caring that your dinner had already arrived, since all you could taste and feel was zayne.

your losing streak with kitty cards would be your tragic end-

you were certain of it as xavier seemed to have all the luck on his side.

from getting the optimal amount of kitty cards and their matching cups, his score kept climbing higher and higher-

leaving you sobbing in the dust as you struggled to keep up.

even with the various power ups you tried to use to help with lowering his winnings, none of them seemed to be enough.

currently, you were on your last round of kitty cards with xavier, leaving you pouting at your hunter boyfriend as he kept giggling sweetly at you, holding his cards above his lips to help with hiding his smile in hopes of easing the blow of your incoming loss.

“hehe, s-sorry, but your pouting face is so cute… you’re so adorable.” xavier tells you, clearly enjoying his winnings so far-

and admittedly, you felt the tiniest bit petty-

actively ignoring how much your heart was racing at the sight of xavier’s smiling face.

yet xavier seemed to bask in your annoyance, still chuckling lightly as he waited for you to complete your turn. letting out a grumble of his name, you cross both arms across your chest and tell him, “wipe that grin off your face, it’s not funny that you’re so lucky right now…!”

yet your words simply make xavier chuckle even more at you, no longer using his cards to hide his smile as he laughed at you. you let out a huff, wishing to wipe that cute smile off his face when you lean across the table to press an unexpected kiss against xavier’s lips.

your boyfriend lets out a surprised sound that was a mix between a gasp and a grunt, making you smile against his lips while deepening the kiss, not stopping until you were certain that xavier would be left speechless. knowing that you had successfully swallowed the rest of his laughter, you pull away from him with an almost smug expression on your face.

now, it was your turn to giggle at xavier, watching as his cheeks take on a rosier hue, actively blushing as he kept touching at his lips. finally registering the sounds of your laughter, xavier tosses aside his cards and allows the colored teacups to fall to the ground the moment he lunges at you, with his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

“no fair… you cheated.” it was xavier’s turn to pout when he presses you closer to him.

feeling playful, you stick your tongue out at him-

only for xavier to respond by leaning down to kiss you once more, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that had you seeing stars by the end of it all.

there was something achingly beautiful when it came to witnessing rafayel complete a painting he had been working on for nearly weeks on end.

and you were lucky enough to be the closest to him when these moments struck-

where you allowed yourself to bask in the beauty of rafayel’s radiant gaze, his eyes looking over the completed canvas with a sense of noticeable pride coursing through his veins.

there also seemed to be a glowing aura that surrounds him, making him appear so wonderful and oh so breathtaking that your heart would ache in response to witnessing something so ethereal.

filled with love for him, you step into his studio, calling out rafayel’s name while he was in the midst of basking in his completed work. he hums and faces you, giving you a beaming smile while welcoming you with arms wide open, “hey princess-“

you stand closer to him, cutting him off when you leaned up against him before pressing a loving kiss against his lips. he stiffens momentarily in surprise, yet still, you continued to kiss him, filled with an almost possessive desire to claim him as yours alone.

yet instead of pushing you away-

rafayel responds beautifully to you, kissing you back while wrapping both of his arms around your waist to help with bringing you closer to him. a giggle was felt bubbling within your throat when you break off the kiss first.

“hey, why’d you pull away so fast?” rafayel’s pouting face earns yet another giggle from you, making you lean up to press a kiss against his nose. “truly, i don’t know what came over me. i just wanted to show you how proud i am of you… and… let you know how beautiful you are each time you finish a project you’re so passionate about.”

rafayel’s eyes light up with unbidden joy upon hearing your words, “oh now you’re just begging to be smothered in kisses! you better prepare yourself princess.”

the sight of your grinning face makes your lemurian lover crush your body against his, allowing him to kiss at your features, practically littering your face with his playful kisses as your laughter echoes throughout the studio.

end notes: i’ve been writing too much smut and figured there needed to be some much needed fluff with my fave LADS men as a palate cleanser 😅😅😅

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sylus x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x you #zayne x you #xavier x you #rafayel x you #sylus x y/n #zayne x y/n #xavier x y/n #rafayel x y/n #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #writings 📖

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5ummit · 1 year ago

Text

AO3 Ship Stats: Year In Bad Data

You may have seen this AO3 Year In Review.

It hasn’t crossed my tumblr dash but it sure is circulating on twitter with 3.5M views, 10K likes, 17K retweets and counting. Normally this would be great! I love data and charts and comparisons!

Except this data is GARBAGE and belongs in the TRASH.

I first noticed something fishy when I realized that Steve/Bucky – the 5th largest ship on AO3 by total fic count – wasn’t on this Top 100 list anywhere. I know Marvel’s popularity has fallen in recent years, but not that much. Especially considering some of the other ships that made it on the list. You mean to tell me a femslash HP ship (Mary MacDonald/Lily Potter) in which one half of the pairing was so minor I had to look up her name because she was only mentioned once in a single flashback scene beat fandom juggernaut Stucky? I call bullshit.

Now obviously jumping to conclusions based on gut instinct alone is horrible practice... but it is a good place to start. So let’s look at the actual numbers and discover why this entire dataset sits on a throne of lies.

Here are the results of filtering the Steve/Bucky tag for all works created between Jan 1, 2023 and Dec 31, 2023:

Not only would that place Steve/Bucky at #23 on this list, if the other counts are correct (hint: they're not), it’s also well above the 1520-new-work cutoff of the #100 spot. So how the fuck is it not on the list? Let’s check out the author’s FAQ to see if there’s some important factor we’re missing.

The first thing you’ll probably notice in the FAQ is that the data is being scraped from publicly available works. That means anything privated and only accessible to logged-in users isn’t counted. This is Sin #1. Already the data is inaccurate because we’re not actually counting all of the published fics, but the bots needed to do data collection on this scale can't easily scrape privated fics so I kinda get it. We’ll roll with this for now and see if it at least makes the numbers make more sense:

Nope. Logging out only reduced the total by a couple hundred. Even if one were to choose the most restrictive possible definition of "new works" and filter out all crossovers and incomplete fics, Steve/Bucky would still have a yearly total of 2,305. Yet the list claims their total is somewhere below 1,500? What the fuck is going on here?

Let’s look at another ship for comparison. This time one that’s very recent and popular enough to make it on the list so we have an actual reference value for comparison: Nick/Charlie (Heartstopper). According to the list, this ship sits at #34 this year with a total of 2630 new works. But what’s AO3 say?

Off by a hundred or so but the values are much closer at least!

If we dig further into the FAQ though we discover Sin #2 (and the most egregious): the counting method. The yearly fic counts are NOT determined by filtering for a certain time period, they’re determined by simply taking a snapshot of the total number of fics in a ship tag at the end of the year and subtracting the previous end-of-year total. For example, if you check a ship tag on Jan 1, 2023 and it has 10,000 fics and check it again on Jan 1, 2024 and it now has 12,000 fics, the difference (2,000) would be the number of "new works" on this chart.

At first glance this subtraction method might seem like a perfectly valid way to count fics, and it’s certainly the easiest way, but it can and did have major consequences to the point of making the entire dataset functionally meaningless. Why? If any older works are deleted or privated, every single one of those will be subtracted from the current year fic count. And to make the problem even worse, beginning at the end of last year there was a big scare about AI scraping fics from AO3, which caused hundreds, if not thousands, of users to lock down their fics or delete them.

The magnitude of this fuck up may not be immediately obvious so let’s look at an example to see how this works in practice.

Say we have two ships. Ship A is more than a decade old with a large fanbase. Ship B is only a couple years old but gaining traction. On Jan 1, 2023, Ship A had a catalog of 50,000 fics and ship B had 5,000. Both ships have 3,000 new works published in 2023. However, 4% of the older works in each fandom were either privated or deleted during that same time (this percentage is was just chosen to make the math easy but it’s close to reality).

Ship A: 50,000 x 4% = 2,000 removed works Ship B: 5,000 x 4% = 200 removed works

Ship A: 3,000 - 2,000 = 1,000 "new" works Ship B: 3,000 - 200 = 2,800 "new" works

This gives Ship A a net gain of 1,000 and Ship B a net gain of 2,800 despite both fandoms producing the exact same number of new works that year. And neither one of these reported counts are the actual new works count (3,000). THIS explains the drastic difference in ranking between a ship like Steve/Bucky and Nick/Charlie.

How is this a useful measure of anything? You can't draw any conclusions about the current size and popularity of a fandom based on this data.

With this system, not only is the reported "new works" count incorrect, the older, larger fandom will always be punished and it’s count disproportionately reduced simply for the sin of being an older, larger fandom. This example doesn’t even take into account that people are going to be way more likely to delete an old fic they're no longer proud of in a fandom they no longer care about than a fic that was just written, so the deletion percentage for the older fandom should theoretically be even larger in comparison.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the author of this "study" KNEW the data was tainted and chose to present it as meaningful anyway. You will only find this if you click through to the FAQ and read about the author’s methodology, something 99.99% of people will NOT do (and even those who do may not understand the true significance of this problem):

The author may try to argue their post states that the tags "which had the greatest gain in total public fanworks” are shown on the chart, which makes it not a lie, but a error on the viewer’s part in not interpreting their data correctly. This is bullshit. Their chart CLEARLY titles the fic count column “New Works” which it explicitly is NOT, by their own admission! It should be titled “Net Gain in Works” or something similar.

Even if it were correctly titled though, the general public would not understand the difference, would interpret the numbers as new works anyway (because net gain is functionally meaningless as we've just discovered), and would base conclusions on their incorrect assumptions. There’s no getting around that… other than doing the counts correctly in the first place. This would be a much larger task but I strongly believe you shouldn’t take on a project like this if you can’t do it right.

To sum up, just because someone put a lot of work into gathering data and making a nice color-coded chart, doesn’t mean the data is GOOD or VALUABLE.

#ao3 #ao3 stats #psa #my words #fandom #I doubt anyone is even going to read this but I needed to get it out of my system and at least try to stop this from spreading #if you know me #you know I get Big Mad about misinformation #don't take anything at face value #do your own research

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sagelasters · 11 months ago

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scientific study on the void state

For decades, people have thought sleeping is a momental period or pause where both the body and mind is asleep. When I stopped remembering my dreams, I recalled seeing just pitch black in my sleep, and I never thought much about it until I started getting into the void and loa in general. It’s strange how my mind remembered those moments of nothingness and pure darkness, they were briefly short but I came to the conclusion that every single one of us has been in a void state. Whether or not you remembered it, maybe you do, maybe for a split second you were enveloped in pitch blackness till you woke up. Most of us brush off these strange phenomenals, but here’s the real question: Is it possible to be aware in your sleep? The answer is yes, our subconscious mind is fully awake even in your sleep. I think one of the most interesting scientific experiments I’ve read was an interview in 2022, it explores the ‘objectless awareness’ in our sleep.

There were about 38 participants in the experiment, in which they were given a word to mentally spell and then they were interviewed based on that specific spelling. This is to measure participant’s memory accuracy, just to make sure they didn’t fabricate or make up any descriptions in the experiment. When participants pass the first round, they are given a survey if they have experiences of being conscious in their sleep. The result is that some participants recalled to lack any bodily sensations or imagery, one person reported that they lost the sense of being ‘themself’ but they identified as a ‘light’ or ‘orb’. Another person reported that after being in the state of nothingness, they were shaken up and brought to another ‘dream scenery’. Others recalled that their thoughts were completely non-existent in this state and they are aware of being ‘transitioned’ to what they called the ‘black spot’ and ‘nothingness state’.

The chart summarizes what the participants experience in their sleep, the ‘nothingness phase’ seems to be the middle ground between regular sleeping state, to hypnagogia (transition between being awake and sleep, you experience sleep paralysis and muscle jerks in this stage). Most participants were unable to recall what happened after they transitioned out of the ‘nothingness phase’. The following is what they said:

Participant 1

"So, this sensation of nothing was letting me know that I was still in a dream, because I made the comparison to, I cannot feel any of my limbs. So, I know that I’m not just in bed right now with my eyes closed. Because none of my body’s there."

Participant 2

"I no longer have an idea of a body.. a dream body at that point. And then I [emphasis] became or was this just like this little ball of light, […]. So like I knew that the sphere of light was ME, but also like the light that was around the sphere was me, […] Once I become the sphere, you are asking if I have any body perception? I do not have any at that point […] having a dream body is just completely gone."

Participant 9

“And then, and then all of a sudden, there was just nothing I could not, I’ve gone from, from my body, I guess. And I’ve had other bodies before and this felt very, very, very different where I did not like there was no dream body, no dream scene. No, no ANYTHING. It almost seems like a form about a body. But it almost seems like you are, you are caught between, caught between somewhere where you are trying to get in and the physical, you are, you are somewhere else. […] And so, so I was able to feel that I guess.”

Participant 8

“It’s more like I was the void. ”

Participant 12

" It’s just total darkness. And you…, there’s very little difference between you and what’s around you. ”

Well didn’t that blow your mind away? This probably raises more questions on more phenomenal that modern science has no idea about, considering the fact that we just discovered our sense of awareness is still on even in our sleep.

Citation

Alcaraz-Sánchez A, Demšar E, Campillo-Ferrer T, Torres-Platas SG. Nothingness Is All There Is: An Exploration of Objectless Awareness During Sleep. Front Psychol. 2022 Jun 10;13:901031. doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2022.901031. PMID: 35756253; PMCID: PMC9226678.

#loa blog #loa tumblr #void state #loassumption #law of assumption #manifesation #neville goddard #shifting motivation #shifting community #shifting blog #reality shifting #dividers by fairytopea / credit in tags if used

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astrojulia · 5 months ago

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Asteroid Fay (4820) in the Natal Chart

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The asteroid Fay (4820) gets a lot of fairy stuff when you see posts about this asteroid, but I don't see it that way. I may be tripping on this analysis, yes, but let's go. It was named after a pilot, Fay Gillis Wells,a woman. If it is hard to come by in those areas these days, imagine back then. So I see it more as the feminine authenticity, the part that was repressed from you when you were a child because it wasn't adequate, that part of you that only many years later you realize was killed because they didn't believe in it. Much like Tinkerbell when they didn't believe in her. It's a part of you that was repressed not by your fault, but by others. The fairytail that was killed when you were a girl. I di this analysis focusing more on why it was named that way and it trajectory than just thinking about what Fay means. So, in the end, I just tried to have some fun doing this post, sorry.

Fay in the Signs

The sign where Fay is reveals the flavor and tone of your feminine authenticity—the unique, often misunderstood part of yourself that might have been repressed by external expectations or societal norms. Over time, rediscovering this part of you brings empowerment, healing, and the ability to honor your authentic self in ways that were once denied.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Aries: Your boldness, confidence, and pioneering spirit may have been stifled, perhaps through discouragement of your natural leadership or independence. Others might have seen your fiery self-expression as "too much." Rediscovery reawakens your fierce courage, rekindling a sense of personal initiative and the ability to unapologetically pursue your desires. You become a trailblazer in reclaiming what was once suppressed.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Taurus:Your connection to sensuality, material values, and the comfort of stability might have been dismissed, especially if practicality or frugality was overly emphasized in your upbringing. This repression may have made you doubt your worth or feel disconnected from physical pleasure and abundance. Rediscovery brings a deep, grounded connection to nature, beauty, and your self-esteem, allowing you to fully embrace a life of richness and contentment.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Gemini:Your curiosity, communication, and intellectual playfulness may have been silenced or undervalued. Perhaps others deemed your ideas frivolous or dismissed your need for learning and sharing. Rediscovery empowers your voice, sharpens your wit, and brings the confidence to express your thoughts freely. You reclaim your role as a dynamic storyteller and bridge-builder.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Cancer:Emotional vulnerability, nurturing instincts, and your deep sensitivity might have been undervalued, leading you to suppress your innate ability to care and connect. Rediscovery allows you to embrace your emotional intelligence and honor the power of your nurturing side. You reclaim the strength that comes from authentic emotional expression and your ability to create a safe, loving space for yourself and others.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Leo:Your creativity, self-expression, and natural magnetism may have been stifled, perhaps by others downplaying your talents or shaming your need for recognition. Rediscovery reignites your inner flame, allowing you to shine without apology. You step into the spotlight with confidence, celebrating your unique gifts and inspiring others to do the same.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Virgo:Your practicality and perfectionism may have been emphasized at the expense of your softer, more creative side. Perhaps you were pushed to focus on being useful and efficient, leaving little room for personal exploration or emotional ease. Rediscovery brings balance, allowing you to serve others while honoring your own needs. You reclaim the grace of self-care and the joy of embracing imperfections.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Libra:Your authenticity in relationships, harmony, and aesthetic appreciation may have been repressed, perhaps due to societal or familial pressures to conform. You might have been discouraged from asserting your individuality or desires for fear of upsetting the balance. Rediscovery empowers you to create beauty and equality in all areas of life, fostering relationships that honor both your needs and those of others.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Scorpio:Your intensity, transformative power, and deep emotional truth may have been buried, perhaps because others found them intimidating or "too much." This repression may have left you feeling disconnected from your own depths. Rediscovery brings fearless authenticity, allowing you to dive into the shadows, heal, and emerge as a beacon of resilience and empowerment.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Sagittarius:Your adventurous spirit, love of freedom, and thirst for knowledge may have been dismissed or restricted, leaving you feeling trapped or misunderstood. Rediscovery reignites your passion for exploration—whether through travel, philosophy, or learning. You reclaim your right to seek the truth and expand your horizons, living a life of bold authenticity.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Capricorn:Your ambition, discipline, and authority may have been repressed, especially if others placed limitations on your aspirations or doubted your ability to succeed. Rediscovery empowers you to take ownership of your goals, aligning your sense of responsibility with your authentic purpose. You emerge as a figure of self-determined success and leadership.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Aquarius:Your eccentricity, innovation, and visionary ideas may have been shunned, particularly if they challenged conventional norms. This repression might have left you questioning your uniqueness or feeling isolated. Rediscovery allows you to embrace your role as a trailblazer, bringing originality and progressive thought into your life and the world around you.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 Pisces:Your sensitivity, spirituality, and imaginative nature may have been dismissed as impractical or unrealistic, leaving you feeling unseen or undervalued. Rediscovery reconnects you to your intuitive gifts and the dreamlike essence of your soul. You reclaim your ability to inspire and create from a place of deep emotional and spiritual authenticity.

Fay in the Houses

The house in which Fay resides in your natal chart indicates the specific life area where your feminine authenticity may have been stifled, often due to external pressures or unmet validation during formative years. Over time, this placement illuminates the process of reclaiming your suppressed self, allowing you to thrive authentically in this domain of life.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 1st House: Repression here may have stifled your sense of self, physical presence, or how you express your individuality to the world. Perhaps you were made to feel you didn’t measure up in appearance, personality, or confidence, leaving you hesitant to assert your true identity. Rediscovery empowers you to embrace who you are unapologetically, cultivating self-confidence and owning your presence with bold authenticity.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 2nd House: Your self-worth, personal values, or relationship with material security may have been suppressed, possibly by others imposing their priorities on you or undermining your sense of value. Rediscovery helps you rebuild a strong relationship with abundance, teaching you to honor your unique talents and to trust in your inherent worth. You learn to create a stable, fulfilling life on your terms.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 3rd House: Your voice, ideas, or intellectual curiosity may have been dismissed or stifled, leaving you hesitant to speak up or explore freely. Perhaps you felt your thoughts weren’t valued or that learning was too rigidly structured. Rediscovery brings liberation, allowing you to express yourself confidently, connect meaningfully, and embrace your inner storyteller or thinker.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 4th House: Family dynamics or early home life may have restricted your emotional truth or sense of safety. You may have been discouraged from exploring your vulnerability or made to conform to familial expectations. Rediscovery allows you to nurture yourself deeply, reconnect with your roots on your own terms, and even break generational patterns to create a home and foundation that truly supports your authenticity.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 5th House: Creativity, playfulness, and romantic self-expression may have been overshadowed by pressure to be serious or productive. Perhaps your innate talents or joys were dismissed as frivolous. Rediscovery rekindles your passion for life, helping you reconnect with your inner child, celebrate your unique creativity, and find joy in authentic self-expression and love.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 6th House: Service, routines, or health-related responsibilities may have overshadowed your authentic self. Perhaps you were expected to sacrifice your individuality for the sake of duty or perfectionism. Rediscovery teaches you to balance responsibility with self-care, crafting a meaningful and sustainable lifestyle that honors your uniqueness and supports your well-being.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 7th House: In close relationships, you may have suppressed your individuality, feeling overshadowed or compelled to conform to others’ needs. Rediscovery empowers you to create partnerships that are equal and fulfilling, where your voice is valued. This placement helps you strike a balance between connection and autonomy, fostering relationships that reflect your true self.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 8th House: Deep emotional or transformative power may have been buried due to fear, shame, or external repression of your intense nature. Perhaps you were taught to hide your vulnerability, sexuality, or capacity for profound change. Rediscovery brings courage to explore your depths, embrace your shadows, and emerge with a greater sense of empowerment and authenticity.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 9th House: Your thirst for knowledge, spiritual exploration, or adventurous spirit may have been dismissed or discouraged. Others may have sought to limit your vision or impose rigid beliefs. Rediscovery reignites your passion for freedom and learning, encouraging you to embrace your personal truth and explore the world with openness and wisdom.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 10th House: Your public role, career ambitions, or sense of purpose may have been restricted, perhaps by societal expectations or self-doubt. Rediscovery aligns you with a career or legacy that reflects your true nature and aspirations. You find the courage to step into your authority and pursue a path that feels authentically meaningful and impactful.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 11th House: Your individuality within groups or your visionary ideas may have been suppressed, possibly because they challenged norms or went against the grain. Rediscovery helps you find your true community—those who support and celebrate your unique contributions—and reconnects you to your ideals and dreams for the future.

∞ ₒ ˚ °𐐒 12th House: Subconscious fears, societal expectations, or hidden pressures may have stifled your spiritual and intuitive gifts, leaving you disconnected from your inner world. Rediscovery invites you to embrace your sensitivity, delve into your dreams, and unlock the hidden wisdom within. You learn to trust your intuition and honor the depth of your soul’s journey.

Fay Aspecting Planets

Sun: Your core identity is tied to reclaiming authenticity. Challenges help you grow into self-expression.

Moon: Emotional vulnerability and healing are central. Rediscovery nurtures your emotional truth.

Mercury: Your voice and ideas reclaim confidence and clarity after past suppression.

Venus: Self-worth and relationships evolve as you rediscover your value and beauty.

Mars: Assertiveness and passion emerge as you embrace your authentic drive.

Jupiter: Personal growth and wisdom come through rediscovering your true nature.

Saturn: Early restrictions transform into strength and discipline in reclaiming authenticity.

Uranus: Rediscovery liberates you to express your unique, rebellious side.

Neptune: Creativity and spirituality guide you to reclaim your authentic essence.

Pluto: Deep transformation and empowerment are key to rediscovering your true self.

Rising: Your journey of authenticity is visible to others, shaping your public image and first impression. Challenges push you to embody your true self confidently.

Midheaven: Your career and public role reflect your journey of reclaiming authenticity. Rediscovery aligns your purpose with your truest self, inspiring others through your professional and personal legacy.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

#astrojulia #astrology #astroblr #all about astrology #astro community #natal chart #astro placements #asteroid fay 4820

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sturniqlo · 4 months ago

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RAPPER!CHRIS x SINGER!READER

*.✧ get to know rapper!chris and singer!reader ✧.*

both sfw and nsfw

rapper!chris who listened to singer!readers entire discography after he met her

singer!reader who played hard to get to see just how much rapper!chris wanted her. and also because she knew about his history with girls. plus, she has a bit of trouble committing to anyone (but they both hooked up once before they started dating)

rapper!chris and singer!reader who are each others plus one to any and every event

rapper!chris who gets a chain with singer!readers name or initials on it

rapper!chris who eventually gets a tattoo of singer!readers' kiss mark. it's a total surprise for her once she had gotten back from a quick trip to nyc

rapper!chris and singer!reader who aren't afraid to show each other off. always posting each other on thier social media, pointing each other out at their shows, and mentioning each other during interviews and songs

rapper!chris who loves to go rough but will often times take it slow and soft to feel her and take his time with her

rapper!chris and singer!reader who love to do interviews/videos together just for fun. like BuzzFeed CELEB, ELLE, WIRED, and GQ. even when they're not promoting anything

rapper!chris who will publicly call out anyone who makes a rude comment about singer!reader or mentions her in a song that rubs him the wrong way

singer!reader who loves going to visit rapper!chris in the studio whenever he is recording. always brings him food, snacks, drinks, or anything he asks for

rapper!chris and singer!reader who love to make silly little songs together that don't make sense at all and never release them, however one time chris accidentally posted one of the songs and it accidentally made the charts for how silly it was. (it was about the lunch they had, had that day)

rapper!chris who is in awe of everything singer!reader has ever accomplished. he teared up when she won her very first grammy, was over the moon when her song went platinum in a week, went to every. single. show of her tour no matter what state or country it was in, he was there

rapper!chris who goes to every. single. show of singer!readers' tour no matter what state or country it's in, he's always there supporting her

singer!reader who always senses when rapper!chris is taking candid pictures of her

rapper!chris who puts singer!readers' moans into one of his songs and ends up putting it in his album with her consent of course

rapper!chris and singer!reader who are both so utterly in love with each other and everybody else loves them that they broke twitter the day they announced their engagement

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮★

an: not claiming this as my own idea! i know there as been several writers who have done this au before! anyways, i'm so excited to write for these two i love em already ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

masterlist | join my taglist

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silveryshards · 2 months ago

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Routine Rescue

NSFW! Gender neutral reader. Omegaverse. Alpha!Bakugo x Omega!reader. Splash of KiriBaku/KiriBaku crumbs (dom!Bakugo x sub!Kirishima). All characters are 18+, this is time skip era.

Tags/Warnings: omegaverse, omegaverse anatomy (pheromones, knots, channels, slick, fangs/canines, scent glands), m x m handjob, knots, light praise, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (use a condom!!), biting, slight blood, mating bite, light choking (no breath play), begging, more praise, fingering, workplace sex, riding, blowjobs, swallowing (implied), finger fucking throat, gagging/choking, exhibitionist, and the observers don’t really…consent.

Word Count: 4,546 ish words

A/N: I’m open to continuing this if people want more; I have ideas for rut/heat. Maybe adding in KiriBaku x reader. Etc!

#silveryshards wasn’t used yet so I’m claiming it!

Everyone knew Katsuki Bakugo was an alpha - how could he not be an alpha? He was a hero, damn it. Not like that damn Deku, who only became an alpha after getting OFA.

For the longest time, he insisted having an omega was beneath him. He didn’t need one, he’d brag, cocky as ever with his signature smirk.

“I’m so great I can just spend my ruts alone. I don’t need some dumb omega’s slick channel.” Kirishima, also an alpha, had laughed and told him that he was really missing out.

“I don’t need sex.” Bakugo had insisted for the umpteenth time. It was a distraction. It could lead to romance, especially in a world where mating for life was, well, a thing.

One rut too intense and an omega who smelled too sweet? He’d be fucking stuck with one accidental bite. Nah, fuck that. He was fine solo.

At least, that’s what the pro insisted. From the time he presented in middle school right up until he met you at 25, that is. Dynamight, the #4 pro hero on Japan’s charts.

It was a routine save. He’d heard the semi careening out of control, the driver laying on the horn in warning. He blasted over, his speed after his quirk awakening making him almost as fast as Hawks once was.

And there you were, collapsed in the crosswalk, fear plastered on your pretty face. Wait - pretty face? No. That wasn’t right.

Tch. Get ahold of yourself, dumbass, this is a rescue. Save the dumbass and move on. Bakugo thought to himself.

He aimed himself just right and swooped in to gather you up. The whole thing took him only a handful of seconds. One, you were staring down a semi ready to flatten you. The next, in the arms of a smirking pro with spiky blonde hair and mask rimmed ruby eyes.

“Watch yourself next time, extra. Don’t just lay there and take it,” he shouted over the wind as he flew you to the nearby hospital for eval. Though, they look like they’d be good at lying there and taking it.

He shook his head, trying to clear that thought away. He wasn’t a knot head. Hell, even in a rut he could rescue omegas and control himself.

But something about you. The shine of your hair, the sparkle in your eyes that appeared after the fear left them when you knew you were safe in his arms. It was different. You were different.

He landed easily on the sidewalk in front of the hospital. Your hair was wild snarls from the wind, and you anxiously tried to tame it, to no avail. He snorted, “Tch, don’t bother.”

You looked at him with wide eyes and realized, hey, at least I’m alive; so, you stilled your hands. The pro set you down and hovered his hands at your waist, ruby eyes scanning for vertigo.

As you stood on your own two feet, you took a shaky, deep breath. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding it. The strong scent of smoky, spicy cinnamon and alpha musk flooded your senses and made you feel dizzy. Your omega perked up.

You saw on his neck there weren’t any scent blocking patches - no mate bite either. You covered your nose, not wanting to be rude but needing to not inhale that scent anymore because oh my god he smelled perfect.

Dynamight smirked again, tilting his chin up and looking at you down his nose. “Can’t handle my scent, little omega?”

You shook your head, gasping. He chuckled, but took out scent blocking patches and applied them nonetheless.

You sucked in greedy breaths to clear your head. As you did, he caught whiff of your scent. Warm vanilla and omega sweetness. It wasn’t anything special, he insisted. Just vanilla.

And yet, his fangs ached, his cock stirred, and his alpha was perking up. What the fuck?! You were just some random extra he saved. A job.

You quietly thanked him and headed in, suddenly shy in the presence of the intimidating pro hero alpha. He watched you take one step, then two, and when it was about to be three his body moved on its own.

“Wait.” He growled it. He was by your side and shoving his business card in your hand before you could turn around. Your hand was warm, even through his gloves, and he swore it made his skin tingle.

“My card.” His voice was deeper, gruff. When you looked up at him with confusion he growled and rolled his eyes. “Tch, so you can call me, dumbass.”

Before you could say anything more, he had taken a few running steps away from you and blasted back into the sky; leaving you dumbfounded.

The fuck, the fuck, the fuck?! His thoughts were racing. His heart pounding. His ears ringing. His cock…hard?! All over one, dumbass, random omega?! He growled as he returned to his patrol route.

The rest of his patrol was mostly uneventful and when Red Riot fell into step with him in the last hour, his best friend could tell he was especially…sour.

When the red head nudged him, the blonde only growled in response. It took the entire rest of patrol for the insistent shitty haired bastard to pry it out of him.

“I rescued some dumbass omega today and they smelled good, okay?!” he finally exploded when they were back safely at Dynamight’s agency.

“Whoaaaa,” the big himbo practically whistled, “Bakugo ‘I will never need an omega’ Katsuki smelled an omega he liked?!”

“Fuck off,” the blonde growled back. Of course, Kirishima was not physically capable of letting things be, so he grinned, those damn shark teeth glinting.

“Nah, man, cm’on. Lying isn’t manly. Neither is denying your instincts! It’s perfectly normal to be attracted to an omega, ya know?”

Bakugo gritted his teeth as he shucked his costume and went to the showers.

“Awww, cm’on Bakugo! Talk to meeeee!” the red head pleaded, his crimson eyes extra round and wide in that dumb puppy look he always gave him.

“Don’t need some shitty omega, no matter how good they smell,” Bakugo growled again. “So what if they’re the first one that’s ever smelled appealing.”

Kirishima had followed him into the showers, standing an easy head taller and half a person wider than Bakugo. Red had really shot up their 3rd year, and at 25, he was huge now.

All muscles and a few faint scars. Bakugo had often wondered if he didn’t like omegas because he liked alphas, because…damn Kirishima did look good.

But, no. He’d offered and they’d tried once after graduation. It didn’t go…horribly, but they agreed it just wasn’t for them long term. Kirishima had been sheepish and admitted he liked sex with omegas too much, no matter how perfectly manly Bakugo was.

And that was that. Sometimes they masturbated together or jacked each other off because, well, why not? But, nothing more. Bakugo never complained about seeing that monster Kirishima hid in his pants hard and in action either.

“Wait, wait.” Kirishima’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “No other omegas in 11 years have ever smelled good to you? Not one?”

“Nope.” Bakugo went through the motions of washing himself, soap running down the planes of his muscles, already thinking he needed to shut the redhead up. “Hurry up and shower, Red, you’re stinking up my agency.”

Kirishima laughed and started to shower as well. The running water the only sound that hung between them for a bit. But when Red started up again, “Seriously none—”

Bakugo had had enough. He walked up behind Kirishima with soapy hands and wrapped his hand around the base of his soft cock, running the pad of his thumb over the head.

“Whoa, bro! Didn’t know we were doing that today.” Eijiro chuckled, but relaxed. Bakugo just growled in response and smirked as the monster twitched to life in his hand, so thick he could barely close it.

With practiced ease he ran his hand up and down Kirishima’s hard length, rubbing the head with his thumb every other pass, just like the red head liked. The other alpha let out a guttural groan and leaned his forehead against the shower wall.

“Fuck, Kats, yeah. Like that, man,” he breathed. The blonde smirked and kept going, his right hand coming around to cup Ei’s heavy balls, massaging them just right. His cock twitched and throbbed. “Ah! Mmmmfff...”

It didn’t take long — not that Kirishima couldn’t last, he just didn’t need to. He didn’t have anything to prove to Bakugo. “K-Kats I’m gonna-I’m gonna pop a knot,” the red head gasped out.

“Pleasepleaseplease let me cum,” he begged. Bakugo grinned and abandoned Ei’s balls in favor of circling his hand around the huge knot at the base of his cock. His hand hardly fit around half of it.

“You wanna cum, Ei?” Bakugo asked softly.

“Mhmm, pleasepleasepleaseplease,” the other alpha whimpered.

Bakugo smirked, squeezed with the perfect pressure around his knot and whispered to Eijiro: “Then be a good boy and cum for me.”

The bigger alpha let out a strangled moan as he painted the shower wall with an insane amount of thick, white alpha cum. “Fuck, I’m a good boy!”

After his best friend was reduced to a whimpering mess, they cleaned up together and got dinner. Once they ate and they were watching TV on their shared couch, Ei looked at him.

“Don’t think the handjob made me forget our conversation,” he said, his voice a little flat in a way that told Bakugo a repeat distraction wasn’t welcome and they were talking about this. Damn it. the blonde thought.

“Fine,” Bakugo huffed, “No. No other omega before this shitty one has ever smelled good. Others…don’t smell bad. They just don’t smell… I dunno. When you talk about it, I’ve never smelled anyone that makes me feel that way.”

“You mean how I’ve said they smell sweet? How they make your alpha want to mark them, claim them, mate them? How their smell can make you hard?” Kirishima asked.

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Yes, Shitty Hair. Like that. I smelled them and they smelled…good. And my damn dick got hard. And my shitty fangs tingled. And my dumbass alpha decided to show himself outside of rut.”

Kirishima pursed his full lips. “Did…did you touch them at any point?”

“Of course I did, dumbass, I saved them from a semi!”

“And? Did touching them feel…tingly?” Crimson red eyes were zeroed in his face now, observing carefully.

“Not…not until after I smelled them. When I handed them my business card, it tingled through my glove.”

Kirishima gasped and jumped up, thudding on the floor as he did so. “Dude!”

“Jesus, Shitty Hair, what is it?!” Bakugo growled.

“I think you found your mate!” Kirishima said with an excited, dumb look on his face.

“I don’t want to mate them,” Bakugo protested.

“No, not like that. Your true mate man!” Kirishima insisted, so excited.

“Don’t believe in those fairy tales,” Bakugo growled.

The two alphas argued back and forth for a while, but Bakugo still refused to believe what Kirishima insisted was the truth.

When you called a few days later, though, and he heard your voice through his office phone; the blonde’s heart raced. He asked you to dinner.

And so, you had dinner with the pro. He was…uncharacteristically awkward to start. He avoided touching you and couldn’t hold a conversation.

But as the night wore on, he warmed to you. Despite scent blockers he could still smell you and you him. By the end of the night, he’d invited you home and could barely keep his hand off your thigh in his Porsche.

You shifted in the passenger seat, nibbling your lip. That smoky, spiced cinnamon scent of his was only stronger in the car and made you even dizzier. His strong hand on your thigh felt like a live wire.

Bakugo ground his teeth as he drove, his fangs aching, his hand squeezed tighter on your thigh. He wanted you. Right now. He needed his pretty omega on his cock begging to be knotted.

His scent spiked and you got dizzier. You closed your eyes and tried to calm down. You tried not to slick up in his fancy car. You would be mortified. But as he squeezed the second time and he growled low in his throat, your omega yielded to your alpha.

Worry for the fancy seats was gone, showing your alpha you wanted him was priority. When the sweet smell of slick hit his nose, Bakugo pressed his foot harder on the gas. He’d already texted Kirishima and told him to make himself scarce. His hand gripped you harder and he growled again.

“Omega,” he growled, his voice so low it was almost all growl. “I need to know if I can fuck you when we get to my apartment, because by the time we get there I won’t be able to think.”

“Please,” you whimpered. His hand gripped you impossibly harder, it felt like it would bruise, you liked that idea, though. Your alpha’s handprint on your thigh.

He inhaled deeply and glanced at you for a second, his ruby eyes had their pupils blown wide in desire. You saw a prominent bulge in his dress pants. It throbbed under your curious gaze.

“And,” he inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Mating. My alpha is having a very strong reaction to you. But I won’t mate you without consent. I don’t want to ask when you’re in the throes. I need levelheaded consent.”

You jumped a little. Mating?! He did smell really good and your omega had been preening about how he was the world’s most perfect alpha…but…mating?

“Are…are you sure?” you asked cautiously.

Another low growl. You shook and couldn’t help the slick that now dripped from you. He sounded near feral.

“More than I’ve ever been in my entire fucking life. You’re mine,” he barely growled it out. You wondered if he was about to fall into a feral rut or something.

You could do worse in a mate than a top 5 rich hero. And god, he was gorgeous.

The red dress shirt he’d worn clung to his muscles in a delicious way. You saw the full outline of his strong pecs and a whisper of his abs through the fabric. His full lips were pressed together now but usually sat in scowl you wanted to kiss away.

Those ruby red eyes made your heart skip a beat with their intensity and his pale blonde hair spiked just right. Yeah, you could do much worse than this alpha.

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper, but his hand tightened further on your thigh, and he let out a sharp breath from his nose.

The trip from the car to the penthouse then to his bedroom were a blur of his hands on your hips and waist and his lips on yours. It felt like he was going to eat you.

God, would he, please?

His lips tasted better than he smelled. You needed more.

He had tossed you on the bed as if you weighed nothing. You hadn’t even stopped bouncing before he’d ripped his shirt off, buttons flying, and prowled on top of you.

You finally let yourself focus inwards and felt the ache that came with slicking up. You’d ignored it in the car, wanting to try and stay in some level of control. But now, under your alpha, you wanted to feel everything.

Above you, Bakugo was barely hanging on. His hands fisted the sheets next to your head and his breathing was labored. Sharp, alpha canines glinted in the dim light of his bedroom as his lips pulled back. His ruby eyes were zeroed in on the blank space on your neck where he would place his bite.

Mine. Claim. Omega. Mate. Mate! Mate! Bakugo’s alpha roared inside. It was the most the damn thing had ever said outside of his rut. But he couldn’t help but agree. Your skin was silky smooth and begging for his mark.

When you tilted your neck submissively under his gaze, he growled in a pleased way. “Good, omega.” His hot lips captured yours again in a frenzied kiss.

It was a flurry of lips and tongue, a few clicks of gnashing canines together as you both tried desperately to swallow each other. Your heart raced. Your lips tingled. Your whole body was buzzing with arousal.

A puddle of slick was forming beneath you and your needy hole ached to be filled with his cock. His knot. Fuck, oh god, your alpha’s knot. You moaned into his mouth.

He pulled away, a smirk dancing on his lips along with the string of saliva that connected you.

“Like something, sweet omega?”

You nodded. “Just excited, Bakugo.”

“About what, sweet thing?” he asked, trailing calloused fingers across your jaw and down the column of your throat.

Those hands. So big. Could easily circle your throat.

You moaned and ached further as he gently wrapped his strong fingers around the shape of your neck as if he had read your mind.

“Such a pretty neck, begging for my mark,” he murmured, trailing kisses in the tingly wake of his fingers on your jaw.

“You,” you answered. “I-I want your knot, Katsuki.”

The hand around your throat twitched, threatening to squeeze, a feral sounding growl rumbled from deep within his chest, and he pressed his hips to yours, the evidence of his desire hard against you. So hard. So big.

Bakugo’s alpha was near feral as you asked for his knot. He barely held back from choking you beautifully and sinking his teeth into your pretty skin. Instead, he rolled his hard, throbbing cock against you and captured your lips in another hungry kiss.

You whimpered into his mouth, ready to do anything he asked so long as he fucked you soon. He swallowed your whimpers like they were candy and growled, wanting more sweet sounds.

“Want to hear every little sweet sound my omega makes for me,” he growled lustfully. His right hand moved down your body from your throat to your hip and pulled you against him as he continued to grind his aching cock against you. Each roll of his hips made his abs flex. God, you wanted to lick them.

“Yes, alpha.”

His hot lips burned a trail down the column of your neck, teeth nipping and tongue darting out to lick. You tilted your head beautifully for him. Bakugo hummed out a pleased growl. You felt elated, you were pleasing your alpha.

You moaned, whimpered, and whined near simultaneously as his canines dragged against the skin over your scent gland. His breath was scorching as it washed over the sensitive skin there. You were gasping.

“Please,” you begged.

Bakugo couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He dove forward and sunk his canines into the delicate skin of your throat around your scent gland. His sharp alpha fangs easily broke the skin and let him taste your delicious blood.

He growled as he lapped at the mating mark, the bond starting to form and settle into place. Each of his touches on your skin no longer felt like a live wire but like heaven, euphoric. You moaned, so loudly, and your body shook beneath him as he marked you, claimed you as his mate.

Pleasure blossomed everywhere and everything felt extra sensitive. You didn’t notice him ripping your clothes away. You hardly heard his belt or the zipper for his pants. The euphoria of the mating bond kept you floating until he spoke again.

“Omega. Come back. Come back to me, baby. I want you here when I take you,” Bakugo coaxed, his voice was now an adoring, deep purr.

Your eyes slowly focused on his flushed face. His red eyes were still blown, but now there was a measure of control since he had marked you, his alpha less feral. You licked your lips.

Bakugo grabbed your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist, giving him the perfect angle to tease your hole with the head of his cock. You gasped at its size and started to speak, but he gently shushed you with his lips.

Long, calloused fingers teased at your hole. He groaned at how slick you were for him, murmuring about how “perfect” his omega was for him. The first finger slid inside and you gasped, your walls fluttering around the intrusion.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “you are so tight, baby. You’re going to feel like fucking heaven wrapped around my cock.”

You moaned in response. He started to thrust his finger in and out. He didn’t break his rhythm as he added a second, stretching you blissfully. But then he curled his fingers and beckoned you to “come here” and you did.

Your back arched and you screamed out his name as he rubbed that spot inside you perfectly and unraveled every ounce of pleasure within you. Your legs tightened around his waist as you came undone for him.

Bakugo grinned and worked you through your orgasm, adding a third and fourth finger while your hole clenched him in pleasure. By the time you were done gasping for breath, he had lined the head of his thick cock up with your dripping hole.

“Mine,” he growled. With one fluid thrust, he sank into you, all the way to the base. He bit his lip and groaned loudly, his head thrown back in pleasure.

“FUCK!”

“Fuck.” He shook above you, your hole so tight, wet, and hot around him. Perfect. So much better than his hand. So much better than any toy. How could he have ever thought he was better off without an omega? Better off without you?

“Fuck,” he repeated. “Ei was right. This is fucking good. So.”

He withdrew his hips and slammed back in.

“Fucking.”

Another hard thrust.

“Perfect.”

Your eyes were rolled back and your moans were screamed as he fucked you, the head of his cock perfectly hitting that pleasure center inside you with each thrust. His hands gripped your waist tightly as he fucked you for everything he was worth.

Your alpha was perfect. He made you cum twice more before his knot started to catch on your entrance. By then, you were nothing but a moaning, shuddering blissed out omega.

“Gonna knot you, sweet thing. You want your alpha’s knot?” he grunted.

You nodded, whining out a “yes”. With one last powerful thrust, his knot popped in. It swelled to its full size, stretching you almost painfully, and Bakugo roared in pleasure as his cock spurted rope after rope of cum into you. It was hot and you felt every twitch of your alpha’s cock.

After you mated, it turned out you were the type of omega who needed to be with their alpha and scent them as much as possible while the bond settled. Bakugo brought you to work and held you in his lap as he did paperwork and other work “bullshit”.

There were many times when he would grin and sweetly ask you to ride him slowly while he worked to help “motivate” him. You lived to please your alpha and always obliged. There wasn’t a workday where you didn’t end up riding him or on your knees under his desk, his cock down your throat.

One day he had a meeting with other pros to discuss an upcoming mission. You quietly sat in his lap, straddling him, nuzzling against his scent gland for comfort. You felt his cock start to harden under your ass and as always, your needy hole slicked up for him.

Bakugo bent to your ear and whispered quietly, “Naughty little thing I mated. Don’t worry baby. Alpha will take care of you.” He sat back up and resumed conducting the meeting.

He had removed his gloves for this meeting and brought two fingers to your lips. He mouthed, “suck” at you and you opened your mouth for his fingers. He roughly forced them inside the warmth.

You sucked well, the sweetness of his nitro-sweat dancing on your tongue. He thrusted his fingers in and out of your mouth like he would his cock. The other heroes pretended not to notice.

Bakugo sped up his fingers and pushed them deeper into your throat, making you gag and choke audibly. The heroes took notice of that, but he kept talking like he wasn’t fucking your throat with his fingers.

One hero finally cleared his throat and said, “Uh, Dynamight…can we talk about this without… that going on?”

Bakugo glanced at him, unfazed. “What? Do you have a problem with my omega sitting on my lap? With me having some fun with them? Because I don’t care what you think, I’m going to do what I want. Just listen to me and try not to get distracted by the pretty little thing choking on my fingers."

He kept finger fucking your throat for a while, you drooled around his fingers but tried to keep your choking quiet. You loved being used by your alpha.

Finally, his hand snuck into your waistband.

One finger gently poked at your dripping hole, experimentally. It slowly sunk in and you buried your face in your alpha’s chest to stay quiet. The second finger followed the first and when he curled them like he always did, you couldn’t help but moan softly.

Bakugo continued to talk and direct the meeting with ease, never faltering. He also kept up a perfect pace finger fucking you, a third finger making it impossible for you to not whimper and moan in pleasure.

A few of the other heroes present made displeased faces at your sounds. Bakugo noticed, your face was buried in his chest, so you didn’t see, and your alpha grinned, letting out a hearty laugh.

“What did I say? Focus on me, my words. This pretty little thing is mine. I know they’re being a little noisy, but the poor thing can’t help it. Do your best and ignore them.”

Bakugo sped his fingers up further and you bit your lip and tried to keep your moans in. But he was hitting that perfect spot inside you each time and you felt yourself starting to fall apart. You gently tapped his chest and looked up with pleading eyes.

He smirked, “Go ahead, do it.”

You pleaded with your eyes, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stay quiet while orgasming. Your heart pounded with desire and anxiety.

Bakugo leaned forward again and growled in your ear, “Be a good little omega and cum when alpha says so. Do it, right now. Cum all over my fingers in my lap in front of them.”

You couldn’t help but let out a muffled scream as you clamped down on his fingers and came, hard. Bakugo grinned and let out a pleased growl, sitting back and finger fucking you through one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

“Perfect little omega,” Bakugo cooed, kissing your forehead as you shook and came down from the heavens. “I can’t believe I ever thought I was better off without you.”

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quickestgold · 1 month ago

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Goodbye, My Lover | Part 4 | The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Dr. (Ex-Mil)!Reader x Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Chapter 4: Thank You

Synopsis: The three of you finally confront the unspoken truths of your past and present, leaving no room for guilt or regret. Nothing is left unsaid. It's a goodbye to the love that once was, but also a hopeful beginning for what might be.

Warnings: Age gap is around 18 years >>> congrats, you've made it, it's comfort time, bestiees

Word count: 1102

A/n: Last chapter of this series (for now...) I might write for Jack and Robby individually if I feel like there's a story to be told. Maybe even a backstory to this, who knows???

Previous Chapter (3): I Forgive You

With steady hands and a clear mind, you feel like you’re finally finding your rhythm again.

Something within you feels more grounded, less haunted by the past.

You're sat next to a bed, working on removing pieces of glass from your patient's leg. They're sedated, allowing you to sit in peaceful silence.

Something in the corridor catches your attention.

Your eyes flicker to Robby standing outside the room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching you execute the procedure with meticulous care and attention. He hasn’t had the courage to enter yet.

"Robby?" You ask gently.

He steps in, arms crossed.

"Looks like you've got it", Robby mutters. A sense of pride in his voice. He was your attending. And he taught you well. Though he always insisted he'd learned just as much from you.

"I could use a hand?" You wouldn't. But you offer anyway, willing him to stay.

That's all he needs, as he grabs a new pair of gloves, instantly finding his place next to you.

He gives you a soft smile before turning his attention to the patient's battered leg.

You sit there for a while, enjoying each other's company.

"Thank you", you say sincerely. "For everything."

Robby's eyes grow wide, before he drops his head, shaking it softly. "You've been through a lot."

"We all have", you acknowledge, a flicker of hope flashing in front of your eyes.

He gently nudges your leg. You reach out, grabbing his thigh without thinking, the instinct still alive. He takes your hand, the sensation still raw but familiar.

Robby looks at the patient’s chart, then shoots a quick look at you, a familiar smirk forming, one you hadn't seen it in a long time.

"Apparently, I need to be more approachable if I want my patient satisfaction scores to go up." He hesitates, but goes for it anyway. "How would you rate my performance, Y/N?"

A laugh bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You quickly glance around, suddenly aware of the inappropriate timing.

Shaking your head, you laugh again, the sound warm and genuine. "You’re ridiculous, Robby."

Robby looks satisfied. "What? Too soon?"

You roll your eyes. "I hope I'm never one of your patients again", a smirk forming on your lips now.

"That makes two of us, my friend", he exhales deeply, feeling like he's finally able to let go.

In this warmth, you both remember. The way love used to be.

You and Jack find yourselves in the break room, still in scrubs, sitting next to each other on the small sofa. The chaos of the ER has died down. No critical patients, no urgent calls, just the two of you in this moment.

Jack cracks open a can of soda, handing it to you without looking. You take it, feeling the warmth of his simple gesture.

He feels you eyeing his sandwich too, but pretends he doesn't. "Jack..." You pout. He slowly shakes his head with a smile.

You put the can down, crossing your arms dramatically.

He glances over at you, still chewing slowly. "You ever think about how we always made it back?" The subject change gives you whiplash.

You hesitate, then give a slight nod. "Every day."

"Yeah." He lets the words hang in the air, not needing to elaborate. Somehow you two always found a way to survive. To come home.

Jack looks at you, his eyes softening before a familiar smirk forms on his lips. “I’m still not giving you my sandwich.”

You laugh, the kind that makes your eyes crinkle. “Oh, come on. I’m starving.”

“You’ll live.” He shrugs nonchalantly, his stoic expression cracking slightly.

You both let out a quiet chuckle. And for the first time in a long time you both realize that this is how it’s meant to be.

With a groan, he finally offers you a bite. You accept, taking a big one. He drops his mouth in disbelief.

As a thank you, you offer your lap with a familiar gesture. Without hesitation, he leans into you, his head resting lightly on your thighs.

And when you softly run your fingers through his greying curls, Jack allows himself to close his eyes, letting his walls down with each calming breath.

For a moment, there’s no history between you. No heartbreak, no regret, just peace. A new kind of love between two people who found their way back.

You push through the metal doors, finding two familiar figures standing on the edge of the rooftop, this time on the appropriate side of the railing.

You hide a small giggle. Progress.

"Thought I'd find you boys up here." You shout over.

Their heads turn instantly, as if they've been waiting for you.

They make room for you between them, before you all turn your gaze back to the sunrise.

You close your eyes and for a brief moment, you swear you can feel their eyes on you. Maybe you will all be okay.

You blink, taking a step back to look at them, their gaze already fixed on you.

You fling your hands around their shoulders, pulling them into a comforting embrace. The three of you stand there for a long moment, holding each other in a way that’s healing, not broken.

You're still here. Together.

You smile at the prospect of this new beginning.

The minutes tick away.

You begin to wonder who's gonna let go first, but quickly realise it won't be them. Not out of fear of what would happen, but out of pure bliss.

So you decide, it has to be you.

You smile, before letting go swiftly. Their hands still on you, even as you step back.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow. Or today. Whatever...", you tease. Robby always insists that just because one shift ends, it doesn't mean it's a new day.

Robby groans. "Today", shaking his head, unable to hide the smile creeping in.

"Dr. Abbot. Dr. Robinavitch", you tease looking at them individually, before you turn around and finally disappear through the doors.

Robby and Jack stay for another beat, not wanting the moment to end.

"You know she still loves you, right?" Jack breaks the silence.

"What?" Robby laughs nervously.

"Come on, brother." Jack tilts his head. "You're good for each other."

"I don't know. I really fucked up."

Jack nods. "So fix it", his voice firm as ever.

The sincerity in his voice makes Robby think. Jack gives him a friendly pat on the chest, as he heads for the door too.

"See you tomorrow", Jack grins.

Robby laughs, like he's finally able to breathe again.

Well well well. This is it guys! I hope you enjoyed this four part series inspired by the 'Four Things that Matter Most': I Love You, Thank You, I Forgive You and Please Forgive Me. Pls pls lmk your thoughts below!! I love reading your comments!

Taglist: ♡

@queenslandlover-93 @sp00kylesley @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sqrlgrl22 @imonmykneessir @gabsgabsvaz @nowandajenn @cannonindeez @sydney-m @persistent-mango

#dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt #jack abbott #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #noah wyle #shawn hatosy #dr michael robinavitch #dr robby imagine #michael robinavitch #dr robby #the pitt hbo

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princessjojo-x · 29 days ago

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8th House Moon Synastry

💝 this aspect is guaranteed to produce major intensity, which when channeled positively, manifests as a magical & healing bond - undeniable chemistry, fierce devotion, consuming passion. however, if there’s no physical attraction between partners or bad aspects elsewhere in the chart, this dynamic becomes messy & destructive - persistent torment, obsessive resentment, psychological games.

💝 moon feels magnetically drawn to house in an unexplainable way; moon senses emotional depth & captivating mystery within house. house doesn’t need to do much for moon to become emotionally invested; houses presence alone triggers moons desire for intimacy & fear of abandonment. this attraction often includes a strong sexual component too (even if not acted upon).

💝 house feels deeply flattered & enjoys being wanted. but they’re not equally as consumed or invested, viewing the connection as casual & situational, usually unaware of moons attachment & obsession. consequently, house may flirt without real intent & unintentionally lead moon on.

💝 moon becomes controlling over houses self-expression bc it doesn’t align with their desired expectation. moon becomes frustrated when house holds back or stays guarded. house seems emotionally elusive & moon wants to crack them open.

💝 moon *needs* to know everything abt house & crosses boundaries to dig up info. moon doesn’t realise or doesn’t care how weird this behaviour is bc their emotional drive overrides logic & social awareness. but this makes house feel analysed & they may withdraw further as a result.

💝 house activates a level of intensity within moon that no one else quite can. whether that intensity is ecstatic or excruciating, either way it makes house significant & unforgettable. consequently, moon romanticises the connection as destined & ignores red flags in favour of what could be. their perception is deeply clouded by fantasy & emotion, convinced the feelings are mutual, even when reality suggest otherwise.

💝 once those rose coloured glasses break, this dynamic takes a very dangerous turn. moon eventually realises their being used for attention & discarded when it no longer suits. this results in a profound sense of betrayal & humiliation. moon becomes desperately revengeful, in attempts of regaining control. moon wants house to experience the same depth of emotional turmoil they went through. this typically manifests as exposing secrets & weaponising insecurities. this can absolutely reach enemy territory with neither party leaving in one piece.

💝 moon stops reaching out & pulls away promptly, hoping house will feel regret & come running back. moons ghosting is punishment masked as detachment. but the twist is, it rarely works. house doesn’t notice moons silence & enjoys the peace it provides. house is completely unbothered which makes moon spiral even further.

💝 moon internalises the rejection as a personal failure & feels the need to prove their worth: they suddenly become image-conscious, seeking success & status, to reclaim dignity & validation - it sends a silent message of “look what you’re missing out on”. moon is reclaiming identity through transformation & it may actually lead to a glow-up. moon is saying “you made me feel small, now i want to i matter.”

💝 if partners ever reach balance, through mutual growth & cooperation, this can blossom into a healthier connection. but unfortunately transformative pain is almost inevitable bc power struggles & obsessive attachment are apart of the process.

💝 breakups rarely feel final with this synastry. partners may separate only to reconnect years later bc of their compulsive desire & emotional charge, which may seem to fade temporarily, but it always comes back & is never satisfied.

💝 this connection produces major intensity & a healthy outlet is absolutely needed. typically sexual contact is the chosen means of release but theres an unspoken hesitation & resistance surrounding intimacy. it feels dangerous to let each other in due to the psychological intensity & emotional risk. when partners are naked (physically & emotionally) around each other it activates their survival instincts. sexual intimacy can trigger wounds or fears, especially surrounding trust & loss. the central question is: “if i surrender what will you do to me? hurt me? leave me?” neither partners feel secure enough to drop their defences: moon feels like house can see parts of them they want to keep hidden. house feels like moon is pulling them into emotional waters they’re not ready to swim in.

💝 to prevent feeling vulnerable & exposed, a level of trust built beforehand is essential. partners must unmask completely, revealing their true selves, in order to breed closeness & minimise the tension. this can be achieved by opening up abt fears & fantasies, followed by mutual validation of said vulnerabilities. one partner admits: “i’m scared you’ll lose interest once we get close.” the other replies: “i love when you let me in like that. you’re safe with me.”

💝 their unique complexity is met with acceptance & compassion rather than judgment & dismissal. they’ve witnessed each others darkness & they still choose one another - “you love all of me, exactly as i am, even the messy parts.” the walls they’ve built to protect themselves all crumble away & for the first time ever partners have been fully seen. they realise there’s no pressure to perform & impress. they can be themselves & it’s more than enough. their being loved in a place they once feared being exposed. partners are finally willing to soften & surrender, in this sanctuary of unwavering safety & profound belonging. it’s like their souls have been touched & welcomed. in each other, they’ve found home.

💝 intimacy evolves into a transformative & sacred ritual. it holds the power to rewrite painful experiences & release sorrow from the body. the moans are both expressions of physical pleasure & indication of emotional release. you’re not just arousing each other, you’re restoring each other too - wounds healed, scars softened, baggage lifted. partners have waited their entire lives to be this close to someone; the craving for deep passion finally has somewhere to go.

💝 partners take on distinct roles when entering bedroom: moon gives themselves & house holds them. but to unlock the submissive & receptive side of moon, house must first nurture & protect them, ensuring moon feels both desired & cherished - prolonged foreplay, deep conversations, intentional touch. house takes the dominant & guiding role, with a primal urge to consume & possess house. but sometimes the depth of their hunger make moon feel overlooked or used in the process.

💝 since sex is the deepest expression of their connection, it can become a tool for power plays. one partner may withhold sex to gain control, whilst the other uses it to re-establish closeness.

have you experienced this aspect? how did it play out for you?

#astrology #astro observations #astrology synastry #moon synastry #8th house synastry #8th house moon

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internetdaddy98 · 5 days ago

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The Opening Gambit

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: From the first subtle brush of your shoulder to the featherlight graze of your thumb, you don’t flirt, you control, cool and calculated. Every touch, every murmur, every glance is measured and deliberate. You work seamlessly beside him, professional and sharp, but just close enough to fray his composure.

Word Count: 1 K Content Warning: Medical procedures, blood, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times

The shift started like any other: chaos thinly veiled by protocol. A multi-car pileup on I-279 had half the ER running on caffeine and adrenaline before noon. Trauma teams rotated like gears, syncing movement with muscle memory.

But you weren’t here just to keep up.

You were here to test gravity.

And Robby? He didn’t know it yet, but he was already falling.

You saw him the moment you walked in. Standing at the board, stylus pen between his fingers, brown locks glinting at his temples under the harsh light. His scrub top was wrinkled, his jaw shadowed with a salt and pepper beard, and you had never seen anything more devastating in your life.

“Morning, Dr. Robby,” you said, soft and rhythmical as you passed him, your shoulder brushing his ever so slightly.

You weren’t just being polite.

You were starting something.

He didn’t look at you right away, but his hand paused. You saw the twitch of a muscle in his cheek. Heard the shift of his weight.

“Morning, Sheri,” he replied, low and even. But his voice had a rasp in it that hadn’t been there yesterday.

The trauma pager went off before either could say another word.

Room Four. Level One. Blunt trauma. Male. GCS 8. ETA three minutes.

They moved like a unit, you at his side, anticipating his decisions before he made them. In the resus bay, the air was dense with urgency, but your focus never wavered. Not on the patient. And not on him.

“Needle decompression,” you said confidently, your gloves snapping on. “Right side. You want to confirm, or do you trust me?”

You didn’t say it flirtatiously. That was the genius of it. You said it with that steady, cool voice you knew he liked, that made him respect you.

And you meant it. But still, your eyes flicked up to meet his as you said it. And you held them there.

He paused for half a second too long.

“I trust you,” he said finally and you nodded with a smile.

You worked like clockwork and when it was over and the patient stabilized, you stayed behind to clean up, letting the others filter out.

He lingered near the supply cabinet, reorganizing gauze.

You slipped beside him, close enough he could smell your skin, lavender and antiseptic.

“I like it when you let me take the lead,” you murmured, quiet enough that it was for him and only him. “It suits you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But you saw the way his fingers curled around the shelf. Saw the tight line of his jaw. The heat in his eyes when he finally turned to face you.

“That wasn’t the time to flirt,” he said gruffly.

“Oh,” you said, lips quirking, “was I flirting?”

And you left him there, too stunned to answer.

You moved through the ER with controlled grace, your expression calm but unreadable. Except he could read you. He’d known you long enough now to sense when you were holding something back. When you were leaning in instead of away.

You didn’t linger when you handed him chart updates. But your fingers always brushed his, and once, only once, your thumb skimmed his knuckle, deliberate and featherlight.

Long that he’d felt it for hours.

Later, you stood beside him as he dictated notes at the computer. You leaned in slightly, not touching, but close. He could smell the soft, clean hint of your shampoo, lavender and something warmer beneath it.

“Good phrasing,” you murmured under your breath when he dictated a particularly precise differential. The words were harmless. But your tone wasn’t.

You said it like a secret. Like a confession meant for him alone. His fingers hesitated on the keys. A flicker of heat curled low in his abdomen.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t look at you. Couldn’t.

Another trauma came in, motorcycle, late thirties, open femur fracture with significant blood loss. The room was loud, packed with motion, but Robby still felt your presence behind him as you prepped the surgical tray.

“IV established,” you said, then added softly, “I’ve got you covered.”

It should’ve been nothing. A reassurance. A common phrase.

But your voice lowered just enough that the words twisted into something else entirely, subtly charged. Personal.

He didn’t look at you then either. He couldn’t afford to. Not with blood on the floor and adrenaline humming through his veins.

But later, when the room emptied and he was washing his hands at the sink, he realized he was gripping the faucet too hard. Water too hot. Skin flushed.

And not just from the trauma.

The rest of the shift passed in a haze of carefully orchestrated tension.

You stood a little closer than necessary when reviewing imaging with him. Let your hand brush his forearm as you reached past for a chart. Tilted your head and gave that slight smile when he caught you watching him.

“You okay?” Mel asked once, nudging you while you reviewed a pelvic fracture.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes flicking toward Robby down the hall. “Just...trying something.”

Santos caught your look and grinned knowingly. “Poor man never stood a chance.”

You stood behind him again as you both reviewed a CT scan on the monitor. This time, your hand ghosted over the small of his back, not quite a touch. Just… there.

His breath caught. Brief, sharp. He said nothing.

But every nerve in his body lit like a flare.

At 7:02 p.m., as the shift wound down, Robby cornered you by the lockers. The hallway was empty, residents already changing, nurses clocking out. He stood close. Too close for it to be professional.

“You’ve been testing me all day,” he said, voice low and tight. “Why?”

You looked up at him, all wide eyes and innocent calm. “Testing you? I thought I was just doing my job.”

“Don’t play coy.”

“Who’s playing?”

He stepped closer. The tension coiled so tight between them it could’ve shattered.

But you only smiled. Tugged your pink hoodie from the locker. Brushed past him, one last slow, deliberate drag of your fingers across his hand.

And with a whisper in his ear, said, “But if I was playing, I think I’m winning.”

Then you left.

And Robby stood alone, fists clenched, heart racing, one breath away from forgetting every line he ever swore not to cross.

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northopalshore · 8 months ago

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🌸 Composite chart observations: romantic relationships 🪼 ♡ 🪼

‿︵‿‿︵‿‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿

╭──────────.★..─╮

In this post, I will be writing down some observations I made in composite charts between romantic partnerships. ***Contains mentions of s*x***

╰─..★.──────────╯

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊⋆ ┊ .┊

┊ ⋆˚ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

⁭✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

⁭⋆ ★

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Aquarius (8° scorpio) rising/uranus in 1st house

Both of you are very comfortable with each other in the sense that you have found your best friend as well as a lover! People will often think you aren't a couple or even each other's type but what they don't know is that you love each other more than anyone/anything else in the world. You might surprise a lot of people, perhaps you come from starkly different backgrounds but somehow, you are together! You both will feel understood in the relationship. It gives me that 'us against the world type' type of vibe.

note: if you have aquarius rising & uranus in the 1st house together, then you may as well act very touchy, close or romantic in public because uranus in aquarius is like rebelling the rebel so to speak. You will not act like the sign you have in the 1st house if you have uranus there i.e changing the norm of how it usually is. Aquarius here becomes softer, emotional & clingy .

9th house stellium

The focus of your relationship is learning & growth. Both of you expand each other's horizons in the relationship. Your relationship could open many doors in your life. You may come from different countries, and are constantly sharing your thoughts, perspectives and philosophies with your person. You will love to talk & have debates in your relationship. You will love to travel together, your relationship could involve you having to travel a lot. You will both teach each other many new things. You could also act like teachers to the world/be actual teachers.

Part of fortune in the 8th house

You will most likely be together for a very long time i.e get married! You will both help each other heal from past trauma or fears. This is a very healing relationship. You might also receive a lot of wealth together. You will transform each other in this relationship. Whoever you were before this person will completely change after being in this relationship.

Pluto conjunct ascendant

Your entire identity will change in this relationship. You will never be the same person you once were. You could seem like a very intense, obsessive, possessive & s*xual couple.

Moon (29° leo) in 5th house

Both of you will have a lot of fun in the relationship. A lot of romance, spontaneous dates, creativity will prosper. You may feel like kids in love, a youthful romance. You could also focus a lot of your energy & feelings towards art. Perhaps you'll collaborate on something? Children could also be involved, both of you will love the idea of having kids together. S*x can be very playful and emotional. You will feel very connected to eachother during the act. You could also.. prefer to not use protection.

Fama in 1st/7th house

You could be a very popular couple, people will notice you more when you are together. People will know you as "Your person's partner". People will look up to your relationship and how you act together.

10th house stellium

A lot of your focus can go to your career in your relationship. You could very much work with your partner. You will be a very popular couple. Your relationship is very public. It could borderline a work relationship too. A power couple.

Neptune conjunct ascendant

You could very much prefer to keep your relationship private. You will both deliberately make efforts to keep the things that happen within your relationship just between each other.

Groom sextile MC

The relationship might benefit the husband/man in their career. Their work plays an important role in your relationship. They could be very career oriented/ have a public presence. They could also be very prideful of your relationship. Your relationship will boost their reputation in a way.

Briede in 4th house

The wife/woman may be a stay at home wife. They could focus a lot of their energy into homemaking, taking care of children, cooking etc.

Boda trine sun

If they are married, they had a very public wedding. Their wedding may be very well-known within their family i.e standing out from the rest of their family's previous marriages. Iconic wedding. They will both see each other as marriage material.

Boda trine moon

Their wedding may have been very memorable to them as well as their family members. There could have been a lot of crying during the ceremony. Both parties felt very connected to each other.

Boda in 1st house

They may have/will marry quite quickly. Both of you couldn't wait to get married, either that or you had to get married quickly i.e to catch a certain date you like/brings prosperity. The wedding might have been quick too maybe a little rushed or the actual event is very short.

ex: In vietnam, you have to see a sort of pyschic that will tell you lucky dates to get married on. Sometimes it's just 1-2 weeks from when you visit them!

Chiron (12° pisces) in 10th house

You might get a lot of backlash for your relationship. People may dislike seeing you together. Your career will both suffer, or you'll suffer because of your career. People could hate your relationship. Your career will cause a lot of problems in the relationship. Perhaps it will cause you to be separated often i.e one person working in another country/state.

Jupiter(15° gemini) sextile uranus in 10th house

You could be a very popular couple. You may have a big presence on social media. You could experience sudden fame in the relationship. People just love talking about you and your partner. You could be seen as a friendly, unconventional couple. People think your relationship stands out. Maybe you'll find yourself talking about your relationship more than you initially expected.

Pisces 2nd house/2nd house ruler in 12th house

Money may come up as an issue in the relationship. Not necessarily in a bad way could just mean you both idealise money a lot, you could have unrealistic perceptions around wealth, beauty, food and luxury. You could spend a lot of money traveling, it makes sense if you are from different countries too, having to use money on long-distance travels a lot. Perhaps you could earn money through selling a fantasy, an image, an ideal or dealing with mental health issues. This makes me think of a couple that owns a getaway resort in the countryside, does reflexology or work as therapists. You could also be actors, artists or directors if it aspects the 5th house or has leo degrees. You could also sell/ spend money on weed, narcotics or alcohol lol.

Neptune in 12th house

You both may be very religious/spiritual together. You both could have sensed each other's presence waaaay before you met. Could have seen each other in dreams. You could learn more about spiritually, and strengthen your psychic talents/interests. You will be very connected to each other's spiritual side. You could also feel like you can't be separated from this person. Could be a karmic soulmate/relationship. Your relationship might also prove to be confusing at times. They might have misunderstandings around each other. Open communication is very important if you have this in a composite chart with someone.

Union (26° taurus) retrograde in Sagittarius 11th house

You may have met online before meeting physically. There could have been a time gap between the time you initially see/meet each other vs first face to face meeting. This is because you could come from different countries. Taurus makes me think that you were both at home when you first interacted/were introduced. But it could also be at a mall or restaurant or any beauty related event. You can check your union persona chart or my post about it here for more information. You could also meet face to face with them at their home/ a restaurant/a beauty event later.

Eros in leo/leo° 7th house

You could be very freaky together if you know what I mean. S*x is very hot, animalistic even. It's also very romantic, both of you know/want to pleasure each other and only each other. You can both be very possessive of eachother. You could also have a breeding kink lmao. You both want people to know that only you can give your partner this type of pleasure.

Venus conjunct mars

This is a very passionate relationship. S*x, love, and intimacy are highlighted. You could feel like your partner is a great lover. Great s*x. You could feel feverish, or obsessed with each other. You might share a lot of kinks or favourite positions. You both can feel like the other person does it exactly like you wanted.

Venus conjunct Juno

The other person might fit the description of your future spouse & how you meet completely. This might as well be your future spouse! Both parties feel like they are made for eachother romantically. Both might feel like they've met the one!

Venus conjunct MC

Your romance/relationship is very public. People that work with you will all know about your relationship. This is also a power couple placement to me.

Mars (19° libra) in Scorpio

You both work very well together. Both of your energies are on par. You are very possessive of your partnership. Definitely are intense and loove getting down and dirty. Can be very obsessed with eachother's presence.

Sun (4° cancer) in Scorpio

You are both very connected to eachother spiritually, physically and emotionally. Both of you will be very focused on how your partner feels, always making sure they are loved and protected. You are also seen as very private with eachother. Keeping the things that happen in the home between the two of you.

‿︵‿‿︵‿‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿‿︵‿

***disclaimer: entertainment & educational content only, reader discretion is advised***

Thank you for reading⁠ ♡

@northopalshore

Meant to be used in romantic relationships only, please do not use on unconsenting individuals (celebrities, one sided crushes) Delulu is not the solulu!!

#astrology observations #astrology #astrology community #astrology content #astrology notes #astrology blog #astrology signs #astro notes #astro observations #composite chart #composite chart observations #composite observations #romantic astrology #love astrology #romance astrology

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yaseraphine · 2 months ago

Text

pick a card 6 - 3 things you should love more about yourself.

masterlist / ko-fi

my last post : what are people's first impressions of you ?

Pile 1

The Hierophant, 4 of cups, 2 of swords Rx (?)

You should love your wisdom more. You simply do not realize how wise beyond your years you are. I see that even if you are very young, like in your 20s, some adults in their 40s look up to you and your wisdom. You impress the elders with your sense of responsibilities and diligent personality. You take everything you do seriously and with pride. Once you start something, you finish it. You take your time and accomplish each of your goals slowly because you are well aware that slow and steady always wins the race. This often impresses those older people, who do not expect from such a young soul to have so much self control and self respect. They look back at what they did during their youth, and how clueless they were for only chasing immediate pleasures that made their lives unnecessarily harder. They look back at how this chase of instant pleasures made them learn lessons the hard way, lessons they could have easily avoided if they did a little bit of introspection…

Overall, your wisdom is respected by people from all genders and ages, and this is something you should appreciate more. You do not realize how much authority you have in your immediate environment, and on all types of people.

2. You should love your ability to say "no" more. You know when and how to prioritise yourself and your peace. You are not a people pleaser. You will always speak your mind when something is bothering you. When you are invited to go somewhere, if you do not want to go or simply cannot, you will straight up tell the person no. No after thoughts, regrets or shame : you stand firm on your negative answer. Maybe you used to be a people pleaser but was able to go past the guiltiness of saying no and being firm about your personal desires and preference. I feel like you being a retired people pleaser is not something you appreciate enough. You don’t realize how much constant work and practice you had to do in the past to arrive where you are now. How many social situations did you have to live with the guilt of saying "no" strangling your throat because you were so scared to hurt the other person but still did it anyway ? Your consistency in saying “no” set you free and got you out of places and things you did not want in ways you don’t realize.

3. You should love your ability to step back and introspect before you make a decision more. You are not an impulsive person that acts before thinking. No, you think through everything, weighing the pros and cons. You take your sweet time and don’t get pressured by outside influences who would want you to succumb to the illusion of “assertiveness” and “productivity”. You do not believe in any of that. You understand that patience is key and that divine timing will guide you. You know you cannot force decisions and events, and this is something you should appreciate more about yourself. You usually don’t regret any of your decisions and most of your projects end up working out because you do not take useless risks.

Pile 2

7 of Sword, Knight of Swords, 3 of Cups

You should love your ability to obtain secret and complex information without getting caught more. I know. This is an overtly specific message haha But I am heavily picking up that this pile would make excellent detectives. Are you a Gemini or do you have any gemini placements in your chart ? You are really sharp intellectually, but it is paired with a certain sneakiness that helps you find information you shouldn't. You are probably a pro at stalking pages, finding how and when your best friend’s partner cheated on them. You know how to get receipts and never get caught. You have the mind of a stealer, the spririt of a robber. Your energy is cunning in the best ways possible. You are a modern Robin Hood, but you steal info instead of money. You would make an amazing investigative journalist, an activist and a social justice crusader. Every little piece of data, any facts : you would find a way to catch them and expose them to the public. I do think for now you do not use this talent, I would even say power, for the greater good. You just gatekeep information and collect them for now but know that you are a really good detective and could go far in any field requiring detailed and thorough investigation.

2. You should love your sharp mind and the insatiable curiosity that comes with it more. You have such a sharp intellect, a really insightful mind that you never stop feeding with new information. Your curiosity only sharpens your mind, as you never stop learning and expanding your knowledge. You are not easily manipulated by propaganda because you always have the actual facts and evidence in mind. You have amazing critical thinking and don’t easily fall for extremes. You should appreciate this more about yourself, especially since we live in times where our extremely personally tailored algorithms can make us really susceptible into falling in one way of thinking and making us reaffirming our beliefs over and over without questioning them.

3. You should love more how much fun of a person you are to be around ! Yeah, you are logical and perceptive, but this does not stop you from being the life of the party when needed. You are fun, using your curious and sharp mind to conjure the most unique and funniest jokes people will ever hear in their entire lives. You know how to have fun and when to have fun, and you adapt the type of “fun” you do with each group / person you are dealing with. You are adaptable, a chameleon who isn’t scared to share your cups with other people. Your jokes are really appreciated and your bubbly spirit is so precious to a lot of people around you ! Not everyone can work with knowing the most evil truths about our society and governments, while being able to make jokes and appreciate life at the same time. The fun you share with others and your sunny disposition is something you should appreciate more about yourself.

Pile 3

King of Swords, 4 of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles

You should love your voice more, as well as the impact of your words, and how influential what you say has the potential to be. There really is something lethal about you, a quiet confidence. You only speak when it is necessary and you have a way with words that can shake an entire room. You probably have a really authoritative voice, maybe it is deep, or unusually high. Either way, your voice is unique and captures the attention of everyone. I am being reminded of Lilypichu and Corpse Husband. If you were quite active on the internet around 2020 at the peak of the pandemic, and specifically twitch, and all the Offline TV crew, you probably know exactly what I am talking about. If you don’t know these people, basically, Lilypichu is a really famous twitch streamer with an unusually high pitched, almost cartoonesque, voice. Her voice has a pretty wide range as she can go really deep. She even has talent as a voice actor since she can play around with her voice really well. I believe she even dubbed the voice of one Genshin Impact character ? (i think the character is Sayu or something like that) and did voice acting for some animes. For Corpse Husband, he pretty much skyrocketed to fame during the first lockdown because of his extremely deep voice. (I don’t believe it was the unique reason, obviously. His voice was just a major factor in his rise to internet fame). The moment he opened his mouth in front of new people, everyone was pretty much shocked at how deep and textured his voice sounds like. He explained that his voice is that deep because of certain health conditions he has. Here is an extract from an article about him : “Corpse has spoken openly about suffering from multiple health conditions, including GERD (Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease), fibromyalgia, and thoracic outlet syndrome, which cause him constant pain.”

All of that to say that, even if you have a speech impediment, or you are shy to speak in public, or even tend to stutter a lot : know that you have something really unique related to your voice and speech. Once you get older and fight through these insecurities and "disabilities", you will gain so much recognition. You might actually have Saturn in the 3rd house, or maybe even Chiron or Pluto for some. It will take you more practice and perseverance to be able to master your voice and all of its potential. Remember that you have a lot of potential as a public speaker, a voice actor, even a singer or rapper for some. Your voice, this instrument of yours, as well as the words you share, as you grow older, will only evolve and mature like fine wine.

2. You should love more your ability to save money. You might be frugal, or know how to manage your money and not do impulsive purchases. You know how to take care of your belongings, and understand the value of money and possessions. You might make budgets, have excel spreadsheets of all your monthly and weekly spendings. You are just really smart at managing money. You don’t easily fall for flashy commercials that tell you that if you buy this, you are purchasing the deal of the century. You don’t easily get scammed and have a flair for recognizing phoney businesses.

You might also be quite unmaterialistic in a way that you do not over consume, which is not easy at all given all the new products and the advertising we are subjected to on a daily basis.

Despite the fact that you are good at managing money, you are not stingy with it. You found a sweet spot between aspiring to ethical consumption (even though it is technically impossible under the capitalist system we are in..) and treating yourself from time to time.

3. You should love your generosity more. This follows what I said above : your ability to save money gives you the possibility to have just enough of it for yourself so that you can share some with others. You might donate a lot to animal shelters, to orphanages,.. You have the potential to combine this practical and materialistic aspect of your personality, with the power of your voice and your speech to help the underdog. This pile is a lot about potential. I wonder if you are a life path 11, 22 or 33 ? You seem to have a really high vibrational purpose on earth, but with great gifts comes great responsibility. You will have to go through a lot of trials and tribulations to become this powerful speaker that speaks for the underdog and oppressed while offering them practical help such as shelter and food.

i find that Interesting how your pile was a lot about potential. Even if you don’t have the ability yet, love the seeds of that ability. Your grateful attitude and appreciation will help you grow those seeds and encourage them to blossom. You are a diamond in the rough, who is yet to be polished. But to be polished, you need to appreciate your rough state. Your pile is absolutely beautiful. Know that you are going far in life, and even if it takes more time for you to blossom, your final form will be strong, alive and complex. The rarest flower of the garden. Never lose hope, pile 3.

This energy is amazing, Pile 3. I know it deviated a bit from the rest of the piles but the energy was too strong, I had to share this channeling with you guys <3

#pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #divination #pac tarot #tarot pac #pac reading #pac #moon in leo

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lettersoftheshygirl · 9 days ago

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"when did you get so pretty?" caleb (l&ds) x fem!reader

part 2/3

derek

please tell your friend to stay away fron me this is gettingserisiu i BARLEY DID NAYTHING OTYOU sent 1:20am

you stared at the message on your phone with a frown on your face. this had to be an accident, right? this text felt like it was written in a drunken haze, high off the charts and probably half-asleep somewhere but something felt off about it. what did he mean by your "friend?"

derek was a good guy. nothing special. the two of you had classes together so obviously you guys met, but that was it. you were never too close with him or any boys at that. you had been like that since childhood. men sort of irked you, except for caleb. he was also very overprotective of you back then. and due to the two of you being a bit distant lately, it was hard to tell if he was still the same.

back in primary school. seven year old caleb got in trouble for pushing a guy in the playground who was being a bit too rough with you. your grandmother came to talk to the principal who was trying to soothe the other parents, who claimed caleb was dangerous and unlike all the other childred, and even called you names! of course, that was when you were kids. would he still do that? would he still be that reckless to intimidate someone because he just wants you all by himself?

it was hard to tell. you sighed softly as you began to form a text to reply to derek, who without a doubt was still writing some thing since he had been typing for a minute.

you

no idea what ur talking about u good? sent 8:03am

derek

NO IM NOT WHY DOSE EH THUNK WER'E GOING TO THE GALA TOGETHER??? I AVEH A GD FD GF read 8:06am

what? all of your thoughts suddenly made sense. of course this was caleb. of course he would intimidate the one guy you dared to interact with, of course he would get jealous over a stupid lie, of course he would be behind it all.

a part of you felt horrible for derek. his texts were.. frantic, and frankly quite funny without context but you still felt guilty for bringing him in between your messed up relationship with your best friend.

caleb loved you. he always said that. "maybe i love you a bit more than you realise," he always said that to you when you guys had a disagreement. he loved you more and more everyday, and that love made him do things that scared you. why would he do this about a gala he didn't even know was happening til you said it a couple nights ago? did it hurt him that bad? did you really stoop so low to annoy him that you potentially hurt a classmate of yours because of this love that you kept feeding and feeding.

what did you feel for him? caleb was everything to you. growning up when you would sit in class, lonely and afraid he would always console you. when you were in middle school and going through an 'emo' phase and refused to talk to anyone, he waited for you. he was there for you every day, every year, every second, every weak, every where with you. you couldn't imagine a life without him. but.. at the same time, your chest ached remembering all the missed dates from guys who liked you, all the guys you liked but never approached, all the missed opportunities for teen love, all the fun you could be having but sheltered for a love both of you killed each other to have and thrive.

you buried your hands in your hair, the feeling of pain slowly turning into anger. you were mad. it was caleb's fault. he was the one that caused all of this, caused you to miss so many things in life. this one incident was just the breaking point from his latest behaviour which stayed in the back of your mind.

taking your phone out once again, you checked your location app to see where caleb was; his apartment. you wasted no time to put your shoes on and grab a jacket as you walked out the door. it didn't matter to you what he wanted right now, you wanted to talk to him and tell him to back off your life. a sharp breath left your mouth as you felt the cold winds on your face, could you really do this?

as you arrived in front of caleb's penthouse appartment, it was too late to back down. you gripped your jacket tightly in an attempt to calm your nerves as you waited for him to open the door. the sound of calm footsteps occured and the a soft click sound of the lock.

the door opened to reveal your.. handsome best friend. whose hair was still wet from the shower he took prior, long bangs falling in front of his forehead, a blue t-shirt hugging the taut muscles in his body and his signature silver chain sitting pristine in his smooth, milky skin. damn it. despite his looks, your face remained neutral. it was difficult but you did it. he didn't say anything for a second, and neither did you, but he saw the look on your face.

"what's the matter, pip-?"

"no. i talk today." you said, putting your finger up which he thought was rather funny but just kept quiet, putting his hands up in a defenseless motion. you took in a deep breath and put your hands on your waist, trying to form your words in a way that did not seem outwardly aggressive. "how do you know derek?"

"i don't."

"don't lie."

"why don't you get inside?"

"why don't you stop lying?" his face went from sweet and caring to an angry frown within seconds. he looked at you with his bright blue eyes, jaws locked as he narrowed his eyes for a second at you and you scoffed. "coward." you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear it, and quiet enough for him to take it personally.

"i didn't do anything bad to him, okay?" caleb said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe and looked down at you. he was getting mad as well, and he did not like how you kept refusing to listen to him and get inside. "i just-"

"just what?" you interrupted him once again, "just threatened him, intimidated him, and what else? can you list all of them so we can get it over with?" you felt bad for berating him like this, and you felt worse that those puppy dog eyes were looking back at you but right now it didn't matter.

“y/n–”

"you know what it doesn't matter right now!' your voice a little louder than you anticipated, "you're always meddling with my life thinking that you're actually keeping me safe when you're making my life miserable!" caleb clenched his jaw as he kept his eyes on you, hands balling into a fist from anger and frustration, “i wish you were never my friend at all!"

you regretted the words as soon as soon as you said it, but which was it; never or friend? the two of you stood there for a second before he moved from the door and looked at you with a stern look. your pride told you to stand there but caleb's icy cold hand grabbed your arm and pulled you inside.

"hey-!" you couldn't even speak as he locked the door behind you, the sound echoing, foreshadowing the future.

an awkward air filled the room as his hand left yours, "i did threaten him. i did intimidate him and i did punch him, so what?" he spoke, his words matched with the calm tone that she spoke with made a shiver go down your spine as you looked up to match his gaze. "you were going to go out with that clown. do you think i was going to let that happen?

do you think that i have spent all these years of my life being next to you, protecting you, for nothing?" his hand came to your jaw, tilting your face higher as his eyes fell to your lips for a split second, quick enough to be missed if you blinked, "you have your right to be angry, but what about me? you turned yourself blind to me and my love, you turned yourself away from me when all i ever wanted was you." his thumb traced your bottom lip, making your breath hitch.

you felt like you were in a dream. was this really happening?

"caleb-"

"are we really just friends, y/n?" he asked, his eyes closing as he took a step closer to you, his forehead touching yours as his hot breath fanned against your face, "do friends cuddle together? do friends feel like they can't breathe when they see the other enter a room? do friends have to physically hold themselves back because of how they feel?" he whispered, his voice getting quieter with each and every word.

"no," your voice was quiet too, but your words were loud. "i don't think so," you felt his other hand slide down your waist and pull you closer, making a sigh leave your lips.

"i don't think so either." he whispered, his lips brushing against yours as he opened his eyes to look at your face up close. he had dreamt of this for ages. your pretty flushed face, big doe eyes and sweet pink lips waiting all for him. "we'll always be together," he said, "in life and in death."

his lips met yours both softly and hungrily. his mouth devouring yours as his other hand held the back of your head to keep you from moving. his tongue slipped inside yours, tasting the Red Bull and mints you had all day. teeth clashed against each other, hands ravaged on clothes and hearts synced up to the same beat. all you wanted to do was kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

"please, y/n." he whispered, "don't leave now." he was almost whimpering, breathing heavy against your lips as he kept on kissing you like he needed air to breathe.

"i won't." you reassured him, hands going to his neck, "i promise." but you weren't sure.

you had just kissed your best friend, your childhood friend, a person who your grandmother said was like your brother, a person who had been with you every step of the way. a person who held your hand when you cried and stood behind you when you fell. would that still be the case now that things were.. different?

caleb's hand caressed your cheek as his forehead rest against yours. he smelled good - fresh, like soap and mint. the quaint remnants of his cologne made your head dizzy and thighs squeeze together.

he sighed against your face, "i want to.." he paused, his eyes meeting yours, "..live in the same world as you. i want to feel your warmth and hug you close." he said, his heart heavy with emotions that he had been bottling up since the first time he saw you.

it was hard to watch you be with other guys and like other guys when you were clearly the one for him and he for you! did he go to extreme measures sometimes? yes, but it never mattered because at the end of the day, the two of you were meant to be.

"i can't.. hold it any longer, y/n." his voice was a deep rumble, like a silent confession of the clouds by thunders from far away.

as his words finished his lips were back on yours, this time they were softer and more intimate. taking his time to devour you from the inside out. his hands wrapped around your waist as his legs stepped forward, pushing you back, gently guiding you back to his room but you hit the coffee table, making the two of you stop.

"i- uh.. sorry, i-"

"shush.. shh.." his lips barely moved away from yours as he stumbled the two of you into his bedroom. a room you had been to a thousand times, but never like this. never with your lips on his and his hands on your ass.

caleb was a very messy kisser. you did not expect that. of course, there were times when you imagined how your best friend would kiss you, and you always thought: professional. he seemed like he had a lot of experience right? and he appeared very dominant and no-nonsense, but that wasn't the case at all. his mouth took almost all of yours entirely, messily kissing you with teeth and tongue everywhere. he even tasted different; like gin and gum.

as you dropped to his bed, he looked down at you for a second, admiring you. the countess times he imagined having you in his bed; naked, clothed, in his clothes, however that was, it was now coming true. he leaned down slowly, maintaining eye contact as he brushed a few strands of your bangs away from your face to look at you better.

"are we really doing this?" he asked in a quiet murmury voice, his eyes moving from your lips to your eyes. his body was on top of yours, his legs in between yours and chest connected; hearts on top of one another. "we can stop if you want. we can watch a movie, cuddle, pretend like it never happened." he whispered.

"why?" you asked, confused and frustrated, "what.. what are we?"

"whatever you want me to be." he said, his face serious and lips forming a thin line, as if composing himself, "i can be your friend, your best friend. i can.. be your fuck-buddy. your boyfriend. your family." he paused, his finger trialing down from your jaw to the valley between your chest. "what do you want me to be, pip-squeak?"

your breath hitched as his index finger lowered to your chest, your cheeks turning a bright pink and lips parting as you sighed. "won't it be awkward if i say i want us to be family right about now?" you joked, making him smirk.

"don't say it, pip-squeak. i dare you." he laughed, making you sigh once again. it was too big of a decision to make at the heat of the moment, and your joke would only deflect it for so long.

"take your shirt off." he didn't need to be said twice. he moved to his side, taking his shirt off and revealing his toned six-pack abs and strong muscles. your hands came to his biceps, tracing down to his forearms before you leaned in for a kiss.

your thoughts were barely working as his hands slipped under your t-shirt and grabbed your breast over your bra, making a soft sigh leave your lips. your heartbeat had never been faster, and your stomach felt like it had been typing knots again and again and again. his lips stayed on yours as his hand slid down to your pants, going under them and tracing the hem of your panties before pushing your leg further open to have easier access.

he groaned softly from feeling how wet you were. your panties had a hard patch in the middle from you constantly squeezing your thighs, it wasn't the first time this had happened due to caleb's tactics. he leaned back once again, pulling your pants off of you as you took your shirt off.

"you look really pretty like this," he whispers so naturally, his hand grabbing your leg and kissing your ankles, slowly going higher and higher. everything he did to you, he did so effortlessly, like he had been doing it for years. maybe it's just the years of friendship talking, but either way, it felt good. really good. "so pretty." he whispered again as he reached your inner thighs, his puppy dog eyes looking up at yours in a way that made your stomach churn.

his nose pressed right against your panties, taking in a deep inhale of your scent as he exhaled. "fuck, you smell so good." he groaned, pulling your panties to the side. with his free hand he moved your slick around everywhere, spreading it over, and dipping his fingers inside. it felt too good. you tried to keep quiet, not embarras yourself but every now and then a small whimper would leave your lips which woud just make him hungrier for you.

caleb was also torturing himself by not tasting you. his dick was getting harder and harder to the point it hurt so bad. he needed to take it off his trousers right now but he kept his patience. "god, you're so wet." he laughed airily, "i barely touched you." he hummed, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste your sweetness. his hips grinded against the bed in a pathethic attempt to make himself feel better but he knew nothing would do justice in comparison your pussy.

his mouth was godsent to you. he devoured every inch of you like he was a starved man. he was desperate, pulling you closer to him, grabbing onto your hips and thighs and bitting into your flesh making you moan and grab onto his hair. "i need you to be louder, baby." he would whisper, "i have been waiting to hear you like this for so long. i want each of your whimpers, moans and screams engraved into my mind."

his fingers would tease as he ate you out. moving in and out in a slow pace compared to his mouth, his tongue is ruthless but his fingers are slow and soft. each groan would send a vibration against your clit that made your legs close up against his head, and god, did he love that feeling.. being trapped in between your legs. it was heaven to him.

"caleb, i-" your words would barely be coherent as you approached your climax. hips rising from the bed and whines leaving your mouth as tears formed at the corner of your eyes. you body twitched as he spit against your clit to lubricate it a bit more, three fingers entering inside of you and making you stretch so much.

"such a good girl." he whispers, crawling closer to you as his forehead rests against yours. his eyes bore into your face, taking in every expression; the closed eyes, the tears that roll down as your lips part and soft moans fill the room, everything was perfect to him. he would kiss your cheek and press his cheek against yours, "come for me, pip-squeak." he whispers, so sweetly and gently that you think it's a whole different person. "let me make you feel good."

your climax comes as he twists and curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that one spot over and over again that made you see colourful stars. and when you did finish, the two of you laid there for a second, your heavy breathing echoing throughout the room as his head pressed against your chest.

"did that feel good?" caleb's hands moved to your bra, pulling the straps slowly to send goosebumps along your body, "did that.." he paused, pulling you a bit closer to unhook the back of the bra, "satisfy.. you?" he threw the bra somewhere on the room, making you sigh as you threw your head back on the soft matress.

"yes." was all you could say. it felt too good to even put to words, perhaps you were too tired to do so right now, but either way, it felt really good. you felt caleb press short and wet kisses all over your chest before putting one of your nipples into his mouth. a soft moan escaped your lips, back arching from the lingering sensitivity as his hands caressed your sides and he bit into your nipples softly, making you gasp and your nails dig into his bicep.

dipping a bit down, your hands moved to the waist band of his pants. caleb wastes no time, he pushes his pants off him, kicking it of off him before pulling you closer once again.

he ogled at you, right? and now, you can't help but ogle at him. he had the most gorgeous.. dick. it was big, very big. big enough for you to wonder if it would even fit inside you or not. with veins on the side and it was so.. pink.

"what? you don't like it?" caleb joked, wrapping his arms around your waist as he began to kiss your neck and jaw. you felt your cheeks flush at that comment slightly. was your staring that obvious?

"shut up."

leaning over, he hovers over you for a second before leaning to kiss you. he spreads your legs with his and sighs softly when he feels your hands wrap around his neck to pull him closer. he takes his time here, he showers you in affection and kisses, almost as if he was stalling to do the very last step; but in reality, he was just scared. he always was. he relied on you to give him reassurance and encourage him and this was the same. and you could feel it.

"caleb.." you whispered his name softly, his lips moving from your collarbone to your jaw, "i need you.. please," you sighed. your hands came to caress the sides of his cheek as you brought him closer, your foreheads touching as his hands spread your legs further.

"i love you, y/n." he whispered, his tip grazing against your clit as he slowly began to slip it. the stretch was painful. not only was he big, but his girth was majestic. he was big in every way and it was both painful and heavenly. your back arched as he buried his head in your neck and slowly began to thrust in and out.

that rhythm only lasted a few seconds.

caleb could barely control himself as your gummy walls caved into him. his thrusts became faster, harsher, and rougher. one hand around your neck keeping you in place and another holding him up as he kept thrusting and thrusting and thrusting. he was not shy in the noise department either, he would whimper, moan and beg you in ways that made you clench and him groan.

"caleb- i.." you whined, "i'm close-" your words didn't even reach him. he just kept going and going. and he did so after you were finished as well. both of your juices were mixed and his bedsheets soaked, but he showed no signs of stopping.

he had you after so long and he just had to make it up. after a while, he switched you over, making you sit on top of him as his hands wrapped around your waist to hold you up. one of his hands came to the back of your neck and made you look up, "we fit right in together," he whispered, voice hoarse and rough, face coated in sweat but his eyes.. they were so filled with loved, it hurt to even look. "we were made from the same cloth. if there is no one for us, then we are both dead. we are meant to be together, in this lifetime or the next." he said, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

a/n:

repost cuz it lowk flopped and i will not accept that. hope u enjoyed it !!11!! love ya'llsss <333

#lnds #lnds caleb #caleb lads #caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb smut #caleb x you #lnds smut #lads x reader #lads x y/n #lads x you

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