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eureka-its-zico · 2 months ago

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Residuals Pt 3

Ongoing Series

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

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: Screaming at the top of my lungs because you have all been so incredibly lovely and sweet. I appreciate every single one of your comments, reblogs, and your excitement over this spur-of-the-moment series idea. Honestly, I can gush forever. Thank you! This chapter is centered around a little extra backstory on their relationship (briefly). I noticed it's around ep. 4 when everything starts popping off in the show (and I have scenes already pre-written cause I’m excited!) so I hope the story stays entertaining and true to showing slow insights into characters, their flaws, and being human. As always, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. Much Love. Jenn

Thank you to the bestie @viridian-dagger for humoring me and checking all of my work. Thank you for helping keep me sane.

Words: 7208

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You remembered with agonizing clarity the last day you’d seen Robby. You could recall down to the very marrow of the hour how you’d watched him grab his backpack and head out the door.

If you weren't careful, your subconscious loved to dredge that particular memory up in frequent rotation.

If you weren’t careful, always on mental high alert, the memories came violently to the forefront demanding that you remember what it felt like to walk the halls of your home in nothing but his shirts. It had you up late in the middle of the night writing a list of all the achingly obvious differences between the empty bed you now slept in and the one you’d shared with him. How his large frame curled against your back or how his nose pressed into the crook of your neck before he woke you, trailing kisses down your collarbone.

Sometimes, Robby held you so tight you’d jokingly ask if he was trying to morph together like The Thing.

You’d gotten used to the quiet in your home. The lack of security knowing another person was there. You’d learned to portion down your meals, so you didn’t make some on accident for two, or three when Jake was home for the week. You did laundry less and didn’t have to fold as much. There was no one to help you build furniture or tear it down. The trash was handled by you and only you. Dishes sat questionably for longer in the sink than they should’ve. There were no hands on your hips to keep you steady as you demanded to be an independent woman and use the step ladder to change broken fixtures and lightbulbs. No car rides with blues gently playing through the speakers with his hand on your thigh.

No. You were reminded every minute of every day since you’d left of what you lost. What you chose to leave behind.

The day you left you’d waited in the hall. In the past, before the pandemic, before the world went to shit and stopped making sense, Robby waited for you to send him off. You’d bring him his backpack full of protein bars, a homemade sub sandwich (if he ever got to it), and instant coffee packets when he didn’t. The moment you were close enough for him to grab - to touch - Robby would reach for you.

Before Robby, you didn’t know what it felt like to be worshipped; to be craved and wanted so badly that they couldn’t wait for the moment they could touch you. The safety of trusting someone because they loved you without pretense allows you to be comfortable enough to be good, bad, weird, and everything in between.

“You’re my favorite person.” He’d told you this randomly, while you’d both been curled up on the couch. Your cheek pressed against his chest. You heard the slight change in rhythm before he spoke. It was an answer to a question you’d asked weeks ago. One he refused to answer because “What are we in junior high?”

You didn’t believe in fairytales or the idea of perfect relationships. You believed in what someone’s actions said about them when they tried to cover them up with words. You didn’t know what it was like to have someone choose you, all of you, until Robby.

Whenever he had the chance, Robby was always touching you - light traces of fingers that drew aimless doodles in your skin while he read. His hand glided across your back as he passed you in the kitchen or the hallways at work. Once Robby learned how much you loved having his hands on you, he found ways to use them all the time - in ways that made you feel secure and others that were far from innocent.

But out of everything, Robby always made sure you were taken care of and, most of all, loved.

Usually, when Robby departed from the house, he used his large frame to crowd into your space. Possessive hands snaked around your waist to pull you flush against him. Every time, like clockwork, you eagerly respond to his touch. Your neck already falling back just enough for his mouth to slate over yours.

Those memories of better days, days where you didn’t have to question if he still loved you, are what made the last day so hard. You stood there, silently hoping that he would turn around. That Robby would just stop putting in his air pods, looking everywhere but at you, and finally acknowledge you. You didn’t want your last fight to be what you remembered - the words you’d hurled at one another with tired vehemence the final thing you heard.

You just wanted him to love you like he used to. But the problem was, you weren’t sure if you could love him how you used to anymore either.

“I think you should take Kiara up on her offer, Michael. You need to speak with someone even if it isn’t her.”

“Jesus,” he huffed. A hand scrubbed at his face before latching behind his head. His eyes screwed tight as if he could simply blink the conversation away. “Here we fucking go again.”

“Yes, here we go again. We wouldn't have to keep doing this merry-go-round around the issue if you would just admit - “

“Admit what?” His voice rose in challenge, and it took every ounce of you not to return it. “You seem to want me to say I’m broken so you don’t have to be the only one.”

“That’s bullshit,” you scoffed, pushing your dinner plate further down the table.

You weren’t hungry anymore.

“It’s not bullshit! I’m not the only one in this room who won’t be honest with themselves.”

“That’s real rich coming from you, Michael. If you think that’s true, look me in my eyes and admit you don’t feel some type of way since he passed. And I never once fucking said that you were broken - “

“That’s the point! You don’t have to. I can see it in the way you look at me. The way you talk to me. It’s like no matter what the fuck I say you don’t believe me. You just want me to be depressed like - “

“Like what, Michael.”

The room went glacial cold. Your eyes turned to slits as you waited for him to finish his sentence. A piece of you prayed he didn’t because you didn’t know how much more you could take before you finally broke.

“Like you,” he sighed, voice defeated as if he hated saying it as much as you hated hearing it. “You haven’t been the same since -”

“Shut up.”

“- it happened and I’m sorry. I - I wish I’d been there - “

“I said shut up! Jesus, just stop talking!”

The venom in your voice was toxic. It had your arm lashing out and shoving the plate of food off the table. The sound of tableware clattering and glass breaking dimmed the flash of anger enough to be embarrassed at your outburst. You hadn’t meant to do it. Just like you hadn’t meant to do a lot of things since Adamson passed, since the pandemic, and…since you received the news.

It was written plainly in the silence held between you. The unspoken depression from two different spectrums left you both unable to help the other. Neither of you knew how to bridge the gap your stubbornness bred.

Doctors were historically the worst patients because of that very reason. Pride. You used to believe Robby and you didn’t share an ounce of it between you, but you’d been wrong. You forgot you were both human and flawed.

“I just want to help you, Michael. Please. Ever since Adamson passed and - and what happened - “

“He doesn’t have anything to do with what happened! What happened fucking happened because it’s nature. It’s - it just wasn’t our time. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up for something you have no control over. How many times have we told our patients this?” Robby looked up from his hands and you wished he hadn’t. His watery eyes were close to spilling; the tsunami of pain was all-consuming and when he whispered your name before he spoke again, you wanted to shatter. “You’re killing yourself from the inside out with this self-hatred.”

How many times have you been told that exact thing? It was an unfortunate natural process. It just ‘happened’. Every word is sterile and scientific which makes you feel less and less like a person. And what about the news that came after? Was that natural too?

Maybe you were the one who was broken.

“Adamson happened too, and you haven’t been the same since we lost him. You’re on edge more, Mike. You snap at work and home. You’re closed off. You’re so desperate to put it under the rug that we only focus on me? Bring up my faults so we can bury yours.”

A sneer pulled up his lips as he turned away from you. His eyes scan over the shelves and furniture in the room - looking everywhere but at you.

“You just want to help me? That’s what you keep feeding yourself but in reality, you just want me to be who I was before this. I don’t know if I can be that man again and when I tell you that, you act like a fucking child going around slamming doors.” Shame flushed up your face, turning your cheeks red with embarrassment. You’d done that and worse. You thought you could wait whatever this was out until it got better. But it wasn’t better. It was worse and you were so, so tired. “You want to focus on me but what about you?”

“You aren’t the only one hurting - that lost someone. You left me! You fucking left me to deal with it all on my own. Where the fuck were you when I needed you?”

“I’ve been right here with you!” Robby shouted back. “I’m right here with you, baby, but you don’t fucking see it. You won’t let me in.”

The tears you struggled to contain escaped in one shaky exhale. You carried around so much of your shame and guilt - tried repairing the cracks with quick fixes so Robby wouldn’t see because the last thing you wanted was pity. You didn’t want the confirmation that you were irreparably broken.

“But you’re not here. Are you? Not really.”

The earlier flash of rage was extinguished with each word. This job was a marvel and a curse. It took and took without forgiveness. Sometimes you’re fighting to save people who don’t want to be saved; who’ve never known the support and love they needed to believe they were more than their demons. Who wanted to succumb to a brief drop of loneliness in the ocean of a lifetime. Or you saw the ugliness that people did to one another and left you having an existential crisis if someone’s bad choice made their life unworthy of saving.

Robby dealt with all of these things daily. He shouldered them for every friend in the hospital. For every patient who needed the strength of his resolve and the care he delivered. He gave all that and more during the pandemic and now he’d given so much that there wasn’t much left to tend to himself.

Robby used to lean on you for just about everything. Sometimes, your talks were gradual - opening up little by little until everything was exposed. Other times, they came in bursts. A rush of words said too fast because if neither of you just ripped the band-aid off and said it, nothing would ever get fixed. Now all of that came to a screeching halt. You didn’t know what he was feeling anymore or thinking. He shut you out in so many ways. You tried to break through and failed.

You both stood at separate spectrums of grief and neither of you knew how to reach the other anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You hadn’t meant about your relationship. You wish you could’ve said that - informed him that the despair and betrayal of your own body left you in a place of purgatory. The pandemic stripping you bare and raw pressing salt into every wound. How was Robby supposed to love you if you didn’t know how to love yourself?

But it’s not how it sounded leaving your lips. It’s not how he took it as you watched his shoulders deflate. The emptiness that hollowed out his eyes in protection and left them empty as you felt.

“No one is forcing you to stay.”

You never did get to tell him you saw him - saw that he’d been there waiting for you to open up. He wasn’t who he was, but he’d still tried the best he could in whatever ways he could. In the end, you believed you deserved punishment.

Maybe that’s what losing Robby was - the universe's way of dishing it out for a wrong you never knew you committed.

It felt suffocating; your chest caved to create a black hole of grief that felt never-ending. You watched as the pandemic tore him down piece by piece - shredding him to ribbons. So many lives were ravaged by the virus with no way to combat it. You remembered the overwhelming, crushing feeling of seeing dozens of patients lining hallways because there were no more beds. Every doctor, nurse, RTs, and CNAs struggled to care for every patient and be with those in their final moments because the families couldn’t. It was chaos. It was frightening. It felt like it would go on forever. The last thing anyone expected was for Adamson to get sick. For the virus to infiltrate his body and claim his life.

Robby had run outside, tearing off his hazmat suit. Unable to breathe around the soul-crushing grief that constricted the air from his lungs. He’d crumbled like a house of cards as you held him in your arms, but he wasn’t allowed to grieve. He was a doctor, you were still a fucking doctor, and neither of you were allowed to grieve. You needed to compartmentalize; sew up the fraying edges of your grief and go back inside and be the doctors everyone needed.

It was agony watching what came after. The way he struggled day and night to get any amount of rest while wrestling with his demons. The guilt kept him up at night and woke him screaming covered in a cold sweat. Eventually, he stopped sleeping in bed with you all together. Slowly, you saw him less at home and only at work. You watched while the anxiety ate him alive and transformed him into someone you could barely recognize, and you felt helpless against it. At any moment, the pain in your chest would swallow you whole.

And just when you thought, given a few months, you’d be able to find new joy in your life, it all came crashing down again.

So, you waited in that hallway. You waited for any sign that you should stay. You waited to see if you’d change your mind and begin to be honest with him. You waited for him to at least turnaround and look at you - for the recognition of the life you’d had months before to flash in those beautiful brown eyes. You waited in the hallway even after he’d left - waited for your tears to dry before you went upstairs to pack up your old life and find a new one.

You’d expected a lot of possibilities when Gloria brought you back down to the Pitt. You considered all the variables and the endless amount of what-ifs. It felt inevitable for you to end up in this very situation; him being the attending, in charge of the Pitt, and overseeing a case. The only thing you hadn’t accounted for was how the heat of his body pressed against your back made you forget how to breathe. Your mouth suddenly dry and your heart pounded violently against the ache in your chest.

Was Robby even aware of what he was doing? You could practically feel him take a breath he was so fucking close. Fuck, you wanted to scream and you almost did when you felt his gloved hand move across your lower back as he stepped around you. The old desire to touch you every chance he could was a surprise to you both when the reflex made its appearance. It must have been a mistake - a subconscious tick because old habits can die hard. It was the only thing that made sense. You fought the urge to mouth a, ‘What the fuck?’ at him. Did he even realize what he’d done? If he did, he was damn good at hiding it.

You needed to get your shit together. You brought him in here for your patient.

“Allan,” you began to introduce him and found you had to clear the warble from your voice. “Allan, this is Dr. Robby. He’s the attending doctor here in the emergency department. Robby, this is Allan and his mother, Rebecca.”

“Pleasure to meet you both. Now, Allan, why don’t you tell me what brings you in today?”

Once Robby agrees to your use of wire cutters to remove the key rings, conferring on medications during and after a take-home prescription, you immediately go to work. It took a few extra minutes of explaining to Allan (and his very traumatized mother) that you would be as gentle as possible, but the longer the key rings stayed on to cut off circulation, the higher the chance of necrosis would occur. You also promised him lidocaine to numb the area. Lots and lots of lidocaine.

You’d just signed off on discharge paperwork and spoke with him one last time about maybe just buying what he wanted to try next time. It was not only the safer option but probably more fun and less mortifying than having his mom bring him here.

You stepped out of the room and made your way up to Dana’s desk. While you’d been in the room doing minor surgery to metal keys, you’d heard a couple of new traumas that arrived through the ambulance bay. The one that unfortunately had stuck with you was the nineteen-year-old kid who’d been found unresponsive. Nineteen. Two years older than Jake.

For years you tried to make sense of how it was possible to become so attached to a son that wasn’t even yours. You didn’t give birth to Jake and missed the beginning stages of his life. You met him at his ninth birthday party and thought he would automatically hate you. Instead, he asked you questions about superheroes and if you had a favorite wrestler.

The relationship between Robby and Jake’s mom had been hard to navigate. Harder when you came into the picture because all mothers are understandably weary of unknown variables and people around their children. You did your best not to step on any toes and bided your time until Jake’s mom trusted you - felt comfortable enough - with your presence to allow Jake to stay over when he asked Robby.

You went on field trips as a chaperone when Jake asked, helped him build science fair projects, and tried your best to play basketball with Jake and Robby. You were better at three-pointers and playing horse than the original two - on - two. Jake chose to see you as another parent. His mother decided to let you be a part of his life and knowing Robby, loving Robby, brought you all together. You were forever grateful to both of them for it.

But seeing cases like this one - hearing about them - caused a cold sweat to spread across your body. Jake was a good kid - a smart kid but even smart kids could make mistakes.

You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and continued moving towards where Dana sat front and center in all the chaos. She was currently on the phone but her eyes tracked you as you made your way towards her.

Quickly, you unlocked your phone and went to your messages. You tapped on Jake’s name.

Mom v2.0 ~ Hey kiddo just checking in. Everything good?

You were about to lock the phone and put it away when his reply came back at lightning speed.

JakeTheRipper ~ Hey! Ya everything’s 👍🏽 I’m coming by the hospital later to get tickets from dad. Be cool to see you. JakeTheRipper ~ if you can! JakeTheRipper ~ if you have the time!

You and Jake never lost contact with one another after you and Robby split. It’d been his golden rule and who were you to break rules, especially golden ones? But you hadn’t seen him since he was fifteen. The last weekend you spent housed up in the house - his teenage self picking up a dark cloud stole the warmth from the home.

He’d asked to see you a few times since then but you were always busy. Always unsure if you were overstepping. But you were here now and he said he was coming here anyways so -

“What’s got you smiling all goofy?”

Dana’s question sent you crash landing back into the present. You were standing directly in front of her seated position, phone in one hand and wire cutters in the other while a perfectly arched brow did most of her questioning.

“Ugh, it’s nothing,” you replied, tucking the phone back into your pocket.

God, you were acting suspicious. Be natural. Be cool.

“You got a boyfriend or something?”

“Oh, god no, no, no.”

You were throwing in way too many no’s.

You felt like you were under a microscope when Dana’s eyes narrowed in on you like this. A cold sweat was going to happen any minute now.

“There aren’t that many things that make women smile at their phones like that.”

“Memes make people smile at their phones because they’re witty and funny. A good deal on a pair of shoes, funny videos of animals, or cute babies…anyway,” you mumbled before handing the wire cutters over the top of her computer. “Ron the maintenance guy should be coming by to pick these back up. If I miss him, can you let him know I appreciate him letting me borrow these?”

“Did you tell him what they were gonna be used for?”

“Oh, god no, and please Dana don’t tell him I used it to cut key rings off a patient's penis.”

“You mean he didn’t know why you were asking for them?” She laughed. Dana fucking laughed and it eased the tension from your shoulders tenfold. “I think at least owe the man some kind of lunch, don’t you?”

“Ugh, well, I disinfected them. Twice? Does that count?”

Another bark of laughter came as she shook her head in disbelief. She was still smiling when she reached out and took the cutters from your hand.

“Aren’t you supposed to be up in triage?” Langdon asked, sliding in on your right.

“Did you come all the way over here from your spot in hell to ask me that, Langdon? Are we slacking off today or willfully choosing to be lazy?”

Langdon shot you a sarcastic smile before he reached over to grab a tablet and handed it over to the med student who’d been with him before. Her dirty blonde hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail and her glasses gave her an almost childlike demeanor that was only enhanced by the excited way she bounced on her heels. Her hand shot across the counter in way of introduction.

“Melissa King - everyone calls me Mel.”

She was so eager - sweet - that you almost warned her to be cautious in the Pitt. It tends to eat the good ones alive.

“Dr. Fullerton,” you replied, taking her hand briefly. “I remember you from earlier. Hopefully, Langdon is taking care of you and isn’t showing you what not to do during a residency?”

“Ha, that’s very funny, Fullerton. How long has it been since you’ve been down here? You’ve probably gone soft with all the babying they do upstairs.”

“Out of the two of us, Langdon who is still in their last year of residency and who is a board-certified doctor?”

“You know what I smell?”

“I don’t smell anything,” Mel interjected, thin lines of confusion creasing around her eyes.

“No, I don’t mean - it’s metaphorical, Dr. King.”

“Okay, kids that's enough. Robby sees you two both standing here bickering, you'll both be in trouble.”

“Is that your way of telling us to go back to taking care of the board?” You asked.

“No, it’s my way of telling you both to get the hell away from my station. Now shoo both of you,” Dana retorted, using a stack of patient demographics to swat at Langdon and you.

“I’m going, I’m going,” you surrendered, backing away.

You were mid-turn when an enthusiastic wave from Dr. King was thrown your way.

“It was nice to meet you. Again,” she excitedly called after you.

She seemed too pure to have picked the Pitt. Everyone had their reasons for doing residencies here and, hell, you believed med students should be mandated to work at least one full rotation in an emergency department to truly learn. Mel, however, made you just want to protect her from the harsh realities of a place like this. It could be soul-crushing and there is no way to prepare yourself for when it happens.

“Likewise, Mel. If you ever want a break from ER Ken you’re more than welcome to come find me.”

“She’s good where she’s at, Fullerton.”

You didn’t bother giving a retort; you and Langdon could keep up the verbal back and forth the whole shift. You were only a couple feet away when you heard Dr. King state, “She seems nice.”

“Yeah. She’s alright. A little unhinged, but alright.”

Each word had been pulled like teeth from him; admitting you weren’t the absolute worst thing in the world, or at least inside this hospital, you knew made Langdon grumpy. Those few words left a sour taste in his mouth admitting anything nice about you, but it was enough for you because it meant one thing for you. There was hope that today wouldn’t be a total disaster after all.

It was a busy morning but mornings were always busy in the Pitt. There shouldn’t have been a reason the hum of panic constantly buzzed behind his ears. It only grew louder the closer he got to the pediatrics wing of rooms. The bright colors blazed out into the hallway; all greens and blues. Animal motifs meant to instill comfort instead summoned what he’d struggled to keep buried.

Dana already caught him helplessly trapped outside the room. The memory of that day - the last day with Adamson - flashed vividly like every nightmare he’d had of that day since. Robby had been so engrossed in the recollection of monitors blaring and Princess shouting for him to do something, “Robby we’re losing him,” that he wasn’t able to shake the feeling of dread off.

He knew Dana noticed. The way her eyes craned over his shoulder to take in the peds room was the only confirmation he needed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. When do I ever make you worry about me?”

“Are you kidding?” Dana chuckled. “All the time.”

They both knew he was lying. Robby never did confirm it when Dana asked, but he didn’t need to. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be fine or even close to simply being okay. Even after four long years, Robby found he still sought Adamson’s advice. Moments in the Pitt he swore he could hear him directing the room; asking questions to challenge Robby because “a doctor never stops learning.”

He missed being able to confide in him. The expectant look on Adamson’s face when Robby asked about situations in his life where he was at a loss of what to do.

Robby needed to change the subject - and lead Dana down a safer path of questioning that he could handle. If he could keep himself away from that room he should be okay. He could handle you being here and everything else if he didn’t have to step foot in that room. He should’ve known there was no safe space where Dana wasn’t going to bring you up. Robby could see the hard exterior she tried to keep up to defend against your presence was beginning to crack.

Maybe so was his.

“The two of you looked cozy earlier.”

“Dana, you know I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her voice oozed a playfulness that edged towards teasing.

“But there is no universe where you and I talk about this.”

“I was just making an astute observation.”

“I would appreciate it if you maybe observe somewhere else. We have eleven more hours of this shift to go and I’d rather not have to spend it talking about her.”

“Yeah, because you’re allergic to talking in general.”

“Well, that’s just not true. I’m allergic to people I don’t want to have a conversation with,” he pointed out.

She tried to shake the smile off her lips. Her palm lightly smacked at his shoulder which caused his smile to rise in response.

“You’re such a smart ass.”

“I try my very best,” he mumbled as he leaned down towards the computer.

He’d just grabbed his badge to swipe past the electronic monitor to unlock the computer, placing his arms to brace on either side of the keyboard when he felt her presence eclipse to his right. Dana was leaning over the counter divider. Her arms hanging over waiting for him to look back up at her.

“Something else I can help you with, Dana?”

“Just wondering if you’d be more talkative if you knew Fullerton was all smiles earlier. She had her phone out. Seemed to be textin’ someone.”

Robby could feel his eyes narrow in on her position. He shouldn’t care - he shouldn’t fucking care - because you were the one who left. What did he care if you were dating anybody? It’s been two years. The chances of you dating were astronomically high; shit, he’d attempted it a while after you left. Instead of taking care of himself because, “You look like shit,”, as Dana lovingly told him, he’d done what 95% of the population does: he ran from it.

Heather Collins was an R2 at the time. She was funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful, and he’d fucked it up in record time. All the things you’d thrown at him about being shit at taking his own advice, hiding from his problems, were true. When things took a turn he’d lock up. Collins noticed the cracks and mentioned them enough he countered with argument after argument. The worst part was he was harboring a love for someone else that was gone. You can’t love someone else, give them the love they deserve, when you’re buried ten feet deep for someone else. She deserved better than to be a rebound - better than what Robby could’ve given her because no matter how amazing she was he still thought of you. Heather deserved more than to be a body to bury his sorrows in. He tried dating again a year later but that had also gone up in spectacular flames. Robby couldn’t keep the ghost of you from haunting him.

He tried to act like he didn’t care - that Dana’s words weren’t threatening his last proper brain cell for the day. By the look on Dana’s face, he did a shit job of hiding it. So what if you were with someone? He shouldn’t even care.

“Did she say who she was talking to?”

Why the fuck did he ask that? Dana didn’t necessarily answer him as much as she chose instead to grin. A silent, ‘Gotcha’ flashing that he absolutely hated. He’d walked right into it.

“Surprise, surprise. I thought she’d be one of your allergies.”

A huff of laughter rushed past his lips that he tried to cover up with a cough.

“You’ve got a mean streak in you.”

Dana patted his arm before she retracted back inside her bubble. The phone went off in record time to pull her safely away from having to hear him complain. She gave him one last thumbs up before her back faced him, completely ending the conversation and forcing him back to the open file on the screen.

He enjoyed the quiet for all of a millisecond before he heard -

“Hey, fruitcake.”

God, take him now. Robby chose to ignore her. Ignore her like every other time -

“Hey, I’m talking to you, fruitcake.”

“Myrna,” he bit out. “I told you a hundred times my name is Dr. Robby.”

He expected her to argue about nicknames and their usage. It’s usually what happens when he advises her that maybe she’d get better treatment if she’d use real names. That isn’t what he got.

“Do you wanna see my vagina?”

Robby’s eyebrows ran towards his hairline as he replied, “I've already seen it. And once was enough, thank you.”

“And what about mine?”

Robby knew that voice. He’d know it in any lifetime, through space and time; Robby would know your fucking voice anywhere. He turned to his left and there you were with your elbows and back resting against the counter. You’d leaned close enough so that your words were for him and him alone.

Robby wanted to humor himself that it had to be his imagination. The flash of something dark, ravenous, and achingly familiar he saw in your eyes must have been his subconscious going haywire. It wasn’t until he watched recognition dawn of what you said, the way you’d fucking said it, crest over your face that Robby knew he hadn’t made it up.

The heat of embarrassment had you straightening up beside him. He could see it in the light tinging of your cheeks, the anxious beat your fingers rapped on the counter. You weren’t looking at him now but he wished you would.

And then the memory of Dana saying you’d been caught smiling at your phone reared its evil head.

Mine.

He couldn’t keep the word from forming in his head. You’d been his for so long and those words of yours meant to tease and force him to give you a response. Robby wanted to tell you that no, once wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Mine.

The last few months of your relationship had ended in flames but the rest. What about the rest of the many years you’d spent together? They’d been spectacular. The best memories he had you were a part of. The attempts at gardening and doctoring up sick animals. The way you’d dance to his records as you danced through every room while you dusted. The sounds of yours and Jake’s laughter mixing from the kitchen table going over homework.

He could remember the way your hands fisted the sheets as his hands hooked under your thighs to bring you closer to his greedy mouth. Your slick drenching his face, his beard, stubble - whatever phase he was in with or without facial hair. Robby loved it when you began to let go; body melting in his hands as your fingers wound themselves tightly in his hair to pull him closer, deeper. Robby could get drunk off your taste, the soft keening breaths that came ragged and shaking from your chest. How your body trembled as he worked each finger inside you until your back arched beautifully off the bed.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine….

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t fucking care, but he fucking did.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Fullerton?”

Robby grabbed the PPE gown from beside the table before he went to his full height. From this advantage, he could faintly make out the dying hint of a flush on your cheeks.

“I was talking here first, Sugar tits.”

You pivoted to glance around him and waved at Myrna who waved back with her middle finger.

“Myrna, always a pleasure. I think that’s my third finger wave today,” you muttered the last part to him.

“Dr. Fullerton.”

“Right, right. I wanted to see if I could borrow one of your med students. Central 3 and 4 have two patients, males twenty-three and twenty- four in age. Both were at the same BBQ and believed dumping liter fluid on a fire was a good idea.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, they look like human marshmallows right now. One has second-degree burns while central 4 has, what I believe, might be second degrading into three.”

“Do you need me to come take a look?”

It felt like a reasonable question. He was attending and usually, all consultations like this went through him for an opinion. He’d just done it with her half an hour ago. It shouldn’t be a big deal -

“Oh, no, no. Thanks but I think I got this.”

“Oook. If you got it, why do you need a med student?”

“I figure it would be a good teaching moment for one of them on treatments of burns and how to assess the level. I’ve already called surgery for a consultation on central 4. Plus, there’s no available nurse to help me attend to both.”

Robby tried to keep the scoff from coming out. He shook his head and went to move around you, shooting Myrna an irritated glance that hopefully she caught as his nonverbal way of telling her he didn’t want to see her the rest of the day.

“So, you are saying you need help, you just don’t want my help.”

God, he sounded like a petulant child. By the look on your face, you’d agree with that statement.

“Robby, I know you’re busy - “

“I’m not busy,” he cut in.

“Robby, the parents of the OD teen are here.”

Dana came from behind the station, her eyes glancing between the two of you.

“Okay, park them in Trauma 1. He’s not back from CT yet. I’ll be there in a minute. You can borrow Whitaker,” he directed at you.

He had to move. There was still the floating face patient in trauma 2. He needed to find out if they’d been able to prep for a safe intubation and if not, they were doing a solid alternative. Langdon was there with both interns. Robby could trust him. He should’ve been more worried about himself because as he passed by you on his way to trauma 2, he felt his body dip towards you. The jealousy rushed up like a lance piercing his heart as he remembered Dana’s words. The idea that you’d moved on, that someone else had taken his place, threatened to remove whatever sensible bit of himself he had left.

“And don’t pull your phone out on the floor. It’s unprofessional, and I won’t have it in my department. You can step outside like everyone else.”

You didn’t look at him as he spoke. You didn’t even snap at him or give him any hint you’d heard him. Robby knew you’d heard him, but your eyes were solely focused behind him. It was the spot he’d just been standing - the spot Dana now occupied.

There should’ve been some satisfaction in watching Dana’s face crumble like this. All the earlier anger dissipated back into a playful, if not biting, rhetoric that gave you some hope the day wouldn’t be your version of Dante’s Inferno.

But Robby’s comment…

Only one person saw you on the phone earlier. One person who’d asked about who you’d been talking to while you’d read Jake’s texts. You’d been so ready to shout at Robby that it was Jake, his son. It might have given you some retribution but why should you have to explain anything to him? He was acting like a jealous significant other, not a damn boss. The way he’d pressed himself against you earlier; touching you as if half-possessed.

You weren’t helping, were you? The minute the words had leapt from your mouth you’d wished you could take them back. You shouldn’t have said it and yet, you did. You fucking did and now the wanton look he’d given you was forever etched into your brain.

You were an idiot.

An even bigger idiot for thinking Dana would’ve left anything between you.

“You just couldn’t help yourself. Could you?”

“Kid - “

Dana took a step forward ready to explain. You didn’t have it in you to listen. When the phone went off in her hand you found your way out and took it.

“Do you know where I can find Whitaker?”

“He had a patient around the North-East hallway.”

“Thanks.”

You heard her call your name. Not Fullerton, not kid. Dana said your name and for the first time today, you wished she’d stuck to calling you an asshole.

You followed Dana’s instructions and moved toward the hallways. You weren’t sure how long you’d be searching for him, but luckily it wasn’t long. On the opposite side of the hall, you watched him wheel a patient out of 17 North and into the halls. Whatever the patient said stopped Whitaker in his tracks - both grateful and surprised all at once. You waited a few minutes longer for him to enjoy a good moment with his patient (because sometimes it didn’t always go like that) before you made your way around to get to him.

“Whitaker!”

“Uhm, oh yes. Hi, Dr. Fullerton.”

“I have a couple of burn patients in Central 3 and 4; second to third degree. Dr. Robby said you’d be able to assist if that’s alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I would. That’d be awesome. Thank you.”

He was so earnest it was endearing. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go remove some dead tissue.”

You took the lead in showing Whitaker to the rooms. You were trying to make polite conversation. It only seemed fair to take a small interest in what motivated a young doctor to get into the field of medicine, of saving lives. Basic questions such as those were able to tell you a lot about who someone was and if they held enough compassion to be around people during their most vulnerable times.

You did try your best to keep your attention trained on the work. It was your turn to be a teacher, and you wanted to do it well. You didn’t have an excuse why you looked toward Trauma 1. No excuse at all why you watched Robby speak to the kids' parents looking defeated before they’d even begun. There was even less of an excuse for when Robby looked away from them, his eyes searching until he found yours, that should’ve made you want to forget these last two years. You hated the old impulse to run to him - to care for him. The last time you’d seen Robby looking desperately close to combusting like this it’d been a few doors down standing outside pediatrics.

Looking at him now, Robby seemed ready to quit, and it wasn’t even close to 8:30.

______________

As always, thank you all so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

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Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange

#Residuals #ongoing series #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #dr michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #the pitt x reader #dr robby x oc #michael robinavitch x oc #michael robinavitch x you #noah wyle #saucy angsty babies

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velvetures · 2 years ago

Text

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures

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goldfades · 3 months ago

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hiiii idea popped in my head seeing joey on the phone but like imagine he’s away and trying to help y/n get kids to bed but it’s hard since he’s away 🥰😭 sorry i have to share the imaginings happening :-))))

no, baby i love when people share their cute little ideas!!! i hope you enjoy this one<3

The second Joe’s face popped up on FaceTime, Hayes let out a dramatic gasp—like he had just seen a celebrity in the wild.

"Dada!"

You winced as his little voice echoed through the house, far louder than necessary. "Hayes, baby, inside voice," you reminded him, but it didn’t matter. The damage was already done.

From down the hall, you heard the unmistakable wail of your youngest, jolted awake by his big brother’s sudden outburst. You closed your eyes for a brief second, sighing, already bracing for the next half hour of chaos.

Joe must have heard it, too, because his face twisted in sympathy. "That bad, huh?"

You turned your attention back to the phone, where Joe was sitting in his hotel room, half-smiling, half-wincing, freshly showered with wet curls sticking to his forehead.

"That bad," you confirmed, shifting Hayes further onto your hip. He had his tiny fingers fisted in your shirt, but his eyes were locked on the screen, grinning so big it made his dimples pop.

"Hi, buddy," Joe said, his voice warm and fond.

"Dada, when you coming home?" Hayes asked, tilting his head.

Joe’s face softened. "Couple more days, bud. But guess what? We have a game tomorrow. Are you gonna watch?"

Hayes nodded enthusiastically, kicking his legs in excitement. "I wear my jersey!"

"You better. Gotta match me, right?"

Hayes nodded again, his little hands now gripping the phone like he could somehow pull Joe through the screen.

It wasn’t the first time he had gone through this phase. As you liked to say, Hayes had his "favorites"—rotating obsessions that switched every few months. Sometimes it was dinosaurs, sometimes it was a specific pair of socks he refused to take off for days at a time, and sometimes, it was Joe.

This was one of those times.

For the past couple of weeks, everything had been about Joe. Hayes only wanted to watch football, only wanted to play "catch" in the backyard, only wanted to FaceTime his dad 24/7. If Joe was around, you were nothing—completely cast aside.

Which, really, you didn’t mind. Because the way Joe lit up every time Hayes showed even an ounce of excitement over football or his job in general—it was worth every second of being ignored.

What you did mind, however, was getting him to sleep without Joe here.

"Okay, buddy, we gotta say goodnight to Dada," you said, shifting Hayes in your arms.

"No!" Hayes protested immediately, curling his little fingers into fists. "Not yet!"

Joe chuckled. "C’mon, H, listen to Mama. You gotta go to bed."

Hayes pouted. "Don’t wanna."

"Yeah, well, I don’t wanna deal with a grumpy toddler tomorrow, so you kinda have to," you muttered under your breath, earning a soft laugh from Joe.

"How about this?" Joe offered. "I’ll stay on FaceTime while you get in bed, and I’ll tell you a story, okay?"

Hayes perked up immediately. "A story?"

"Yeah," Joe grinned. "But only if you’re in bed."

Hayes was already wiggling out of your grasp before Joe had even finished his sentence, making a beeline for his room. You sighed in relief, grabbing the monitor from the counter before following behind.

By the time you got to his room, he was already under the covers, clutching his stuffed tiger, eyes bright with anticipation.

"Alright, let’s hear it, Burrow," you said, settling into the rocking chair, phone still in hand.

Joe laughed, then launched into one of Hayes’ favorites—something about a football-playing dinosaur that you were pretty sure Joe had made up on the fly one night, but Hayes had loved it ever since.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, Hayes’ blinks got heavier, and his tiny body started relaxing into the mattress.

By the time Joe reached the end of the story, his voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, and Hayes was out.

"Thank God," you sighed, carefully tucking the blanket around your son before stepping out into the hallway.

Joe was smirking when you looked back at the screen. "See? Easy."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, ‘easy’ because you get to do the fun part. Try dealing with the bath time tantrums before you get cocky."

Joe laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I miss you, though. And I miss Hayes."

Your heart clenched. "He misses you, too."

"I’ll be home soon, I promise."

"I know."

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, voice softer now.

"You’re doing such a good job, you know that?"

You felt it—the warmth spreading through your chest, the way your shoulders relaxed at his words.

"Thank you," you murmured. "Now hurry up and win so you can get back home to your biggest fan."

Joe grinned. "I think that’s you."

You huffed out a laugh. "Not even close. That title officially belongs to your tiny clone."

Joe laughed, shaking his head. "Fine. But you’re a close second."

And somehow, that was enough.

Joe had barely stepped foot through the door before Hayes came barreling toward him, arms wide, cheeks flushed with excitement.

Joe barely had time to drop his bag before scooping him up. "There’s my boy!" he grinned, pressing a kiss to Hayes’ chubby cheek. "Missed you, bud."

"Missed you too," Hayes said, but before Joe could even savor the moment, Hayes was already wiggling out of his grasp.

Joe blinked in confusion as his son ran right past him and straight to Maisie, who was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"AUNT MAISIE!" Hayes shouted, climbing into her lap like she was his long-lost hero.

Maisie barely looked up, smirking. "What’s up, little dude?"

Joe stood there, stunned. Mouth slightly open, arms still mid-air from where he had just been cast aside like a used toy.

You were trying so hard not to laugh.

Maisie shot Joe a cocky look, ruffling Hayes’ curls. "Told you. I’m officially the favorite now."

Joe scoffed. "That’s not possible."

You snorted. "Oh, it’s possible. It happened while you were gone. Apparently, Maisie’s the ‘cool’ one now."

Joe crossed his arms. "I thought I was the cool one."

Maisie let out a dramatic sigh, adjusting her sunglasses (which she was still wearing inside, for some reason). "You had a good run, but the people have spoken."

Joe turned to Hayes, genuinely confused. "Buddy, what about football? What about watching game film with me? What about—?"

"I like Aunt Maisie’s music better," Hayes cut in, matter-of-factly.

Joe looked genuinely offended. "What’s wrong with my music?"

Maisie let out a loud laugh. "Oh my God. You’ve been replaced by Taylor Swift and the Encanto soundtrack."

Joe’s face dropped. "That’s not fair. Encanto has bangers."

"You don’t even know the words to ‘We Don’t Talk About Bruno,’" you pointed out.

Joe gasped, pointing at you accusingly. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"Oh, absolutely," you grinned.

Joe groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Unbelievable. Gone for one week and I’m completely irrelevant."

Maisie patted his shoulder. "It happens to the best of us, man."

Joe sighed, finally giving in. "Fine. But just so you know, he’s gonna want to play football with me again in, like, two weeks."

Maisie smirked. "We’ll see."

And honestly? You weren’t so sure. Because the way Hayes was currently clinging to Maisie’s side, giggling at whatever TikTok she had just shown him?

Yeah. Joe was gonna have to work really hard to win back his title.

#sweet on you ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊#joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joey b #joe shiesty #jb9 #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc

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fathomlessgaze · 1 year ago

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bring your child to work day: zayne and his daughter spend a day at the hospital

fluff, dad!zayne/reader (a little bit), ~2.2k

warnings: reader only makes a small appearance it's mostly about zayne + his daughter spending quality time together tbh, allusions to zayne + mc's lore (no specific memory idt just the overarching theme of their story), zayne is a devoted girl dad bc i believe in girldad!zayne...

a/n: mc/reader + zaynes daughter is named zenith here bc i liked the idea of them sharing an initial 😭 meaning the highest point/the point right above you in the sky bc i think thats what she would be for zayne+mc like one of the best moments of their lifetimes :( anyway it's mentioned in the fic but shes the spitting image of zayne thats his mini-me fr

“good morning,” zayne says, passing by the nurses’ station without much fuss. it’s an ordinary wednesday, after all.

“morning,” greyson echoes with a curt nod, his eyes still focused on the files he’s reviewing from an overnight patient.

“mornin’!” a third voice calls happily.

greyson freezes, his papers falling unceremoniously on the floor. “huh!?” he exclaims, a little too loud for a hospital corridor.

however the chief pays his outburst no mind, and he suddenly sees why, greyson’s gaze finding the little girl perched on his boss’ hip. of course, he remembers, it’s “bring your child to work” day. but for some reason, he never thought that zayne would actually bring his child to work. perhaps that explains why he’d made sure no surgeries were scheduled for this day weeks ago.

zayne strokes her dark hair, brushing a loose strand from her pigtails behind her ear. “this is dr. greyson,” he speaks softly, pointing in his direction. “dr. greyson, meet zenith.”

“nice to meet you!” she exclaims, waving a chubby hand in the air, paying no mind to his wide eyes and slack jaw.

she can’t be over four judging from her height, and, of course, greyson knew zayne had a daughter, but he didn’t really know. he remembers you mentioning her at your appointments, the photos on his desk and, of course, zayne’s paid time off actually being used at personal all time highs (which had already been on the incline after you moved in and then got married) since a few years ago, but it still feels surreal to actually see him with his child.

if she has any opinion on greyson’s lack of response besides the cartoon birds that would appear around his head if they were in an animated tv show, she gives no hint. instead, she smiles brightly, her green eyes sparkling as she takes zayne’s glasses off his face and fists the lenses, trying to rotate them in her tiny hands and fit them on her own face.

somehow, with the much too large frames perched on her nose, she looks even more like her father. everything, from her dark hair tied with ribbons to her hazel eyes, the curve of her brow and little nose, she is her father’s daughter to a t. perhaps the only un-zayne-like thing about her is the permanent cheeriness in her gaze and her gummy smile. that she must’ve gotten from you. while greyson has definitely noticed how his boss has become a little less taciturn and stern over the years, he would be lying to himself if he said he ever thought zayne would become even a miniscule fraction as bubbly as the daughter he holds close right now.

“i didn’t know you were bringing your daughter in today!” greyson exclaims, the realizations of today finally settling and coming together in his mind.

there’s a fondness in his eyes as he glances to zenith, his lips quirking the slightest bit upwards. “she’s been asking for weeks to come with me; i figured now would be the best time with the other kids here. i know you’ve seen the schedule for today, but—”

“oh my god!” yvonne gasps, speeding towards the trio gathered. “you brought your daughter, dr. zayne!” she extends her hand to the girl, which she happily takes. “i’m yvonne, i work with your dad.”

“i’m zenif,” she babbles, her syllables getting caught on her missing tooth.

simultaneously both greyson and yvonne coo at the little girl.

“aren’t you the cutest thing? i’ve seen so many pictures of you but you’re just the dearest little one, hm?”

and word of mouth travels fast, because, soon enough, a whole crowd has come to fuss over the most adorable little girl who looks exactly like the aloof department chair and has the sweetest smile. she graciously accepts their compliments with quiet ‘thank you's' and hides her face in her father’s neck and shoulder, causing even more ‘aww’s to fall from his colleagues’ lips. when the attention dies down, zayne finally gets to his office, nearly an hour later than he usually would have by now, but he can’t even be annoyed. his little girl is the most precious; of course, he would react in the same way.

he shuts the door behind them and puts his bag down by his desk, moving zenith so she has a place on his lap when he sits down. “what would you like to do today, hm?” he asks, booting up his computer and finding a pile of files from the depths of a drawer.

“what do you do?” she asks.

he hums. “well sometimes i see patients who don’t feel well, sometimes i do surgeries on them so they feel better, and sometimes i have to do paperwork. i don’t have any patients or surgeries scheduled today, so we can do whatever you want; how does that sound?”

“what about paperwork?” she exclaims. “you said that’s what you do?”

“would you like to do paperwork with me?”

she nods firmly. “i wanna spend time with daddy!”

his heart softens, his already abnormally warm (at least for work standards) gaze growing even more endeared by his precious, favorite little girl. “you want to spend time with me?”

her head bobs and she wraps her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “of course! i love you, daddy.”

pressing a kiss to her cheek, he can’t help a smile. of course he knows she loves him, loves spending time with him. when he’s home she’s practically glued to his hip. and he tries his best to make sure she knows the same. but sometimes it’s just nice to hear it from someone you love. “and i love you, princess.”

it used to be a foreign expression on his tongue many, many years ago, before you’d returned to his life, and especially before she came into his life. but as time flew by, thanks to you and your help, he’d grown familiar, comfortable, fond with it. while he knew you didn’t mind him not saying that as much as other boyfriends and husbands might from all your conversations, knowing he expressed how much he loved you and then some through other ways, he knew she might not have understood just how her father expressed his feelings and fondness at her young age.

so beyond his quiet actions, he makes sure to tell her. whether it’s a post-it note in her lunchbox, right next to the heart-shaped sandwich with the crusts cut off, just how she likes it, whenever it’s his turn to make her lunch, or a birthday card she’ll know how to read one day, he tries to tell her through words too. ‘i love you’ went from an expression he seldom said or heard, to one he couldn’t get enough of, whether it be from your lips or hers, and one he always wanted you both to know.

“let’s see what kind of paperwork we can find for you, then.” coincidentally a knock sounds from the other side of the door. “come in.”

“they brought some donuts and coloring pages out in the lobby,” yvonne says, popping her head in. “i figured you’d both be interested.”

“thank you, yvonne.” when the door shuts, zayne leans back to look at his daughter, brushing her hair. “what do you think about that? do you want to take a look?” with her eager nods, zayne stands.

“i wanna walk,” she pouts, tugging on his once crisp button-up, and he puts her down accordingly, taking her small fingers in his.

they make their way hand in hand down the corridor, drawing even more endeared coos from the staff until they reach the table. kneeling down to her height, he points at a smaller kids table in the corner.

“how about you get some coloring sheets and crayons? i can get you a donut and we can head back and do some paperwork,” he explains.

she happily obliges, skipping over and inspecting the books with a familiar seriousness (which also makes the other staff coddle her just as much as her bright smiles. “aren’t you so precious!?” “she’s just like her father!” zayne can’t help the small quirk of his lips when he hears how cute they find his daughter, because she is, speaking from his personal experience.). meanwhile he grabs a strawberry donut with sprinkles and a chocolate one, both her favorites, placing them on a napkin and grabbing a few extra knowing how she takes after you in terms of her messiness.

meeting her in the corner, he bends down, taking a quick look at the drawings she’s taken. “find anything you like?” he asks.

raising her pages to his eyes, she beams. “they have the bears!”

he smiles softly, tucking her loose hair away. “yes, they do,” he hums. “who knew?”

it totally wasn’t like he’d ordered specific character coloring books when it was time for the cardiology department to refill their kids’ activity section. it totally wasn’t like he’d looked for some ones he knew his daughter would love. it wasn’t like that at all; zayne maintains he’s as impassive and serious at work as ever…he’s lying to himself.

when she gathers her crayons, the duo make their way back to his office. the day flies quickly by, her babbles and light, curious questions bringing a new level of comfort and joy zayne never thought he’d get from his job. he loves what he does, of course, but everything just seems more enjoyable and memorable with his daughter by his side. or rather, with her on his lap, in her own little world of just her and her beloved dad, oblivious to the seriousness of the paperwork her father is dealing with as she busies herself with her own “paperwork” and scribbles vibrant colors all over the once black and white image.

and zayne thinks he would be perfectly content if it were to stay like this forever. even with all his prizes and awards, nothing could compare to the reward and title of being your husband and zenith’s father.

he lowers his pen to the desk from his fingers, using his free hand to rest his head as he admires the precious life before him. “i love you, princess,” he murmurs, pinching her cheek.

“i love you too, daddy!” she turns to face him, crumbs of donut glaze still around her lips.

he takes a napkin and dabs at her face before checking his watch. you’d said you’d meet them around now… “how about we get lunch soon?”

right on time, a knock sounds from the door, which opens to reveal you. “how are my favorite doctors doing?” you exclaim.

“mama!” she cheers, hopping off zayne’s knee and running into your waiting embrace.

kissing her head, you give her a squeeze. “how’s work with dada going?”

“i love it here! daddy colors and eats dessert all day,” she cheers.

glancing to your husband, you chuckle. “is that so?”

he makes his way towards you both, giving you a peck as you stand, your daughter now on your hip. “something like that,” he mumbles.

“then maybe i should become a doctor too,” you tease. “is now a good time for lunch?”

he nods, opening the office door once more and allowing you to pass first.

“i wanna become a doc-tor, too,” zenith ponders, suddenly serious with her small fingers tapping at her chin as she thinks, a habit no doubt from her father. “then daddy and i can color and eat snacks together forever!”

“is that so?” you ask, but you can’t help the smile you shoot at your husband.

she bobs her head, a determined furrow in her brow. “i wanna be with mama and daddy forever.”

zayne has a warm fondness in his gaze as his eyes find his daughter. she looks up to him with wide eyes and her gummy grin, reaching her small hand out for his own, which he happily obliges. her tiny fist wraps around two of fingers, and he briefly wishes that she could stay his little girl for eternity. she doesn’t need to know how hard her dad’s job actually is, how much work he had to put in to get to where they are now, the sorrows of her parents’ past. she is a precious gem, the shining peak of all your shared lifetimes.

this one existence, finally at peace, a happy ending for you and him, domestic bliss with the two, now three, of you, he thinks it’s worth every tear that’s been shed before. and maybe in another universe and lifetime, the you’ll get another happy ending. he thinks that even if it’s a simple life, as long as it’s with the two of you, it’d be one he cherishes and treasures close to every fiber of his existence, one he would fight all there may be to remember, for no god could tear his devotion. maybe he’d even bet every splintering past life that led to this one was worth the years he’s gotten to spend with you in this one, and the years still to come. so he hopes she stays as optimistic and bright as ever, that you stay by his side in this heavenly life he could only once dream of. after all, ice is made of crystals.

#zayne x reader #zayne x y/n #zayne x you #zayne fluff #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #l&ds x reader #mine

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godihatethiswebsite · 10 months ago

Text

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night.

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life.

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding.

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage.

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building.

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too.

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen.

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize.

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime?

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace.

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine.

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?”

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope.

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–”

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth.

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil.

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game.

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line.

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa.

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves.

He liked to abuse his privileges.

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior.

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent.

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either.

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks.

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost.

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans.

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul.

The veritable nectar of the gods.

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

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hongcherry · 4 months ago

Text

pretty please (stain me red) || c.sc [1]

It's the night of your boyfriend's company award banquet and all you want to do is support him, but slurs from an attendee and your self-doubts begin to taint the night. Seungcheol offers to distract your mind in a way he's been wanting to do ever since he saw you getting ready earlier.

🍒 Pairing: businessWorker!Seungcheol x fashionDesigner!Reader (f) [Pretty Please couple] 🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+)/Fluff, angst/Established relationship 🍒 Word Count: 5.3k 🍒 Warnings: Pronouns and nicknames (she/her, Cherry, babe/baby), poor horny cheol, suggestive dialogue and actions, outfit descriptors, reader is cheol's #1 defender 🍒 Timeline: This takes place after “love me,” but you don’t need to read that prior to this. 🍒 Author's Note: Goodness, I've been sitting on this story for MONTHS, but then life happens ofc 😭 I'm so excited to share more of this couple! And big thanks to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta'ing this!!! I've reread it too many times and desperately needed extra eyes ♥️

pretty please masterpost | seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

part two

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

“Babe, can you help me with—oh, fuck.”

Seungcheol halts at the doorway of the bathroom, barely breaching a toe inside.

The red lipstick in your hand is a few centimeters from your mouth, but you pause upon hearing Seungcheol. You meet your boyfriend’s gaze in the mirror.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and straighten your posture.

Seungcheol’s eyes scan your body, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. Finally, he snaps out of his daze and moves closer.

“You’re going in that?” he questions.

“Is something wrong with it?” You frown, eyes drifting down to your outfit. It’s a dark maroon dress with a semi-deep v-neck and a high slit over one of the thighs.

Seungcheol notices your sad expression and is quick to shake his head.

“No, not at all, baby,” he reassures hurriedly and steps up behind you. He places his hands on your hips, giving them a comforting squeeze.

“Then…?” you trail off, shifting your gaze to him in the mirror again.

He goes to nuzzle his face in your neck, but you move away. His eyebrows furrow in puzzlement.

“You’re going to ruin my hair,” you explain.

Seungcheol sighs half-heartedly. He’s not surprised but still disappointed. He just wants to give you affection; especially when you look as breathtaking as you do now.

“Now, what’s up with my outfit?” you repeat, then briefly check the time on your phone that’s resting on the counter. You don’t have much time left until you have to leave.

“Nothing,” Seungcheol replies. “You just look really pretty.”

You smile and turn slightly in his hands.

“Thank you, Cheol.” You give him a quick kiss on his lips and try to rotate back, but Seungcheol reaches out before you completely face forward.

His hand gently guides your face back to his, connecting your lips once more. Though this time, he makes sure the kiss lasts longer. His lips feel sweet against yours; it’s an addicting taste that you can’t get enough of. Despite this, you force yourself away. You’ll be late if you don’t leave in a few minutes. Though, you have a feeling Seungcheol wouldn’t mind.

Seungcheol bites his lower lip and tries to readjust your body so your front is facing him; however, you nudge him and turn to the mirror.

You finally begin applying the lipstick. You’ve finished your lower lip when you feel Seungcheol press a hand down on your lower back, bending you further over the counter.

You narrow your eyes at his reflection.

“Cheol,” you warn and try to stand up. Seungcheol just presses his hand harder. He leans over you, lower half flush against yours. You can feel his growing bulge pressing into you, which makes your breath catch.

“What if we just skip tonight, hm?” he murmurs.

“We can’t. You’re supposed to be winning an award,” you reply firmly.

Seungcheol trails a hand up your back as you speak, eyes dropping down to your chest.

“You can give me plenty of awards here,” he says and slowly tugs one of your dress straps down. The act exposes more of your cleavage.

Seungcheol leans in to press soft kisses along your shoulder blade and downward.

“T-That doesn’t even make sense,” you respond, trying to push down the need that’s growing.

“I don’t care.”

Seungcheol’s other hand moves to the remaining strap, prepared to pull it down too, but you reach up to stop his hand.

“Cheol,” you repeat. “We can do this when we get back.”

“You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you, Cherry?” he groans and retracts himself from you.

You give him a soft smile as you adjust your dress.

“I would never,” you reply teasingly before finishing your lipstick.

Seungcheol leans against the wall as he watches you. He’s seen you apply makeup plenty of times, yet he still loves watching you work. However, he’s tempted to walk away this time. The way you’re leaning over the sink causes your dress to hug your ass more and your breasts to be more prominent. It’s taking a lot of self-control to keep his hands off you.

And that damn lipstick.

He just wants to smear it across your face as he—

“You really gotta start thinking of something else,” you say, shattering his daydreaming. You’ve moved away from the mirror now, lipstick applied perfectly.

“What?” he asks.

You laugh and drop your gaze down. Seungcheol follows your eyes and sees a noticeable tent in his pants.

“Fuck, Yn,” he sighs while leaning his head back on the wall.

You bite your lip at the way he said that.

“You know,” you murmur and flatten out his tie. “You make it hard not to stay, too. You look really sexy right now.”

“Then let’s just stay,” he whines, placing a hand over yours on his chest. He starts pushing it down, but you pull away before you can get close to his belt.

“No can do. You deserve this award, so you’ll be there to get it. Now, did you need something from earlier?” you ask and step out of the bathroom.

Seungcheol thinks hard to remember why he came to you in the first place.

“I just needed help with the cufflinks.”

Your eyebrows raise suspiciously. You know he’s fully capable of putting them on himself since he’s done it in the past. Regardless, you nod as you retrieve your shoes.

“Okay, give me a second,” you instruct as you slip on your heels.

“Dammit, babe,” Seungcheol exasperates.

You raise your eyebrows while you reach out for his wrists. “What now?”

“You’re wearing those heels, too?”

“You prefer I wear my slippers?”

“I prefer if you wore noth—”

“You’re acting like a horny teenager.” You laugh.

Seungcheol frowns. “It’s all your fault.”

You laugh again and pat his chest. “Well, start thinking about dead puppies. It’s time to go.”

Before he can protest once more, you snatch your purse off the dresser and make your way to the door. Seungcheol reluctantly follows you a moment later.

“Seungcheol!” an unknown woman greets as soon as you both enter the ballroom. She appears to be around the same age. She smiles brightly at him, and you wonder just how close they are.

“Hi, Eunji,” Seungcheol grins.

“I would say you clean up nice, but I guess you always look this way… At least at work,” she laughs, and he follows along.

“Nothing’s changed,” he replies kindly.

You try not to make a disgusted face at the interaction. You know jealousy isn’t a good look, but the green monster doesn’t want to stay in hiding.

You know Seungcheol would never cheat on you, but that doesn’t mean he won’t leave you for someone else. You’re not oblivious to your unfriendly attitude. You’ve been working on it, but there’s only so much you can change until you lose who you are. Seungcheol has always seemed to be the type to find someone less… you.

“Is this Yn?” Eunji suddenly asks.

You blink, thoughts skidding to a stop at her question.

Seungcheol pulls you closer and nods. “The one and only. Yn, this is Eunji. We’re usually on the same team for projects. Eunji, this is Yn. My girlfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves him off. “I know plenty about her. You can’t go a day without bringing her up.”

Seungcheol coughs awkwardly at being tattled on.

She then turns to you and offers a hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. You’re more gorgeous in person.”

“O-Oh. Thank you,” you stammer and shake her hand. Does that mean she’s seen photos of you? You wonder when that happened.

“Where’s Dee?” Seungcheol asks.

“Oh, she went to go get—”

“Sodas are here!” Another woman arrives.

“Here she is!” Eunji beams. “Thanks, babe.”

They exchange a kiss that makes you feel guilty.

Seungcheol gives you a squeeze, probably reading your mind, as you watch them exchange sweet greetings.

“Yn, this is Diana or Dee. My girlfriend.” She smiles.

You both shake hands.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

“Likewise!”

“Seungcheol?” A man comes up behind him.

Seungcheol turns to see who called his name. “Oh, Mr. Cheon. I’m glad you came.”

Mr. Cheon is an older man with grey streaks in his hair and glasses.

He nods, then drifts his attention toward you. “And who’s your beautiful guest?”

“My girlfriend, Yn,” Seungcheol responds with a smile.

“Pleased to meet you,” Mr. Cheon says.

You exchange another handshake. “You as well.”

“Do you mind if I steal your boyfriend? I’d like to introduce him to some friends of mine,” he says.

“Oh, that’s no problem at all,” you lie through a smile. Despite your reputation in college, you’ve never been the one for parties. The idea of being left alone in a big room filled with business people sets you on edge. You had hoped you could leech onto Seungcheol the entire night.

Seungcheol senses your worry and whispers in your ear, “You sure, Cherry? You can stay with me.”

You shake your head. “Go have fun. I’ll find myself a quiet corner.”

He narrows his eyes. He pulls back and makes eye contact with Eunji.

“Hey, Eunji. Do you mind keeping Yn company for a bit?” he asks.

“Not at all!” Eunji smiles. “We’ll have fun.”

“I don’t need babysitting!” you huff lowly, so only he can hear.

Seungcheol chuckles. “You’re not being babysat. I prefer you not to be alone anyway.”

“I’m sure I’ll be safe here.”

“It’ll ease my mind to know you’re with others.”

Sighing, you nod.

Seungcheol leans in for a kiss but you pull away.

“Lipstick,” you explain. He sighs inwardly at having forgotten.

“Cheek?” he wonders.

You shake your head. You had put a full face of makeup on and are sure Seungcheol doesn’t want to taste the products—even if he says they smell good. Seungcheol takes your hand in the end and kisses the back of it instead. Before letting go, he tugs you a little closer.

“Your makeup will be ruined later tonight anyway,” he whispers in your ear. “I would’ve just gotten a head start.”

You try not to show surprise on your face. You give his hand a warning squeeze, which he just smirks in response.

He lets go of your hand and leaves to join the conversation Mr. Cheon got dragged into while waiting for Seungcheol.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and glance to see who it is.

Eunji smiles and nods to somewhere in the ballroom. “We’re going to go clear out the snack table. Want to come?”

You chuckle, nodding.

You follow Eunji and Diana to the snack bar that’s filled with an assortment of finger food. It looks delicious, but you don’t feel hungry. Despite this, you put a tiny amount on your plate to appease Eunji and Diana.

Once they both have a plate full of goodies, they lead you to an empty table. They make casual conversation, asking about your job and hobbies. They’re easy to get along with, and they don’t seem too judgmental. You’re glad Seungcheol befriended them.

“Don’t eat that! You already had three,” a voice rings out two tables away.

Curious, you peer behind Dee’s shoulder. A woman with a fancy updo hairstyle and a sparkly dress sits beside a man. She must sense your stare because she averts her focus to you. She gives you one quick once-over before rolling her eyes and looking back to her company.

She leans in and whispers something in his ear. They both turn to look at someone. You follow their gazes in Seungcheol’s direction. Are they looking at him or at someone nearby?

“That’s Leanne Lane. Her boyfriend’s been wanting the award Seungcheol’s getting since he first joined the company,” Eunji whispers when she sees you studying the woman. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to get cozy with the committee members who chose the award.”

Although you try not to judge people on their appearances since you’ve been on the receiving end, you can’t help but think there’s some truth to Eunji’s words.

You narrow your gaze at them knowing they’re probably shit-talking Seungcheol. Jealousy never did good for anyone.

“Seems like she wants that award more for herself,” you observe.

Eunji laughs. “Probably. I heard she only got with Hwan because she thought he’d climb the ranks fast.”

“Where’d they meet?” you question.

“I think at one of these events?” Dee chimes in. She glances at Eunji for confirmation.

Eunji nods. “He didn’t get that award, but he got something else. Granted, he’s a good worker, but not as good as someone you know.”

She wiggles her brows; it’s clear she means Seungcheol. Pride fills your chest knowing people are recognizing his efforts so soon. So much so that he’s getting an award for it.

Not wanting Leanne to sour your mood, you divert your attention back to Seungcheol’s friends. They converse amongst themselves, asking you questions here and there. Your gaze frequently drifts to where Seungcheol is across the room. He stands amongst a small group, smiling and nodding at what’s being said. He looks almost at home surrounded by fancy-suited business people.

You can’t help but wonder if he secretly wishes you were more like them too. If maybe he had made a mistake in giving you a chance. Should he have chosen a certain someone instead?

Seungcheol’s gaze suddenly meets yours. The smile on his face grows, and his eyes soften. Your lips raise involuntarily.

He looks so handsome tonight in his dark pinstripe suit. Although Seungcheol was gawking at you at home, you can’t deny you were silently doing the same. Maybe if it wasn’t such an important event, you would’ve caved and been late.

You get so lost in his brown eyes that you don’t realize his friends are asking you a question. Though, when someone taps Seungcheol to get his attention, you finally register the giggles at your table.

Your gaze shifts to Eunji and Dee, who are both looking at you with teasing smiles.

Biting your lip, you tuck your chin and take a drink to distract yourself.

For tonight, you’ll try not to focus on your worries. It’s Seungcheol’s night after all. You don’t want to spoil it.

By the time Seungcheol’s award category is announced, you’re exhausted.

You’re sat at a table with Seungcheol, Eunji, Dee, Mr. Cheon, and their date. Seungcheol has his hand laced with yours under the table, resting on his thigh. All you want to do is lean against him and close your eyes.

“Next award is the Emerging Leader Award,” the host announces.

You perk up and glance at Seungcheol with knowing eyes. He keeps his gaze forward but gives your joined hands a little shake to acknowledge you.

“This award is dedicated to a person who has shown great communication and teamwork skills early in their career,” the host continues.

You squeeze Seungcheol’s hand as they speak, eager for him to be recognized. Seungcheol reciprocates the gesture.

“This year, this person has demonstrated leadership abilities among colleagues and has been a great asset with collaborative work. We are grateful to have him join us this year.

The recipient of the Emerging Leader Award goes to Mr. Choi Seungcheol.”

Applause erupts in the room.

Seungcheol smiles, turns to you, presses a quick peck to your temple, and makes his way to the stage. He bows every once in a while when someone congratulates him on the way.

Amongst the applause, you hear a scoff from the table next to you. You know it’s Leanne from earlier.

“Thank you, everyone,” Seungcheol says with a dimpled grin; the claps settle down. “Throughout my time here, I’ve worked with many talented and intelligent coworkers—many of whom—”

“What a kiss up. I bet that’s the reason he got that award,” Leanne mutters under her breath.

Your hands curl into fists in front of you, trying to focus on Seungcheol’s words. He deserves the award without someone spewing insults at him.

“—honor to be the recipient of this award. Thank you to—” Seungcheol continues.

“How unoriginal. I bet he made AI write his speech,” Leanne, now the Bitchy Yapper in your books, huffs.

Applause erupts once more when Seungcheol ends his speech, but you can’t bask in his glory because you missed the majority of it.

You force your feet to stay planted as you turn your head and glare at her. She catches your gaze but doesn’t try to hide her annoyance. She simply tilts her head as if to challenge you. Your lips twitch in an almost snarl, but stop when a hand touches your shoulder.

You snap your gaze away and meet Seungcheol’s smiling face. He takes his seat, placing his glass award on the table. You force a similar grin and rest a hand on his bicep affectionately.

“Congratulations, Cheol,” you whisper.

He leans in to peck your cheek despite your earlier protest. “Thank you, baby.”

The host moves on to announce more awards. The rest of the ceremony lasts twenty minutes. When it’s over, the crowd disperses again. People you don’t recognize come and congratulate Seungcheol.

In the distance, you can see Leanne scolding Hwan quietly in the corner. He looks guilty and slightly annoyed. You almost feel bad for him.

Although you told yourself not to get involved, you have to fight the desire harder as the seconds tick by. You know she’s talking down on Seungcheol. Probably calling him names and making more excuses as to why he shouldn’t have won.

“I’ll be right back,” Seungcheol tells you after Eunji and Dee give their congrats and exchange hugs before bidding you both a goodnight. “Bathroom.”

You wait for Seungcheol to go out of view then sneak off to confront Leanne. You can’t sit silent any longer.

“I’m sure your potty mouth is really favored around here.”

The woman spins. Her eyes immediately turn into slits when she meets your gaze. She looks disgusted, and you wonder if that’s her natural resting expression. Hwan takes a few steps back, obviously not wanting to be in the middle of a catfight.

“And who the hell are you? Oh—wait—you’re that kiss-ass’ date.”

“Kiss ass? Is that not you, though?” you ask, pretending to think.

She scoffs. “I’m not kissing anyone’s ass.”

“Oh, sorry. I thought that’s what you called people who suck up to others to gain something.”

Her face tightens with anger.

“As if you’re not whoring around that man for his money,” she growls.

“You know,” you begin with a smile, “usually when people get this defensive, it’s because they’re guilty.”

Leanne stares at you, nostrils flaring as she tries to control herself.

“I’m not guilty of anything. I love Hwan.”

You raise your brows. “Love him for who he is, or what he can do for you?”

If Hwan can hear you, he doesn’t make it known. He stares off into the distance with a cold drink in his hand.

“What are you trying to say?” Leanne grits out.

You take a slight step closer so no one will hear.

“How badly did you wish it was your boyfriend up there tonight?” you wonder.

“Please,” she scoffs. “If it weren’t for your suck-up boy toy, Hwan would’ve won.”

Your eyes narrow slightly.

“I think you just need to accept Seungcheol’s a natural leader and a team player.”

“And you should accept he didn’t deserve it,” she replies.

You try to push down the growing anger. Out of all the things she’s said so far, this one really yanks your strings. Even though you’ve never witnessed Seungcheol in action, you know he’s a diligent worker. He earned this award organically, and it infuriates you to hear Leanne say otherwise.

“Team player my ass,” she adds under her breath. “He’s just got those idiots wrapped around his finger.”

“Maybe if you didn’t talk so much shit, you wouldn’t be reeking of it,” you argue.

“You little fucking bitch,” she seethes.

You force a chuckle. There’s a lot more you want to say, but you’ve said enough already. You don’t want to cause a scene on Seungcheol’s big day.

“Have a nice night,” you reply with a bright smile.

You waltz around her and see Seungcheol looking at you suspiciously. You just continue to smile.

“What were you up to, Cherry?” he asks, amused.

You shrug and glance at the award in his hand. It’s made of glass with his name and award title etched on it.

“I can’t talk to other guests?” you ask.

Seungcheol gives you a look. “You can, but the way that woman is glaring at your back says you weren’t just talking.”

You hum and rub your lips together to mask your smile.

“You need pictures with your award,” you demand to change topics.

Seungcheol begins to protest, but you grab his hand and lead him to an area that’s nicely decorated.

“Cherry,” he huffs behind you.

You ignore him and find an empty spot. You nudge him towards the wall then step back and pull out your phone from your purse.

“Smile, Cheol,” you instruct.

Seungcheol ducks his chin down, covering his face with one hand in embarrassment.

You shift to one hip and frown.

“The sooner I can get a picture, the sooner you can stop,” you say.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, slowly lowering his hand and forcing his eyes to stay on yours. He grins timidly.

“A real smile,” you say.

Seungcheol relaxes his face and shifts his grin to appear more genuine, showing off his dimples. You raise the camera, taking a few photos from different angles before you release him from the spotlight.

Seungcheol wastes no time to move from the wall. You can tell he wants to hide his face in your neck—something he normally does when he’s embarrassed. However, he’s still at a work event.

“Excuse me,” someone says beside you. You turn to see an older woman. “Would you like a picture together?”

Your face lights up. “That would be lovely.”

The woman smiles and holds out her hand. After quickly opening your camera app and handing the device over, you stand near the wall with Seungcheol. He stands next to you, wrapping one arm around your waist while the other holds up his award. You lean into him and smile.

“So cute!” the woman gushes while snapping a few photos. “You both look great together.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol says.

“Just a few more,” she instructs.

Seungcheol moves behind you, placing the award in your hands. He wraps his arms around your waist as he leans his head against yours.

“Oh! Yes! I love it,” the lady exclaims as if bursting with excitement for you two.

You can’t help but giggle at her enthusiasm.

Abruptly, she turns and says, “Aren’t they just adorab—oh, you’re not my husband.”

Standing close by is the Bitchy Yapper from earlier. She stares wide-eyed at the lady, unable to change her disgusted expression fast enough. She must have been staring for some time. You snicker and smirk.

“Aren’t we?” you challenge in a sweet voice. You ripple your fingernails on the award’s glass, loud taps ringing in the air.

Seungcheol tightens his hold on you in a warning that means “behave.” You stop your tapping and try to remove the smug look on your face.

Bitchy Yapper snarls and spins on her heels without a word.

“Oh my,” the older lady says, surprised by the rude behavior.

“Thank you for the pictures,” Seungcheol says to break the tension. He moves from you and guides you to the lady with a hand on your lower back.

“Of course!” she replies.

The woman returns your phone. You take a moment to swipe through the recent pics.

“I love them!” you praise. “Thank you.”

“Anytime. And congratulations,” she pauses to glance at the award, “Mr. Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol thanks her again and waits for her to leave before he looks at you.

“Come on.” He laughs and presses his hand against your back slightly harder. “You’ve been a bad girl, Cherry.”

Your smile widens, clutching the award in your hand and feigning innocence. “I was just supporting you, honey.”

Seungcheol laughs again at your unusual nickname for him. He leads you toward the exit, occasionally thanking a few guests who congratulate him once more.

He helps you get settled in the car, then rounds the front and climbs inside.

He releases a big sigh and takes a moment to slouch in his seat.

“Tired?” you ask with a small chuckle.

“Yes,” he sighs, sitting up and shifting car gears. “Let’s get home.”

After a while, Seungcheol asks, “Care to tell me what happened with that lady now?”

“I couldn’t hear your speech because that bitch kept yapping insults about you!” you exclaim, lower lip sticking out involuntarily. Recalling her words gets you riled up.

Seungcheol’s eyes soften at your response. When he stops at a red light, he peers over to you. You’re staring off in the distance, forehead creased with anger and body tensed.

His eyes roam your face a bit longer before he reaches out and gently rubs your forehead with his thumb.

You turn to him while easing your expression.

“Why are you smiling?” you grumble.

He shakes his head with a small smile. “I didn’t think you’d care to hear me give a cliché acceptance speech.”

“Of course I’d care,” you huff, offended.

Your frown deepens as you look away.

Seungcheol’s hands drop to grab yours as he drives upon the green light.

“I mean, it was just a silly speech. I’m sure others have said the same thing. It’s not a big deal.”

“Well, it was to me,” you mumble. “And I couldn’t hear it.”

Seungcheol squeezes your hands, eyes briefly looking at you as he drives.

He clears his throat before he speaks.

“Thank you, everyone,” he begins, voice changed to be slightly louder and deeper. “Throughout my time here, I’ve worked with many talented and intelligent coworkers—many of whom have inspired me to be the best version of myself. It’s an honor to be the recipient of this award; thank you to all those who nominated me. I promise to continue dedicating myself to my position and grow beside my peers. Thank you again.”

Your frown flips gradually as you watch and listen to Seungcheol repeat his speech. It’s short and straight to the point. Like he said, it wasn’t anything ground-breaking, but you don’t care. You know in your heart Seungcheol deserved the award and the spotlight.

When he finally finishes while slowing at a stop light, he turns to you.

“Happy?” he asks, a smile on his lips.

“Very,” you reply and lean over the console to kiss him.

Seungcheol moves his hand from yours to squeeze your thigh. He’s about to slip his tongue between your lips when a loud honk causes you both to jump apart.

“Always causing trouble, huh?” he teases with a chuckle, turning his focus to the road and driving.

“Maybe trouble just finds me,” you argue playfully. Needing to feel him against you, you reach over and place a hand on his thigh.

He keeps his focus forward but smiles at your action. He drops a hand down and laces your fingers together.

“I guess I should change your name to Trouble,” he replies.

You squeeze his hand. “I like Cherry.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles and returns the squeeze.

“And baby.”

Seungcheol gives you a quick glance.

“Anything else?” he asks, trying not to smile too widely.

“And yours.”

Seungcheol hums, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

“My baby cherry,” he chuckles. He lifts your hand to kiss the back of it.

If anyone were to call you that, you’d cringe. Instead, your tummy stirs with butterflies.

You stay silent and watch the buildings and cars pass by. You get lost in the blurry lights.

Although Seungcheol isn’t your first boyfriend, these feelings he brings out of you feel foreign. Everything with him feels heightened. From the giddy jitters to the increased heart rates to the warmth in your chest. You aren’t used to them.

While it’s nice, it’s also scary.

You can feel yourself already depending on him, and that realization makes you want to pull away.

You know you had told him you’d try to see him differently from all those who have left you, but it’s still been an underlying worry. He treats you too well for this to last forever. As some people say, all good things must come to an end. If that’s true, is your relationship with Seungcheol temporary?

That thought plagues your mind. It comes and goes like a lollipop stain on your tongue. Though that’s a two-way street. Maybe if you stopped going back to the thought, it wouldn’t linger in your mind and be so troublesome.

“You need me to carry you?” Seungcheol asks, interrupting your thoughts.

“Huh?” you question and turn to him.

He smiles. “Whatcha’ been thinking about, Cherry?”

“Nothing much,” you reply with a shake of your head. You take a quick glance around and see you’ve arrived at his apartment.

Seungcheol doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t pressure you.

“Your feet hurt?” he asks.

“Oh,” you hum, finally understanding his first question. “No, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

You slip your hand from his and push open his door, cradling his award in your arm.

Seungcheol’s by your side within seconds. He stops you from moving too far.

“Hey, what’s up?” His voice is softer.

“Nothing?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“What makes you think that?” you ask.

Seungcheol dances his eyes between yours, silently studying you.

“You… feel a little distant,” he answers.

Sighing, you roll your shoulders and raise your chin.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying to make yourself believe it too.

Seungcheol’s mouth dips slightly down.

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” he wonders.

You shake your head.

“Is it because of that lady earlier?”

Another shake.

“Then what?” he asks softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before gently grabbing your chin with his thumb and forefinger to keep your gaze on his.

Staring into his warm brown eyes makes your resolve crumble.

“Just my own thoughts,” you confess, wanting to avert your gaze.

“Oh, baby,” he whispers, stepping closer. “Whatever it is, let me help.”

“It’s nothing you can help with,” you say.

“Then let me just be there for you.”

There goes that clutch in your heart that brings on a flood of bubbly warmth after.

“Please, Cherry?” he pleads softly when you don’t respond quickly enough.

“O-Okay.”

He smiles and captures your lips with his. He grabs your free hand and raises it to wrap around his neck. You hold onto him as he slowly leads you back until you’re trapped between the side of his car and his body.

You allow yourself to relax—to get lost in the feeling of his mouth on yours rather than your saddening thoughts. The gentleness of the kiss makes you melt like wet cotton candy.

Seungcheol rubs your sides, thumbs subtly brushing against the underside of your breasts. Without you wanting to, you release a soft whimper into his mouth.

You feel his lips spread against yours; his hands grip you a little tighter. He takes another step forward and pushes you against his car more. The cool metal makes you shiver.

Seungcheol chuckles into the kiss and pulls away.

“How ‘bout we head inside, Cherry?” he asks, hands trailing lower to playfully squeeze your ass.

You bite your lower lip at his action, having now your lower half flush against him, and nod.

“Good,” he murmurs into your ear. He reaches a hand lower to rub your clothed core. You gasp, tightening your hold around his neck.

“I’ve been wanting to get you out of this dress for hours.”

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javierpena-inatacvest · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 6- Undeniable

Summary: when your car breaks down, you’re forced to ask Frankie for help. You’re not sure what you hate more- that you have to ask him for help, or that there’s a part of you that maybe can tolerate him

Word count: 6.2k

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: Angst, tension (in a good way??!!), yearning (AHHH), teenage Frankie (and current day Frankie, for that matter) are down so bad, Santi and Benny play Dr. Phil

A/N: okay I said there would be smut this chapter, but I am a liar, and I am sorry 🤥 I flip flopped some scenes around and it ended up making more sense for some ✨things✨ to happen next chapter instead 🤷🏼‍♀️ I seriously love these two more and more every chapter, and this may have been my favorite one to write so far!! Thank you SO much for all the kind things you’ve had to say about this story- it really means more to me than you know 🥺💛 (sorry for any errors, I didn't have time to edit this chapter as well as I should have!)

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Age 18, Summer of 2007

“Jesus Christ, Morales, you got bricks for feet, or what?”

The Garcia’s newly installed basketball hoop had been a welcome addition to the neighborhood rotation of afterschool hangouts. Santi knows just as well as Frankie and Benny that it’s really nothing but a ploy to keep the boys occupied and out their parent’s hair, but the three have gladly accepted the olive branch Santi’s parents have extended to them, regardless of motive.

Now that the heat of late May has begun to sear off the pavement of Everett Street and the dwindling motivation of senior year is in full force, basketball has quickly taken over as the new after school activity.

Benny and Santi love it because it gives them a chance to get out the competitive angst they’ve had locked away since football season has come to a close.

Frankie loves it because it gives him something to keep him occupied until you come home from soccer practice.

Even then, he still finds himself anxiously counting down the minutes until your car pulls into the driveway, stepping out of the driver’s seat to give him that same goofy wave of approval that frees him from his friends’ constant bickering about where the three point line lays on the cement.

Ever since he told you he was leaving, there’s a part of him that debates forgoing basketball all together, just so he can make it to your house that much quicker when you get home. Now more than ever, he’s hyper aware of every second he has left with you, the internal countdown constantly nagging in the back of his mind before it’s four hundred miles that separate the two of you, not four houses.

Because now, not only does he have 74 days left to figure out how to say goodbye to his best friend, he has 74 days left to figure out how to tell her that he’s head over heels in love with her.

That’s what’s on Frankie’s mind as the pass Santi’s thrown at him rolls right past his shoes and down the driveway.

No shit, he’s got bricks for feet.

“Helloooooo? Earth to Frankie? You gonna get the fuckin’ ball, or what?” Santi shouts, wildly waving his arms, trying to snap his friend out of whatever weird daydream he’s stuck in.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, sorry.” Frankie stammers, half jogging for the bouncing ball, tossing it back to Benny, also barely paying attention enough to keep the rubber from smacking him upside the head.

“Fuck, dude, you tryin’ to kill me, or somethin’? A heads up would be nice next time!” Benny scoffs, trying to downplay the fact he’s nearly just shit his pants from the ball that came out of nowhere and almost took him out.

“S-sorry. My bad.” Frankie grimaces, sheepishly running his hand through his thick, messy curls before rubbing the back of his neck.

Santi and Benny exchange confused glances with each other before turning their attention back to their clearly pre-occupied friend.

“Hey, you good, man?” Santi asks, scrunching his brow at Frankie’s tortured scowl.

“Yeah dude, you’ve been like, super out of it the past couple of days. Everything okay?” Benny adds. He tries to discreetly nudge Santi, givinging him a look that’s meant to ask if there’s something he’s missing. The best Santi can give him back is an ambivalent shrug, just as lost as his friend as to why Frankie’s mentally residing on another planet.

“Yeah. I’m- I’m fine.”

Sure, Santi and Benny aren’t as emotionally mature as their friend, but they also aren’t stupid. It’s obvious there’s something he’s keeping from them, and they’re far too relentless to let it go until they find out.

“Dude… C’mon.” Santi prods, taking a step towards Frankie to poke him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, spill the fuckin’ beans, Frank. What the hell’s goin’ on?” Benny chimes in, following Santi’s lead with another forceful poke.

“It’s nothing! Jesus, will you drop it?”

Santi smirks at how agitated Frankie’s become, spending enough years with his friend to know there’s one thing, and one thing only that’s got him this worked up.

“Is this about Kenz?”

Frankie’s eyes dart rapidly between his friends, the sky and his feet, too afraid to settle in one place as he’s consumed by his own silence, crossing his arms over his chest as he braces himself to defend against the onslaught he’s about to be faced with.

He could lie, say no, keep arguing with Santi and Benny until he’s blue in the face, but he knows it’s no use. Deep down, he has a feeling they already know what he’s going to say. He also has a feeling he’ll never go a day for the rest of his life where they won’t give him ten pounds of shit for it, but Frankie’s desperate. If he doesn’t figure out what to do, there’s a good chance he just may explode.

“You have to swear you won’t say anything about this to anyone.” Frankie sternly sighs, eyeing down his friends with a deathly glare, “Swear you won’t.”

“We swear, man.”

“Yeah, we swear.”

Benny and Santi nod in agreement, too shocked at his agreement to tell them anything rather than asking them to fuck off and leave him alone. They wait in patient silence as Frankie takes a long, shaky deep breath in.

“I um- fuck. Fuck.” He stammers, terrified to hear himself admit what he’s had locked away in his brain for years out loud for the first time, “I’m uh- I think I’m in love with MacKezie. I think I’m in love with her and I don’t know what to do.”

Frankie’s mortified by the silence from his friends in the seconds that follow. He’s even more mortified by their howling laughter that comes after that.

“That’s it? Oh, thank God!” Santi cackles, him and Benny clutching their chests to try and keep themselves standing, “Dude, I thought you were gonna say something fucking crazy. You looked like you were gonna fucking throw up.”

“W-what? Santi, did you not just hear what I fucking said? I literally just told you-”

“That you’re in love with MacKenzie? News flash, Morales, we’ve known you’ve been in love with her since like, the eighth grade. Holy shit, I can’t believe you finally fucking admitted it!”

Frankie’s face grows hotter by the second, his cheeks ablaze with bright reds and pinks, not sure if he’s more embarrassed by what he’s admitted, or the fact that he’s worked himself up for weeks to finally tell his friends something they’ve already known for years and Frankie was too blind to realize it.

“Well, okay- I just- what am I- what am I gonna do?” Frankie stutters, throwing his hands up to the sky, very aware that the admittance of his love for you is only a small part to his greater problem.

“Whatta you mean, what are you gonna do?” Benny questions, he and Santi still giggling over how frantic and flustered Frankie still was.

“It’s not fuckin’ rocket science, Frank.” Santi smirks, giving him a playful nudge, “Just tell her that you love her.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Santi?! I can’t just tell her I love her, that’s- fuck, that’s crazy!” Frankie’s all but shouting at his friend for what feels like the most outrageous idea he’s ever heard, crazily pacing up and down the driveway, as if he’s asking his friends for advice on where to hide the body he’s just killed.

“And that would be crazy because….?” Santi teases, anxiously awaiting whatever ridiculous answer Frankie has to finish off the rest of his sentence.

“Because?!” Frankie asks, storming so fast up and down the driveway, he’s about to make fresh cracks in the concrete, “Because, b-because- fuck, Santi, what if I tell her that I love her and she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I ruin our friendship forever and then I get my fuckin’ heart broken and lose my best friend? Jesus Christ, that’s why.”

“You wanna tell him or should I?” Benny proposes, shrugging at Santi.

In a silent agreement, Santi gives Benny a nod, taking a step towards Frankie to grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to stand still enough to capture his full attention.

“Frankie, lemme ask you this.” Santi pauses, bringing Frankie’s gaze from his feet up to his friend, thinking for once in his life, he may actually be willing to give him some serious advice.

“Yeah?”

“Are you blind, or are you stupid? ‘Cause I think you may be both.”

“What the fuck, dude?!” Frankie scoffs over Santi and Benny’s snickering, outstretching his arms to push Santi off of him.

“Damn, maybe he is.” Benny grimaces overdramatically, playing into Santi’s theatrics.

“Fuck off, Benny!” Frankie frowns, starting to regret asking his friends for help.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I really have to spell this out for you.” Santi sighs, squeezing his temples between his thumb and index finger.

“What!?” Frankie presses, nearly fed up with his antics.

“Shit, you’re right Benny, he may be dumber than we thought.” Santi snorts before quickly turning his attention back to Frankie, “Frankie… You do realize MacKenzie’s in love with you too, right?”

Frankie feels his heart stop. He’s partly convinced it’s flatlined indefinitely. The only thing that’s keeping him alive is even the tiniest chance that what Santi has to say is actually true.

That maybe, just maybe, you love him, too.

“Santi, c’mon. Be- be fucking serious. There’s no way.”

Frankie won’t let himself believe anything yet, no matter how badly he wants to. Knowing Santi, he wouldn’t be shocked if he’s trying to pull him in to some sick sort of joke, but the looks on his, and Benny’s faces is all the earth shattering reassurance Frankie needs to know that Santi’s telling the truth.

“He’s being serious, I swear.” Benny chimes in, trying to aid in convincing Frankie.

“Think about it, Frank. The two of you spend every fucking second together. You’re basically already dating without actually dating. And not even just because of the fact you like, pretty much go on dates to the movies or ice cream, or whatever. Didn’t you say she cried for like, an hour when you told her you were leaving?”

“I- I mean, y- yeah, I guess.”

“Or the fact that she’s never dated anyone else and has had you locked in as her prom date since last year.” Benny adds.

“Don't even get me started on the fact you two cuddle every time we watch a movie together, because God forbid you’re not touching each other for an hour and a half.”

“I- I- I- don’t know. I mean, sure, yeah, but just because she does that doesn’t mean she’s in love with me!”

Frankie can feel his insides churn, like someone’s put them in a blender and cranked it on high. He’s not sure what’s more terrifying- that you do all those things but you’re not in love with him, or that you do all of them because you are.

He quickly comes to determine the second is much scarier than the first. Mostly because there’s a part of him that believes maybe you’re just as in love with him as he is with you.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Frankie’s knees wobble as he sinks to the ground, bottom hitting the pavement with a thud.

“Well shit, don’t do it on the driveway, my mom’s gonna kill me. If you gotta yak, at least do it on the grass.”

Santi and Benny settle in on either side of Frankie, the trio of boys squatting at the edge of the driveway. Frankie buries his head in his hands, scrunching his face so hard into his sweaty palms that maybe, some sort of reasonable idea will pop into his brain if he squeezes hard enough.

“You guys really think she likes me? Like, actually?” Frankie asks, peeking his head up to look back and forth between Santi and Benny.

“Uh, yeah.” The pair agree in unison, each giving their friend a pat on the back, trying to keep their all-knowing laughter at bay to soothe Frankie through his distress.

“Fuck. Holy shit. So- So what do I do? Just- Do I just tell her?”

“I mean, I’m no love guru, but you like, may wanna be a little more subtle than that.” Benny snickers, giving Frankie a little nudge, “I mean, do you wanna tell her?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Fuck, I wanna tell her so bad.” It spills out of Frankie’s mouth without any hesitation. The more he thinks about it, the more sure he is.

“Like, you’re already going with her to prom and stuff. You could do it then?” Santi suggests with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Damn, alright, Mr. Romance over here with the advice.”

“Shut up, Benny. You got any better advice? At least I’ve fuckin’ had a girlfriend before, you dingus, have you? Didn’t think so.”

Frankie’s completely blocked out their bickering, lost in his own train of thought, where all he can picture is you- Your smile, the little strand of hair that you tuck behind your ear when it falls in your face, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, the little curl in your lips you get when you smirk at him when he tells a stupid joke.

How badly he wishes his lips could meet yours to feel that smirk pressed against his face.

“Do… Do you- Do you think I should kiss her?”

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, what are we, twelve?” Yeah, man, fuckin’ kiss her.” Santi snorts, Benny joining in with muffled laughter in his throat at the innocence of his question, “God, with how nervous you sounded, I thought you were gonna ask if you should like, have sex with her, or somethin’.”

It’s then his brain truly short circuits, his heart about to fall out of his ass and lump in his throat the size of a softball.

He has enough balls to admit he’s thought plenty of times about kissing you.

But right now, he certainly doesn’t have enough balls to confess to his friends, (or even to himself, for that matter) he’s spent just as much time thinking about doing a lot more than just kissing you.

He’s spent even more time thinking about just how badly he wants to.

One step at a time, Morales.

You, Present

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…”

Turning over your ignition to the sound of empty rattles once wasn’t anything to worry about.

Turning it over twice to the sound of silence you could chalk up to bad luck.

But after six different attempts to start your car to no avail, you were fairly certain your issue wasn’t based solely on user error.

“Fuck…” You huff to yourself, yanking out your keys and slamming the driver’s side door behind you as you storm back into the house, now in a race against the clock to get your car not only started, but driveable enough to get you to work on time.

It’s the stupid things like this you haven’t mentally prepared yourself for when it comes to your father’s impending death- Not having a built in mechanic at your disposal to help solve your car issues when something goes awry. It seems selfish to take from the few precious moments you have left with him to pester your dad about your car troubles, but you know for a fact, your dying father has a better chance of diagnosing your issue from his bed than you do hands deep in the engine.

“Hey, Dad.” You grimace, gently rousing him from his half-awake state in front of the TV, “Dad, can I ask you something, or are you too busy dying?”

Your joke is enough to crack a sleepy smile in the corner of his lips, grunting as he turns his head over to see you hunched over the edge of his bed.

“Depends. Is it worth my time, or should I go back to decaying?” He fights with everything in him to let out the softest laugh, a sputtering cough following as his chest rises and falls, trying his best to not let his final days prevent him from being the helpful dad you’d always known.

“My car won’t start. Do you have any idea of what it could be?”

“You gonna wheel me out to the driveway to have me figure it out?”

You both know it’s ridiculous, what you’re asking him to do. You’re not sure what compelled you to think that he’d be able to help solve your problem, but your yearning for the normalcy that’s been absent in your life for so long seems to outweigh any logic.

“I think we could probably crank the bed high enough for you to look under the hood.” You shrug with a sad type of sarcasm, anxiously fiddling with your fingers to try and brainstorm a solution to your time-sensitive issue.

“You know there’s someone four houses down who is very capable of solving your problem who isn’t dying.”

For as hard as your dad fought for his half huffed laugher, he fights even harder for the smug smirk pinching the corner of his cheeks.

“Dad…” You let out a deep breath, trying to not let your eyes roll to the back of your skull from even pondering the idea of admitting to Frankie Morales that you need his help.

“Mackenzie Grace?” He questions back, pretending to be blissfully unaware of your reason for dramatic pause.

“Dad, you can’t be serious.”

“I am, actually. Dead serious. And right now, I’m at a point in my life where that statement can’t be any closer to the truth.”

Unfortunately, that’s an argument you can’t fight.

You sigh again, chewing at your lip to see if your brain can muster any other plausible solution before you admit defeat, but you know it’s no use. Your dad is kind enough to accept your silence as a white flag, sparing you the embarrassment of admitting he’s right. What he’s not kind enough to do, is to let you off without making sure he gets the last word.

“You can’t stay mad at him forever, honey.”

“I can, actually.”

Right now, your dad better thank his lucky stars he’s dying, because any other circumstance, and you would have already been halfway out the door before you put yourself through this conversation again.

“MacKenzie,” He pauses, the frail and wrinkled ends of his fingertips reaching out just enough to rest on the hand you have wrapped around the bar of his bed guard rails, “if I give you some dying words of wisdom, do you promise to listen, actually listen to what I have to say?”

You know he’s about to tell you something you have no intention of wanting to hear. You want so badly to lie, to say “yes”, just to appease him without really meaning it. But the guilty conscious eating you alive in the pit of your stomach won’t let you get off that easily.

“Yeah, I promise.”

It’s soft enough for only you and him, just quiet enough to keep the world out of your shared secret.

“Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either. I’d be willing to bet he’s still holding one against you, too. There’s two sides to every story, MacKenzie Grace, and you can’t keep blaming him like you didn’t have a part in what happened, too. He’s already accepted he’s in the wrong for what he did. God bless the fact you ended up just as stubborn as your old man, but at some point, you have to get off your high horse and do the same.”

It’s unsettling, the feeling that washes over you- it makes every inch of your body twinge and wince in a strange sort of self-inflicted pain you can’t shake, the indescribable discomfort that makes you want to crawl out of your skin and evaporate into thin air. The tormented sensation stirring in your gut makes you want to scream and cry and run away, all at the same time.

Because it’s not the truth of your dad’s words alone that make you feel this way- you’ve come face to face with this truth more times than you’d like to count.

It’s the fact that for the first time, you’ve come face to face with the truth, and there’s a part of you that can accept it.

You stand there for another moment at the edge of his bed, eyes peeled to the ground, trying to find the words you’re too scared to admit. Maybe your silence is a loud enough confession.

“I’ll see you when I get back from work, okay?” You lean down and kiss his head, giving your dad’s hand a final, gentle squeeze before you’re halfway out the door, car keys in hand.

“I thought your car wasn’t working?”

Your dad has never been one for “I told you so’s” . The stifled smile and playful glisten in his tired eyes will do just fine.

“Bye, Dad.”

Your dad’s words echo in your brain as you begin your journey down the driveway, terrified by the tiniest amount of weight it’s lifted off your shoulders.

“Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either.”

Maybe he’s got a point. But that’s easy to say when you’re only dealing with the idea of Frankie you’ve built up in your head, not when you’re about to come face to face with him in real time.

There’s a part of you that debates just walking to work. Hell, the hour walk it would take you to get to work would probably be easier than the thirty second walk you’re about to take four houses down.

You’ll be lucky if you don’t gnaw off your entire thumbnail by the time you make it to the Morales’s doorstep, trying to clench your fists as tight as possible with every step you take towards their house to attempt to keep your nerves (and nails) intact.

You’re not sure you’ve ever walked this slow to his house. There was once a time that you couldn’t sprint there fast enough, legs leaping over cracks in the sidewalk to meet Frankie at his front door. Now, it feels like you might as well be crawling with the time you’re trying to waste before you ring his doorbell.

You practically tip toe up the steps to the porch, like it’s some sort of crime to be at his house and you’re terrified of being caught. Your finger hovers over the doorbell, outstretched and ready to press, too frozen in fear to move the extra inch it will take to press the rounded button.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You curse under your breath, furrowing your brow at your inability to face his front door. You ball your free hand up to a fist, slamming your knuckles against your forehead with a sigh so heavy, you’d probably give that wolf from The Three Little Pigs a run for his money, “‘C’mon, MacKenzie, just ring the damn doorbell.”

Your heart stops as the tip of your index finger finally pushes hard enough to force the high pitched chime, forcing yourself to keep your feet planted on the doormat below you instead of booking it half way across town.

“One sec!”

The bellow of his voice from behind the door is enough to jumpstart the stand still of your heartbeat, so much so that in an instant, it’s gone from flatlining to nearly beating out of your chest.

At this point, even if you wanted to run, you’re not sure your body would let you.

As the knob turns and draws back towards the house, Frankie’s broad body fills the doorframe. He looks almost as frozen as you, so stunned by your presence, his tongue darts between his lips as a placeholder for the words he lacks.

“H-hey?” He asks it so cautiously, eyebrows scrunching in confusion while he looks you up and down, too scared to say anything else until he figures out why you’ve shown up at his front door.

“My um- My car won’t- I have to go to work and I can’t get my car to start.”

You don’t dare phrase it as anything other than a statement of fact. You’ll die before the words “Frankie, will you help me?” escape from your lips.

“O-oh. Shit.” He cocks his head, the pinch of his face immediately easing along with the rest of his body, standing up a little straighter as he leans against the doorframe.

“Sorry, i-if you’re busy or whatever, don’t feel like you-”

“No- No, I mean, yeah, no, I don’t- shit-” He stutters, pausing as he shakes his head with a little laugh at the ground, trying to compose himself before he trips over his words again, “Yes, I um- Yeah, I can help.”

“O-okay. Thank- Thanks.” You try to fight the tug you feel in your lips creeping towards the corner of your cheeks that mirrors the grin Frankie’s trying so desperately to hide on his face.

The two of you stand there for a moment, feet wriggling in the tips of your shoes and fingers twiddling in your pockets, using every ounce of strength you have to ignore the heat flushing through your cheeks that makes you want to hate him just a little bit less.

It’s hard to suppress when Frankie’s trying to keep up his facade with the world’s worst poker face as he’s beaming ear to ear.

“Let me just uh- Lemme grab some stuff and I’ll meet you over there?” He asks, tiptoeing around what seems too good to be true.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, sounds good.”

You give each other a little nod before he disappears behind his door. You tilt your head to the sky, eyes closed as the deepest sigh of relief you can take escapes your body. It feels like the first gasp you take when you peak above the surface after holding your breath underwater, remembering what it feels like to finally breathe again.

It takes everything in you to pretend you don’t feel the strange pang in your chest as you watch Frankie walk to your house after you’ve made it back to your driveway, his gray shirt clinging to his biceps as he carries over his bucket of tools and brown curls spilling out from under the worn, Standard Oil hat he’s obviously still refused to throw away.

You lean against the hood of your car, arms crossed over your chest, trying your best to seem ambivalent about the whole ordeal.

If you were nominated for an Oscar in the “Pretending to be aloof in front of Frankie Morales while he fixes your car” category, you most surely wouldn’t be winning.

“Hey, again.” He grins as he sets his tools down, mirroring your stance to cross his arms over his chest.

“Hey, again.” You parrot.

“So, uh… Your car?” Frankie asks, nodding over to the vehicle you’re leaning on.

“Yeah, uh- yeah, I don’t know what’s going on. I tried starting it like, five different times and it doesn’t do anything. I’ve never had this happen to me before and of course it’s when I’m trying to leave for work.” You shrug, trying to play into the fact you at least tried to do something before coming to find him.

“Huh. Alright, well, lemme see what I can do, okay?” He nods again, leaving your fingers to play with your sleeves to keep yourself occupied, instead of staring at him, mesmerized by the way you can still hear the gears turning in his brain as he processes. “Can I uh- is it okay if I have the keys?”

You fumble through your pockets, digging out your keys to place them in the palm of Frankie’s outstretched hand, the linger of your touch on his skin just long enough to make you subtly jerk your arm back in embarrassment.

You step back to let Frankie slide past you, watching him try to squeeze himself into the driver’s seat to start your car, half his body still hanging out the open door.

“Are you- are you not teaching anymore?”

“Wh- huh?” His question catches you off guard, the scowl of confusion painted across your face making him quickly elaborate before drawing his attention back to your car.

“You just uh- sorry, you said you were going to work. It’s 5 P.M. on a Thursday in June, so, ya know, figured you probably weren’t going to school.”

He gives the key one more turn before sliding out of the car, carefully passing your keys back off to you before making his way to open the hood. You cautiously follow behind him, arms still crossed against your chest as he props the front of the car up to reveal the engine.

“Oh. Uh- no, yeah. No, I’m uh- I’m still teaching. Normally I do summer school to make some extra money, but because of my dad and everything and not being home, it just, ya know, I just couldn’t. I still wanted something to do to make money and keep me busy, so um, Katie’s Dad still owns The Parrot’s Nest on 14th, so I asked him if I could just do some part time waitressing and bartending and stuff. It’s nice ‘cause he’s been really flexible with everything going on.”

Your eyes dart to the ground as Frankie shifts his view from the inside of the car back to you. The air fills with a heavy pause, like neither of you are really sure how to react to the fact you’re managing a semi-civil conversation that’s more than just one word responses.

Frankie lets out a quiet huff, trying to hide the soft smile curling in the corner of his scruff covered cheeks before turning back to the car, silently tinkering for a few moments before mustering up the courage to speak again.

“That’s nice of him. Didn’t even know that place was still around.” There’s a little grunt as he leans deeper into the car, reaching around to search for some sort of part he wants to check, “I’m uh- I’m glad you’re still teaching, though. That’s um, that’s good.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Your hands have shifted from folded across your chest to in your pockets, a subconscious move you’ve made as a brick from the wall you’ve built between yourself and Frankie Morales seems to crumble without you realizing.

You let him work for a few more moments before he’s diagnosed your issue, carefully closing the hood and wiping the engine grime on the towel from the tool bucket he’s brought with him.

“So uh- good news is, you just need a new battery. Easy fix. Bad news is, your battery’s dead, and your car’s not gonna start without a new one.” Frankie shrugs, hoping he’s not pushing his luck with the little laugh he gives himself at his joke.

“Fuck. Okay, uh- shit, okay.” You mutter, not necessarily upset with Frankie for delivering the news of his discovery, but angry at the fact you need to buy a new car battery and have no way to get to work. “Um, sorry, give me a second, I’m gonna call Jim and let him know that I can’t make it in today.”

“I- I can drive you.”

You’re sure Frankie’s just as surprised as you when the offer comes out of his mouth, freezing your thumb over your boss’s contact you’re about to dial. Frankie clearly interprets the look on your face as one of skepticism about his idea, quickly trying to backpedal before he preemptively digs his own grave.

“No, I mean, um- if you want. I can- I can drop you off. So you, uh- that way you don’t have to miss work.”

“No, Frankie, it’s fine, you- you already helped figure out what’s wrong with my car, it’s not a big deal, don’t wo-”

“I want to.”

You don’t mean for your sigh to be as audible as it is. It only seems fair, considering there was no world in which you ever considered having to contemplate not only asking Frankie for help, but also spending a fifteen minute car ride together so he can drop you off at work. You chew at your bottom lip as you contemplate the lesser of two evils- be stuck in Frankie’s metal death trap of a car, forced within a 3 foot proximity of him for the entire ride, or miss out on the most hours you’ve been scheduled in the past two weeks for money you really do need.

Swallowing your pride is the toughest pill you’ve had to swallow in quite a long time.

“Fine.”

It’s not even your answer you think shocks him the most. It’s how little he had to argue with you to agree.

You want to roll your eyes at the little smirk of satisfaction he gives himself, knowing you’ve gone 0-2 on your hardened stance of despising Frankie’s guts since talking with your dad. It only stings more that you’re sure Frankie is getting endless amounts of satisfaction that you’ve given into him so quickly.

But fuck, if you didn’t miss that stupid, goofy grin of his when he knows he’s beaten you at your own game.

“Only if your car isn’t gonna kill us first before we get there.” You groan, eyeing down Frankie’s beater truck he’s been driving since he got his license. It was in questionable shape over a decade ago, you’re not sure what kind of deal Frankie made with the devil to keep the hunk of junk up and running.

“She’s fine. Haven’t managed to kill you in her yet, have I?” Frankie rebuttals, grabbing his tools as you follow behind him towards his car.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” You sigh, shaking your head in annoyance that Frankie’s still driving this damn thing on principle alone, “How the fuck is this thing even still running?”

“‘Cause you don’t give her enough credit. Got me here from North Carolina just fine.” Frankie scoffs, the two of you settling into your perspective seats inside his truck.

His comment makes you frown at your lap as you buckle your seatbelt, not because of the sass he’s inflicted, but because it reminds you that he’s moved himself states away just to further the distance between you two.

“S-sorry, it was meant to be a joke.” Frankie mutters, looking over at you as he drives and noticing the way you’ve gone quiet, eyes peeled to the ground.

“No, I know.” You reply back, anxiously digging under your nails with your stare still locked on your feet. “How’s um- how’s North Carolina?”

“Oh. Um, It’s uh- It’s fine, I guess.”

It’s then you notice Frankie’s realized the reason for your silence, uncomfortably fidgeting in his seat and grip tightening around the steering wheel as he processes your disappointment.

It’s hard to decipher what he means by “fine.” Fine, like he’s more than fine and doesn't want to rub it in your face how well he’s doing? Fine, like actually a normal amount of fine and he just has nothing of interest to report? Fine, like he’s not fine at all, but doesn’t have the balls to admit it to you?

With the way he can’t bring himself to look at you, it has to be the first or third option. You’re not sure which one is worse.

You’re also not sure why you feel so compelled to find out.

“You still uh- doing um, mechanic stuff for the Army?” You ask, glancing over just enough to watch Frankie’s fingers drum against the steering wheel.

“Yeah. Helicopter maintenance, mostly.”

It’s still not enough to give you the definitive answer you’re looking for. You’re too stubborn for your own good to just quit while you’re ahead. Because of all the questions you could have asked him, the one you ask him next is like voluntarily putting a gun to your head and asking him to shoot.

“Are you, uh- you um, seeing anyone? Samantha, or whatever her name was?”

It’s the first time he locks eyes with you since you’ve gotten in the car. Frankie looks you up and down, tongue running across the top of his teeth under his lips and raising his brows just enough to let you know you’ve got his attention.

Every second of silence that lingers before his answer only leads you to believe he’s trying to let you down slowly before he has to pull the trigger. You brace yourself for the bullet.

“No. I uh, shit- I- Sarah and I broke up a while ago. After um, after Santi’s wedding, actually. No, I um, I’m not seeing anyone. Haven’t really been since then, I guess.”

Your body stays tense, still bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, but it never comes. Not only has Frankie taken his finger off the trigger, he’s put away the gun all together. You’re so stunned you’ve made it out of the question alive, you aren’t quite sure how to react.

“O-oh. I uh- I didn’t know.”

“Are- are you? S-seeing anyone?” He stutters, the words heavy in his throat as he gulps.

“No. After how things ended with Liam, I just- I haven’t either.”

It’s uncomfortable, the silence that fills the car and seeps between you. Not quite awkward, not quite upset, not quite relieved, either. It’s heavy, like a backpack full of bricks you’ve had strapped to your shoulders that you refuse to put down- you’d rather keep burdening yourself with the weight than just take it off, too used to the ache it spreads to every inch of your body.

Maybe, the silence is so uncomfortable because you’re starting to realize how stupid it is to let these types of things keep weighing you down.

Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either.

You’ve been so lost in your own head, you’d barely even realized the car had come to a stop, the soft orange and pink glow of The Parrot’s Nest sign illuminating the inside of Frankie’s truck with muted neon snapping you back to reality.

Your hand wraps around the door handle, ready to break free into the parking lot before Frankie’s voice stops you.

“What time are you done?”

You look back over your shoulder, taken aback.

“Why?”

“So I can pick you up.”

It’s so matter of fact, like he had never contemplated any other option from the moment he’d offer to drive you, his soft, brown eyes sinking as you shake your head at him.

“Frankie, it’s fine. I can have someone else drive me ho-”

“Please?”

Your head wants to say no. It wants to push open the door with a half hearted “thanks for the ride” and pretend like the past 15 minutes had simply never existed, wiping the strange pang in your chest and swirling in your stomach from its memory.

Apparently, your heart’s decided it has other plans.

“I’m done at ten.”

“Then I promise to be back here at ten.”

Frankie Morales is a man who’s broken many things.

Your heart, your trust, your friendship.

But out of all the things Frankie has broken, he’s never broken a promise.

And that’s how you know at ten o’clock sharp, you’ll find his beat up Chevy in the parking lot of The Parrot’s Nest, waiting for you.

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lavenderdaisychain · 1 month ago

Text

Honey and Jack Rabbits

Summary: Jack Abbot helps you cope with losing your first patient, and you realize you two aren’t very different

I want to start with a very big content warning- this story largely surrounds a pregnant patient who does not survive, if that’s something you cannot read please take care of yourself and find a different story

other cws: PTSD, medical gore, character death, PTSD, suicidal ideation, cursing

Jack Abbot/Fem!resident!reader

*this is a prequel to the relationship between you and Dr. Abbot in Calm before the storm*

wc: 2.8k

—

You were on day shift rotation, a R2 who’d just started at PTMC a few weeks ago. So why were you rolling into the ER on a gurney at 3 in the morning?

—

After fighting nightmares off and on, you decided to get up and go for a run. Sure being a woman running at 3am probably wasn’t smart but you lived on the safer side of Pittsburg, and always ran with a switchblade.

You jogged through the quiet streets. Normally you’d wear headphones but not tonight. The cold air prickled your bare shoulders, beads of sweat rolled down your face. Push harder. Run faster. Be better.

Be better.

That has been your motto since med school, be the very best, but be better. You were top of your class and the best med student in your rotation, now you’d been a resident for 2 years with incredible marks and no patients lost. But it was never good enough for you, you always had to find ways to do better. Be the best doctor you can be. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

The sound of yelling snaps you out of your thoughts, you look across the street to see a group of people standing around a woman laying on the ground.

“Is she hurt?” You yell across the street.

“She needs a doctor! She’s pregnant and just passed out. I can't wake her up!” A woman yells back, pain and desperation clear in her tone. You bolt across the street, missing getting hit by a hair.

The woman looked like she was in bad shape, the streetlights illuminating her glassy skin.

“Do you know her?” You ask the woman who yelled at you, now kneeling at the pregnant woman’s side.

“She’s my sister, Amber.”

“Amber, can you hear me?” You placed two fingers to her pulse point. Nothing.

“Okay, I need you to call 9-1-1, how long has she been down?”

“Just before you called over. Thank god you came over!” The woman cried, reaching for her phone.

You were now assessing a patient, on the sidewalk, in the middle of the night. Rubbing your knuckles firmly against her chest you tried to wake the woman.

“Amber? Amber, can you hear me? I need you to wake up!!”

No response. You immediately went into action starting chest compressions, Amber was big, maybe 34 weeks going off what you could see when you removed her coat.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

No pulse.

“Where’s that ambo?!”

“They said they’ll be 10 minutes out.”

You cursed under your breath. A pool of blood started to spill out from under Ambers head. Not good.

“Were you with her when she fell?” You asked through compressions.

“No, we’ve been walking at night to help her acid reflux and I ran into the CVS to get her something for the pain, when I came back she fell, I tried to catch her I wasn’t fast enough.” She sobbed.

“Tell me your name.”

“U-Um it’s Caitlin.”

“Hi Caitlin, I need you to fold Amber's jacket and place it under her head, we need to put pressure where she hit.

The amount of blood was becoming concerning, but you had to keep compressions going, the baby had a chance as long as you could keep the sensation of her heart going…right? A man ran out from the pharmacy with an oxygen bag and kneeled next to you, beginning to bag the woman.

“Should I get the AED?” He asked. You nodded your head furiously, stopping compressions to rip her shirt open. When he came back you placed the patches to her chest and side. The man turned on the AED and charged it. “It’s ready.”

“Clear!” You pulled your hands back, the woman’s body jolted but there was still no sign of a pulse. So you went back to compressions. After a few minutes you shocked her again but nothing. “Damnit…”

“Amber,” Caitlin cried, stroking her sister's hair, “I need you to wake up.”

You cursed silently, your arms beginning to get sore, but you had to push through. Three people were counting on you. Suddenly you got a crazy idea, you looked down at the first aid kid you’d been brought and saw an Epi pen, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Caitlin,” you looked at Amber's sister, “does Amber have any medical allergies? Medications, anything?” She shook her head no. You turned and grabbed the epi pen, flipping the cap off and injecting into Amber's thigh. “Shock her again.” You took your hands off Ambers body as she was shocked once again.

Fuck. Nothing.

She needed to be in an ER. You started compressions again as the Ambulance rolled up. Two paramedics you knew, Cash and Landon, jumped out.

“Hey doc! Whatcha got?” Cash asked pulling a gurney out as Landon grabbed a med kit.

“Female, 20s, sister said she’s been having acid reflux but she passed out on their walk. No pulse for 10 minutes. We shocked her 3 times, continuing with CPR and bagging her. She has a head injury from her fall but nothing I can see that would make her pass out.” Cash nodded as he examined the woman.

“Straddle her and come with us, keep doing CPR.” Cash instructed as he and Landon moved Amber onto a transfer board. They put a C-collar on her, strapped her chest, your back legs and hers and loaded the three of you in the ambulance. The man who helped you stayed behind.

Cash worked quickly to hook her up to the monitors but nothing had changed, another paramedic sat at her head bagging her.

“We’re not getting anything.” Cash muttered loud enough for you to hear but not Caitlin.

“We can’t stop. Check for a fetal heartbeat, I couldn’t find one but I don’t carry stethoscopes on my runs.”

“Maybe you should start,” Cash joked, maneuvering around you to place a stethoscope on the woman’s belly. “Holy shit…it’s weak but we’ve got one!”

“Hear that Caitlin?” You asked, losing air quickly from the rigorous CPR, “the baby’s still with us. Hold onto that.”

Maybe you were saying that to her, maybe you were saying it to yourself. It brought comfort all the same. The ambulance came to a halt in front of the er, the paramedics unloaded you, Dr. Abbot was waiting with a team. Cash relayed the information you’d given him and added that there was still a fetal heartbeat as you were rolled into the er and a trauma room.

“How long as you been doing CPR kid?” Dr Abbot asked entering the trauma room, watching the muscles in your arms spasm.

“20 minutes, maybe more,” you huffed, moving to the side of Amber but still doing compressions, you glanced over as Abbot began to intubate. You hadn’t worked the night shift yet but you’d heard how good of a doctor he was. Quick, efficient, his hands moved to grab things but he never took his eyes off the patient. It was also like he had another set of eyes to look around for him. Once Amber was intubated you stopped compressions, you stepped down and grabbed a pair of gloves and a gown.

“What are you doing?” Abbot asked.

“Helping. She’s my patient. I need to make sure I finish her care.” You stated, he turned to stare at you. His hazel eyes almost bore into your soul.

“You should go home,” he offered gently.

“No.” You turned back to stare at him. “Not till it’s done.” He turned back and yelled at someone to page the NICU. They would need an incubator. The baby was weak; they needed to get it topside as fast as possible. “What do we do for mom while we get the baby out?”

“Nothing,” Abbot stated plainly, “you did what you could but she’s gone. Baby’s top priority now.” Your heart stopped. The great Doctor Abbot just told you he would do nothing for the mother you’ve been trying to save. Nothing.

“Hand me a 10 blade, we need to get this baby topside now.” You did what he asked, your body going numb as you watched him make an incision at the base of her stomach.

The baby’s heartbeat and oxygen tanked, you were mesmerized by his agility.

“Grab the baby and assess,” he shouted as he handed you a tiny infant. But it wasn’t crying, wails of life should’ve entered that room the minute the baby came out but it was silent.

“Come on baby girl,” you muttered, flipping the baby on her back, rubbing it forcefully. “I-I think she just needs a boost, she's okay.” Your voice faltered. You’d already lost one patient today, you weren’t about to lose another one. Finally a wail escaped her lips, the ragged cries a sign of healthy lungs. You laughed in relief, laying the baby down to check her.

“Heartbeats good, lungs appear to be healthy albeit she’s early. But she’s strong. A fighter.”

A NICU nurse came in and took the baby from you, cleaning her and wrapping her in a blanket.

“We’ll get her hooked up to monitors upstairs ...anyone we can call?” The nurse asked, eyes glancing to the mother on the table.

“Her aunt, Caitlin, is in the waiting room. I need to talk to her and I’ll send her your way.” You speak up, voice firm. You were happy the baby was alive but now you had to deliver the worst news of the day. ‘Your sister is dead but her baby is alive’

Abbot cleared everyone out of the room but you didn’t move.

“You comin kid?”

“Not yet,” you eyed the cross necklace hanging from Amber’s neck, “I have to do something.” You peeled your gloves off and walked up to Amber, cupping her hand in yours. She was already so cold. Abbot watched as you closed your eyes and prayed, for the safe journey for her soul and the ability to see her daughter grow up from beyond the flesh. You also asked for forgiveness, that you weren’t fast enough, that she’d fallen and you missed her head injury. You prayed that she’d hold your hand through telling her sister she was gone. Finally after taking a moment, you walked away, stripping your gown off too.

“Uh, Morgan?” You timidly approached the nurses station, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Doc….are you okay? We’re not supposed to see you till day shift.” The night shift charge nurse, Morgan, gave you a concerned look.

“Yeah, yeah I came in with that patient, could you put her sister Caitlin in the family room for me?”

Morgan nodded, she reached across the desk and pulled you into a tight hug. Part of you wanted to break down right there but you knew your night wasn’t over yet.

The talk with Caitlin did not go well. Sure she was glad her niece survived but her reaction to losing her sister was understandably horrific. You held her till she just couldn’t cry anymore, then sent her with a nurse to the NICU. Abbot had told you to come see him when you got done notifying the sister….but somehow you ended up on the roof. On the other side of the guardrail.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, legs dangerously far over the ledge. You went through every single detail over and over again. You had to miss something. How could Abbot have immediately declared the mom a lost cause? You’d never lost a patient, and now to lose one in just a traumatic way…

You pulled your knees up, removing the small cross necklace that lay under your tank top. A small prayer, a cry for help. Needing a hand to reach out and save you from the darkness consuming your every thought. Why did bad things have to happen to good people? A child losing her mother before they could even meet, her aunt now saddled with the care of an infant in the midst of losing her sister. You clutched to the cross like a lifeline, like it would save you. It could save you couldn’t it?

“Please God, send me a sign…anything to show me this is where I’m supposed to be.” Your adrenaline was starting to crash, your bones became heavy and as much as you’d like to protest you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning over the guardrail, maybe this was your sign? You closed your eyes, feeling a strange sense of peace.

The sound of quick footsteps got louder behind you, then you felt two strong arms wrap around you, pulling you over the guardrail to safety.

When you opened your eyes they were met with the wild ones of Jack Abbot. His eyes moving erratically, searching every inch of your face. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I didn’t mean to.” You protested weakly, “I just wasn’t good enough. I have to be better, I won’t lose them if I’m better.”

“Take a deep breath with me.” You followed his instructions, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out. “You know, you remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Really?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. He scoffed slightly, a smile haunting the corners of his lips.

“Yeah. I used to know this bright-eyed kid who had the ambitious idea to join the navy right out of highschool. And then 2 weeks into boot camp; make it his mission to become a Navy SEAL medic. Because he could always find a way to be better.”

As he spoke you fully turned your body to face his, taking in every part of him as he spoke. Spoke of the hardships of every patient who had to die in his arms because he was in the middle of a combat zone and couldn’t fix everything. How he’d write to the families and curse himself for every death. His eyes got dark as he remarked that he would always be stained by the blood on his hands even if he couldn’t see it. You could see the way he held tension in the corners of his eyes, his lips turning down into a frown as he spoke. Why was he telling you this? Opening up to a complete stranger?

“Listen, the morale of this little story is that you’re going to lose people. That’s emergency medicine. The thing you can never do is lose yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got the heart for this kid, you’re too sweet to become a cynical fool like me.”

You laughed, stopping abruptly to throw your hand over your mouth. “That wasn’t funny, I'm sorry!” Jack cracked a full smile, pulling you into a hug.

“And you should probably stay off the roof, I already claimed this after-shift hiding spot.”

“I would never invade a personal place you go for relief,” you pulled away looking at him earnestly. Jack took a minute to examine your face, your eyes were still rimmed red with tears but he was looking beyond that. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that this wasn’t just Jack comforting you, that wasn’t something he did. Jack was trying to save himself. He saw parts of himself in you that he’d never seen in anyone else.

“You’re too sweet, you know that? I think I found your ER nickname.”

“ER nickname?”

“Yeah, most people have them, yours’ Honey 'cause you’re just so sweet.”

You cracked your first genuine smile of the night. Most people would take that as flirting but you knew Jack wasn’t, the two of you were interlinked in ways you didn’t quite understand yet.

“You don’t have one. Is it ‘cause you’re too cool?”

“It’s actually because everyone’s scared of me,”

“I’m not scared of you, you ran over to me like a Jack Rabbit!!” You exclaimed, “that’s it, Dr. Jack Rabbit!”

Jack scoffed, clearly liking the name but not wanting you to know that. He stood up and extended a hand to you. A hand reaching out to save you from the darkness, a silent prayer answered.

“You’re the only person who gets to call me that, deal?”

You smiled and took his hand, pulling yourself off of the concrete floor. Maybe things would be okay, because you had someone who would always understand you. “Deal.”

Jack wrapped a tight arm around your shoulder and walked with you till you were out of the hospital and to your car, you wouldn’t realize it but he’d slipped his number into your workout pants pocket. He gave you a tight hug, a final grounding, before sending you home. When you got home you found the note in your pocket.

Even Honey needs to be settled every now and then. Keep up the good work -Dr. Jack Rabbit.

God had answered your prayers in the form of Jack Abbot, and you would forever be grateful.

an: I was a bit worried to post this due to how heavy it is but honestly I think the severity hit with Jacks character and the way he would help you work through it. In this story you and Jack are platonic soulmates, interlinked in every way, which I think is actually so sweet: as always feel free to leave feedback in the comments. Kisses!

Tag list: @ebodebo @kchronicallyonline @sceletaflores @yuenity @dizzybee03

#fanfiction #~abi writes #the pitt #Jack Abbot #Dr Jack Abbotxyou #dr Jack abbotxreader #Dr. Jack Abbotxfem!reader #WE LOVE DR JACK RABBIT IN THIS HOUSE #they’re everything to me #He’s so silly #nothing like a girl and her roof ledge #I’m actually referring to Jack not you #Jack Abbot being baby girl #we love to see it

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secondbeatsongs · 11 months ago

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Hello, you said in some tags in a poll that Speed Racer (2008) is your favorite film. If you’re okay with it, I’d really like to hear more about why you love it. I love the Wachowskis’ work (they’re among my favorite directors), but I kinda ended up bouncing off Speed Racer (2008). So, hearing that it had a real impact on someone makes me very curious why. I’m not interested in criticizing your opinion or arguing with you, I’d just really like to know why you love it in the hopes I might be able to enjoy that movie more in the future.

oh god this is from seven months ago, I'm so sorry - but I do love almost everything about Speed Racer (2008) and I still think about it nearly every day.

I love that it's so bright and colorful and absurd. I love that it's an anime in live action form. and I love that at its heart, it is a story about love.

it's about the mistakes people make out of love, and the consequences of that. it's about the way children grow to understand why the adults around them make the choices they do, and maybe choose to do the same things. it's about taking risks for the people you love, and the pain of failing to change the world, because everything is capitalism and everything hurts.

(and it's also about being transgender btw. like, that's one of the main things about it - it is very much a movie about being transgender)

what if your father's choices hurt your older brother, and your older brother's choices hurt you, and now it's you and your younger brother staring down a future where you're going to end up hurting him by making the same choice?

and then...what if you can escape that? what if the broken parts put themselves back together, and the hope doesn't run out, and you're not alone with the things that haunt you? what then?

and now you're at the end and mistakes were still made, people were still hurt, but everyone's grown and changed and they're different now. and they've figured out that maybe, just maybe, you can change the world by doing something you love, by creating art and beauty and making people feel things.

maybe you really can defeat capitalism by driving a car really fast. and even if everyone thinks you can't...don't you have to try anyway? shouldn't you fight with the skills you have, the only way you know how?

what if it works?

and I'm not even gonna get into most of the Racer X stuff (because I want people to go watch this movie, and most folks probably won't be spoiled for it), but his whole deal is just...everything. I love him.

(if there's a guy from Speed Racer that I want to put in a jar and shake every so often, or maybe wrap in a blanket so he can have a nice nap, it's Racer X. he's a great character. prime blorbo material)

anyway I've been rotating this movie in my head ever since I saw it for the first time, and I think I've seen it...seven? times now? and I still cry at the final race, and I still get blown away by the intro sequence.

(the beginning of the movie is genuinely one of the best things I've ever seen - it does an amazing job of introducing you to the world and the story of the characters, and gets you emotionally invested in it right from the start. it's fantastic filmmaking)

also like. story stuff aside, from a technical standpoint, the movie is a masterpiece. it's the type of thing that people hated when it first came out, but when you look at it now and see how it was made, how it intentionally looks bizarre and cartoonish, plastic and surreal, you can see the exact vision the Wachowskis were going for, and it's brilliant.

the way they did the visual effects, the way they made the outdoor scenes feel so detailed, the way the driving and the tracks work - they put so much thought into that, and the behind-the-scenes vids show how cool their process was.

also uhhh cars go vroom, crash into each other, flip upside down, explode, maybe have bees and hammers in them sometimes?

(the above is me complimenting the unhinged vibe of the races themselves, which I love very much)

anyway I could make other full posts about the script of the film and how much I love it, or the cool side characters, or the fanfic potential of the amazing world of the film, or how I can prove that it's set in 1991...but I guess if anyone wants those rants, they'll just have to watch the film and then come talk to me. :)

(please. please come talk to me about Speed Racer.)

so, yeah! I kinda lost my mind there and made this post way longer than I intended, but I do feel strongly affected by this movie, and I hope this has helped explain why.

#asks #crescentwench #speed racer #speed racer (2008)#speed racer 2008 #the wachowskis #my beloved #also it's important for anyone who hasn't seen the movie or cartoon to know #the main guy. his name is Speed Racer #first name Speed last name Racer #also the movie has vague found family vibes because Sparky and Trixie are here and are a part of this family #don't worry about it. they belong here #and so does chim-chim #he's their youngest child #and also a chimpanzee #sbs rambles #long post

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maximumqueer · 8 months ago

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You ever have stages of obsession and depravity when it comes to a character you enjoy? Because that has been me with Gideon Coal of Once Upon a Witchlight fame.

It started with like, oh a himbo built like a brick shithouse, hell yeah. The character art goes hard, the chains are a fun design that makes the silhouette interesting! His dynamic with the other characters is really fun!! Then I read the little character blurb about his back story (as well as just the small comments about his backstory in the actual campaign), and its like ok, that's depressing as hell, but also very interesting!

Then not a second later i get punched in the face with the fucking IMPLICATIONS of Gideon choosing to keep the fucking chains and manacles as his weapons. How they became an extension of his body that only work because he made of fire. How he literally took back his power - which was being used for the train - and have it instead power his weapons, which shackled him to the train. Something something using the objects of your imprisonment as the gateway to your liberation, and then KEEPING them both of a reminder of that imprisonment and as a promise to never let yourself be caged again.

AND THEN in the most recent ep. I watched (ep. 19) with the way he interacts with Twig, who is a deeply lonely character, who was so excited to have guests at her inn because she had been alone for so long that she just immediately attaches herself to them. And for Gideon to just immediately return that energy, for Gideon to just immediately become friends with her (basically adopt her) because he relates to that loneliness, because for a good chuck of time all he knew was pain and loneliness because of the fucking train GAHHHHHHHHHHH

Add to that what he said about Torbek, and him being hurt and vulnerable, and how he needs to be with them so that the people who tortured and experimented on him do not get ahold of him again (because he can relate as he too was tortured and - while not experimented on to my knowledge - was dehumanized and used as a living power source for that FUCKING TRAIN) It has me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. I am so deeply unwell about this fucker it's not even funny.

Like, idk what the wonderful people down at Legends of Avantris put in the characters they make (because while this is mainly about Gideon, all of the characters make me go feral), but it is some potent stuff, because I already have an (unfinished) 18 page coalecroux fanfic in the works and I've only been watching for like, a week.

All this to say, I love Gideon Coal ( and all of the Witchlight characters). This is the hardest I've been hit with a hyperfixation in a long ass time. It's been rotating in my head 24/7 since I started it, and I don't think it will be stopping soon.

#legends of avantris #once upon a witchlight #gideon coal #twig toadspring #torbek #character analysis #<- ????#kinda??#its deeply unhinged but i think it counts lmao

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gotham--fc · 5 months ago

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Désolée - A Marie-Philip Poulin and Laura Stacey Imagine

Part two of my previous Pou and Stacey fic which you can find here

Y/N comes to visit Pou and Stacey in Montreal and tempers flare

Y/N had never been so relieved for summer break.

She, like every teenager, counts the days until school is out, naturally, but this summer is different. From dealing with normal school stuff, to her hometown team who keep moving her up age groups and coaches not so subtly trying to poach her for their teams, to being in the national team rotation and suddenly being one of the most popular people in her town, she’s ready for a break.

Of course, hockey doesn’t stop, hockey never stops, but hockey takes a break. Or rather, she takes a break since she doesn’t have to attend tryouts and recruitment camps anymore. She feels bad, feels like she’s getting special treatment over some of the girls who have been on the team longer than her, but there’s nothing she can do about it. And she has plans, so there’s that.

She steps off the plane in the Montreal airport, carry on dragging behind her. She didn’t want to check a bag, so she shoved everything into her carry on and now it feels heavier than anything. She finds her way through the airport and out past security. She pauses for a moment, looking around at all the people gathered there, trying to find a familiar face. Her eyes land on a brightly coloured sign with “Mon Petite Lapinou” written on it. She shakes her head fondly, a blush rising on her cheeks and a warmth filling her chest.

“Salut!” Pou wraps her up in a big hug and rocks her side to side. “How are you? Was the flight okay? How did your exams go?”

“Marie, please, let the girl breathe,” Laura says. Pou lets go and Y/N hugs Laura. “She was a little too excited for your visit,” Laura whispers to Y/N.

“Have you ever been to Montreal?” Pou asks as they walk to the car. Pou took Y/N’s carry on from her as soon as they started walking and carries it easily.

“No, I mean, I’ve been to Quebec for tournaments and stuff but I never had any in Montreal. We were mostly in Gatineau and Sherbrooke.”

“You’ll love it, it’s a beautiful city,” Pou says, “Maybe you’ll love it so much you’ll want to come here after you graduate college.”

“Marie,” Laura scolds, “She’s not even done high school.”

“Okay okay,” Pou says, “But I’ll still make you like Montreal more than Boston. I don’t want you playing for my rival team in a few years.”

Y/N smiles at that. She has no doubt that Pou will convince her Montreal is a better city than Boston, but she has no idea what the future will hold. She doesn’t even know if she’ll do well in college, let alone get drafted and actually make a team in the PWHL.

“Are you hungry?” Laura places her hand on Y/N’s shoulder as Pou puts her bag in the trunk of the car. “We can stop somewhere for food on the way back if you want.”

“I’m alright,” Y/N says, subconsciously leaning into Laura’s touch. “I think I’m just tired.”

“Alright,” Laura says, “Let us know if you change your mind, okay?” Y/N nods.

They all pile in the car, Laura in the front seat while Pou drives and Y/N in the back. Pou talks the whole time, telling Y/N all the things they’ll do while she’s here, pointing out landmarks and buildings and telling stories. Y/N does her best to listen, but the flight and the rocking of the car pulls her to sleep.

“Marie,” Laura says quietly, “Look.”

Marie glances in the rearview mirror and sees Y/N asleep. She smiles fondly at her.

“It’s hard to believe she’ll be going to college in a year, she looks so young,” Marie says.

“Don’t say that when she’s awake,” Laura says, “She might kill you.”

***

Y/N really likes being with Pou and Laura. It’s fun, exploring Montreal, and getting to see the two of them outside of the camp environment. It’s not like they hide their relationship, since everyone knows about them, but they still keep things professional during camps. It’s fun seeing them without the pressure of camp and performing.

Pou wakes up every day at 5am to walk Arlo. They return at 6am and make the most noise possible and Y/N smiles as she hears Laura yell for them to keep it down and then the clamber of footsteps as Pou and Arlo run up the stairs and jump in bed with Laura. Y/N then usually pulls her pillow over her head and goes back to sleep until 8am.

Pou and Laura love going to farmers markets and Y/N tags along as Pou speaks in rapid fire French to all the vendors. Y/N tries to keep up, but her grade nine French isn’t enough.

“You’ll pick it up the longer you’re here,” Laura tells her, “If you even end up in Montreal. You won’t need much French in Boston, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Y/N says.

She doesn’t know how to explain the pit in her chest that opens every time one of them mentions Boston, or where she’s going to end up once she graduates. She knows she has to think about it, she’s going to Boston in a year, she can’t avoid it, but she just wishes everyone would let her spend the summer just being a regular teenager on summer vacation.

“I’ll have to send you a list of restaurants to try when you’re in Boston,” Pou says that night when they’re having dinner. “And me and Laura can come visit you and–”

“Can’t you spend one day not talking about Boston?” Y/N snaps, “I might not even go to Boston! And I might not get drafted to Montreal in five years if I even get drafted at all! I’m sorry that you only care about me because you think I’m your protégé or something but I’m not like you and I never will be!”

Y/N shoves her chair back and storms out of the room, frustrated tears in her eyes.

“Wh – Y/N! Come back here! Arrêt! Reviens à table!”

Y/N ignores her and slams the door of the guest bedroom.

***

Laura isn’t going to say she say this coming. She saw signs, the way Y/N got quiet and seemed to shrink whenever someone brought up college or the pros, the way Marie never seemed to notice. She won’t say she’s better at reading Y/N than Marie, or that Marie is unobservant, or anything like that. Laura only noticed because she’s been through this with Marie already.

Back when they first started dating, Laura wasn’t settled in her career. She still felt like an outsider, like a fringe player, and she spent years expecting the national team coaches to call her and tell her she didn’t make the team. Marie never understood that, because she never had to. Ever since her debut, she was a mainstay on the national team. She’s the captain, there was no question she would be on every team she was healthy enough to be on. She never dealt with the uncertainty.

Marie also never understood why Laura doubted herself. She never understood why Laura would plan for what happens when she gets cut. For Marie, Laura was a phenomenal player who made the team better, so why wouldn’t she be on every roster? For Laura, she was a good player in a sea of good players who all deserved a spot.

They had arguments, and times when they were both too stubborn and didn’t talk for days or weeks. There were times when Laura felt less than, and felt small standing next to the Marie-Philip Poulin. Of course, Marie never understood that either.

Things are better now, Laura is settled and confident in her skills. She doesn’t expect to get cut after every bad practice, and she doesn’t feel overshadowed by Marie. Yes, there’s still people who think she only got where she is because of Marie. People who think Montreal only signed her because they signed Marie first. But Laura knows what she brings to a team and she knows she deserves her spot. When Marie defends her, praises her, Laura doesn’t feel patronized. She knows Marie isn’t saying those things because she feels like she has to, or because she feels like she needs to appease Laura. Laura knows she says what she does because she loves Laura so much that she can’t stand to hear people criticizing her unfairly and she can’t stand people talking about her when they know nothing about her or her play.

Laura knows Marie sees a lot of herself in Y/N, but Laura thinks Y/N is a lot more like she is than Marie.

“Let her go,” Laura says, tugging Marie back down when Marie tries to storm after Y/N.

“But–”

“Give her space, you’re only going to yell at each other if you chase after her now.”

“She… She yelled at us! That’s… She’s… It was rude!”

“I know, love,” Laura gently rubs the space between Marie’s shoulder blades.

Laura knows it’s not the fact that Y/N yelled, it’s what she said that’s upsetting Marie.

“Let’s give her some time to calm down, and then I’ll go talk to her, see if I can figure out what’s going on.”

***

Y/N doesn’t emerge at all that night. Marie gets more and more sullen as the night goes on. Laura knows there’s nothing she can do when Marie is like this. They both can get in their heads and neither can let things go that easily, so Laura knows she just needs to let Marie sulk until she’s done sulking.

The next morning, Marie is still sulking. While Marie is out walking Arlo, Laura (even though she hates it normally) gets out of bed and prepares breakfast. She leaves two servings for herself and Marie and brings one serving up to Y/N’s room. She knocks lightly on the door.

“It’s just me, I’m leaving some breakfast here for you,” Laura says, “You can come down if you want, but you can stay in there for as long as you want.”

Y/N doesn’t come down, but Laura hears her open the door and take the plate. A little bit later, Marie comes home. Arlo gets halfway up the stairs before he realizes Laura is still downstairs. He leaps onto the couch and Laura laughs as he licks her face. Marie laughs too, but Laura can hear its strained.

“Is she still acting like a morveuse?” Marie says. Laura sighs.

“She is still upstairs, but she is not a brat,” Laura shushes Marie before she can start talking again, “She’s a 17-year-old girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. All you ever talk to her about is hockey or Boston, it’s no surprise she thinks that’s all you care about.”

“That’s not true!” Marie says, “I’m trying to help–”

“Marie, I love you, but sometimes your help doesn’t help,” Laura puts her arm around Marie’s shoulder and pulls her closer. “I know you think you’re helping prepare her for the future, and I love that about you, you know that.” Laura pauses. “Can you see that Y/N is stressed about college and her future in hockey and sometimes having that be all you talk about doesn’t help her be less stressed.”

“All I wanted when I was her age was for someone to tell me what to do,” Marie says quietly, her voice thick.

“I know, baby, I know.”

***

Later in the afternoon, Marie takes Arlo on another walk. Laura has told her not to spoil him during the offseason so he doesn’t expect this treatment all the time, but Marie doesn’t listen, and Laura doesn’t push it today. While Marie is out, Laura goes up to Y/N’s room.

“It’s just me,” Laura says after she knocks, “Marie isn’t home, can I come in?”

After a moment, Y/N answers quietly: “Okay.”

Y/N is laying on the bed. Laura sits beside her.

“How are you doing?” Laura asks. Y/N shrugs.

“Is she really mad at me?” Y/N whispers.

“She was,” Laura answers, “She’s not mad at you anymore. She was only trying to help and she didn’t mean to upset you. Look,” Laura sighs, “When she was your age, she was so scared. She had no idea what to expect. All she wanted was for someone to tell her what she was supposed to do and she assumed you would be the same way. She just wants to make things easier for you. She really does feel bad that she upset you so much.”

“I don’t feel like I deserve it all,” Y/N says, “Like, it’s different for her, or you. I’m not that good and I just… I don’t think I’ll make it.” Y/N rolls over so her back is to Laura. “I don’t want to lose you both when you realize I’m not as good as you think.”

“When I first started seeing Marie, I felt the same way,” Laura says. Y/N’s head jerks towards Laura and she looks up at Laura with a confused expression. “I stopped talking to her, actually, because I didn’t feel good enough compared to her. I thought it would easier to break it off than wait for her to do it later on.”

“What happened?”

“Marie is more stubborn than anyone I’ve ever met,” Laura smiles as she thinks about her fiancée. Y/N huffs out a laugh at Laura’s statement. “She wouldn’t let me go without a reason, so I told her. And she told me I was being an idiot and she was right. Marie loves hockey, but hockey is the last thing on her mind when it comes to the people she loves.”

“I chose BU because that’s where she went,” Y/N says quietly, “I just want her to be proud of me.”

“She is, she is so proud of you. We both are.”

***

Later, when Marie comes home, Y/N sits nervously on the couch. She and Laura practiced this whole speech that Y/N would say to explain how she was feeling and why she was feeling that way and Y/N was determined to say it. She was still running it over in her head when she hears Marie come in, when she hears Marie let Arlo off the leash, when she hears Marie greet Laura and walk towards the living room. Y/N takes a deep breath to center herself and stands. Marie pauses when she sees Y/N. Y/N opens her mouth to begin, but what comes out of her mouth is this:

“Mama.”

And then Y/N is crying and she throws herself into Marie’s arms. Marie freezes for a second, then she’s wrapping Y/N up in a tight hug.

“Oh, mon petite lapinou,” Marie says, “It’s alright, I got you, it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N cries, “I’m sorry.”

“Non, non,” Marie says firmly, “You have nothing to be sorry about, I am the one who needs to apologize. I’m sorry I pushed you and I’m sorry I upset you and I’m sorry you felt like I didn’t care.”

When Y/N finally stops crying, Marie pulls back and takes Y/N’s face in her hands.

“Are you okay now, mon petite lapinou?” Marie asks.

“Yeah,” Y/N wipes at her eyes, but Marie swats her hands away and wipes the tears away herself, much gentler than Y/N would’ve. Marie gives Y/N a kiss on the forehead.

“From now on, we won’t talk about hockey at all unless you bring it up first, okay?” Marie says.

“You don’t have to do that,” Y/N says, “It’s okay–”

“There are lots of things that we can talk about that aren’t hockey,” Marie says, “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now that that’s over,” Laura says, “Can we go back to enjoying Y/N’s visit?”

Marie and Y/N look at each other, and Y/N can see the same idea pop up in Marie’s head. They grin at each other then both turn to Laura. Laura realizes a moment too late and Marie and Y/N grab her and pull her down on the couch. Laura shrieks as Marie and Y/N wrestle her down. Almost immediately Arlo jumps on them and Y/N laughs so hard her sides hurt as Arlo alternates between licking Laura and Marie’s faces.

As Y/N watches Laura and Marie and Arlo wrestle on the couch, she’s really happy she took this trip, and she’s really happy she chose to play hockey and that it’s brought her to this moment right here.

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