#avoids the clinic like the plague

[salt-n-salt]

hmm turns out the fever i was fighting was covid 😀 dare I draw shane drinking emergen-C to cope. yes I think so

[voiceactresskurutta]

me: hi i need a good referral to some sort of mental health specialist to get proper diagnoses for these specific potential issues. i've put this off for a long time because i have a hard time making decisions, struggle with communication/contacting professionals, and have a hard time trusting medical personnel without a good reference my pcp: here's a list of several dozen providers i printed out that include a lot of ones you don't quality for and don't specialize in what you asked about, it's just a massive print out of all our resources me: wow this is worthless to me

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. it's your final year of UA High, an achievement that should be celebrated and joyous, but you couldn't believe just how much has changed in such a short amount of time. one thing you never thought you'd have to deal with is the potential of losing your best friend and being powerless to stop it.

content // spoilers for ch.362 through 424 of the manga (this is how i'm coping), aged up to 18/19 + end of senior year @ UA, teeny bit of angst mixed with emotional comfort & fluff, reader is in the support department (w/ an unnamed quirk), reader & bakugo are childhood friends, talks of ptsd/trauma/regret and nightmares about death, mentions of medical issues & therapy, emotionally vulnerable and sickly sweet confessions, extremely soft bakugo (maybe ooc? but trauma changes people's outlooks soooo), idiots in love, best friends to lovers. wc // 5.7k + crossposted to ao3 『 k.bakugo masterlist 』

tagging in the beginning to prevent spoilers if you wanted to avoid them; @slayfics @maddietries @starieq @liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague @queenpiranhadon

War…is over.

For now.

The media wouldn’t stop playing the coverage on repeat, leaving you unable to escape the scene that will haunt you for the rest of your life and forcing you to realize how vulnerable you are as a human being.

((spoilers below the cut))

You knew the second that Bakugo popped out of the shell of UA’s fortress through a grainy livestream that something was wrong. The way he staggered out, covered in blood with a mangled arm…your heart sank. You had no clue what happened moments prior in that bubble, only the heroes inside knew the truth at the time. Watching Midoriya’s awestruck tears flow as they worked together to save All Might from All for One’s grasp didn’t fill you with hope like others around you - it filled you with fear, a deadly reminder of how dangerous hero society is and the sacrifices it entails. How your duty as a support technician, and as a best friend, wasn’t even close to enough to help him in such dire straits.

Your calls and texts to him went unanswered...as expected. He probably doesn't even have his phone on him. Rumors spread over the course of the week following Shigaraki and All for One’s demise about what happened on the field when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Did you hear about that Bakugo kid? How’d he even get up after all that? You mean from being clinically dead? Yeah, I heard Edgeshot saved his life on the fly. His heart exploded! No, he was punched and it ruptured. But he saved All Might’s life! That was so cool to see. Deku helped, too. He wouldn’t have made it in time without him. A lot of the other students went through a lot of shit…and they expect them to go back to school?

UA was 'kind' enough to give all students a two week break from classes with dorms and buildings open for access as needed. Two weeks to recover from everything that's happened...it was a joke.

You lost count of how many nights you woke up sobbing from nightmares about Bakugo’s death within the past week, ranging from surgery complications to being left to die on the battlefield alone, unable to reach him in time. Your therapist reiterated in your session that this is all a normal response, even when the events didn't directly happen to you and resembled a form of survivor's guilt. It only worsened your negative outlook on society as a whole, knowing full well that they’ve saved Japan today, but there will always be evil lurking and stewing in the shadows, waiting for the next greatest hero to bring to their knees.

The hospital barred anyone outside of the immediate family to see patients, no matter how much you begged every front desk associate to let you see him. You didn’t want to resort to sounding desperate, but you gave in by the end of the week, stopping by Bakugo’s family home to talk with his parents. To your surprise, Mitsuki was home and answered the door. Not more than a second passed before she was scooping you up into a hug, her shaky hands clutching the back of your shirt as if you were her own daughter returning home for the first time in months.

“Hi sweetie,” she greets, her voice hushed and somber; an entire 180 from her normal demeanor. She lets you go, moving her hands to your shoulders as she invites you inside.

You spend some time catching up with her before asking the inevitable question lingering in the air. “How’s Katsuki? The hospital wouldn’t let me in to see him.”

Mitsuki’s eyes glisten, tears pooling in her eyes as she shakes her head and swallows harshly. “He’s a tough ass kid. Surgery went as good as it could’ve, but…” she trails off, wiping the lone tear rolling over her cheek. “Why don’t you come with me this afternoon to the hospital?”

You bite your lip, hands curling in on themselves as they rest on your knees. “But they told me��”

“Screw that!” She interrupts, standing to her feet. “You’re comin’ with me. You are family to us.”

Your stomach cartwheels as the hospital comes into view from the backseat of the Bakugo family car, Masaru driving the three of you through the visitor’s parking lot. Mitsuki glances in the rear view mirror, catching the nervous twitch in your lips as you stared out the window.

“Dear, could you give us a minute?” she asks Masaru, motioning him to go on ahead. He nods in acknowledgment and leaves the car to head to the lobby.

“Do you wanna talk before going inside?”

How the hell did she know you were nervous? She’s known you for a good chunk of your live, it’s not too far fetched she’d be able to analyze your emotions like she does for her own son.

“I'm...” you say meekly, fidgeting with your jeans. “...trying to stay positive, but I’ve had so many nasty nightmares and I don’t know what to expect. I've only heard rumors at school about his condition.”

Mitsuki reaches to the backseat and gently takes one of your hands in hers. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared. Shit, I’m terrified for him and all the other kids…this isn’t something everyday people experience, so it’s unfair to expect yourself to have standards on how to feel. He's alright, I can promise you that.”

You sigh, her words giving you a sense of comfort. “Thank you.”

“And if I can say one thing,” she adds, squeezing your hand to grab your attention. “That kid adores you, he’s just a stupid boy who doesn’t know how to say it.”

The laugh that bubbles up from your belly is genuine, a thin layer of anxiety dissolving at the thought of him getting embarrassed by his mom’s words. Nodding, you let go of her hand and open the car door, signaling you’re ready to go inside.

“Katsuki! You can’t be up and roaming around!”

Mitsuki’s heels click against the marble flooring as she scampers to Bakugo’s side down the hallway, Masaru trailing behind her when she catches a glimpse of him hobbling into a room that isn’t his own. You stay back, peering from around the corner to avoid being seen if he happened to glance your way. A few minutes pass before you faintly hear Masaru say, "Come on, let's get you back to your room to rest," and the sounds of their footsteps retreating down the hall.

It's almost embarrassing how long it takes you to work up the courage to follow after them - what's the big deal? Your best friend is physically here, not some ghost or a walking corpse from your nightmares. You knew in your heart what it was that kept you frozen in place, a feeling you've long shut away, burying it within the depths of your heart to keep yourself sane.

Love.

And it scared the shit out of you, especially now. 

Retreating back to the lobby, you mindlessly scan the vending machines as a distraction until a hand touches your back. You jump at the contact and turn to see Mitsuki and Masaru standing behind you.

"We're heading home for a few hours to make some dinner and come back with leftovers for Katsuki. I told the nurses you're with us, so keep this pass with you." She hands you a visitors badge and you tuck it in your uniform pocket. "I'll bring you some dinner, too, dear. Don't waste your money on snacks. Now go see him, he could use some time away from us."

You've got a chance to be alone with Bakugo to talk with him about...everything, and you're frozen in the goddamn lobby. It takes a bit of kicking yourself in the ass to get moving, but eventually, you begin to warily make your way back to the patient wing. 

A vague memory of standing at UA’s entrance comes barreling to the front of your mind, the day that the hero courses all left to prepare for the war torn city streets with the pros. You’d stood to the side, passively blessing everyone with good luck and your best wishes as they prepared to depart. When Bakugo shuffles away from his parents, he spots you in the crowd and approaches you with a straight face. Just when you’re about to say something, he grabs you by the shoulders, spins you around and pushes you toward a set of hedges nearby. Not completely out of sight, but enough to hide from the majority of the congregation of friends and families.

“Kats?” You question, confused by him secluding the two of you from everyone else.

“Not another word,” Bakugo warns, cornering you in the darkness of the wall and bushes. He hesitates before reaching for one of your hands, warmth flooding from his palm into yours. His other hand scratches at the back of his neck nervously, eyes upturned to the sky as he speaks lowly. 

“Wanted to say thanks for supporting my dream of bein’ a hero all these years. Don’t go worrying about me while I’m out there, alright?”

Before you could interject, his back was to you and marching over to join the others. 

His words rang in your head every night, repeatedly taunting you about the feelings that rattled your ribs from how fast he made your heart beat.

You should have told him then.

The walk up the stairs to his floor fills you with unexplainable jitters that you've never felt before - were you dreading the conversation? Are you scared he wouldn't reciprocate your feelings, despite Mitsuki's words from earlier? Or...afraid to see the damage in person?

You find his name on one of the patient plaques, taking a deep breath as your knuckles tap on the hollow door. His voice follows soon after, "Yeah, come in."

Your hand lingers on the door handle for a moment before you convince yourself to go inside.

‘Come on, it’s Katsuki. He's your best fucking friend. He knows everything about you and vice versa. Don’t be a damn coward and make it weird.’

The door slides on the track at a snails pace, revealing your face bit by bit to Bakugo as he stares in your direction. Imagine your surprise when his eyes widen upon seeing you, mouth open to say something, but nothing comes out. You shut the door and walk over to the right side of his hospital bed.

“Hey Katsu—”

The words refused to come out as you took in his current condition - a full arm cast, a brace around his waist, oxygen tubes through his nose and multiple bandages covering his pretty face. The window sill is lined with various vases of fresh flowers and 'Get Well Soon!' cards. It's overwhelming, the lump in your throat hardening at the sight, unable to stop the lightning bolts of anxiety zapping the color from your face. Bakugo snaps you out of it when his left hand reaches across the bed and grips your wrist, pulling you closer to him.

“Stop analyzin’ the damage and c’mere already.”

Before you could react, he’s using his free arm to wrap around your shoulders, tucking you against him as tightly as he could manage. “Was wonderin’ when you were gonna come visit me.”

The tears are swiftly building on your waterline, threatening to downpour all over your cheeks and stain his hospital gown. It takes every ounce of willpower not to say 'I didn't think I'd ever see you again.'

“They wouldn’t let me, I’ve been trying for a week. Your mom convinced them to let me in,” you explain as you lay one of your hands over his heart, thumbing over the fabric and feeling the freshly raised scar tissue underneath. “I’ve called and texted you, but figured they didn’t let you have your phone.”

“I don’t even know where it is,” he huffs. “Ma probably has it, or it’s dead on my desk in the dorms.”

Bakugo’s fingers run through your hair, playing with it absentmindedly in silence, sighing to himself. “I’ve got so much shit runnin’ through my head that I can’t think straight.”

“Yeah...I thought that would be the case.” You pull yourself away from his embrace, shifting to the opposite side of the bed before settling in to the chair by the window. "What's going on?"

He pouts, extending his left hand in your direction. There’s a hint of pink under his bandages that begins blooming down his neck when he mumbles, “Want you closer.”

You pick up the chair to scoot it forward as Bakugo groans aloud, shaking his head and patting the empty space next to him in the hospital bed.

“Kats, there isn’t enough room for both of us,” you laugh, unable to hide the drag of your lips curling into a smile at his flustered expression. He stares at you for a moment longer, asking 'please?' with those beautiful ruby eyes of his.

How can you not give in to him?

As gingerly as you can, you slide under the thin blanket on the bed and up against his left side, his arm raised to make room for your body to mold into his. You’re terrified to touch him, treating him like a porcelain statue and stiffening in his embrace.

"M'not gonna break if ya touch me," he comments, patting you on the back for assurance. Reluctantly, you lay your head against his chest and drape your arm over his midsection, settling in and getting as comfortable as you could in the confined space, careful to avoid all of the wires and tubes hooked up to him.

"I'm not used to you being touchy-feely for more than a minute at a time," you joke, smiling when you hear the click of his tongue against his teeth in response. 

"My damn parents are the only ones I've been stuck with, gimme a goddamn break!"

A few minutes pass before you two carry on the conversation again, Bakugo clearing his throat awkwardly before letting go of the breath he was holding. "How...are ya holdin' up?"

Truthfully? You weren't, hoping that the light purple pockets forming under your eyes and lifeless hair were not dead giveaways of your mental status.

"I've...been better. What about you?" you reply, blatantly lying through your teeth. It wouldn't be fair to lay out all of the traumatic shit you've thought about over the last week when he's in the hospital recovering from the actual traumatic events.

"It's...lonely here," Bakugo mutters faintly, almost too low to hear. "An' I can't sleep. The nurses are nice, though, same with the therapist they sent in yesterday."

"They made you see a therapist straight out of surgery?"

"Right? S'what I said. Didn't talk much, though. Basically gave me the rundown of UA supplying all the students a therapist next month. Don't think it'll do much for me, not like I can undo all the shit that happened, but Ma talked me into goin' later on."

"Can't hurt, even if it's every once in awhile."

"...Yeah."

You trace some of the creases in his hospital gown idly, savoring his presence and the sound of his voice. Bakugo fidgets with the material of your shirt, wanting to avoid dumping all of his thoughts on your shoulders, but the weight is too much for him to hold onto any longer. 

"Izuku's...quirkless again. I don't know how to feel, but I cried like a damn child when I overheard him talkin' with All Might about it. Gave me a perspective that I never thought about before all this shit went down."

"And what's that?"

"...I robbed him of his dream."

You wish, more than anything, that you could go into Bakugo's head and pluck out all the guilt he still harbors over his and Midoriya's childhood together. It's not like Midoriya held it against him anymore, and Bakugo knew that, but he couldn't shake those demons loose that reminded him of his past self.

"You didn't. He knew the costs of One for All and agreed to it, it's not your fault."

"I know, but I feel so fuckin' shitty for treating him like he's dirt for so long."

"It's not stupid to feel," you say, feeling his body tense and relax beneath you. "But Katsuki, you need to forgive yourself. You can't let this eat away at you forever, it's been over two years since you apologized."

His heart aches at your words, knowing you're right, but he couldn't forgive himself...not yet, anyways. Maybe tomorrow, or next week, even next month, just not right now.

"...thank you," is all Bakugo can say, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from getting choked up about it for a second time. Silence falls upon the room, letting the two of you simply co-exist for a moment of peace. It had been a long fucking week, and being in the same room, let alone touching one another, was a luxury you didn't know if you'd ever have again.

"I'm out of commission for a bit, but that's not a concern to me right now. I know I can come back from this shit and stay on track to bein' number one. There's somethin' else that's been on my mind since..." he trails off, the hand on your back moving to your shoulder to tighten his hold on you. "...I fought Shigaraki in that damn fortress."

You rest your hand atop his on your shoulder. "You don't have to talk about it if it's stressful."

"No, I need'ta tell ya before I chicken out 'cause I didn't say it when I had the chance." He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, twisting the strands in his finger as he bit his lip nervously. He's thankful you aren't currently looking at him, else wise all his cover would be blown before he spoke one word about it.

"The second he broke my arm, I didn't think about the pain, all I could think about was seein' you again. And then some otherworldly shit happened, the weirdest fuckin' out of body experience. I didn't believe in any of that junk until now."

Hearing him recollect the memory of his untimely death resurfaces all of the dormant fears lying in your mind from your nightmares. You screw your eyes shut to keep them away, to shield you a little longer from the pain they inflict upon you. Bakugo was right here, right now, with you. He's not an illusion or a figment of your imagination...he's here.

"...are you shaking?" He asks, hand cascading down your back to calm your nerves. You hadn't noticed that you were trembling, focused on doing your damndest to keep it together and let him spill his guts freely. "Do you want me to stop talkin' about it?"

It's muffled against his hospital gown, but you're able to squeak out a measly 'no.' He pats your head tenderly and shuts his eyes before continuing.

"I remember focusin' on rushing in and getting hit a second time, but this felt...different. There wasn't any pain, and when I came to, All Might's vestige ghost was there. He didn't say anything when I talked to him," Bakugo pauses, inhaling deeply to compose himself. "He led me back to UA and took me to the support wing's workshop. You were testing somethin' with Goggles, giggling away like an idiot with her."

The tears welling up in your eyes were inevitable at this point - was he insinuating that while he was skirting between life and death, he thought about you?

"And then I was outside, lying in the grass at our favorite spot down by the river. You'd dropped your fuckin' popsicle in the dirt, whining about how much you wanted it. I made fun of ya a bit before givin' you mine, but you insisted we share it instead. It was...nice. Everything felt warm and peaceful. When I actually woke up to Jeanist and the others, they kept sayin' I was revived and needed to go to the hospital. That's when I jumped in to help Deku and, well, y'know the rest."

Your body shivers, the hiccup you were desperately holding in coming to the surface in a muted sob. He silently lets a few tears fall, too, the bandages growing saturated with saltiness and stinging the open cuts on his face. His stomach was in knots, but shockingly, he welcomed the foreign feeling. To him, it only confirmed what he felt was true. He didn't know jack shit about love, but was more than confident that he could untangle the complexities of it with you.

"I was knockin' on death's door and you led me back home. Before I left, I was gonna tell ya how important you are to me...now more than ever."

You pray that Bakugo can't feel, or hear, how hard your heart was beating against your sternum, hammering away at his unexpected confession. The whirring of the medical machinery accompanied his words hanging in the air, swirling in tandem with the thoughts in your head.

Do it.

Say it.

Take the chance.

Cautiously, you attempt to sit up and haphazardly slip on the sheets, colliding foreheads with him while trying to catch yourself. Instead of scolding you, Bakugo bursts out laughing, a few stray tears falling from the corners of his eyes. "Y'coulda said something instead of head butting me, brat."

"Like you gave me a chance to say shit!" you scoff, poking him in the chest playfully. When your eyes meet, reflective hearts are bouncing between your gazes, faces lingering dangerously close to one another. "I've...been waiting to tell you something, too."

"Yeah? An' what's that?"

Your vision begins to blur, eyes falling shut as the gravity becomes too much to bare any longer. Your left hand glides up his chest, finding purchase on his collarbone while your lips rest plush against his. Electricity races through your veins and time stands still, all the clichés about love coming to the forefront of your mind and how true they proved to be in the moment. You barely notice when Bakugo's free hand threads through your hair and settles at the nape of your neck, melding the two of you into a deeper first, and definitely not last, kiss. When you part, it's not met with gasps for air, but with breathless sighs of bliss. You're pulling away only to gravitate back into his orbit, unable to resist his advance when he lurches forward to steal a second kiss. Your lips quiver against his as the words in your heart beg to be released, unable to cage the emotions thrashing around in your chest.

"You have no idea how many nightmares…I had about you not coming home…or that it was too late…to bring you back to life in the hospital,” you mutter between delicate kisses, finally having the strength to lean back and lock eyes with him. “I'd be standing at your goddamn grave like a widow whose husband returned from war in a casket, vacantly staring at the ground while the rain soaked through my clothes. The roses always had thorns that cut my hands open. It changed every single night, a new version of losing you before getting the chance to say...," you stop, attempting to swallow the pain long enough to confess, but your voice betrays you and cracks as you blurt out, "that I love you, Katsuki, and—"

He dreamily exclaims, "I love you, too," before the realization hits that he said it out loud and not in his head. It catches you both off guard and sends him into an adorable panic, the previous pink hue to his skin growing deeper by the second.

"S-shit," he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut and scrunching his nose to hide his lovesick expression. Your run your finger along his jawline, careful not to catch any of the bandaging, and stop at his chin to coax his attention back to you.

"I want to be the loudest person that you can hear cheering for you in a crowd when you save a little kid or capture a villain." Your hand cups the right side of his face while you continue to pour your bruised heart out. "To be your number one fan at signings and promo events that an agency is going to force your grumpy ass to do, the one who picks up your broken pieces when no one else is around. I want to give you everything because you deserve nothing less than that."

For the first time in his short life, Bakugo is speechless. What did he ever do to deserve your endearment? He wasn't one to shy away from expressing what was owed to him through blood, sweat and tears - like working hard on an assignment and deserving nothing short of a 100% passing grade - but this was unlike anything else. He truly didn't know why you were so captivated by his energy, even before these confessions came stumbling out into the open. What about him appealed to you in such a way to make you desire him so deeply?

"I—" he struggles to find the words to say, searching his brain incessantly for something to match your sweet sincerity. "I'd be happy sharin' popsicles with you by the river for the rest of my life if that's what it came down to. I don't need money or fame as a hero, bein' with you is more than enough for me."

In the past, something so sickly sweet would make Bakugo gag and be an immature jackass over the sentimentality, but now? He wouldn't admit that he enjoys the warmth blossoming in his chest and how it gives him stupid ass butterflies, especially when it comes to you. It struck at the most random times; when you'd laugh at his dumb jokes, toss him a smile in the hallway between classes, sit on the countertop while he cooked dinner for you two in the common room kitchen, fall asleep during your movie nights on his shoulder and drool on his shirt...the list kept growing exponentially until it kept him up at night, yearning to be by your side whenever you two were apart. 

He should've known the moment you approached him on the playground over a decade ago, joining him on that rusty swing set out of nowhere and started talking his ear off about the dandelions by the riverbed. 

Fuck, he was smitten as hell for you.

Your eyes well up with crocodile tears, lower lip wobbling and unable to stop the fat droplets coating your lashes, staining your strawberry cheeks and dripping down your neck. 

"T-thank you," you choke out, wiping your palms over your face to erase the tears. Bakugo chuckles under his breath, reaching to cradle your cheek in his hand. 

"So, do I still gotta ask you?" he jokes, smiling awkwardly as his eyes dart to the ceiling. 

You don't know what he's referring to. "Ask me...what?"

"...Seriously?" Bakugo lets his hand fall from your face. The blank expression on your face confirms you are absolutely clueless to what he means.

"Fuck, fine." He rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders dramatically before shifting in the bed to re-position himself. He leisurely tilts his head forward and into your space, close enough for his breath to fan over your lips as he speaks. "I want ya to be mine."

"Didn't sound like a question to me," you tease, lovingly nuzzling your nose with his.

"Shut the fuck up...wanna hear ya say it."

Uh oh, gravity is kicking in again.

Your lips part with half-lidded eyes as you purr, "I'm already yours, Katsuki," before melting into him, sealing your promise with another kiss. He tries to control it, but the tiniest moan floods out of him when he experimentally swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, ferociously flaring your cheeks into a deep scarlet flush as you reciprocate. Instinctively, he moves his right arm to cradle you closer and is met with searing pain, jolting away from your lips unexpectedly.

"Fuck!" he shouts, out of breath and wincing at the pain burning into his shoulder. "Sorry, s'my fault for trying to move the damn thing. Wasn't thinkin' and forgot where we are."

The sparkle in his eyes dim as he cast his gaze downward to analyze the cast. His shoulders slump and he shakes his head, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was never good at timin', but dammit, I wish I could hold ya properly."

"No, no, it's alright, we've got plenty of time when you can."

Bakugo exhales while shifting his weight to readjust, making room for you to lay on his chest and tucking you back under his good arm a second time.

"Promise me somethin'," he sighs into your hair. "No matter how awful shit gets in the future, don't lose faith in me or the others over some dumbass villains and let it sour your outlook on the world."

Wow, were your feelings that obvious?

"It's...not that." Guilt trickles down your spine, goosebumps prickling up your arms from pinpointing the negative associations you've built up in your head. "Of course I believe in you, Kats, but it scares the shit out of me that this all happened before any of you had the chance to be pros. I know you said you're not worried about it, but I am."

He knows you're right, you have every reason to be concerned over the state of the world and what that means for the future after everything that's happened this year.

"I have hope," he starts, letting his head fall back against the stack of pillows. "Doc told me my right arm is dead in the water 'cause of all the bone segments they had to join together in the surgery, but the possibility of it healin' isn't out of the question."

Your heart sinks in the pause of conversation. How could he have such a positive outlook after being legally dead?

"I refused a prosthetic and wanna try rehab first. M'not gonna let it ruin my approach to bein' a hero. The real challenge is my heart, but that's not—"

"Wait, what's wrong with your heart? I thought Edgeshot patched it up?" you interrupt, turning up at him with your brows scrunched together. It might be a silly question, all things considered, but Edgeshot was a masterful surgeon with a high success rate in his field...everything should be fine, right? 

His heartbeat kicks up in tempo under your cheek - that can't be a good sign.

"He did...but it's not that simple, sweetheart. I've gotta take it easy for at least six weeks, maybe some meds to keep things stable. Shit sucks, considering I'm used to training daily, but it's not impossible to deal with. I can handle it. Plus, I got you an' your gadgets on my side."

"And you're telling me all this, but are worried about my feelings and Izuku being quirkless instead of yourself?"

Damn, you hit the nail on the head. Bakugo smirks, laughing to himself. "Heh, yeah. Guess so."

"Typical Katsuki, silently caring about everyone else before himself." You snuggle into him, a yawn falling out of you as you pull the blanket up to your shoulders. "Stop making me like you more and go back to grumpy, please."

"Only if ya promise to stick with me." 

"Like you have to ask. I promise."

He places a kiss to the crown of your head. "Good."

Your eyes fall shut, the rhythm of Bakugo's heart beginning to lull you into a tranquil, and much needed, sleep. Before you pass out, you drowsily slur, "Everything's gonna be okay. You're the strongest person I know...love you, Kats."

Pearlescent tears pool at the corners of his eyes, the ones that escape rolling over the gauze on his face and soaking into the material once more. All the pain, worry, and relentless thoughts about failure temporarily fade away into nothingness, offering him peace and a sense of safety to drift off to dreamland. He closes his eyes, lips upturned into a smile as he whispers, "Thank you...love you too, princess. Sweet dreams."

The door to Bakugo's room creaked open a half-hour later, Mitsuki and Masaru returning with dinner as promised. "Hey kid, we're—"

She stops herself, putting a finger to her lips and turning to Masaru, signaling for him to quietly shut the door. They can't help but jointly smile at the sight before them, the two of you are snoring away on the hospital bed together, cozied up under the sheets and out like a light. 

"Reminds you of us, doesn't it? I had a feeling seeing her would help him relax," Masaru says, lightly stroking Mitsuki's back. "Why don't we come back in a bit to see if they're up?"

She nods and hands the containers of mabo tofu for him to take while she approaches the hospital bed. Her palm glides over Bakugo's cast, thumb tracing over his right wrist as her mind wandered back to memories of him as a little firecracker of a child; chasing butterflies in the backyard, playing super heroes with Izuku, and his toothy little grin anytime he was excited about something. Nineteen years flew by, and Mitsuki couldn't be prouder of her bombastic hero. Before turning to leave with Masaru, she affectionately pinches Bakugo's cheek, light enough not wake him from his slumber. She peers over at you, admiring how much you've grown, too.

'If anyone's gonna take care of my brat, it's you...thank you.'

The two of them leave you to enjoy each other's comfort. 

The hurricane has passed and there's sunlight shining on a new future. The will be storms to come, but society has been given a chance to heal, all thanks to the next generation of pro heroes sacrificing their youth to challenge the status quo. Things won't be easy, that's for damn sure, but it's gonna take something stronger than the depths of hell to keep Katsuki Bakugo away from his dream - and you. 

written in a frenzy while listening to epiphany // evermore & semi-proof read through my own tears, so apologies if it's just a bunch of mushy ramble. i have a bunch of other projects to work on, and am shifting back to them, this just was in my head and i needed to get it out. thanks for reading. <3

[r4m1el]

can you tell i like the classpect system and fixated on nothing else besides maybe trolls

Bro you’re scaring the hoes with your cringe crossover aus

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

feelings are scary. ( gregory house x reader )

gif belongs to me

He knew breaking up over a text message was the coward's way out, but there would be questions he didn't want to answer, uncomfortable feelings he tried to bury down and pretend didn't exist. Greg House didn't have healthy relationships. Especially not with a sexy ER nurse.

Before you started dating you were often lured to the clinic under false pretenses to see someone he considered interesting but it was just a way to see you. When his team failed to give him the answers he wanted, he would follow you around the ER and discuss his latest patient. You were always bubbly, smiling at his sarcastic remarks, and when he insulted your patients you always said, "Don't mind my friend here, he hasn't had his caffeine fix for the day."

You never turned him away. You were never exasperated by the amount of times he managed to trick you and when you started dating he realized you always knew it was a ruse, and went along with it anyway because you wanted to see him too.

Greg House didn't maintain healthy relationships. But for four blissful months, you did. And it terrified him.

Saying I love you opened doors he had long since locked. You admitted that you didn't need him to say it, but you wanted him to know how you felt. The next day you received his termination of your relationship and were stunned by how curt it was.

Once the knife stopped twisting, you realized you had expected this reaction and decided to give him time and space. For a week you pushed your feelings down, focusing on your job, and while he didn't visit you in the ER or get you to meet him somewhere in the hospital, you had felt the weight of his gaze more than once. He might not have spoken to you, but he still stopped by.

You did everything you could to stop thinking about the department head. Until a car crash victim died and everything came bubbling to the surface. You tore off your gloves and changed in the locker room, washing off the blood, and slumped on the bench, fending off tears that dried up as anger set in at how unfair it was that an eighteen-year-old was dead from a drunk driver.

When you made it to his department you noticed him on the balcony talking to James and stormed outside, gaining their attention.

"Uh, Y/N, h-hi -"

"Go away, Wilson."

"Right-o." He made a swift exit as House sighed, turning to look out at the view, resting his hands on the wall.

"I thought you'd crack sooner -"

"Shut up." You barked.

House raised an eyebrow, turning to look at you and seeing the tears in your eyes.

"You are an arrogant gasbag." His eyebrows rose at the insult as you were docile by nature. "What gives you the right to tell me how to feel? You don't. Do you think falling for you wasn't scary for me? Feelings are scary, Greg, and they feel like crap and sometimes they feel great and everything is butterflies and rainbows until an ego-maniac decides to stab you in the heart because he can't let himself be happy."

House listened quietly as you moved around, gesturing wildly with your hands.

"I know you are a gigantic pain in the ass. I know you're cynical. I know you use humor to keep people at arm's length but for a second, I thought that maybe you would finally let me in the door. And then you avoid me like I have the plague like a middle-grader! I mean, what the hell?"

You stopped pacing, finally meeting his gaze, and took a moment to catch your breath.

"Can I talk now?"

You rolled your jaw, nodding reluctantly.

"Come here."

You walked closer and when you were within arms reach, he brought you to his chest, kissing you hotly. You melted into his chest as he kept his balance by leaning on the wall. His arms wrapped around you, and the scent of his cologne made tears prick your eyes from how comforting it was.

The passionate kiss was the closest thing you would get to a confession. And right now that was enough.

[ghouldump]

I have been thinking about young doctor reader whos first reaction to seeing her one night stand admit he his a vampire is to ask if she can study him and do a couple of tests on him

I imagine this to be a lestat vibe yk? He would love the attention and strange admiration of his new weird beloved, while trying to keep her eyes always on him

"so are there others like you?"

"no by beloved, i am plenty enough to please"

Or maybe armand because he wants to be somebodys person in desperate way and i feel like he would manipulate her into staying in his life and be his eternal companion

Sorry if this was weird 😅

002

i couldn’t decide 😂 this is super short and straight to the point

LESTAT DE LIONCOURT

Lestat would take advantage of the opportunity BUT not nearly as extreme as Armand and he has to be really into you - which, luckily he was. You had just moved back home to New Orleans, after living in Texas for a few years, since finishing your residency.

As soon as your relatives and old friends hear about you being back in the lively city, you are invited out instantly. At one of the many parties, he noticed you, dancing with a few friends, you caught everyone’s attention with how festive you were.

He stared from afar and one of your multiple friends told you that he was looking. Encouraging you to approach him, he could hear their annoying giggling as you walked up. However, he also noticed how more beautiful you were as you approached.

“It isn't polite to stare and not say hello, you know,” you told him, as he smirked.

“I was simply enjoying the view”

“Y/n,” you held out your hand.

“Lestat,” he said, kissing your knuckles, your friends gasped loudly, making you look back at them.

“Sorry about them,” you laughed.

“They are surprised that I am talking to you,” he said, hearing their thoughts.

“How do you- my god, your eyes, are these your natural color?” you asked, leaning closer, looking closer.

“Yes”

“I’ve never seen a color so pretty, natural, only to a few patients after-

“After what?”

“They've died,” you said.

“Interesting”

“Allow me to look further into this Lestat, I’d love to understand this better,” you told him, giving him your card.

“Doctor. Y/n, how about we leave here and you can tell me a little more,” he smirked, interlocking your arms, and leading you away from the party.

Ending up in his bed was the last thing you expected to happen. Your fingers ran through his blonde wavy hair, as his hands pressed against your back, holding you in his lap. Blinded by the euphoric pleasure, you didn't even notice the fangs, wincing as he drank your blood.

It wasn't until you were dressing, that you came to your senses, rushing to leave his townhouse. You planned to avoid him, you didn't understand him, and you figured it was best that you didn't dig. However, he plagued your mind, entering every thought, and you could hardly focus during your first day of work.

As your coworker stopped in front of the house, you thanked him for dropping you off and climbing out. You still hadn't bought a car and there was a good distance between your home and the clinic. Watching him drive away, you turned to the steps, but stopped, seeing Lestat.

“How was your work?” he asked, tilting his head.

“How did you find my house?”

“I asked where the pretty doctor stayed and they led me here, did you not want to see me?” he asked, childishly pouting.

“You bit me,” you exclaimed lowly, watching as he began to grin, devilishly.

“And you tasted exquisite, a rarity, beauty, brains, and sweet blood,” he praised, approaching you.

“Please leave”

“Come inside, we have much to talk about, doctor,” he clapped, walking to the door. Your eyes widened as it opened on its own.

Hesitantly, you followed him into the living room, where he began with small talk before he dropped the information, he's a vampire, willing to become your little experiment if he was allowed to feed on you, whenever he'd like.

He liked you, you weren't a nuisance, much like other humans, which is why he preferred the idea of you giving up your blood willingly, still being able to keep your mortality.

You questioned his motives, why did he want to keep you alive, if he thought your blood was good? What did he gain from this? Why didn't he kill you? What was vampirism? Being met with silence, you begrudgingly accepted the transaction.

As your subject, his dramatic theatrics only increased. He was falling out at every prick, claiming it was better for him to drink, your blood from your neck, instead of an IV. It brought him great joy to have so much attention form you.

He would answer any questions seriously, before patting his lap. It was snack time, and he preferred you to sit there instead of next to him. Although, you could sense that he was withholding.

I mean, according to Lestat, he was the only vampire, one in a billion. There were no others, nor was there a need to search. He was all you could need, powerful, rich, and handsome. He was perfect.

For nearly a year, you ran all kinds of tests on him, comparing human studies to his DNA. Then you began to pull away. You were growing closer with him, staying at his house, or he at yours. Feelings were beginning to surface, after months of consistent intimacy.

Nonetheless, you knew better than to think you would have something together. He didn't think the highest of mortals, so what made you different? Little did you know, you couldn't be more wrong.

After seven months of only being with Lestat as his doctor, but also sexually, you decided to give another man a chance. Sleeping with a mutual friend, you thought it was fun until you woke up in the middle of the night, and were surprised to see a deranged Lestat, holding the man as a hostage. Only he was worthy to be subjected under you, to be touched and held by you.

You were near perfection, he could only imagine if you became a vampire. He was your greatest experiment, able to bestow the dark gift unto you. Yet here you were, entertaining other men

You were confused for a moment, realizing it was jealousy, causing him to act so crazed. Calling him out, he confessed his feelings, his anger and disgust towards this man. You had proven yourself to be worthy of the best and he was the best, waiting for you.

Your heart fluttered at his words, genuinely touched when he offered to share the dark gift with you. Nodding, you exhaled as he whisked you into his arms, sinking his fangs into you. Draining you, before feeding you his blood.

The man continued to squirm, his hands and mouth covered and tied, watching the scene in fear. Regurgitating and groaning, you held your stomach, clinging to Lestat in pain, before you stopped.

Standing upright, you faced Lestat, the man’s heart was pounding as your maker pointed to him. Your first meal. Pouncing on the man, Lestat couldn’t be more satisfied, with you as his fledgling, he could now be your patient for the rest of eternity.

ARMAND THE VAMPIRE

Armand was always watching, always one step ahead, and so, when he caught on to your curiosity, his scheme began. While you were a practicing physician, you were constantly looking for your next experiment. Someone you could poke and prod to further your research.

It was your secret, a taboo, you'd been undergoing all sorts of analysis since before you'd gotten your degree. Moving to Paris, you initially put your focus into your residency, until the vampire theater was brought up. Everyone was raving about the place and you had to see it yourself.

Watching the play, you sat on the edge of your seat in disbelief. The murdering of the girl felt too real, her open wounds obviously infected. Then her screams, those screams, the sound of pure agony and fear, you were quite familiar with it.

When the play ended, the actors came back, along with the director, all of them bowing. Staring at the crew, you were inquisitive towards all of them. Strange eyes, ghostly skin, glass-like, sharp nails. If it wasn't for the apparent powdered makeup, you would assume they were dead.

Despite your suspicion, you kept returning out of curiosity. Your eyes could hardly focus on the play ahead, drifting off to the director. It wasn't until one night, that his eyes finally shifted to your own. Nodding slightly at you, you smiled, before turning your attention back to the play.

Your concentration changed from everyone to him overnight. You kept visiting, a small notebook in hand, writing brief notes about his appearance. Nothing about him seemed natural, and that drew you in more.

"I'd prefer if you spoke to me, instead of trying to follow me and make notes about me," he said, smirking as your heart skipped a beat.

"My apologies, it's a bad habit of mine," you shook your head, shoving the notepad into your pocket.

"You're a doctor?" he asked.

"How did you know?"

"You wrote out a few side notes, about wounds and how they should be treated"

"Yes, I mean, I'm still in my residency, but I am a doctor,” you said.

"And how are you liking Paris?" he asked, as he sat next to you.

"It's fine, I am into the darker aspects of life and death, and I was over the moon, finding a vampire theatre, where everything feels authentic. Then, I saw the director, and I've been to nearly every show since," you confessed, as he stared over at you.

It didn't take much longer for him to pull you into the basement, where you partook in the sinful acts.

Pressed against the cold railing, you kept trying to keep quiet, while his face was against your shoulder, taking in your scent.

You begin to regularly meet up with him and it isn't until one night you are out with a male colleague that you find out his identity. He is with his coven members, fuming in jealousy as he watches you laugh with the man. The conversation was nothing but platonic, but the thought of you in the same space as another man made him physically sick.

He naturally, kills the poor guy and you catch him, screaming as he drops the body, it catches on fire, and he turns to face you, blood dripping from his mouth. You run to try to evade him, but he quickly corners you.

He is too jealous, focused on why you were out with another man, to even notice you were confused and afraid.

Realizing you were reeking in fear, he apologized profusely, begging for forgiveness. He knew you only accepted because you were scared he would kill you next, but he would never, at least not unwillingly.

He takes you home where he confesses that he is a vampire and you have to swear to never tell a soul because it goes against the vampire laws. You want distance from him, but he is consistent, bringing gifts, asking for forgiveness daily, trying to prove that he would never harm you.

Finally, you believe him and he becomes your subject. He is the most willing, you'd ever had, allowing as many needles as you want, as long as it means you are touching his skin. He does manipulate you to drop out of your residency and focus on studying him. He says researching vampirism is a one-in-a-million chance, and he is the perfect experiment.

You are so caught up in your research, that you don't even realize that you are straying further and further away from the possibility of being saved. He loves you, he needs you, just as much as you need him, if not more. The final step to his manipulation tactics, turning you.

He could never allow you to age too much and become old, weathering away. You were his lifeline, he needed you as badly as he needed blood, and after months or even years of extreme brainwashing and manipulation, he turned you and made you his companion and fledgling.

[duck-a-doodle]

The Rumoured Casper’s Honeybee (1/2) [EDITED]

A/N: Hello there! This is a little unedited drabble that has been stuck in my head, so I hope you enjoy it!

P.S.: I have edited and changed some grammar and the plot point to fit the second half better.

WARNING: Potentially OOC Simon 'Ghost' Riley. The reader is 'married to work' and is slower on tphe uptake. Let there be ANGST then fluff.

SUMMARY: Simon "Ghost" Riley, who has shockingly grown accustomed to you, seeks your medical attention. Masterlist

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The role of a medical professional under military services is nothing to choke at. Sounds of barked orders and the bright glint of hospital lights have become a familiar environment, and your eyes have grown accustomed to the olive drab greens and the standard heavy gears that came and went in a clinical setting, and that scene held true, even after your transfer to the 141.

Of the men in this base, the most outstanding ones you knew were Captain John Price, Sergeant Garrick, Sergeant McTavish and — Ghost. Tales of their stunts would float down the hallways thus naturally, you knew of them before you were properly acquainted. Loosely acquainted. Before you found your place in the 141, you were reserved, fastidious and competent, earning yourself the call sign 'Honeybee'. That had been your impression to many others of your field before you joined, and that was not to change now at your newly designated location.

It would not be uncommon for the clients to remember their practitioners and vice versa, but your case just seemed a little more special than the rest.

Ghost, who you prefered to refer to as ‘lieutenant’, seemed to have made himself familiar in your routine for the last two months. Prior to your arrival as the new medic of this organisation, you were told that he avoided the clinic like it was the plague, only showing up for the bare minimum of checkups. The turning point, some of your colleagues pointed out, appeared to be around the time you showed up, right as the team had returned from the Las Almas fiasco. No one person dared to deal with the lieutenant after witnessing his demeanour, and where he stepped, a repelling effect took place; anyone and everyone who had ever vaguely heard of him parted around him like the red sea, all except for you who refused to waver at any of the ‘Ghost rumours’.

The commanding officer was yours to manage ever since. For any wounds, illnesses, obligatory checkups or medical documents that he bore, it would be you who handled them. Not that you had any choice in that regard, given that whenever he set foot into the office, a clear path that led to you would reveal itself before him.

Never did you consider it a hassle when you understood it as part of your duty during government time, and soon a routine was formed after every operation he takes on.

He would come back more battered than a steak, and you would be at the ready with your gear, aid kit and all. On the rare, exacting moments of your career, you were even assigned to go out in the field where he had to be, for in the words of Captain Price, “our lieutenant recommended you for the role.”

Even with that, you thought nothing of it. Until you slipped.

The medical room was empty save for yourself and the medical equipment that needed sorting after an intensive few hours of patients filing in and out for appointments and health check-ups. After the last of the bunch left you wired and riddled with a terrible tension headache, you turned around to retrieve some aspirin, only to stop short at the sight of a tall, mass of black standing by the examination stable, waiting.

“Oh for god’s- hello, lieutenant,” You let out a breath after closing your eyes to gain your ground.

“Doc.”

“One moment, lieutenant.” Striding towards the cabinet which held your relief, you quickly popped yourself a pill before returning to address your surprise patient of the day.

Ghost simply lifted his mask slightly, to your surprise, and you looked away instinctively. Moments pass before you realised that the problem laid under the mask; a lip lasceration, there on the corner of his mouth. Wordlessly, you sprung into action despite your exhaustion and the throbbing sensation that weighed on the back of your mind. Carefully, you applied the L.E.T. Gel before going in with absorbable sutures, making sure to puncture the skin surfaces appropriately. Your eyes trained on the gash on his lips, away from the faint scars that litter his lower face, away from the details of his sharp nose and light five o’clock shadow that formed around his jaw.

Through, over, then through again went the needle, pulling the thread together in a quiet, steady rhythm. He never moved an inch; the only signs of life you felt from his were the warmth of his skin and the slow deep breaths that flowed through his chest. And when you were done, you cannot help but find that he is, of all the patients you have had, one of the most disciplined.

Perhaps it was the headache, perhaps it was your sleep-addled mind at play, or perhaps it was your lack of water that made you do it — but in a brief motion, you behaved contrary to your character. Before Ghost could fix his mask properly, you hand reached up to pull it down, lining it smoothly to his jaw before giving his head a soft, gentle pat.

A fleeting eye contact was all it took for your actions to dawn upon you. His eyes froze your hand in place and rendered you near speechless.

“I- My apologies, Capta- I mean, lieutenant. I forgot myself,” embarrassed, you removed your hand from his head immediately. He did not move. He did not blink. You watch cautiously, waiting with bated breath for him to reveal his displeasure. Instead, he chose to drop his head ever so slightly, closing his eyes.

Unsure of what to make of the situation, you followed his implications. Slowly, you rest your full palm against his skull, feeling the top of his head through the coarse fabric of his mask. You move your fingers lightly over his balaclava and feel something soft underneath — it was a bouncy, curling texture under the cloth. He has hair. A huff left your nose before you could stop it and his eyes snapped open to look at you.

Awkwardly, you offered him a small, tight-lipped smile, patting his head twice more before letting your hand drop to your side.

“For being a good patient,” you jested in an attempt to compose yourself.

Not long after he left, you shut your eyes and berated yourself for behaving like an utter fool, for losing your own decorum like a green-faced soldier despite your years of experience. You could not stop thinking about the glint in his eyes before he left that day. It felt almost playful, akin to that of a mischief about to stir awake, and by the devil did that memory return far too often for your liking.

*

Something certainly has shifted.

Soon, he began to visit you more often. You had suspicions that he may have memorised your timetable, and you had even deeper suspicions that it was one of your colleagues who has let him privy to said information. During unforseeable times of the week, a certain lieutenant of the 141 would show up to the clinic, requiring salves for a bruise, requesting ibuprofen for pain relief or even seeking combat gauze for his raw knuckles, of which you were certain that he must already have a few, considering his occupation. Once, he stood waiting behind you silently as you worked on your computer, waiting to ask for a bandaid. Needless to say, you were beyond startled to find that a skull face was poised quietly behind you for goodness knows how long.

You fail to remember exactly when he began to refer to you by your call sign ‘Honeybee’ instead of just ‘Doc’, and all you could think of was the way it rolled off his tongue. Funny, you thought, that the very name should sound just like honey coming from his own scarred lips.

A most prominent change, however, came not in the form of his unprompted visits, but in how they would end. Upon attending to his laughably miniscule thumb injury and amusedly pressing the medical ointment to his palm, he sat stock still on that same medical bed when you thought he would up and go. Mild bewilderment rested upon your knit brows, and you decided to voice your bemusment.

“Is there anything else, lieutenant?”

“Was I not a good patient?” He asked with a solemn expression.

Clearly, he has you dumbfounded. “Well — you are quite well-behaved during treatments, if that’s what you’re asking. So, yes, you are a good patient.”

Watching him closely, your eyes followed his line of sight and it lands, unexpectedly, on your hand. You looked between your raised hand and his unwavering, sharp pupils.

Oh.

Oh.

Once again, you dared to cross the boundary of his space, (or was it a boundary anymore?) and rest your hand on the side of his head this time, rubbing delicately, hesitantly. Fondness flutters warmly in your heart when his eyes shut serenely, enjoying your caring ministrations.

“Did it not bother you, lieutenant?” You whisper through the quietude.

“No,” came his gravelly reply.

He would clarify a little later, another detail that would occupy you for days on end.

“It’s comfortable. Like medicine to the head.”

All the air had tightened in your lungs at his admittance. There was something picturesque about a towering, muscle-bound killing-machine, bending to chase the sympathy of another’s warm fingers. It was almost endearing, the way this light gesture soothed him.

He had felt so — human.

*

Each time he came and went, it seemed to go further, like wading into the deep end of the pool in search of something, with only the vague impression of what you were about to find. Ghost would lean further in with every visit, and with every visit you would hold his head softer still, basking in the warmth of his face in one palm, then in two. He would breathe slower, as if savouring the air, the space, and eventually, his head would come to lean on your shoulder without any questions asked, and you would give him the medical attention he needed.

Cute.

It was, as he said, medicine to the head.

The method was unorthodox, yes, but if it can ease his temperament, then no doubt that a working solution should keep on. Through the two months which this had ensued, he was noticably less irritable and his team, who figured you were the source of his better nature, made sure you knew of the change whenever they came by the clinic. Only a few visits in, and sergeant McTavish, (who insisted that you call him ‘Soap’,) already has the nickname ‘Ghostbuster’ made for you, all in your honour. Even the staff now looked forward to Ghost’s visits too, despite still keeping a clear distance from him. They would observe the man covered in black from head to toe make a beeline for your office like clockwork, and the chatter between colleagues would be unending.

The amount of time with you spent treating on his physical wounds have been abbreviated as much as your call sign whenever he uses it, and it always warmed your ears considerably.

“G’d evenin’, Honey.” His guttural voice would greet.

“Lieutenant Riley,” you replied good-naturedly.

In exchange for shortening your name to something more familiar, he offered you his.

Simon Riley.

Something too intimate lay behind the use of his name, and so you both of you had come to a compromise; the lieutenant may go by Ghost to many, LT to some and Simon to rare few, but to you, he was lieutenant Riley.

He must be.

You were his doctor, and he was your patient, receiving an unusual prescription of several pats on the head every other day. It was a routine, just like any other meeting or appointment.

Speculations of a medic by the callsign ‘Honeybee’ began to spread around base alongside Ghost’s exaggerated talk, and when it reached your own ears through a closer colleague, you all but responded with a cocked brow, and went on with your day. People do little else, you had always known so. With the rising frequency of contact between the both of you, you felt that such hearsay was natural. And as long as nothing brewed inbetween, it was of non-consequence. On the occassion that you do hear the whispers firsthand down the hall, an amusing saying stuck with you; "the Honeybee’s caught a ‘emselves Ghost". Nicknames have been floating about, calling you a "Ghostbuster" or a "Ghost Hunter", and the most ridiculous one being "Lazarus", which was based on an old movie you have heard of but have never seen in your life.

You then caught wind of the lieutenant’s new nickname.

Casper. Such a silly name.

And then yet another nickname, "Kat" has surfaced for you, only this one had made zero sense to you at all.

Regardless of the silly teasings and harmless jibes from your colleagues about Ghost’s very frequent doctor appointments, you went on, working around the clock and going by the books.

Nothing has to change, especially if it meant nothing.

And yet, that silly little "nothing" began to occupy you through the quiet hours, and through the night.

An odd weight began to settle in your throat and chest whenever you saw your special patient, and the nicknames had begun to bother you more and more. You were too busy to think, too overwhelmed by people for an appetite, and too tired to make head nor tail of the week.

"... Doc?"

Your spine snaps straight at the sound of your name. How long have you been floating down your reverie?

"Ah, I'm sorry — yes?"

You colleague, who stood poised in blue scrubs whilst holding a clipboard, grins at you. "Casper was just looking for you. He left though, think his captain called for him or something."

"Ah, I see."

He shook his head lightly and turns to leave, but you stopped him with a question that you could not bear to have unanswered any longer.

"Why do you call him Casper?"

The man hummed, leaving you to sit with a disconcerting moment of silence as the answer sat on the precipice of his tongue.

"You know the plot of Casper, don't you?"

*

You swiveled on your office chair across the tables to your computer, a new task set to mind. Frantic fingers tapped away to solve that nagging mystery, and you felt the fine ends of a thread beginning to pull at the seams of your logic.

From the 1995 movie, he said.

The tab screen loaded your search, and your eyes scan the brief descriptions under each link. A small drop-down bar caught your attention, and in your gut you felt a twist of discomfort at the words that displayed before you.

Casper (1995) Plot What is the relationship between Kat and Casper?

Your breathing stopped at the insinuation, and a weight pulls on your lips as you read on.

… Casper, the ghost protagonist of the movie, falls madly in love with James' loner teenage daughter, Kathleen “Kat” Harvey, who is also looking for a friend. 

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FOOTNOTES:

"Lazarus" is the machine that was meant to bring Casper back to life, so the rumours are suggesting that the reader gives Ghost life.

[wheels-of-despair]

Did I Forget to Mention That? Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie overhears a phone call between Evil Woman and the father she hates, which leads to a discussion they probably should've had ages ago. Contains: Switching POVs, eavesdropping, excessive sarcasm, suggestive interlude, cuddles, rambling, declarations. Words: 1.4k

Eddie knocks at the kitchen door. He can see Gareth leaning against the wall with the phone to his ear and a look of amusement on his face. The blonde waves him inside and places a finger to his lips.

Eddie slips inside and closes the door quietly. Gareth beckons him closer and holds out the phone so they can both listen. Curious, Eddie slowly leans in until he hears a man's voice.

"What kind of life do you think a boy like that can provide for you?"

"A happy one," his girl says from another phone, her voice lifeless and bored, like they've been at this for a while.

"He'll amount to nothing, and so will you." Stern. Condescending. This must be the father she avoids like the plague.

"We're both very competitive." There she is, with that impressive deadpan delivery again.

"And think of your children!"

"I'm not due for several months."

Eddie's heart skips a beat, and he looks at Gareth in terror. The drummer ducks his head and shakes with silent giggles.

"I hope you're joking," the man seethes.

"Them free clinic docs don't tell no jokes." Her response is delivered in a heavy accent that sounds a little bit like Wayne's. If Eddie wasn't so confused and terrified by this conversation, he might laugh.

"What's it going to take to make you take this seriously?!"

"A Ferrari oughta do it."

"I should have waited until your mother was home and talked to her instead."

"She prefers Mustangs."

"You are impossible!"

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Eddie can't help but to be impressed by how calm she is. All this relentless badgering, and she just sounds bored. She's probably doodling or flipping through a magazine while she effortlessly irritates her old man.

"No daughter of mine is going to marry a filthy, inbred piece of trailer park trash!"

A silence falls over the whole house. Eddie's not even sure where she is, but he can sense the change in her mood from the kitchen. He and Gareth both hold their breath while they wait for a response.

"Fuckin' watch me," she spits, her voice so full of venom it makes Eddie's hair stand on end. And then she hangs up. The old man yells all the way back to the base, where Gareth hangs the kitchen phone back on the wall.

"Gareth, did you hear this fucking assho…" she trails off as she rounds the corner, stopping when she sees Eddie. It's like storm clouds parting to let the sun shine through when she smiles at him. "Hi."

Eddie is too stunned to say a word. He stands frozen to the spot, no idea how he's supposed to react to this.

"How much of that did you hear?" she asks.

"He came in right before the pregnancy joke," Gareth says proudly, pulling a bag of chips down from the cabinet.

"Awww," she coos, laughter in her voice and a smile on her face; a completely different person than the one he just heard on the phone. "You know that was a joke, right?"

Eddie nods.

"That old man's a joke, too. Fuck him."

Eddie's eyes fall to the kitchen floor, but before he can let his brain replay everything he's just heard, a sharp "hey" makes him jerk his head back up.

"Don't even think about letting your brain run wild with his bullshit," she warns from the doorway. "He doesn't matter. Not even a little bit."

"Tell him why you got The Call," Gareth mumbles through a mouthful of chips, leaning back in his chair at the table. He holds the bag out and offers them to Eddie, who declines with a shake of his head.

She rolls her eyes. "Mom sent my grandma a picture of us at Christmas, and he saw it. He thought my mood ring was an engagement ring."

"And did you correct him?" Gareth grins.

"Oh no," she covers her mouth in mock shock. "Did I forget to mention that?" She drops her hand and laughs.

Eddie stands quietly, not sure he's seeing the humor in this. Her dad already hates him. Knows he's not good enough. How long will it be before the rest of them see it too?

"Hey," she says, softer this time. She crosses the room and stands in front of him. Two of her fingers lift his chin so he has to look at her eyes and not her socks. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

She bops his nose with her finger and gives him that smile she saves just for him. She reaches for his hand, and Eddie feels himself relax; how is it that one touch from the right person can make everything seem like it's going to be okay?

"Come with me," she says quietly, leading him away. He follows, but they both come to a halt when they reach the hallway. She calls back to the kitchen.

"Hey, baby bro?"

"Whaaat?" Gareth whines.

"You should probably put some headphones on for the next half-hour or so." She winks at Eddie and pulls him down the hallway.

They hear an anguished groan and an "I'm fucking moving!" from the kitchen as they enter her bedroom with matching grins.

Twenty-seven minutes later, you and Eddie are pulling enough clothes back on so it won't seem suspicious when your mother comes home. You collapse onto your bed together in t-shirts and unbuttoned jeans, side by side, staring up at the ceiling.

"I love you," you say fondly as you turn your head to admire the beautiful boy beside you. You don't give a damn what anyone says; Eddie Munson is absolutely perfect.

"Yeah?" he asks, looking at you with a dazed smile.

"Yeah," you confirm, happy and sleepy and wishing you had the energy to roll over and smother him with the affection he deserves.

"Love you too," he mumbles, eyelids beginning to droop. He lets out a sigh and then flips himself over so that he's half on top of you. His head rests in the crook of your neck, his leg settles between yours.

"Up," you order, and he lifts his head so you can get your arm around him and hold him closer. He nuzzles into your breast - his favorite pillow - and sighs happily. You wish you could stay like this forever.

You close your eyes and play with his hair, and just as you're about to drift off, Eddie starts rambling.

"I know we haven't really talked about this before, but… uh…" Eddie takes a deep breath and blows out the air slowly. "Is that really something you'd want? To marry me one day?"

Before you can respond, he continues: "Because I know being a Munson of Hawkins isn't anyone's dream. You wouldn't have to take my last name if you didn't want to. I just… I dunno. I love you, and I'm gonna love you forever. If you want to make it official… I mean, we don't have to. But, uh... I'm in if you are."

You wait for a moment, then ask: "You done?"

"Yeah," he sighs. You can feel his face burning through your shirt.

"I thought we weren't really talking about it because it was a given."

"What?" he asks, raising his head to look at you.

"Of course I wanna marry you, dingbat." A nervous smile appears on his face. "And some of the best people I've ever met are Munsons of Hawkins. I'd be honored to become one of them."

"Yeah?" he asks, smile widening and eyes glistening.

"Yeah," you laugh. In what world would you not want to be his forever? You lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. You stare at each other for a moment, and then your lips meet in a tender kiss. When you part, nothing more needs to be said.

Eddie rests his head on your chest again, and you resume playing with his hair. You drift off to thoughts of falling asleep with him, just like this, for the rest of your lives.

Yeah. That's really something you'd want.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

I’m back in my silly nonsense again and I do have a request, if that’s ok, I seriously don’t wanna annoy or stress you out hun but I do have a specific request in mind.

A sadistic yandere doctor x reader

It starts out simple enough like the reader goes in for a simple checkup and there’s a new doctor taking care of them and it escalates from there, every appointment with the new doctor becomes more unnerving and unhinged until escalating to abducting his “patient” and keeping them to himself

I dunno this sounded better in my head and plus you’re more creative than I am😅 I had this lil idea for a while and I’d figure it was worth a shot to ask, thanks for putting up with my silly shenanigans 😅

CW: Abduction, drugging, obsessive yandere, former bully reader, foul language, trypanophobia and mild iatrophobia

I took this ask and fucking R A N

The line between hatred and love is much thinner than one would like to believe.

(Reader) sat stiffly in the waiting room, staring at their phone while scrolling, not paying attention to anything that passed their eyes. Time was not moving fast enough, and it felt like they were about to have a heart attack while waiting for the doctor, fifteen minutes past their scheduled appointment time. They nearly jumped when the nurse finally called their name, not bothering to offer even a polite grin to the nurse as they were led back to get weighed, praying to whatever was listening that their deodorant didn't fail them. Sweat glued their shirt to their back, but (Reader) refused to take off their jacket.

Going to the clinic was always a hassle, and if it wasn't for the pain in their neck that refused to ease up they would have continued to avoid it like the plague. The nurse brought (Reader) back to an empty room, and left them there again, now waiting on a paper sheet that crinkled obnoxiously whenever (Reader) shifted and was ten times colder than they were in the waiting room. (Reader) took a shaky breath and continued to scroll absentmindedly on their phone.

A soft knock at the door was enough to make (Reader) drop their phone, diving for it as a nurse wheeled in a cart. "Hello, dear, how are we today?"

(Reader) popped back up, flushed. "Peachy."

"Lovely." The older woman grabbed a chart and read over (Reader's) information. "I'm going to take a quick little blood sample and get you checked in for Dr. Campbell."

Their face felt cold with how quickly their previous embarrassment faded into fear. Both at the thought of getting their blood drawn, and in confusion at hearing a new name. "Actually, my doctor is Dr. Kowl." (Reader) tried to correct the nurse.

The nurse smiled brightly. "Dr. Campbell is our newest doctor, he'll be taking over for Dr. Kowl when he retires. Can you remove an arm from your jacket please?"

(Reader) slipped their left arm out for the nurse, holding in their breath and averting their eyes while she pulled out a clean needle. Even if they couldn't see it, just knowing that it was getting closer to their arm sent a rush of adrenaline up and down their body so quickly that (Reader) was afraid it would knock them out. They swallowed a lump of snot threatening to choke them, rolling their eyes back to look at the ceiling as they ignored the tiny prick of pain.

"All done."

The sleeve was rolled down before (Reader) turned their head, a tight grimace plastered on their face. "Great."

"Dr. Campbell will be with you shortly." The nurse's demeanor was warm, but (Reader) couldn't feel it past the cold crispness of her scrubs. Clinic doctors weren't as bad as hospital or ER doctors, but they still were not pleasant to be around.

• 17 years ago •

A chubby boy with dark curly hair obscuring his eyes nervously watched (Reader) from afar, working up the courage to go speak to them. (Reader) had a bruise on their neck, partially hidden by their hoodie, and the young man was worried for the stranger in his high school. Tugging on his baggy shirt awkwardly while shuffling his feet, he made his way to the sad looking teen, struggling not to lose his nerve. "Hey.." he struggled not to stutter. "I was just, uh, wondering if everything was.. okay?"

The look of loneliness and emptiness on (Reader's) face was gone so fast that the boy thought he imagined it, now only seeing disgust and rage.

"The fuck you just say?"

• Present •

A young doctor with wavy brown hair stepped into the room, his downward turned eyes widening every so slightly, a bright, welcoming smile contrasting his surprised gaze, as he entered (Reader's) view. (Reader) was equally shocked, taken back by how handsome their new doctor was. "How are we feeling today?"

Hearing that typical doctor's greeting paled (Reader's) complexion, reminding them that no matter how hot this man might be, he was still a doctor. "I, uh, got a pain. It won't go away."

Dr. Campbell nodded, gently touching (Reader's) jaw as he tilted their head, watching their face carefully as they grimaced at certain angles. "Have we already taken X-rays?"

"Yeah, there's nothing wrong. Urgent care said it was a pulled muscle, I'm just here for a follow up." (Reader) noted how the new doctor searched their eyes uncomfortably; it was as though he was looking for something specific. "Is there something wrong?"

The doctor removed his hands, smiling again, but this time the smile seemed disingenuous, almost melancholy. "I'm sorry, I just.. you look like someone that I used to know." His jaw clenched under his smile. Dr. Campbell swiveled away, rolling to the computer and tapping on the keyboard for a couple of minutes before clicking his tongue. "I'm sorry, (Reader), but it looks like something went wrong with the blood sample we just took. Can you roll up your sleeve for me so I can get a new sample?" He asked while already reaching into his drawer, grabbing a fresh syringe and three vials.

(Reader) sighed, frustration displayed openly on their features. "Really?.."

• 17 years ago •

"Cry, bitch!" (Reader) snarled, kicking the new kid in his ribs. His only real crime was not knowing that, despite the lack of piercings, (Reader) was practically the leader for the high school's most notorious delinquents. The only reason (Reader) hadn't been expelled was because their grades never dropped below an A-, and the school prioritized their placement as the second best school in the country over a few accusations of harassment.

"Hey (Reader), who's your new friend?" Nate asked while sauntering over with the rest of (Reader's) friends.

"Dunno. Hey new kid," (Reader) bent down, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair and yanking his head up, "what's your name?"

The kid could barely speak through his sobbing. ".. Ichabod."

"HA! What kind of name is that?!" Lily cackled hysterically.

"From now on, I think you're going to be my new best friend.. ain't that right, pussy?"

His dark brown eyes couldn't help but fixate on (Reader's) neck as they glared down at him, the bruise shaped like fingers was so dark that in the lighting it looked like it was bleeding. "Well, that's the worse fucking name I've ever heard in my life. No wonder you're such a pussy.

• Present •

"I'm here for Dr. Campbell? I have a twelve-thirty about some blood results?" (Reader) grumpily muttered, pissed that they had to be back at the clinic only a week after their last appointment. Hearing Campbell's name, one of the receptionists smiled, fluttering her lashes and biting her lip subtly.

Her colleague saw her reaction and made a noise of approval. "That new doctor, he's quite the charmer, isn't he?"

"Stop!" The younger woman smiled harder, rolling her eyes. The whole thing made (Reader) grossed out. Yeah, the man was cute, but not when you're on the job. "Besides, he's.. unavailable."

"What? I didn't see a ring on his finger."

'They have forgotten me.' (Reader) puffed out their cheeks and patted their sides loudly, hoping the two medical professionals would get the hint and just sign them in.

"Apparently, he only became a doctor because of his highschool sweetheart. He said he had somebody whose 'attention' he 'wanted'." She sighed dreamily. (Reader) sighed also, but only out of frustration.

"Hey." (Reader) snapped, embarrassing the two receptionists as they looked to (Reader), mouths open like (Reader) was an apparition. "Twelve thirty. (Reader). Is there any paperwork I need to fill out?"

"Sorry! No-"

"Great." (Reader) interrupted the lady, heading over to the horribly uncomfortable chairs a few feet away. However, nearly as soon as (Reader's) butt touched the seat their name was called out, startling them on the speed.

They raised their eyebrows but didn't complain, heading back past the smiling nurses with disdain.

Dr. Campbell met (Reader) in the hall, sneaking up behind them. "Not big on smiling, huh?" The tall man grinned, feeling immense joy at the way (Reader's) face blanched and their muscles tensed.

"I'll smile for some good news." (Reader) forced a smile onto their face, the faux sign of friendliness not reaching their eyes.

He held out a hand as if to say 'after you', directing (Reader) to an open door.

• 16 years ago •

Ichabod couldn't look away from (Reader), studying their shaky visage as (Reader) barely held themselves together, teetering in the corner of the dirty basement. It was interesting, the first real emotion Ichabod had ever detected from (Reader) besides disgust.

Fear.

The group of 'friends' all drunkenly sat around Lily's older brother while he tattooed the minors in his dingy home. (Reader) was trying their hardest not to barf as the gun entered their friend's skin rhythmically.

"(Reader), check it out!" The dumbass child held up his arm, proudly displaying a jagged dog. "What'd ya think?"

"It looks like shit." (Reader) spat. The horror was masked by their hatred, fooling everyone except Ichabod. He stared a little too hard, finally drawing the attention of (Reader).

(Reader) could see by the look in Ichabod's eye that he saw their dirty little secret. Rage buzzed throughout (Reader's) body. "Why don't you give one to the pussy?"

Gasping, Ichabod went weak, experiencing something close to betrayal. He never felt an ounce of companionship from his 'best friend' but he was always looking for something from (Reader), he just couldn't understand what. Nate jumped up, launching towards the group's punching bag with sadistic glee.

(Reader) went blank, as they often did, showing neither pleasure nor anger as their friends closed in on Ichabod. "What about it? Since you're not fighting back, I take it that means you want one?" They paused, almost hoping for a reaction other than fright. But Ichabod was frozen, pleading (Reader) with his large teary eyes.

• Present •

"Fine. Hey Marty, why don't you write-"

"This better be the last time." (Reader) finally opened their eyes, too blinded by their phobia to question why their doctor's face was pink; why his large eyes were half lidded; and why he was smiling at them like they were the most attractive person he's ever seen in his life.

Dr. Campbell shuttered, eyes glazing over as he watched (Reader's) face contort, sweat beading on their forehead as the needle pierced their arm. (Reader) was so focused on not crying that they had no clue the look their new doctor was giving them. Being able to see this side to (Reader) was a privilege, one reserved for best friends.

"This should be the last test." His voice which usually oozed like honey quivered oddly, tickling a memory (Reader) couldn't quite recollect.

"Yeah, well, bit aggravating that both times I've gotten my blood drawn, something went wrong and it needed to be taken again." They pulled on their jacket with a huff. "Arm's beginning to look like a junkie's."

"Well, I do apologize for that. You can schedule your next appointment at the front desk. Your results will be in by next Thursday, we'll discuss them together then."

"Great." (Reader) left the room as quickly as possible, the agitation felt from being trapped in a doctor's office trumping how woozy they were. The nervous adult left the doctor behind, unaware of his erection hidden under his clip board. Dr. Campbell pocketed the blood sample, casually readjusting his pants through his pocket as he did so.

His smirk faded into something haunting, something damn near evil. "Last appointment, huh?" The doctor couldn't help but roll up his sleeve, his hard on becoming almost painful in the position he was sitting. A faded blue ink tattoo fuzzy with age and poor in quality marred his arm like a beautiful blemish.

• 15 years ago •

Cigarette smoke drifted up towards the gloomy clouds, the senior leaning against the fence that separated student and faculty parking lit a new cigarette as soon as the last one finished. Ichabod recognized (Reader) from behind, and found himself incapable of running and hiding, pulled in to his tormentor's side against his will. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of (Reader's) face, one eye completely swollen shut and their skin dark purple. Their one good eye stared at nothing, unblinking and dead.

(Reader) didn't look at Ichabod, knowing there was only one person dumb enough to approach them when they looked like this. No matter how hard they pushed him, he never stopped looking at them with that pitiful sentimentality. "Don't hang out with us at lunch today." Nate failed another history exam, and would be looking for someone to take his anger out on. (Reader) didn't know why they were sparing such a little bitch from getting his ass beat. Maybe they were just bored of him.

Ichabod flinched like he had just been hit, trying to will (Reader) to look at him, to explain themselves.

"Actually.. I'm done with you." They finished off their cancer stick, and dropped it into the gravel. "Stop hanging out with us."

"Why?" It was the only thing he could force himself to say.

(Reader) wondered why themselves. Would a therapist have been able to understand? See past their anger, their disgust? The only reason why (Reader) started bullying Ichabod was because he was new, and no one told him that (Reader) wasn't worth his sympathy. They knew he saw it, the bruise on their neck, and they could see it in his stupid face. And it pissed them off. Everyone knew-

(Reader) wasn't someone to pity.

Watery eyes threatening to overflow shook under the force of his tumultuous feelings as the baby faced young man got in (Reader's) line of sight. Even getting decked would be better than being ignored. But there was nothing in (Reader's) eye. He was invisible to them. "I hate pussies."

• Present •

"So, just a pulled muscle?" (Reader) grimaced, raising their hands in annoyance.

Dr. Campbell smiled, showing off all his pearly white teeth. "Thank God it wasn't something more serious."

"Great." Slapping their knees, (Reader) stood, ready to leave and hoping to never come back again. However, their body was stopped at the door by a strong hand gripping their wrist painfully, a deep scarlet staining Dr. Campbell's face and what was visible of his neck. "What?"

"Have we met before?" His face was smiling but his voice was on the verge of cracking.

"Yeah. Three weeks ago. When I first came in."

Long eyelashes nearly pushed his glasses off his nose. The doctor had (Reader) trapped in his arms at this point. "Are you sure? Are you sure I don't look familiar?"

The rising feeling of anxiety quickly morphed into anger, just as it always did, just like when they were a little kid. It took every ounce of self control they had to not knee the new doctor in the nuts. "Am I supposed to?!" (Reader) raised their voice, clenching their fists, feeling their entire body tense as it prepared to fight.

A laugh escaped him, jerking uncontrollably as he felt himself nearly cum just from seeing the old (Reader) trapped in his arms, unable to escape him, knowing that they were just masking their fear, just like that day in the basement all those years ago. "Thank you.." The look in his misty eyes grossed (Reader) out. "Thank you for not changing."

• 15 years ago •

"What?" Ichabod asked in disbelief. The office attendant spoke clearly but her words just didn't make sense.

(Reader) had been missing for nearly a month before Ichabod had the courage to ask anyone where they went. His tan skin had already begun to heal, the bruises left by (Reader's) shoes and the cuts left from their punches had faded. The only memory he had left of them was the tattoo on his arm he kept covered up. If he ever wore a short sleeve shirt it would be over, the pain would end, but he would also never see (Reader) again, and he couldn't have that.

"(Reader) doesn't go here anymore, sweetheart. They got their G.E.D so they could graduate early. One smart cookie, that one."

'But that's impossible.' Ichabod thought to himself. He knew (Reader), knew them better than anyone else. He was special. There was no way he couldn't have known about this. He was closer to (Reader) than their piece of shit friends, and that's why (Reader) hurt him! Deep down Ichabod just knew that (Reader) only hurt him because he could see them for who they were. No one else knew how scared (Reader) was. No one else cared about (Reader's) home life. Only he did.

Only Ichabod knew how terrified (Reader) was of needles.

Through the tears and spit, hiding his body from his parents so they wouldn't know what was happening at school, lying to teachers when they voiced their concerns about potential bullying, Ichabod had convinced himself that what he and (Reader) had was special. Because only he saw how scared they were. He told himself that it wasn't because no one else cared about the "future criminal", but because he was special to (Reader), and only he was allowed to see them vulnerable. That was a privilege for best friends only.

'Was it because I didn't give them enough attention?'

He walked through the hallway without a limp, without a hunched back, just like a normal student. It disgusted him. The walls were plastered with students' artwork, motivational posters, and recruitment ads. A smiling man in a white lab coat caught Ichabod's attention, pulling him out of his dark emptiness and showing him the solution to his problem.

"I'll make you see me."

• Present •

"Stupid son of a bitch!" (Reader) moved at a fast pace through the parking garage, nearly jogging to their truck. They had been doing so well, such a good job, but one moment in a stranger's arms and their mind was invaded by a voice they hadn't thought about in almost a year.

Their mother's words tumbled from their lips as they fished for their keys, shaking with apprehension disgust. "Fucking coward, fucking pussy, goddamnit, good for nothing-"

The old familiar tingling of adrenaline, the need to punch something.

Reaching their truck didn't provide any relief. The keys they were searching for kept evading their fingers as though they had a mind of their own. In the black of their tinted window another figure approached their reflection. (Reader) angrily whipped around, ready to start swinging. Behind them stood Dr. Campbell, wearing a baby blue short sleeved polo tucked into a pair of black slacks. The collared shirt exposed his muscular arms and accentuated his broad shoulders. He would have been so attractive if (Reader) didn't know what he looked like in a lab coat.

"I'm glad I caught you! I didn't have a chance to apologize in there, you rushed off before I could explain myself."

"Don't make up excuses for being a pervert." (Reader) snarled, ready to lash out like a cornered animal. They still couldn't feel the keys in their pocket.

The man smiled so sweetly at (Reader) that it made them want to bite him. "It really hurt my feelings. I thought that maybe you just didn't remember me." His eyes looked down at his feet, but he wasn't an actor, and (Reader) could see plainly that there wasn't a drop of sadness in the man before them. "But I guess.. I do look different than I did back in highschool."

His right hand reached out towards (Reader) to caress their cheek. They almost smacked him away, but a small, shitty tattoo on his arm drained them of their blood faster than a gun shot wound, feeling their bravado leak out of them so quickly that they didn't have time to remember to be pissed.

(READER'S) BITCH

Before they could recover and throw the first punch the hand clamped over their mouth, and a needle was revealed from behind his back in the other hand.

They struggled, but Ichabod hadn't spent his years in med school working out to impress (Reader). Eyes wide with horror watched the needle approach their neck helplessly, and Ichabod could almost cry at the beautiful sight before him. The fear that only he was able to see, only he was allowed to experience, God he could have fucked them right there and then, but he controlled himself. This had all been planned out, and he couldn't fuck it up just because (Reader) was shaking beneath him so cutely.

The needle went into their neck, injecting a drug to knock them out for a few hours. (Reader) screamed silently into his palm, and he watched as they recognized the adoration in his eyes with terror. (Reader's) keys were pulled out from Ichabod's back pocket, dangling teasingly in front of (Reader's) face as they went limp. "You said you hated pussies." His smile was mocking as (Reader) went dark, unable to stay awake. There was so much they wanted to say. They wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. To tell him he wasn't a pussy, that they were never speaking to him when they called him that.

They didn't understand why he looked down at them so kindly. (Reader) hoped that if he killed them it would be a swift death. They felt that they deserved it after all this time.

What he had in store for them was much, much worse than death.

[avelera]

Just had a thought: what if, Hob's fear response is absolutely fucked since gaining immortality? Like he's not afraid of literally anything as long as he doesn't die?

Think about it, he's from the 1300s. His parent's generation saw 50% of the world die in the worst human mortality event the world has possibly seen to this day. Death truly is the ultimate horror to Hob. More than pain, more than famine, more than plague, or losing other people because the people who raised Hob, the previous generation had to soldier on after losing 50% of everyone they knew or more (up to 90% in some places, specifically small impoverished villages like the kind Hob would have grown up in). Those that made it had to find a reason to live again despite losing everything and possibly everyone because the whole world did and Hob is from the first generation after that. He would have grown up learning that there is life after suffering! That if you can just avoid being part of the 50% of the world that died horrifically, you're winning! To Hob, there literally is no fate worse than death. If you can just keep going, things will eventually work out.

This is completely baffling to Dream who, as King of Nightmares, literally exists in the space of, "There are worse things than death." Such as The Horrors. His kindest sibling is Death. He's clinically depressed. Dream is not afraid of death.

This makes Hob absolutely incomprehensible to Dream. And I, for one, am absolutely here for that clash of worldviews.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 41

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

As the cold grip of winter finally released its hold on Velaris, the city bloomed with vibrant colors and new life. Two months had passed by in a blur for you, filled with countless projects and community growth initiatives. Your first group home for struggling parents and their children had officially opened, and it was met with resounding success. The pride that shone from Azriel's eyes as he stood by your side at the grand opening was palpable.

Working closely with Titania, you continued to build relationships between yourself and other pleasure makers who were hesitant to come out of the shadows and seek help. You delved deeper into the underbelly of Velaris, learning about the social pressure that kept pleasure houses sequestered in the darker parts of the city. Even healers refused to see them, dismissing them as unworthy patients. But with your determination and aid, a low-income health clinic was established within one of the homes you built. It became a vital resource for pleasure makers to receive personal healthcare and get their children checked up during their early years.

Everything was thriving - your projects, your community, and most importantly, yourself. Your mate remained quiet as always, but you felt content in your life. Though you still avoided large court events out of fear of seeing Philip, whom you refused to acknowledge as your father, you continued to hold meetings with High Lords to build their own resilience within their territories.

As Nesta's pregnancy progressed, her body swelled with the changes. She was plagued by early pregnancy symptoms: every part of her seemed to be inflamed, she couldn't even fathom the thought of food without feeling nauseous, and she was constantly exhausted. But despite all of this, there was a newfound brightness and happiness emanating from her. Her skin glowed with a radiance, her hair shone like spun silk, and her mood had improved greatly. In the midst of all this, you made it a point to set aside one day each week to spend the entire day with her. Cassian, on the other hand, pleaded with her to stop training with the Valkyries. This led to a heated argument that resulted in Cassian sleeping on the couch of the townhouse. However, as Nesta's baby bump grew more prominent and her usual training leathers no longer fit comfortably, not to mention the rising temperatures in the training ring, she began spending more time sitting on the sidelines and helping young females with their centering and breathing techniques.

—

Nesta stood next to you, her shoulders slumped in frustration as she stared at the wall. It was split down the middle, with two shades of green that were barely distinguishable from each other. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips, her long fingers tapping impatiently as she sucked her lip between her teeth.

"So," you began, studying the two shades of green before you. "What did you need my opinion on?"

She gestured towards the wall, her index finger hovering between the two shades. "Which one?"

You glanced at her and then back at the wall, trying to discern the difference between the two shades. "Which color?"

Nesta let out a frustrated sigh, taking a step closer to the wall. With a flourish of her hand, she pointed to one side. "Sage green?" Her finger then slid over to the other side. "Or Brush green?"

You furrowed your own brow, trying to make a decision based on such subtle variations. Nesta's fuse was getting shorter by the second, and you knew your response needed to be quick. "I think the sage looks nice," you replied tentatively, mustering up a small smile.

Nesta stepped back to survey both shades again. "Are you sure?" she asked with doubt lacing her voice.

You nodded, but without much confidence behind it. Suddenly, the entire wall shifted and transformed into just one shade of green, thought if she asked you if the color was sage or brush you wouldn’t have been able to tell. Nesta looked back at you, running her tongue over her teeth as she considered the new look.

"You don't think it's too green?" she asked, eyes searching your face for an answer.

You struggled to form an answer. To be honest, green was just...green to you. The subtle differences in shades didn't seem all that significant in this moment. "I don't think so," you offered tentatively.

Nesta didn't even spare you a glance as she considered your words. Your opinion held little weight in her mind, and you were well aware of that fact. Her own opinions were firmly solidified and what she really needed was someone to validate them.

"I think I hate it," she declared, her decision final. "Let's try the cream again." And with that, the house washed over the wall once more, painting it a light cream color for Nesta to scrutinize once again.

With a sigh, you spun on your heel and made your way over to the rocking chair that Cassian and Azriel had spent the last two hours putting together. Despite their efforts, there were still some doubts in your mind about the stability of the chair, especially since Azriel had pointed out that they had initially put the legs on backwards and had to redo their work. And if that wasn't enough, you were pretty sure the armrests were also attached the wrong way. You kept this thought to yourself, knowing how hard they had worked on it.

Nesta took a few cautious steps back, her hand resting gently on her swollen stomach. She closed her eyes and let out a small moan, her fingers grazing over the soft knit of her cream-colored sweater. With her other hand, she rubbed her lower back in search of relief from the pain that typically lingered in her body now.

"I also like the cream color," you chimed in, pulling your legs up onto the rocker with you. You reached for a blanket that was sitting nearby, admiring the delicate embroidered flowers that adorned it. You knew it was Elain's handiwork - she always seemed to have a new hobby she was mastering. As you let your fingers trace over the pinks and greens of the design, you couldn't help but wonder if someday she would make an embroidered blanket for your own babe.

Nesta's frustrated groan snapped you out of your daydreaming as she turned towards you. "None of it looks right," she complained, gesturing towards the various swatches of fabric and paint samples scattered around the room. "The green clashes with everything, the cream is too plain, and there’s no way the blue works in this room." You weren't entirely sure what she meant by a color "working", but you nodded along in agreement nonetheless.

Her gaze drifted towards the wooden box sitting in the corner as she let out a loud grumbling groan, "Cassian was supposed to build the crib this morning before he left." You craned your neck to look at the large wooden crate adorned with a crudely drawn image of a crib.

"I can do it," you offered, turning back to Nesta who was now staring at the wall.

She waved a dismissive hand, "No, no," she insisted. "Cassian made a promise and I intend to hold him to it."

You couldn't help but smile and bite your lip to suppress a laugh. You knew that Cassian was in for a tongue-lashing when he returned home, but you suspected that he and Azriel were most likely hiding somewhere in the War Camps or deep in the woods. You remembered Cassian admitting to you at a family dinner once that he would rather be covered in mud and shit than face Nesta's wrath.

In a calmer, more soft voice, you offered, “It’s all going to look great, Nesta.”

Nesta's hands instinctively went to her belly, cradling it protectively. She let out a deep sigh before sitting down on a nearby wooden crate with a drawing of a changing table on it. Her face fell into her hands, her fingers tangling in her disheveled hair. You could see the exhaustion and stress etched on her face as you folded up the baby blanket and set it aside.

"Is it just about the nursery?" Your question hung in the air as Nesta turned away from you, staring at the paint-splattered ceiling. You folded up a soft blanket and placed it next to you on the side table, trying to catch Nesta's gaze.

But she seemed lost in her own thoughts, detached from reality. "I don't want to assume anything," you said softly, "but I need to know if this is really about paint colors or if there's something else bothering you."

Nesta's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, the weight of her thoughts causing a heavy silence to fill the room. "I just want everything to go well," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Want what to go well?”

"I want this pregnancy to go well. I want our baby to be healthy. I want to be healthy." She placed a hand on her stomach and let out a bitter laugh. "I never cared about any of this before. Paint swatches, burp cloths. But now, it's all I can think about."

You had figured as much. As much as she tried to play it off as hormones and nesting, you and Nesta both knew that all of this stress was about something more, something deeper.

"It's going to be okay," you reassured her. "Your baby will be fine."

Nesta nodded, but you could tell she didn't truly believe it. Her eyes flickered down to her stomach, where her precious bundle was safely nestled. "I know," she said, but there was no conviction in her words.

"You're still nervous," I finished her sentence for her.

Immediately, Nesta shook her head, as if trying to deny it. But her shaky denial only confirmed my suspicions. Her lip trembled as she bit into it.

“Hey,” you offered her, “It’s okay to be scared.” You stood, walking over to her, your feet crinkling sheet on the floor Nesta had insisted Feyre lay down when she painted the closet door. You came to crouch in front of her, your hands taking her own as you tried to catch her downturned gaze. "No one expects you to have everything figured out right now."

Nesta’s grey eyes met yours and you could see the slight tears building on her lower lid.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked gently. "What's on your mind?"

After a moment of hesitation, Nesta sniffled and opened up. "I'm afraid of losing them," she admitted, tears now falling freely down her cheeks. "I'm afraid of what will happen after they're born. I'm afraid that I won't be a good mother, or even a decent one." You listened quietly as Nesta's fears poured out. Her doubts and insecurities about motherhood, about the baby, about herself. "I don't want them to hate me," she sobbed, clutching at her stomach. "And I'm scared that all are going to look at me and think I’m just like my mother."

You gave Nesta the space to mutter out her incoherent inner thoughts, all of them crashing out one after the other as she heaved out sob after sob. All you did was nod, hold her hand, and hold that space with her.

Eventually, she looked up at you with tear-stained eyes.

"That must be really hard," you said softly, squeezing her hand gently. "I wish I could take away your fears."

Nesta sniffled and chuckled. "Yeah, me too."

"Let me tell you something," you said firmly, holding her gaze. "You are going to be an amazing mother. And you know how I know that?" Nesta's lips quirked into a small smile despite the tears still lingering on her cheeks.

"Why?" she asked softly.

“Because you’re worried about it now.” Nesta laughed lightly as she glanced down to the floor. “Terrible mothers don’t worry if their children will hate them, or if people will judge them for how they parent.” You laughed, “And I also know that this baby is going to be so incredibly loved by you and Cassian, and all of us. Because you’ve worked so hard to bring them into the world, that you won’t be able to do anything but shower them with more love than their little heart can take.”

You met her gaze again as she smiled, her lip trembling. “You’re going to cheer them on when they succeed, and hold them when they’re sad, and you’re going to teach them how to breath through their fears and face them.” You squeezed her hand tenderly. “And Cassian,” you shrugged, “He'll probably be the reason they come home with a few bruises or scrapes, but he'll also be the reason they never back down from a challenge. They'll learn to laugh in the face of fear because they know their mom and dad will always have their backs."

You couldn't help but smile as you looked down at her growing belly. "This little one already has so much love surrounding them," you said, squeezing her hand. "And they'll know even more love from you because you are going to be an amazing mother." As Nesta wiped away her tears as you continued, "You'll never be like your own mother, I promise. You've experienced firsthand the pain of growing up with her and you will use that knowledge to be the best mother possible for your baby." Your voice softened, "That's not to say there won't be mistakes. You might get frustrated and raise your voice, or say things you don't mean. But most importantly, Nesta, you would never hurt them. Never ever." You locked eyes with her as she nodded, with more confidence than she had before.

"You're going to be a fantastic mom, and you have a whole family who believes in you," Nesta sniffled and nodded, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve.

"And if Feyre can handle being a mom, then surely you can too," you teased, earning a genuine laugh from Nesta.

"Hey now, I'm just stating facts," you shrugged playfully. "But let's be real, there's no way your little sister could out-mom you," you joked as the two of you laughed together. The two of you sat there for a moment, giggling with one another, hands clasped together until you settled back on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling. "Oh, by the way," you broke the silence, "I have no idea what color would look good in here, but I do know this ceiling color reminds me of something that comes out of a baby."

Nesta's glorious laughter that echoed throughout the room and probably down the entire mountain to Velaris.

Readers, just made myself vomit with that, good god that was sappy:

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @that-one-bibliophole

@weepingwerewolf @caninnes  @loglady00 @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2

[soullessseraphim]

what does Liam think of the arcana m6? (and courtiers if you want)

HmmmMMMMMM !!!

What Liam thinks of the main 6 + courtiers !

🐦‍⬛Julian : Hell yeah. Really happy to have someone to be a lil funky with ; loves him very much. They both have theatrical personalities, Julian noticed that about Liam back during the Plague : the way he'd stroll around the clinic and hoping from one patient to another, waltzing over to Valdemar to ask them something... It had charmed him back then and even after. Liam is very keen on helping out Julian and spend time with him, doesn't exactly see his life without him.

🐐Lucio : Hell nah. Too prideful, too condescending... Will absolutely adore gossiping about him, talk shit behind his back, in good faith (unless Lucio does something that genuinely pisses him off, then Lucio get spooked a few times).

🐺Muriel : thinks he looks like a gentle giant (is absolutely right). He's pretty hurt at how avoidant he is. With his issues about belonging he takes the initial rejection and avoidance on Muriel’s part to heart a lot.

🐍Asra : Very mixed feelings. On one hand, he is aware that they had a story together before the Plague and everything, but... He doesn't have any feelings towards them anymore, and the way Asra still cares for him makes him uncomfortable. Doesn’t want to talk about it to others to not be labeled as selfish.

🦉Nadia : unironically calls her ma'am, miss, madam. Very impressed by her and her natural authority. Very quiet around her and almost timid. Considered becoming a courtier just so he could display he was working under her orders (totally not because he wants to be besties with the courtiers too nooooo haha).

🐱Portia : EEEEK PLANT FRIEND. Likes to spend time with her once in a while to stay in the cottage and tend to her garden, although she doesn't trust him with bringing in new flower specimens since he told her about that one variety which only grows over dead bodies...

🪱Vlastomil : Would hang around him more if he just... Didn't talk about worms so much. Sure, it’s interesting, but... Once you've gone around the whole of the subject well uh... The problem is Vlastomil won’t talk about anything else.

🐏Valerius : off-brand Lucio? No thank you. Nice hair though. Nice taste in wine. But he CANNOT handle his attitude. Has had to refrain from chaining him somewhere a few times.

🪲Vulgora : Initially scared of them at first, but over time, started quietly laughing at their antics, and would even join in with their banter, making them laugh loudly too. Decline all their offers of sparring ; once they were so insistent he had to show off one of his spells (necrotic touch - he made a couple of flowers wilt in his hands) to convince them not to. The added danger of potentially getting seriously hurt in a spar with Liam only fueled their desire to fight more, much to the necromancer’s despair.

🐦Volta : He finds her too clingy, but very sweet. Would hang around her more if she weren’t so touchy, but he loves talking with her, she's a great conversationalist.

🩻Valdemar : FRIEND. FRIEND. FRIIIIEEEENNNND 🗣🗣🗣💥💥💥💥‼️‼️‼️ (need I say more)

[florencetypemaniacs]

I had no idea this was a Tumblr classic but I'll give it my best shot.

💙 ROSEMARY

Rosemary's eyes caught the mark right as you walked through the door, and she felt all the air leave her lungs. 

What did I suspect? MC is amazing; of course, they found someone. 

Rosemary bit her lip and turned away from the room. She walked out the door, the sound of her steps grounding her. 

She swallowed her disappointment and sadness. Rosemary felt her heart clench as her thoughts ran to someone touching you. feeling your warmth and how she longed for that to be her, but it was too late. She would just have to accept that. 

I shouldn't even be upset. We aren't together, even if I thought maybe—never mind all that. It was a stupid dream. MC deserves someone good and whole. Someone alive. Not broken and dead. 

Rosemary let out a shaky breath, trying to keep his voice out of her head. 

Who could truly ever love someone as useless as you? 

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Rosemary!" 

Your voice rang out in the room like a bell, and Rosemary froze before putting on a fake smile that she was used to wearing. 

"What can I do for you, dollface/angelface/handsome?" 

Your hand reached to your neck, rubbing it, and Rosemary spotted another hickey. 

Her heart clenched as she stared out the window that you were both looking through, wishing to the stairs for this painful feeling to go away. 

"How are you not covered in these things?" You asked, and Rosemary snapped her head towards to look to see you pointing a finger at your love bite. 

Rosemary stayed very still, keeping her composure; however, inside, she was having a mental battle. 

Is MC asking me why I'm not covered in love bites? 

Rosemary gripped the side of her dress; it was all so cruel. Were you gloating or just asking an innocent question? 

With pursued lips, Rosemary spoke. "I suppose I am not that lucky; a lady gets tired of bothersome affection." She did not mean for the words to come out with so much acid, but they did, and there was no taking it back now. 

You look a little befuddled. "What does being a lady have to do with bug bites?" 

Rosemary's mind comes to a stop at the mention of bug bites. "Excuse me?" 

You point your finger at your mark again. "What does having to be a lady have to do with bug bites?" 

Is it a bug bite? 

Rosemary felt her heart leap and reached towards you to... Hug you? Confess? Kiss you? 

She didn't have a chance to do any of that, as your aunt Zinnia called for you, making you turn away from her. 

"Coming!" You yelled down the stairs and then turned towards Rosemary. "I'll talk to you later, Rosemary!"

Rosemary was left fanning her face with her hand and thanking the stars. 

🩵 TAI

You were in his clinic, giving him a delivery, when he saw it. Tai would have been able to do his witty banter, but with his attention on your mark, he was quite lacking.

Is that a hickey? 

Tai blinked back out of his thoughts when you reached out for him, questioning if everything was alright. 

"Tai? Are you okay? You just kind of zoned out."

Tai snatched his arm back from your touch as if he were burned, earning him a concerned look from you. 

I'm so damn foolish. 

Tai knows it was illogical, but he felt anger build inside him, and even in that moment, he knew it wasn't directed at you but at himself for letting his infatuation for you get out of hand. 

Although he had to let that anger out, you were right there, parading your lover's mark right in front of him. 

"Oh, in a rush? Sorry that this is such a hassle for you; maybe it would be best for you to leave." 

Before you could even utter a sentence, he had already shut the door in your face, not listening to your shouts from the other side, and soon they seemed to disappear. 

I am a complete fool. 

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Tai avoided you like the plague, but even though you were miles away from him, he still couldn't get you out of his head, no matter what he tried. 

Tai grimaced as you walked into the door of his clinic, his eyes trying to scan you, when he noticed another love bite on your neck. 

"What do you want, Oleander?" Tai said in a dead tone, which you seemed not to notice as you touched your neck, seemingly distracted. 

Another hickey? Oh, I'm sure MC has a lot on their mind. 

"Uh, I don't know if you can even help me, but..." You began to feel a little embarrassed, and Tai just gave you an unblinking look, his face as blank as always. "Can you give me a prescription for some kind of itching medication? This bug bite is killing me." 

Tai doesn't blink; his eyes trained on the "hickey," and he narrowed his eyes. "Bug bite?" Tai crossed his arms, not ready to believe this excuse that you were making up. "You were bitten by a mosquito on your neck?" 

Completely missing Tai's skeptical tone, you nodded your head, leaning against the counter and absently scratching an itch. "I know, right? Our bugzapper broke, and the one Aunt Zinnia bought online isn't here yet." 

Now that Tai was getting a better look at it, it did look a lot like a bug bite. He uncrossed his arm and said it in a softer tone. "Peppermint. Mosquitos hate peppermint." 

You perked up. "Really? I think Aunt Zinnia has some peppermint oil! Thanks, doc!" You start to hurry out the door a little pep in your step. 

Tai just stood there processing what happened, and his chest filled up with relief.

💛 MARCEL

The moment Marcel saw the mark, he felt a pit in his stomach start to form, although a smile was still on his face, and you were none the wiser as you talked.

I'm jumping to conclusions. MC wouldn't: But the more he stared at the mark on your neck, the more the smile would start to slip, making you question it.

"Marcel, are you okay?"

Marcel's head snapped up, and the smile was back in place. "I'm just feeling a little under the weather."

Before you could say anything, Marcel was walking briskly out the door, his thoughts racing as he closed the door to a private area behind him, falling to the floor.

Stop. MC already has someone. No use getting upset over it; they are happy, so I should be happy for them. I could make myself happy for MC. 

Marcel bit his lip, got off the floor, and went over to the mirror, making himself smile as he said it in a cracked, fake, happy voice.

"Hey MC!"

Needs work, but I can pretend to be happy until I am.

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"Hey, Marcel!" You called from your bedroom. and Marcel cringed a little as he slowly made his way towards your bedroom, putting a smile on his face as he walked to the door.

Be happy. Be happy. Be happy.

''Yes, MC? Is there something I can do for you?"

Marcel asked, praising himself when his voice didn't come out in a desperate sob but rather in a charming tone.

You tried to hit one of the mosquitoes on the desk with your hand, and even though it was quite gross, the anger you felt for those little bastards was greater. 

"Can you go get me a fly swatter?

''Ah, do you have pesky bugs that need attending to?" Marcel asked, his eyes gleaming as he watched you try to kill another bug on your lap. The action looked more like an intrepid dance than killing a bug.

You gave him a look. A look only you could give him, and he cursed himself for those eyes, still making his knees weak.

MC is with someone. MC is with someone. Someone who isn't you.

"You have no idea! They made me a buffet last night." You pointed to your neck where the "hickey" was, and Marcel's eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Those are bug bites?" Marcel asked slowly, hope bubbling in his chest.

You gave him a weird look. "Uh, yeah, what did you think they were?"

Marcel started to laugh, the hope just spilling out of him in a gasp of breath that left you asking questions that Marcel couldn't answer at the moment.

I guess I was jumping to conclusions.

❤️ OWEN

Owen was so sure you were serious that it wasn't a game, but...maybe he just let the feeling clouded his judgment.

Owen tried to look anywhere but the new asseroery on your neck but it was hard as he bit his tongue. He just wanted to know why you changed your mind, if it was all a game, or maybe you just met someone better. It was a high possibility and with the mark on your neck.

Oh God, Agate was going to have a field day with this.

You looked at Owen across the table, In concern a teacup in your hand. "You alright Owen? You grip that tea cup any harder and it might break."

Just leave it alone. Just leave it alone.

"So ye found someone to keep your bed warm at night?" Owen asked, his tone usually softer.

You raised an eyebrow in confusion to ask him who or what he was referring to before he cut you off.

"I'm just guessing from that-" Owen said, pointing towards your "hickey."

Just leave it alone. They are probably happier. Hell, if the mark is any indication, they are fine, but....if I just had another chance to prove...

"I just want you to know there is someone else out there too.....if you would have them."

Owen's gaze remained fixed on yours, and he was aware that he wasn't being particularly passive, but that wasn't his style to begin with. But even he understood it was too perilous to give out a full confession, so he opted for the word "someone" rather than himself.

Please let me be that someone.

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"Owen?" 

"Yes?" Owen asked, his voice barely audible. 

Your eyes flashed with hesitation. "What are you talking about?"

Owen gulped through his dry mouth. "Listen, lass/duck/lad, all I'm saying is that I'm here for whatever you need as a brother, mate, or something more." 

Owen gave your hand a gentle squeeze, so you could pull away at any moment, but you just held on tighter. Owen looked down at your hands, and his breathing seemed to become more even. 

"....something more." You said the words slowly like they were foreign. Your heart beat in your chest and the prospect, you leaned over closed, and Owen held his breath. However, there was a question on the edge of your tongue that you couldn't ignore. "What brought this on? What do you mean about someone in my bed?" 

Owen ran a hand through his hair. "You don't have to lie to me. I saw your love bite." 

Your eyes widen, and your hand reaches instinctively toward your neck. "What?" You remembered the mosquito bite as a familiar itch. "Oh Owen, this isn't a hickey; it's a mosquito bite." 

Owen blinked in surprise; his eyes widened, and a pink tint rose to his cheeks as he looked closer. "Ah. I see that it is." He was so caught off guard that you felt the genuine relief come off him in waves. 

The redhead got up and leaned over you, cornering you like you were prey, but you weren't scared. On the contrary, you felt quite secure when he looked at you with sincere eyes. 

"So...can I be that someone?" 

💚 ZANE

Zane's eyes always seemed to roam your body from head to toe whenever you walked into a room. 

Lips. Legs. Torso. 

He always seemed to try and figure out if anything was different, but when your hand kept going to your neck, that was what his eyes went to in a flash. 

Then, his whole world came crumbling down. 

Something bubbled up inside him—a familiar feeling he knew all too well, boiling rage. He wanted to laugh hysterically, cry, and shout all at the same time. 

Because it was all so stupid. It really was. You weren't even important. but you were. Hell, you were the most important thing to him, and you weren't even his to begin with. 

Before you knew it, you were being pulled into the other room, the door slamming behind you, making you jump. "What the hell, Zane?" 

"Who?" 

You crossed your arms; Zane's back was to you, but there was a coldness in the room that you couldn't quite comprehend. 

"Zane, you better start making sense." 

Zane whirled around, and your eyes widened at Zane's expression of hurt and hunger combined. You had to take a step back. 

Shadows are wiped out of the corners of the room, and before you know it, you're pressed against the wall, the tentacles trailing your body, leaving you with a feeling of hot pleasure. 

A tentacle grabbed your chin, tilting it to the side surprisingly gently. "Who did that to you?" 

You struggled against the shadows. "Did what, Zane?!" You asked, and you knew he wouldn't hurt you. Not this, Zane. Not you, Zane. 

"Who did you let suck on your damn neck?" Zane looked straight into your eyes, and all you saw was raw sadness staring back at you. 

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You shook your head when the realization hit you. "Zane, this isn't a hickey; it's a mosquito bite." 

Zane stopped and looked into your eyes, narrowing his own, and he must have seen the truth behind your statement because the shadows relaxed around you. 

"A mosquito bite," Zane said each word carefully, and relief hit him like a ton of bricks. 

An urge hit Zane like an animal instinct to mark you with whatever he could, although he settled on his lips. 

You nodded. "I would never. I mean, that is to say that I-" Your words died in your mouth when the shadows wrapped around you in just the right way, and Zane's mouth was on your neck. 

"Zane?" Your voice came out hoarse, and Zane chuckled. 

"I need to mark you to make sure everyone knows you're mine." 

🧡 MARGARET

Margaret felt her heart break when she saw the mark, her hands in fist as she tried not to cry. 

She thought that you—well,  she guessed it didn't matter what she thought because you already had a lover. 

It's okay. It's okay. 

Margaret repeated In her head as you spoke, clearly concerned. 

"Margaret, is everything alright?" You asked, coming closer to put a hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her. 

"You have a mark." She said, her voice barely above a whisper as she pointed to your neck.

"Oh yeah." You said it in a sheepish tone. "It's a-" 

"I think I have some kind of ointment I can give you," Margaret said, turning away from you to go get the ointment her voice tighter than normal.

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Margaret waited; she waited for you to bring up this new lover. For at least Camila to spill something but nothing. 

Did you not trust her? Did you think she would get upset? Did you know about her crush on you?

It hurt like nothing before that you were already taken, but the more she thought about it, the more she just wished for your happiness. It was selfish not to trust her as a friend, and now that rooted self-doubt right into her heart. 

When you came in with another mark, she turned away. 

"Hey, Margaret, can I have some more of that ointment for this bug bite?" 

Margaret's whole world stopped as she slowly turned around to face you, her mouth finally working after what felt like a minute. 

"Your....what?" 

"My bug bite." You said, while absently scratching it, and Margaret couldn't help the smile that etched itself across her face. 

Hope filled her to the brim as she vibrated with happiness. Now, really looking at the "love bite," it did look like a bug bite. 

"I will get right on that!" Margaret said with a smile. 

[thearchvillain]

gardenias. | nikolai

part II (part I)

nikolai lantsov x reader

summary: the setting is a grand event hosted at os alta with the intention of finding a future queen for crown prince vasily. the reader is a merchant's daughter trying to keep a low profile after her parents had dragged her there (against her will) with the hopes that she might catch the prince's attention. she, on the other hand, has different plans. plans that get entirely upheaved by none other than the younger prince nikolai who interrupts her illicit late-night meeting in the winter garden. now she's caught attention of one of the two people whose scrutiny she'd been trying so hard to avoid for the last few days of the event and she's not entirely sure she actually minds it.

preview: He held her gaze for a moment, hardly moving a muscle himself, before he spoke again, his voice firm. “No games. Remember?” The huff that left her might have been a chuckle, only completely devoid of any humour. She stared down at him for a moment, eyes glassy and tired, like it had all just caught up to her and she was finally crumbling. “I almost believe you. I think it’s the face. It’s a kind one.” Her eyes searched his face, clinical, like one would observe a painting of him on the gallery wall. “Or maybe you’re just handsome.” “Why, thank you.” He offered her his best attempt at a self-assured smirk and decided it fell flat. Even his ego was dampened by the moment, which was a feat in itself. He sighed. “What did they do to you?” “Is that a rhetorical question?” Kind of. “Do you want to answer it?” She shook her head. “Then it was rhetorical.”

word count: 3.4k (compared to 5k in the 1st part this is tiny)

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tropes/warnings: not cannon, adult language

a/n: well, this is like a year too late to the game, but i could not get it out of my head. keep in mind that pieces of information and explanations are left out intentionally, we are only aware of what nikolai is aware of (which is not much, as he'll come to find out) and yes, i might have engineered some ✨drama✨ to bring them closer together emotionally, so we don't all get stuck on surface attraction and vague suspicions

nikolai's POV

If one imagined the Court to be an organism - which was not a hard thing to do, given how reliably it behaved - then the whispers of its courtiers were the lifeblood, coursing steadily through its golden vessels. And if rumours were a sickness, then one could hardly be surprised to see them spread to every last corner of this monstrous creature as quickly and reliably as a plague would. Which was very quick, indeed.

Nikolai had hardly managed to get his hands on a plate of some highly garnished and questionably nutritious food before the whispers reached him. It was not a particularly subtle affair, as these things rarely were, and Nikolai had a sneaking suspicion this was entirely by design. He didn’t think he imagined that the ladies had been standing a bit further away just a moment ago, and he knew with certainty that as far as whispers went, these could hardly be classified as hushed. They made a show of leaning in and raising delicate hands to their lips, but it was the eyes that betrayed them - sharp and quick, glossy with excitement, and slipping surreptitiously in his direction as if to check if he was listening. He was.

And if he took his overly-decorated food elsewhere in the garden, then the mill would start all over again, like a broken melody. She does have that look about her. Her poor parents, they’d say, but Nikolai did not believe their pity. It was, he thought, just a well-aimed knife. Hush, someone’s mother reprimanded, voice sharp, her mother’s right there. But by the looks of her, Nikolai doubted it was anything Mrs Braam hadn’t heard before. She sat, straight-backed and completely devoid of colour, at one of the wrought-iron tables set around the palace gardens. There was an abandoned tart on the plate in front of her, forgotten and replaced by the glass of brandy she gripped with a shaky hand, and next to her was an older Kerch woman who was valiantly attempting to drown out the whispers with conversation. Nikolai averted his gaze, unwilling to participate in this cruel charade.

But when his gaze landed in the distance it caught, as if on a shard of glass, on the pale green silk of her dress. Around her, a few ladies and their handmaids had formed a tactical formation of sorts, attack dogs in the finest silks, their eyes sharp and vaguely threatening. If even one of them caught someone staring, they’d turn in unison like hounds that scented blood and stare them down into submission, then turn back around and smile sweetly at Miss Braam, as if nothing had just transpired. Nikolai was therefore very careful to look only when one of them was taking a shot with her mallet, lest he meet the end of one of those glares.

And so he watched her in increments, like a series of paintings of an obsessed artist - the twist of her body as she swung her mallet, the errant lock of her hair cascading over her shoulder, the lovely twist of her smile when the ball went through the hoop. The fourth time he looked she was leaning on her mallet, watching the girl in purple take her shot, and he realised she had her mother’s eyes and none of her pallor. There was a brush of colour high atop her cheekbones so that in her green dress she looked like a maiden of spring, vivid in her liveliness. If she was concerned with the gossip, she did not show it. And when she caught him looking the fifth time, she met his eyes the same way she did last night in the greenhouse, steady and unflinching. And then she smiled.

_____________________________

She was smiling again when she entered the library in a flurry of silk later that afternoon, her voice light as she called out to the librarian, “Have you found it?”

Nikolai flipped a page, eyes skimming the blueprints and the calculations, and waited for her to notice him. If it was a bit theatrical, he blamed it on the boredom and not the fact that her irritation was a source of great amusement for him. And he knew before she even let out an annoyed huff, that she was bound to be irritated by his ploy.

“Your Highness.” Her voice was even, though it seemed to require not an unsubstantial amount of effort to keep it so. “I didn’t know you were using the library.”

Nikolai flipped another page and looked up at her only long enough to offer her a smirk. “No need to play coy, Miss Braam. I’ve sent everyone away. We’re alone.”

“Wonderful,” she said dryly and shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it. Nikolai allowed himself a private, self-satisfied smile. If she had been so keen on getting away from him she could’ve simply walked back out, but she hadn’t. “And I presume you were also the one that sent someone to tell me the book I was looking for was found?”

“Catching on quick.” Finally, Nikolai shut the book he was perusing and looked up at her. She was wearing the same dress she wore to brunch, the colour a muted jade in the soft, warm shadows of the library. And when he looked up to her face she had her eyebrow raised, like a school-teacher that had caught him staring. Nikolai offered his best boyish smile. “You look lovely.”

“Oh, shut it.” It was not the response he usually got, but he was still amused as he watched her turn her back on him and start fiddling with the lock. He had half a mind to ask if she was blushing again but she jerked that pin in place with such ferocity that he decided against it. Besides, it was answer enough.

Instead, he said, “And a personality to match it.”

She checked the door once, then jerked it again for good measure, and finally when she was satisfied that no one could enter and catch them speaking, she turned around and levelled him with a look. “Careful, I might decide to be polite and bore you out of your mind.”

“You’d combust.”

She pursed her lips but did not deny it. “What do you want?”

Nikolai uncrossed and crossed his ankles again, sinking deeper into his sprawl across one of the chairs that were neatly arranged around a long table, his gaze following her as she made her way towards him. “Only the pleasure of your company.” Then, his voice gone low and serious, he continued, “That, and to ask how you were doing — after the brunch, I mean.”

“Oh, that.” For a moment he saw something cross her features, a look of startled confusion, as if she hadn’t quite expected him to ask, or at least not in such a way. Or maybe he was just imagining things because next he knew she was propping her hip against the table and looking distinctly unconcerned. “As any scandalous woman - basking in the attention, utterly debauched.”

He must have frowned or made some sort of unstudied expression because suddenly she was laughing at him and using the brief moment of confusion to lean forward and steal the book from his lap. She smelled like something sweet and flowery, like a late summer afternoon.

There was a tone of playful accusation in her voice as she said, “So they did find the book.”

He ignored it. “You don’t seem particularly upset.” It was hard to tell if it was a statement or a question, but even Nikolai could not push down the bewilderment that coloured his words.

Y/N, to her credit, didn’t seem to mind his confusion. She moved one of the chairs and sat on the edge of the table, legs crossed, the book open across her lap as she ran her fingertips along one of the blueprints. “It would be quite counterproductive to be upset,” she said conversationally, flipping a page, “given that I’ve started the rumour myself.”

Slowly, Nikolai eased himself back into his chair, allowing the confession to settle over him, eyes never quite leaving her. He could tell from the too-casual way she flipped the pages that she was very much aware of his gaze and very intent on pretending she wasn’t.

He lost his patience after she flipped the fourth page. “How?”

She stroked the edge of the book fondly, like it was a pet or a lover, and took her time with flipping the page before she deigned to answer him. “I made sure to be seen sneaking into my room last night. Then I told one of my maids to talk about a handsome lieutenant she’d seen sneaking around the place at roughly the same time.” She flipped another page and sighed happily at whatever she saw on it. “Anyway, I figured someone would piece it together into a scandal sooner or later. By breakfast, the story was that we were seen together, and by brunch, well…” She looked up at him and smirked. “I’ll spare you the lurid details.”

Nikolai was rather proud of the way he didn’t wonder about the lurid details and instead focused on the matter at hand. “Why?”

“I wish to spare your princely sensibility.” She was flipping the pages and ignoring him again, though he could tell she was thoroughly amused by the game she was playing from the way the corner of her lip twitched slightly.

He drew a furtive breath in through his nose and closed his eyes to steel himself against the taunts. He was not fifteen anymore, he could hold it together. “No, I meant why in the name of Saints would you do that?”

“I do very little in the name of Saints or Ghezen these days, Your Highness.” Nikolai did not doubt that. She let the book fall open on her lap and leaned back against her hands, watching him thoughtfully. Then she shrugged and said, rather matter-of-fact, “I told you I bite when cornered.”

“Yes, but I didn’t think that meant you’d bite yourself.”

There was something vaguely unsettling at the way she smiled at him then. A woman cornered, a desperate snap of the teeth, a final show of defiance. Her voice was oddly flat in comparison as she said, “An animal will chew its own leg off to be free.”

For a moment, all Nikolai could do was stare. It occurred to him only then that the two of them seemed to have in mind two vastly different versions of last night’s events. He felt that on an intellectual level, this was quite a jump from the playful threat he’d left her with last night. His hands gripped the armrests, but he could not feel his fingertips, and for a minute he seemed to be overly aware of the blood rushing through his ears and the steady beat of his heart. He could not hear his stumbling thoughts over the sound of it.

Then he heard himself say, as if from far away, “Is that what you think of me? That this had been my intention?”

“I think,” she said, having gone very still where she sat, “that I’m not going to play your game.”

The air between them shifted, growing raw and strange as if someone had cast a strange spell over it. Belatedly, Nikolai realised that this was not the question he’d truly meant to ask, but he also knew that she wouldn’t have answered it either way. Not when her spine was so rigid and her fingers white-knuckled where she wrapped them around the edge of the table, not when she looked at him carefully as if half-expecting him to lash out. What are you so afraid of? He’d meant to say. But he thought she might not know the answer anyway, or that the answer would simply be everything.

Slowly he reached up to rub his face, careful not to shift from his spot and startle her. Then he leaned his head back against the backrest of his chair and observed the point where the tall shelves met the ornate ceiling. The silence between them felt like being underwater, still and suffocating.

“Okay,” he said after a while, to no one in particular. Then he drew a breath and looked back down at her. “Alright. No games.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He was looking at her down his lashes, head still tipped back, his voice carefully bland. She looked like she might object, so he continued, “So let me just make this clear. You attempted to shoot your reputation to pieces because you thought that would stop me from approaching you tonight?”

She hid her uncertainty like a snake hid its legs, but Nikolai saw it flash briefly across her features before she pressed her lips together and stared him down. “You and the others. But mostly you, yes.”

“You lashed out without thinking, didn’t you?”

A muscle feathered in her jaw, but she kept looking at him, tenaciously stubborn. If she was afraid of him still, she did a very good job at hiding it. Which, Nikolai thought, was a pattern. “What does it matter?” she asked, defensive.

“It matters because I didn’t think you’d go about it so self-destructively. And that’s on me.” He pushed himself up from the chair, a bit too quickly, and regretted it the instant he saw her flinch. He froze for a moment, allowing the uncomfortable feeling of it to wash over him and fuel his determination, before he turned away and headed for the door. “I’ll fix it.”

“What? No.” From somewhere behind him he heard her produce a high-pitched, panicked noise followed by the sound of her feet scurrying across the library. By the time she caught him, he was two-thirds of the way out. “Stop. No. Nikolai!”

As he felt her fingers dig into his wrist he thought, quite obtusely, that her hands seemed deceptively delicate from afar. Then he voiced the very next, stupid thing that came to his mind. “Is that all it took for you to call me by my name?”

She tugged at his wrist for good measure, clearly frustrated, then let go when she was sure he’d stopped attempting to leave. “What will you do?” she ground out after a moment, her breath quickened. Nikolai knew that if he reached out to touch the inside of her wrist again he’d feel the same panicked flutter of her pulse. He held back.

“I’ll discredit the source. Which shouldn’t be hard since your sources are pitifully unreliable.” He shrugged, falling easily back onto his confidence. “Or I’ll simply tell them all to shut up.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Isn’t it?” He smiled down at her, amused by the way she had planted herself firmly between him and the door as if he couldn’t simply go around her. “Just trust me. I’ll make it go away.”

“Well, that would entirely defeat the purpose of why I did it!”

It took an astronomical amount of effort for him not to laugh, though by the look she shot him the amusement must have slipped past his defences. He looked at the door above her head and did his best to collect himself before he answered. “Don’t say I didn’t try to spare your feelings.” He lowered his gaze back down to her. “But I would have asked you to dance even if they called you the whore of Ketterdam. So it was a moot point anyway.”

He noted again, the same way he had last night, that her blush seemed to creep up on her quickly and that it started not on her cheeks, but below, as a smattering of colour just beneath her collarbones. It rose like the tide, but she did not let him see it reach her cheeks, and instead let out a frustrated sigh before going around him. Nikolai turned to watch her as she went back to the table and threw herself down into the chair, sullen and rosy-cheeked.

“So the bottom line is that I have no choice?” she said eventually, looking up from her hands, her voice thin and tired.

Nikolai’s amusement melted into confusion. “What?” He’d miscalculated, again.

This seemed to frustrate her further because she shot him such a vicious glare that he nearly flinched from it. “Oh, don’t play stupid. You’ve got me cornered. Either I confess or you throw me out into the limelight tonight. Is that what you want to hear? That you win?” Whatever energy she had poured into this display of ferociousness seemed to drain her completely, because in the end she just slumped back into the chair and closed her eyes. “Fine then. You win.”

Nikolai just stared at her, confused, and it was a while before he remembered that he had use of his limbs and that he could just walk over to her. He did so slowly, cautiously, like one would approach a snared animal, before lowering himself into a crouch in front of her. “Hey Ketterdam?” She did not respond. “Look at me.”

She seemed so fragile then, eyelids fluttering with the effort to keep them closed, the skin thin and so translucent that he could see the bluish outlines of the fine vessels beneath it. Nikolai had no idea how she’d extrapolated all that from their conversation, but he suspected she’d been spinning herself into a frenzy since last night. He thought that if he looked at it from her side, and at an angle, he might see the logic behind it. If she felt her hands were tied and she’d tried to bite her way out of it, then he supposed what he’d just done must’ve felt like having her mouth taped shut. He ignored the faint wave of nausea that rolled over him then. She opened her eyes, so slightly that Nikolai might have missed it had he not been right in front of her, looking for the smallest twitch of muscles on her face. He held her gaze for a moment, hardly moving a muscle himself, before he spoke again, his voice firm. “No games. Remember?”

The huff that left her might have been a chuckle, only completely devoid of any humour. She stared down at him for a moment, eyes glassy and tired, like it had all just caught up to her and she was finally crumbling. “I almost believe you. I think it’s the face. It’s a kind one.” Her eyes searched his face, clinical, like one would observe a painting of him on the gallery wall. “Or maybe you’re just handsome.”

“Why, thank you.” He offered her his best attempt at a self-assured smirk and decided it fell flat. Even his ego was dampened by the moment, which was a feat in itself. He sighed. “What did they do to you?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

Kind of. “Do you want to answer it?”

She shook her head.

“Then it was rhetorical.” Nikolai leaned his elbow against the table, steadying himself, and propped his cheek against his hand as he looked sideways at her. She seemed calmer now, if entirely deflated. “At least now I know you’re not mounting a coup d'état,” he supplied, unhelpfully.

She made a derisive sound, and it took him a second to realise it was a snort. “Because I’m such a sorry mess? Yes, you’re right, nothing so grandiose.” Her fingers slipped absentmindedly across the book that was left forgotten on the table. “You could though, if you wanted to. I think.”

“Yeah, probably.” This time, he did smirk properly. Then he patted the armrest of her chair and pushed himself up. “Now go rest. And wear something ugly tonight, so I won’t even be tempted to look your way.”

This, he found, caught her attention, because her gaze snapped to him almost instantly, suddenly alert. “What’s the catch?”

“Saints, you would not believe me if I told you the Sun set in the West, would you?”

She didn’t answer that, just raised one delicate, precise eyebrow. Well, at least she didn’t look so defeated anymore, which Nikolai decided he’d take as a win.

“Try not to start any rumours in the meantime.” He winked at her, tapping his fingers against the table before he turned to leave the library. “One fire at a time.”

tags (i'm so sorry to bother you if you completely forgot about this 😭): @star-flecked-soul ; @meg-the-second-greatest ; @plowdenkm ; @londongirlcamefallingdown ; @ all the lovely anons in my inbox! <3

[albertasunrise]

Back to Reality - Oops Baby

Masterlist

Summary: Being best friends with Frankie meant movie nights, drinks with the guys and a shoulder to cry on when you got your hear broken. He is head over heels for you but you don’t feel the same… yet a drunken mistake will tie your lives together forever!

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+ (Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy 😘)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

You gawked at Ben as the piece of information he'd given you set in. Frankie. Your Frankie thought you were dead. Ben watched you closely as a myriad of emotions flitted across your face. His arms gently bounced Esme as she settled against his firm chest and fell asleep once more. He knew this was a difficult idea to process but he also knew that you had to understand that Frank was delicate right now and needed time to assimilate this world instead of the one he'd been trapped in for weeks.

"Titch?" He piped up after you had been silent a while, his eyes searching your face for any sort of understanding.

"He thinks I'm dead?" You asked and he nodded grimly "What?… How?… What do you mean?"

"When he woke the first time, he was sobbing about how he was going to see 'her' again. Initially, I had thought he meant Mel but it soon became clear it was you he was talking about." Ben answered as he rested his cheek against the crown of Emse's head "The doctor believes that when he was in a coma he was dreaming but aspects of reality trickled in." He continued "So those days we sat by his bedside and you asked him to come back to you, he could hear you. Or I suppose the ghost of you."

You couldn't hold back the sob that fell from your lips. Your heart shattered completely and you sank to the floor as you processed what Ben had said.

"So all that time he's been living in a world where I died and he's had to raise little Esme all alone." It wasn't a question. It was just you stating a simple fact and Ben could do nothing but watch as you fell apart on the clinical hospital floor.

"Titch, I know this is a lot to take in and I know your first instinct is probably to run back in there and try a convince him that this world is real and that you are too but…"

"I know what you're going to say, Ben." You interrupted "He's fragile and we need to be careful with him. I get it!" You snapped "I will stay away."

"That's not what I am saying." Ben groaned as he carefully lowered himself onto the ground beside you, his large hand cradling Esme's head as he slid down the lino-covered wall "He just needs a few days to adjust. He's been in a coma for close to two months. He's confused and it's going to take a few days for the fog to clear. So perhaps we ease him into this gently."

You nodded, knocking a few tears loose with the action and Ben smiled as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"He's back with us Titch and he's getting better." Ben stated as he nuzzled the downy hair on Esme's head "You and him and Esme are going to be a family but he's still got a road ahead of him."

You nodded, taking Ben's free hand in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"We just need to help him walk it. At whatever pace he can manage."

The next few days were torture. You avoided the hospital like the plague, handing Emse off to Ben each day so that he could take her to see Frankie. You knew he was going to try and get Frankie to come around to the fact that you are real. That this isn't a dream but Frank was out of it during his visits. They had kept him mildly sedated in order to keep him calm as he got used to being awake. Ben and Will watched as his awareness slowly but surely ebbed its way through. Fish became a little more coherent with each visit.

"You think you feel up to holding her today?" Asked Ben as he took the bottle of water Frankie had been sipping from off of the man and placed it on the table "She seems smaller than I remember." The man said and Ben shared a look with Will.

"Remember what we talked about yesterday Catfish?" Will asked as he perched on the bed "You've been sleeping for a while and what you remember of Esme was a dream."

Frank's brows drew together as he tried to remember the conversation in question. Things were still so fuzzy. Memories felt heavy but he tried to figure out which ones were real and which ones were just a coma-induced fantasy.

"Who's been taking care of Esme whilst I've been gone?" He asked, his voice quiet and uncertain as his eyes flitted between the two Miller brothers.

"Titch has been." Ben stated "She woke up a few days after you had your heart attack." He continued as he placed his hand on his friend's and squeezed in in a reassuring gesture "She really wants to see you… She's missed you like crazy."

Frank just closed his eyes and shook his head as a few silent tears slipped down his flushed cheeks "Why would you say that to me." He choked "Why give me hope when there isn't any."

"Fish I am telling you the god's honest truth." Ben urged "Titch didn't die. It was all a dream."

"Ben." Will piped up, giving his younger brother a look that silently said 'That's enough.'

"I would like to hold my daughter now." Frankie stated plainly and Benny nodded, smiling down at little Esme as he scooped her up and placed her into her father's waiting arms.

The pilot beamed as he looked down at his daughter and it was the first time in days that either Miller brother had witnessed genuine joy from the older man.

"Hello, princessa." He cooed as he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose "You are so pretty." He resumed as he stroked her plump cheek with the tip of his pointer finger "Just like your mumma."

"Titch is such a natural with her man." Ben beamed as he watched the scene unfold "Seems to know what Esme wants before she even cries. It's mad." He chuckled but Frankie didn't look at him. Didn't even acknowledge that he had spoken.

Ben's shoulders visibly shrank at that.

Will motioned for Ben to follow him as he stood from where he had perched on the bed and made his way out into the hall, letting the pilot know they'd be back in a moment before stepping far enough away that they were out of earshot.

"I think we need to bring Titch to visit." Will stated plainly.

"But he still doesn't believe she's alive." Ben argued, glancing at the man through the glass wall of his cubical before returning his attention to Will.

"He's stable. The doctor said today that his vitals are strong and he's confident that the worst is behind." Will stated as he scraped a hand over his short blonde hair "I think it's time we bring her here. So that he can see for himself that she's alive and well."

"I don't know Will." Ben replied, shaking his head as he thought about it "You remember how he was last time he saw her."

"He had just woken up from a 7-week coma and he was confused." Wil growled "He is now awake, lucid and talking so I think now is the time to rip that bandaid off. We're gonna need to eventually"

Ben nodded. He knew his brother was right. Frankie was going to have to see you at some point and he had promised you that it was a few days that Fish needed to get himself used to this reality. Well, those 'few days' had long passed.

"Fine." Ben conceded "I will bring her with me tomorrow when I come to see him with Titchy." He replied "You're right."

"I know." Will teased as he gave his bother a friendly pat on the arm "Happens more often than you think."

"Shut up." Ben grumbled before they returned to the pilot's room.

"Are you sure about this Ben?" You asked as he led the way to Frankie's room.

When he had said it was time you visited with him and Esme you had been sceptical. You didn't want to go through another ordeal like the one you had experienced before. In just over a week you had witnessed him go into cardiac arrest and then wake up and beg you to leave him alone.

You weren't sure how much more your heart could take.

"Will said that it's time we rip that bandaid off and I agree." He stated simply as they came to the ICU "He's stable and getting stronger every day so I think it's time he starts to get used to the idea that you are very much alive and kicking."

"Your arse if this doesn't go well." You added and he chuckled.

"Fair enough."

You stopped outside Frankie's cubicle and noted he was sleeping and you felt yourself grow more and more nervous by the second. Ben didn't need to look at you to see this.

"I will go in, and let him know he has a visitor. Give me a few minutes okay?" He said softly as he placed a comforting hand on your arm "I'll wave at you to come in when he's ready okay?"

You simply nodded and watched as Ben stepped inside the glass room, his smile growing wide as Frankie's eyes cracked open and fixed on him.

…

"How are you feeling this morning brother?" He asked as he sat himself down beside his friend.

"Little stronger today." The pilot answered and Ben grinned at his reply.

"That's good Fishcakes." He chucked when the pilot groaned at the nickname "Feeling up to a visitor?" He asked and Frankie gave him a perplexed look "Titch is here." Ben stated and Frankie's eyes widened "She really wants to see you." He finished as he looked over his shoulder at you stood in the ward as you fidgetted with your hands.

Frankie's eyes followed Ben's and his eyes widened further as he saw you standing there.

"You can see her?" He asked Ben and the younger man chuckled.

"Course I can."

"She's really there?" He asked and Ben just smiled at him sweetly and nodded before motioning to you to come in.

You nervously stepped inside. Esme's carrier in one hand and the other pushing the glass door open. Your eyes never left Franks. Not even when you placed the carrier down on the floor beside you. The two of you just stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before Ben finally spoke up.

"I'll leave you two to catch up." He said as he picked up Esme "We're gonna go say hi to Esme's fans… Aren't with Titchy." He said as his voice adopted that high-pitched tone that was only for her.

Neither of you looked away as he left. You just continued to stare like it had been years rather than weeks without seeing or speaking to each other. When you couldn't take the silence anymore you spoke up whilst taking a seat at his bedside.

"How are you doing?" You asked, your voice quiet and timid as you searched his face for something.

"Stronger." He replied simply and you nodded "Still confused."

"I bet." You replied, trying to lighten the mood that had settled over the room "I'm so happy you're awake."

"Am I?" He asked and it was your turn to look confused "What if this is some sort of coma-induced dream?"

"Frankie-"

"How do I know that this isn't just my dying brain showing me what it is I want to see?"

Silent tears slipped down your cheeks as you and him just continued to stare at each other.

"I want to believe this is real." He hicupped as his own tears started to fall "I want to believe that the woman I love is alive and sitting right in front of me but I can't."

"I am real." You urged as you grabbed his hand and brought it to your face "Does this feel real to you?"

"Everything there felt real too!" He stated as he snatched his hand away "The pain… The heartbreak… All of that felt so real."

You sobbed loudly then as he continued.

"The pain I felt when that car struck me… it was so real. The pain of not being able to breathe as I lay there dying felt so real and I…" He trailed off but you knew what he was going to say.

He had been ready to die.

"What can I do to convince you that this is real?" You sobbed as you hugged yourself.

"I don't know." Frankie answered honestly "I don't want to accept this, that you are here right now, alive and well only for me to wake up one day in a different hospital bed and realise that it wasn't real. I can't lose you again."

"That's not going to happen!" You pleaded but he just shook his head.

"I wish I could believe that."

You were saved by the Ben.

The younger Miller strolled in with a grinning Esme in his arms and you quickly wiped away your tears and schooled your features.

"Titchy here is quick the chick magnet." Ben chuckled as he bounced her and she smiled widely as she shyly shoved her head in his chest "Awe… You weren't all shy a minute ago."

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to willingly babysit when I go back to work?" You chuckled and the man just shrugged nonchalantly.

"Because I'm an amazing uncle?"

"That you are." You said fondly as you took Esme from him "Time for someone's lunch you said as you sat down again and pulled down your tank top. Smiling as Esme eagerly latched to your breast and started to suckle.

Ben watched a moment in fondness before his eyes travelled over to Frankie who was watching in awe. His eyes were red and teary. From what, Ben wasn't sure but he did wonder if it was partly due to the beautiful spectacle of you breastfeeding Titchy.

He had been able to sense as soon as he walked in that your reunion hadn't been what you had hoped. So instead of prying, he tried to bring some joy and Titchy was nothing but pure joy in his eyes. He knew that both you and Frankie would talk about what had happened when you were ready. He wasn't going to push the subject. He knew this was going to take time and he was there for the ride.

So in the following weeks, You visited with Ben, hoping that each visit would bring him around to the idea that you were alive and that this wasn't some fever dream.

Then when the doctor announced that Frankie was well enough to go home, Ben helped you move into the pilot's house. You had figured he would be more comfortable in his own environment but he still needed help. He was getting stronger every day but he still had days where he felt rough and bone tired.

"Can I get you anything else?" You asked as you walked into the lounge and placed the freshly brewed coffee you'd made for him down on the table beside him.

Today was one of Frank's worse days. But he hadn't wanted to stay cooped up in bed. So you had helped him to the couch that you had set up with pillows and soft blankets. Esme was now napping on his bare chest, skin-on-skin time being something he had demanded the moment he had gotten home. You couldn't help but glance at the large scar between his pectorals. It was healing well but still looked pink and slightly angry. It was a clean cut. Almost a perfect straight line, right down the centre of his chest. The surgeon had said he was sure that with time, the scar would fade to the point that he almost wouldn't notice it but Frankie hadn't really cared all that much.

He was littered with scars from battle after all.

"No, thank you." Frankie replied as he glanced up at you and smiled before returning his attention to the drooling baby on his chest "She's so perfect." He stated as you sat down on the armchair across from him "I still can't believe that you and me made her."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." You chuckled "I still have to pinch myself on the daily because I can't believe she's real." You flinched at your statement, internally scorning yourself for your choice of words but Frank didn't appear to be phased.

"I hope she is." Was all he said as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, smiling sweetly at his precious angel.

You watched him for a while. Admiring how much of a natural he was with her. Since getting him back home you had started to express, allowing him to do some of the feeds whilst you cooked or cleaned, whatever needed doing.

Frankie did what he could on the days he felt well enough but on the days that he didn't you know he was torturing himself. He hated how weak he felt. This was a man who had never been afforded the opportunity to be weak. He was expected to be strong every day of his life. To walk away from battle even if he'd taken a bullet to the leg.

"I never told you how wonderful Esme Nursery is!" You said after a little while "You didn't such a wonderful job. Especially as you were squeezing it in between caring for her and visiting me in the hospital."

This made Frankie pause and he blinked up at you as he studied you closely.

"Ben told me that if you weren't with me at the hospital or caring for Esme, you were spending every waking moment getting that nursery finished."

"I had to keep myself distracted." He replied, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he remembered how every time he'd closed his eyes, he pictured you as your face paled and your eyes had drooped. The alarms had rung in his ears for days.

"I know it must have been really hard for you, Fish." You said softly as you gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Not as hard as it's been for you." You didn't react to this.

This was the first time he'd acknowledged you and what you had likely been through whilst he'd been in a coma. He had still been weary of believing you were real. The odd comment here or there making it clear to you that he still didn't believe this was real.

But you could see that he wanted to.

"I don't want this to end." He whispered, so quietly that you almost missed it but you didn't.

"It won't." You replied with a smile.

Frankie glanced at you and noted a new expression you'd not seen before. Something that almost looked like hope so you hoped that your next statement would give him that.

"We're here to stay."

Next

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Could I please get a Hc for Asra about an Mc that acts a lot differently after being brought back? Like maybe they were always slightly on edge all the time or were a lot harder on themselves for even little mistakes they'd make. Being more like Muriel, in the sense they never wanted to talk about their past. So when they forgot their past they were able to let go of that feeling of deep-rooted regret completely. Becoming generally a lot more relaxed and almost happier. Maybe they get their memory back of what they did but because of everything between losing their memory and getting back their able to move on. Fully forgive themselves.

The Arcana HCs: When MC's memory loss changes them

~ this was such an interesting prompt to work with, anon, thank you for sending it! - brainrot ~

Julian

He's a little conflicted, to be honest

He remembers what kind of person you used to be, back when you apprenticed at his clinic during the outbreak of the plague, and he's genuinely happy that you get to have a personal fresh start

But he also knows, from his own experience, how important it is to find closure with your past self even when that's something you can't remember properly

He also hates saying anything remotely negative (unless it's about himself - you two are working on that) so he's not going to bring it up unless you do first

If you do bring it up, he'll happily talk about it with you for as many hours as you have the energy for. He's not afraid of emotionally intense conversations, and he has personal experience to draw on

He will always, always make it clear that he accepts you no matter what and that he's with you for whatever conclusions you come to

If the time comes that your memories return and you start to process them, he is two steps ahead of you on his own journey and so ready to be your shoulder to lean on

Besides, watching you show emotional growth and self-forgiveness is super hot

Asra

Regardless of their opinions on your change, bringing up your past with you is so triggering for them that their default is to avoid it

That's not to say that he refuses to talk about how things used to be, he knows you can handle it now, but after three years of watching you fall into pain and losing you each time he's cautious

They will answer all of your questions honestly though. They don't care to keep secrets from you

And when it comes down to it, he's only as invested in your change as you are. It makes him happy to see you happy!

If that means holding onto the memories of who you used to be on your behalf, they'll do it willingly. They are far more concerned with helping you be master of your own destiny than anything else

He does panic briefly when your memories start to return

There's a weird back and forth for them between relief at seeing you become more whole and anxiety around all the ways that that could hurt you or go wrong

But he will be there for you every step of the way with cuddles and laughs and unconditional love

Nadia

She does her best to hide it, but between who she's heard of you being and who you are now she likes the new you better

Her biggest struggle in the last few years was overcoming her own uncharacteristic insecurity, and it was your confidence that helped her do that. Thinking of you another way doesn't sit so easily with her

That's not to say that she thinks any less of someone who is insecure, or that she thinks past you was somehow inferior

She just likes to leave the past in the past when a fresh start is available

That said, she's also invested in learning as much about you as you're willing to share, so if you ever want to talk about old stories she will give you her full attention and interest

If the times comes that your memories do begin to return, she'll be as gentle and empowering with you as she can

She wants you to become who you want to become, not whoever you think anybody else wants you to be. She will fiercely protect and affirm your own preferences and decisions

She is so proud of who you are and how you're growing and she's so excited to see who you become

Muriel

Honestly, if he could have the same thing happen to him, he wouldn't complain. He doesn't think so as strongly now as he did when he first saw your changed state, but it's still enticing

He likes seeing how free you've become

More than that, he likes sharing this new life with you. His past has always weighed so heavily on him that having someone like you around is a chance to think about the future instead

He's happy to listen if you want to talk about it, but he's not going to bring it up if you don't

Once you do start remembering your past again, it ends up being a lot easier for both of you than he expected

Contrary to trapping you, your memories seem to only make you more whole. Processing them isn't easy for you, but you're doing it and you're growing from and incorporating it and you're moving on

Watching you do this is reassuring him that he's on the right path as well, that it's possible to live with his memories in a way that doesn't ignore them or trap him in them or weigh him down

You two are going to do so much healing and growing together

Portia

She has a harder time accepting how things are for you

Mostly because she doesn't have the full picture. She didn't know you before the plague, so your past is just as hazy and mysterious to her as it is to you

Except that she has no idea what it's like to be missing memories. She carries her memories everywhere she goes, and the thought of you not being able to know all of who you are is really sad for her

She brings it up quite often, whether she's asking you for your theories or pumping Asra for stories about a younger you, and hearing about who you used to be makes her want to meet them

Eventually she'll come to terms with letting you allow yourself to let go of your past, even if it gives her a strange sense of defeat

She gets really excited for you when your memories begin to return and you start to talk about it

She does have these moments, when you remember something sad or painful, when she realizes that forgetting may have been a kinder thing for you

Ultimately, whoever you want to become and however you want to heal, she will support you with all her heart

Lucio

Frankly, there isn't a lot of time or space in your relationship to think much about your past

He didn't know you before the plague, and who he was before the plague is not something he's particularly interested in revisiting, and you're both quite busy building a new life from a clean slate

Who you are now is all he's known, and he likes you very much

When your memories do come back and you start to process them, it might trigger him a little bit

You're his anchor, his source of comfort and strength to confront his own past mistakes and push towards being a better person

So when the old habits you're remembering are all of you being hard on yourself for understandable, minor slip-ups, he's suddenly wondering if you're this hard on him in your own mind too

How does he know that you've really forgiven him when you struggle to forgive yourself?

Hearing his point of view helps you give yourself grace in your own process, and for him, watching you grow is truly inspiring

He wants to be better like you, and here you are living out a whole tutorial!