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messenger-of-babel · 4 months ago

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Nightmares

Summary: The Wayne family calls you in When they can't snap Tim out of it. (Tim Drake x reader)

Word Count: 2.5K

Notes: Tim is my fav as Robin ❤️ Yes, I did read the Hush arc. People are oddly divided if Jason really did try to kill Tim which is an argument for a later day, but it'd still mess with anyone regardless so shhhhh. Enjoy xx

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It was hardly ever that you were contacted by the Wayne residence, so when you got a call one Friday evening, a cold ball began forming in your stomach. With a surprised stutter you responded that you were still at the Gotham University library, studying up for your finals. Before you even got a chance to ask what was going on, Alfred kindly let you know that he was going to be picking you up before the receiver went dead.

Unsure of what to do, you shifted from foot to foot outside of the library. The night was cold for Spring, the coattails of winter still wrapped around the city. As you fidget you try to think of any reason that they would be calling you. After all, you and Tim had only been dating for eight months or so. In those eight months you had visited the manor maybe twice, much less met his family. Tim had dragged you through the hallways as soon as you hit the foyer, hurrying you to his room so fast that you could only exchange a surprised glance with the members he passed. You could only think of the worst scenarios, minutes stretching for eternity as you trapped yourself inside your mind.

What if they hated you dating Tim? You weren't from an affluent family like they were, growing up in a poor area of Robinson Park. You got into Gotham U on a scholarship, which was how you both had met in the first place. What if they looked down upon that and were going to threaten you to break up with him? If they ever chose to, they certainly would have the power and sway to. Hell, they could chase you out of Gotham entirely and no one would be the wiser. You thought of all these ideas, just to distract yourself from the underlying thought that sat like an unwelcome visitor int he back of your mind.

The little thought that whispered over and over again, 'What if something has happened to Tim?'

The Wayne car rolling to a stop in front of you was enough to snap you out of your worrying, making the ball in your stomach only grow heavier. The visage of Pennyworth, the butler, appears from the driver’s side. He gives you a small, tight, smile and exits the car, opening the back as you descend the stairs.

"After you, dear."

You hesitantly poke your head in as he waves his hand politely to the open door, blood draining from your face. You had expected the car to be empty, but as you studied the shadows it was very clearly not the case. The sturdily built man in front of you had his arm propped up on the window, chin in his palm. His deep blue eyes glinted from the shadows he seemed to melt into, rough timbre floating your way. "Come in."

You anxiously shuffle into the seat, leaving a space between you and the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. There's a tense silence as Alfred gets into the driver’s side and starts the car, headed to the Manor once more. You shuffle in your seat, pulse thudding against your neck.

"It's nice to meet you." you say, clearing your throat awkwardly. The icy eyes of the billionaire flick to you, scanning you up and down.

"And same to you." he says smoothly, staring back out the window with a rich indifference. "I'm sure you know why we called you?"

"Actually, I don't sir." you say gently, fiddling with your fingers. They gave you nothing to work off of, how could they expect you to know what was happening?

"It's about Tim." he says, and your heart flips.

"Is he okay?" falls out before you can even temper your voice properly.

"He's…in a difficult space right now." Bruce hums back at you, worry creasing at the corner of his eyes. "He won't work with any of us, won't come out. We thought that maybe you could help. Actually, Dick recommended we call you."

Dick Grayson. The only brother you had met, albeit only briefly. He had been passing through for a charity event and had come to ask Tim a question, ducking his head inside the bedroom. Tim had gone to get snacks, leaving you to nervously explain who you were. When you mentioned that you were dating Tim, a wide smile had split the older man's face. He'd promptly introduced himself, stepping inside and shaking your hand. Tim had chased him out soon after he arrived back, the elder brother's laughing echoing down the halls long after Tim had shut and locked the door.

"Is it bad?" you whisper out, fists curling on your knees.

"He's alive and physically uninjured, if that's what you're asking. Now, what I'm about to tell you is confidential. You tell anyone, and I mean anyone," Bruce's eyes flash dangerously. "Then there will be severe consequences."

When you nod his shoulders drop slightly, and he uncoils. You had always been intimidated by the man and the sheer power he wielded, but you didn't take him for someone to be so fiercely protective. There was something in his eyes that flickered when he stared you down, a scarred over wound that re-opened at the thought of you harming his family.

"I promise." you say, rising to match Bruce's tone. "I just want to help Tim."

The answer settles the wary father next to you, relaxing back into his seat.

He fills you in, dread filling your stomach more and more. He explains how they've been a target of a terrorist attack, Tim getting caught in the crossfire. The story seems wild and something in the back of your mind gets the impression he isn't telling you everything, but you remind yourself that this is Gotham, and being a rich family paints a rather large target.

"Fear gas?" you whisper, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought Batman put the Scarecrow in Arkham."

Bruce bites his knuckles but nods. "Yeah, that is what I thought too. So, we're suspecting it's either a lackey of his, or the Bat isn't as thorough as he appears." he grunts, teeth relenting their assault so he can cross his arms. "Masked annoyance." he mutters, his nose crinkling.

"How can I help?" you ask, adrenaline rushing through your veins in a mild cocktail of panic.

"Talk to him. get him to come out. We've had a doctor look him over and he'll be fine, he got out of the gassed room in time. His mental is just a bit…fragile, right now. He won't accept comfort from us. Some of us can't even get close. So, we thought you might be able to try." Bruce studies you closely. "We want to deal with this before press come snooping. It'll only affect his social life if this gets out before he's had a chance to recover, so I must reiterate the importance of your silence. This is a family matter; we will deal with it as such."

you nod along, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yes, sir."

"But do not take it to heart if my son doesn’t recognise you." he says firmly. "He isn't himself right now. This isn't a reflection on your or your relationship."

You want to ask about how much he knew about your relationship, but as you open your mouth you're cut off by the voice of Alfred. "We're here, sir."

The car rolls to a stop, and Alfred opens Bruce's door and then yours. The manor is imposing, but you don't get long to look at it before you're ushered away. You're walked to the door of Tim's bedroom; except this time your arm is being led by the sympathetic smile of Pennyworth. He leaves you in peace, and it's never felt more imposing knocking on your boyfriend's door than now.

"Tim?" you call softly, rapping your knuckles against the richly coloured wood. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"

There's no response, making worry knot up in your chest. "I'm coming in, okay?" you call out, hand hesitantly turning the brass knob and opening the door just enough so you can slip inside.

It's dark, only moonlight illuminating the scene before you. His bedsheets have been ripped from the mattress, pillows scattered around. Drawers were open haphazardly, contents spilled across the tiled floor. Your heart lurched spying the sheer curtains that fluttered in front of the open bay windows, worrying that he might have gone out there despite the drop. It calms slightly when you spy him, huddled under the desk. You approach as if regarding a cornered animal, concern twitching in your fingers. The desk was devoid of any objects, swiped clear by a frenzied arm. The drawers were open and empty, content spilled around him.

"Hey, Tim." you say, crouching to him under the desk. He looks a mess, face pressed tightly into his knees. He's curled into a ball, arms tucked under his torso, resting on the front of his thighs. "it's me." your murmur, reaching out gently. "it's just me."

He jumps as your fingers lightly brush against his arm, face snapping up. His eyes are puffy and red rimmed, cheeks stained with tears. His hair is tousled and messy, falling over the shaking of his blue irises. The sight pangs painfully in your heart, and when he no longer pulls away from your touch, your hand slowly circles his wrist. He leans into your touch, body trembling as you pull him towards you. When you manage to get him in a hug you can feel the rapid beating of his heart, the shaky and quickened breaths that he draws into his lungs.

"Please don't hurt me." he whispers, shattering your heart. You look at him wide eyed, gently tilting his face to meet yours.

"Why on earth would I do that?" you breathe out, confusion on your face. His eyes are watery and far away, lips trembling. "I'd never do that, Tim. you know that."

"Please don't leave." he chokes out. "Please. Please don't leave. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone again, I'll work harder, I’ll be smarter, I'll do better." he reassures frantically, pupils shifting rapidly. "I'll do enough this time. I'll meet your expectations. Just don't go."

Your mouth drops and there's nothing that you can say for a few moments. "Oh, Tim…" you breathe out. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? absolutely nowhere." you murmur gently. "And you don't need to promise that. You do enough, hell, you do so much. You do so much more than meet expectations, Tim. You surpass them in every way."

he shakes his head at your comforting, hair flopping in front of his eyes.

"I saw them." he mumbles, although you aren’t sure if it is to himself or to you. "They were just here, I saw them.'

"Who?" you ask softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks.

"My parents." he mumbles back out. "I saw them. they were here. They said... They said things..."

You sigh.

Bruce had told you that the effect of the gas made people see things, vivid hallucinations conjured up to torture them. You just hadn't been able to comprehend how deep in someone's mind the fear gas was able to pull from. "And there was Jason." he chokes out. "I never meant to replace him, but he wouldn't listen, and then I felt it all over again." he stammers out, spare hand coming to trace along his throat softly. "But Jason turned into Damian, and then he pushed me and I was falling again. I'm not a real son, I'm not a real replacement I'm-"

"Stop." you command, unable to hold your own tears back at his words. You had no idea what he was saying. Jason and Damian hurting him? Tim complained lightly about his brothers at times, but he had equal amount of compliments to give them back (even if they were begrudging). It had to be the toxin messing with his mind, distorting the images he kept conjuring up.

"Tim, your brother's love you." you say. "Bruce loves you, Alfred loves you, I love you. So please," your whisper, hands holding his face. "Please, wake up, Timmie."

His pupils dilate rapidly as he peers up at you, and you can see him struggle to focus. "Please," you plead again softly. "Please come back. Trust me. You're safe."

Water spills over his lash line and his lips curl into a sob, but his body relaxes. He unfurls from the foetal position, absent rocking of his body coming to a slow halt.

"That's it," you breathe out. "Nice and easy, just take a deep breath."

When he relaxes enough for you to crawl under the desk with him, you do, his arms circling your waist as you pull his head forward to rest on your shoulder. He turns and buries his face in your neck, hot tears streaking down your skin as he sobs. "I couldn't dodge it in time…" he weakly says, hands shaking. "If I had dodged I wouldn't be seeing this. I'm supposed to be…I'm supposed to be faster than that…"

Your lips frown at the despair in his voice. From his tone it seems like he was slowly becoming more lucid, but you still had no idea what he was on about. With a few gentle encouragements you get his frantic murmuring to cease completely, fight draining out of him. You can feel the effects wearing off him as time passes, and you hate to imagine what the toxin must have done to him at full strength. You just run a comforting hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and occasionally shushing him. When you tilt your head to kiss the top of his head, your eyes narrow in on the piece of paper that had fluttered from his lap.

It had been obscured when he was curled up, pressed to his chest. now that he had begun to relax it had slipped out, landing face up. It was a photo of you, taken in black and white. He had gotten a new camera for his birthday and wanted to try it out, so he brought it to the library the next time you both met up to study together. You were looking up at the camera, smiling softly as the light from the window filtered in behind you. Your eyes follow the curve of your grin to the way your eyes crinkle joyfully as you gaze in his direction. The corners are rolled and creased from the toying of his fingers, and you softly reach out to pick it up.

His arms tighten around you as you move to retrieve it, making you rub his back comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere." you say softly, pulling the picture back towards you. "I promise," you whisper, looking at yourself in the photo he had been cradling so reverently before you came. "I'm not going anywhere, ever."

And you intended to keep that promise before anything like this happened again.

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retellingthehobbit · 6 months ago

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Tag yourself I’m #4

Essential genres of webcomics, updated for 2024:

Gag-a-day strip with the art and writing of a forgettable newspaper comic, but which inexplicably has 25 years worth of intricate setting lore and requires a day-long archive binge to fully understand the context of a grade-school pun.

Self-proclaimed deconstruction of superhero comics or giant robot anime or magical girls or something that has the exact same plot beats as every other self-proclaimed deconstruction of superhero comics or giant robot anime or magical girls or something. If you support the artist's Patreon you can download alternate versions of selected pages where the protagonist has their tits out.

Webtoon that sprang into existence complete with a hundred thousand followers at some point in the last week; the art displays immense technical mastery of figure drawing, but absolutely no grasp of panel layout, and the writing's gender politics are weirdly reactionary for something whose official synopsis manages to use the word "queer" three times in the space of two paragraphs.

Long-form narrative which hasn't received regular updates in several years due to the author's incredibly demanding real-life obligations, but instead of cancelling the comic or going on hiatus, they continue to publish one page roughly every four months with the kind of grim determination normally associated with historical anecdotes about the Battle of Stalingrad.

Fantasy adventure comic which you strongly suspect, but cannot prove, is a direct adaptation of somebody's high school GURPS campaign. The story is so elaborately and discursively plotted that you need to keep the fandom wiki open in a separate tab simply to remember who the fuck any of these people are.

Chicken-scratch parody comic about, like, Rainbow Brite fighting the Care Bears or some shit that somehow has better writing than anything on Netflix.

Semi-autobiographical slice of life comic, except with robots.

#they cal me ‘no- schedule jones’#bc I update when I have something to say #rather than shoving garbage filler at you once a week XD

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wlded · 2 months ago

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Tips from Weight Loss Diaries:

———————————————————————————

Appetite suppressors:

- Caffeine

- Energy drinks (Celsius is my fav only 10 cals and it boosts metabolism and promotes hair growth)

- Fizzy drinks (zero cals ofc)

- Nic

- Water (sticking to the basics yuh)

- Tea———————————————————————————

Getting out of food:

- Blame on health: Period cramps, headache, stomachaches, etc.

- Wrap in napkin and throw away when you get a good chance to.

- Just ate or the iconic “I’m not hungry”

- "I'm trying to eat healthier, so I'll pass on this."

- if you have to eat, eat as slow as possible and say your full once everyone else has finished.

- Not in a 🤮 kinda way but if it’s flushable you can get rid of it in the toilet.

———————————————————————————

Ways to occupy your self:

- skin care (I like to self tan because it takes a while to dry, keeps you from leaving your room and it drys faster if you walk around iykyk)

- school work/work for money

-workout duh

- play a video game. They keep you locked in unlike tik tok or something that you can put down at any time.

- Watch a movie

(Also if you’re just gonna be on your phone you might as well walk around your room or something and be on it. Take advantage of the moments ALONE!)

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waitimcomingtoo · 2 months ago

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Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter is all on his own for Christmas and you both know why

Masterlist

Peter pulled out his chair and took a seat at his empty table.

In another life, you occupied the seat beside him and ate together while you chatted about your days or sat in comfortable silence.

Now, Peter came home to the same cold, empty apartment every day. The sound of your laughter or the smell of your cooking haunted the place and lingered to constantly reminder of what Peter let get away.

Peter pushed around his dinner with his fork. It had been a while since any reached his lips. He was busy thinking about the nights when you’d fallen asleep while you waiting for him to come home from patrol. You’d always leave his dinner in the microwave with a love note taped to the utensils you left out for him. There were no notes to greet him anymore and he was feeling especially sorry for himself about their absence that night. To interrupt Peter’s pity party came a phone call that he answered without looking at his phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, honey.” Came a downcast female voice from the other side.

For a moment, the term of endearment made him grow hopeful that it was you who had called. He pulled his phone away from his ear and looked at the caller ID, making the hope leave as quickly as it came.

“Hi, May.�� He sighed. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” She laughed in surprise. “You tell me. I feel like I haven’t spoken to you since there were still leaves on the trees.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I kept meaning to call.” Peter mumbled and looked out his window at the falling snow. It had been a minute since he picked up the phone.

“It’s all right. I’m just glad to get a hold of you now. How have you been?” May asked him.

Peter looked at the empty chair beside him again and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fine.” He said after a minute. May was quiet for a minute and he could feel her dejection through the phone.

“I have to say, Peter, I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t heard from you in so long.” May admitted. “I finally got you on the phone and all you can tell me is you’re “fine”? Can I get anymore? What’s new in your life? What have you been up to?”

“I’m busy, May. I told you, I meant to call. But I have a lot on my plate right now. This is a really dangerous time of year.” Peter replied as he rubbed his tired eyes. He felt guilty for how little he reached out but that was currently buried under the anger he felt for her pointing it out.

“I know, I know.” She said quietly. “It gets really busy at the center around the holidays. But it only takes a few seconds to send a text.”

Peter could hear the sadness in her voice and let out a sigh. He let go of his anger for once and nodded his head.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve checked in more.” He mumbled as his eyes drifted to the empty chair beside him again. Your ghost materialized in front of him as his mind went back to December of last year.

last Christmas

“You should really call her.” You said when you saw Peter decline another phone call from May.

“I said I’d do it later tonight.” Peter grumbled before taking two bites out of the dinner you left out for him. You made a choice not to comment on his sharp tone because you could tell he was already upset over something.

“I know. But you said that the past two nights and you still haven’t done it. I stopped by the community center before to check in on her and she seemed really overwhelmed. I think a call from you would really cheer her up.” You said in a calm voice. Peter stopped eating and looked at you with annoyance.

“You stopped by the center? Why?”

“To eat with her. We usually take our lunch breaks at the same time so I-“

“I don’t need you to babysit my aunt, okay” He cut you off. “That just makes me look worse for not calling her.”

“Then call her.” You stayed calm even though his tone was hurting your feelings.

“I don’t need you to tell me when to call her. Why are you always on me about this?” He snapped and walked away from you.

“Because, Peter. You know how hard the holidays are for her without Ben and your dad. You are the only family she has right now. If you keep putting off calling her, your relationship isn’t going to last. And you aren’t really in a position to be losing family.” You said as you followed him. Peter stopped in his tracks and turned to looked at you.

“Are you seriously trying to guilt me into calling May by reminding me my parents are dead?” He asked you with hardened eyes that told you he was not about to listen to anything you were about to say.

“That’s not what I’m doing, Peter.” You sighed. “I’m just saying that you and her are each others only family and it’s important to keep your bond now that you’ve moved out.”

“I’ll call her when I want to call her, okay? The two of you are being so annoying about a damn phone call. You’re not my mother and neither is she so the both of you need to get off my back. Just stop being a bitch about it and…” Peter trailed off when he realized he’d gone too far and the look on your face told him exactly how the rest of the conversation was going to play out.

“Nice.” You smiled tightly and walked away. Peter followed after you as guilt for the entire conversation settled in.

“Where are you going?” He asked as you put your jacket on.

“I’m leaving.” You said without looking at him.

“To go where? It’s already dark outside. And you haven’t eaten yet.” He tried to reason with you as he followed you towards the door.

“I’m gonna eat with May. She usually always sets out an extra plate anyway.” You mumbled and grabbed your purse. Peter panicked and stepped in front of the door. He was worried that if you left right now, you’d never come back.

“Wait, honey, please. I’m sorry. I should never have used that word. Can we just talk?” He pleaded. You started into his eyes for a minute before shaking your head.

“I can’t talk to you.” You said as your eyes dropped to the floor.

“What do you mean?” He asked nervously.

“Because I don’t think you want to hear what I want to say. And that’s why you keep avoiding me.” You replied and looked him in the eyes. Peter felt his face grow hot. He didn’t realize you had noticed that. For the past month, he’d leave early in the morning to go to work and stay out all night on patrol. You only saw him when he stopped home to eat and even then, you barely got a word out of him.

“Well. I’m listening now. What do you have to say?” He asked, practically daring you to do it. He watched your eyes brim with tears as you gave him a shrug.

“That I want to breakup.” You said, taking all the air out of room.

“There you go.” He smiled sarcastically. “Was that so hard?”

“It was, actually. It was really hard to watch you change into this person. This person who calls me a bitch and ignores calls from the woman who practically raised him. And it really sucks that this is the way things ended because I liked you so much in the beginning. For the first three months, I was the happiest I’d been in my life. But everything is different now. I really thought I saw a future with you but if this is how it’s going to be then I’m out.”

“Baby, come on.” Peter whispered pleadingly. “Out? I had one rough week.”

“It’s been more than this week, Peter. You’ve been shutting me out all month. You’re never around anymore and when you are, it’s like I can feel in the air how annoying you find me. I feel like I’m going to get in trouble every time I speak. And it’s not just me. Your aunt-“

“Wait, you told May about this? We have one problem and you run and tell on me to my aunt?” Peters eyes narrowed as his remorse hardened into anger.

“I didn’t tell on you.” You said pointedly. “I just talked to her because I didn’t know what was going on with you and I figured she could help.”

“Well, what did she say?” He asked with his attitude in full effect once again. You stopped being angry for a moment and reached out to touch his face. Peter wanted to lean into your hand but he restrained himself.

“She said December is a really hard month for you.” You said quietly. Peters eyes welled up with hot tears and he looked away from you so that you wouldn’t see him crying.

“If you ever wanted to talk about your parents-“

“I don’t.” He cut you off. “Not with you. You don’t understand.”

“Peter-“ You began and tried to hug him. He stepped out of your arms and took a step back from you.

“No. If you want to break up, then let’s break up. It’s not like we were in love or anything.” He snapped, making your arms slowly drop to your side. In the four months you’d been dating, you hadn’t said it yet. But you felt it. You both felt it.

“Is that how you feel?” You asked him. Peter didn’t look at you but nodded his head.

“All right. Then I guess we agree. We’re broken up.” You said in a weak voice as you folded your arms. Peter said nothing and kept his eyes on the floor. You passed by him suddenly and went into a cabinet above the microwave that he couldn’t reach so he never used. Peter watched you curiously as you pulled out a small wrapped gift and handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“Your gift. Merry Christmas, Peter.” You smiled quickly and went for the door again. An immense feeling of regret hit Peter at once and he gently took your arm. You looked him in the eyes and an apology almost escaped his lips but died in his throat.

“Merry Christmas.” Was all he could say.

“I’ll be at Mays. Don’t worry. I won’t tell her what you told me. You don’t need her to bitch at you too.” You said as you opened the door. You were about to walk out of it when you stopped and looked at him.

“Peter?”

“Yes?” He asked with hope that you’d run back into his arms and let him make things right.

“Please, don’t call.” You requested before walking out of his life.

“Peter? Are you there?” May asked on the phone, brining him back to present day. He wiped the tears that had fallen down his face and nodded his head.

“I’m still here, sorry. I’m sorry for all of it.” He said in a quiet voice.

“It’s all right.” She said sympathetically. “Listen Peter, I really have to get back to the center. Please call me more often. I miss you. And I’m always, always here for you, okay?”

“I miss you too, May. I’m sorry again. I love you.”

“I love you too, Peter. Goodnight.” She replied before hanging up. Peter was alone once again but this time, with a plan.

The next day, Peter walked into the Community Center where May worked with the intention of surprising her. He greeted a few faces he recognized before walking to Mays office.

“May? You in here?” Peter asked as he pushed open her door.

“Peter?” You asked, making him freeze at the sound of your voice. Your eyes met after a nearly a year of no contact. You were sitting at Mays desk with a laptop but quickly shut it and stood up. Time was strangely calm as you moved towards Peter. To his surprise, you pulled him into a hug.

“It’s good to see you.” You said as you rubbed small circles onto his back. Peter came unstuck finally and wrapped his arms around you. He really needed that hug. You laughed a little in surprise over how tightly he hugged you before pulling out of the hug.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as he stared your face in disbelief.

“Oh, um. I work here.” You smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been here about a year now. Did May not tell you that?”

“No. She didn’t mention it. But we don’t, uh, we don’t really talk much.” He admitted.

“Right. I remember.” You smiled tightly. “Well, she’s out right now helping to deliver some groceries. She should be back within the hour. Do you want to wait for her?”

“Yeah. I guess so. Where can I stay so I’m out of the way?” Peter asked and looked around. He felt embarrassed for how little he knew about the place his aunt put so much work into.

“I was actually about to go on my lunch break. You could hang in here if you want.” You told him as you got your food out of the refrigerator. You could feel his eyes on you and that he had something he wanted to say. He looked very timid and you had a feeling he was having trouble getting his words together.

“Can I…can I go with you?” He asked in a quiet voice. You smiled softly and nodded your head.

“Come on. Follow me.” You beckoned him with your finger and he quickly followed you. You brought him to the employee cafeteria and found a quiet corner all to yourselves. Peter watched in curious silence as you unpacked a lunch similar to the ones you used to make him.

“Have you eaten yet?” You asked and held out half of your sandwich. Peter shook his head but didn’t take the sandwich.

“I’m all right. You eat.” He replied. You shrugged and started to eat your lunch. Peter had a million things he wanted to say to you but no idea where to begin. You could tell he wanted to talk but you decided it wasn’t your job to lead him there. If he had something to say, he needed to say it.

“You, um, you look great by the way. I like the shorter hair. It’s very pretty.” Peter said without making eye contact. You smiled sadly at how shy he sounded and put your food down.

“Thank you. It’s easier to manage this way.” You said as you smoothed down your hair. “I’d return the compliment but you look like you haven’t slept since the last time I saw you.”

“I don’t think I have.” He laughed sadly and rubbed his eyes.

You sat in an awkward silence for a moment as neither of you knew where to take the conversation next. Peter was looking around the room until his eyes landed on you. They looked so remorseful and tired that you almost pulled him into another hug.

“So, what are you doing for the holidays?” You asked to break the silence.

“I’ll probably just stay home and keep my radio on. It’s a pretty busy night for crime.”

“I’ve heard. Lots of break ins. Usually at houses where a child has been left home alone.” You replied, making Peter crack the tiniest smile.

“Exactly. There’s these two guys I really need to keep an eye out for. They break into peoples houses and turn all the faucets on.” He played along.

“Oh no.” You clicked your tongue. “That sounds pretty serious.”

“It is. So I’ll be super busy that night.” He nodded. You both laughed lightly but still felt a little uneasy being around each other.

“So I take it you’re not gonna spend Christmas with May?” You asked in a more serious voice. Peter gave you a sad smile and shook his head.

“No. I don’t think so. I think I’m on my own this year.”

“Peter, you know she’d love to have you. No matter what your relationship looks like right now.” You assured him.

“I know. And that’s the toughest part. Knowing she’d welcome me with open arms despite how awful I’ve been to her. I live ten blocks away yet I can’t be bothered to see her more than a few times a year. She’s too forgiving. I don’t deserve it. Not right now, at least.”

He was talking about May, but what he said could also be applied to his relationship with you. The toughest part of sitting there and catching up was both of you knowing exactly why you weren’t celebrating one year of dating right now and getting ready for a second Christmas together.

You didn’t know what to say so you turned your face and pretended to look at a nearby calendar. He wasn’t exactly deserving of your forgiveness either, something you both knew as well. And yet, you were aching to give it to him.

“It’s okay.” He said to break the silence. “I think a Christmas on my own will serve me some good. I never liked the holidays anyway.”

“Right. I remember you being a bit of a Grinch. You never wanted to window shop or walk around to look at the lights. I never understood why.” You laughed softly. Peters eyes quickly found the ground and he felt them well up with tears.

“I’m, um, I’m really sorry. About last year, I mean.” He said in the smallest voice you’d ever heard from him.

“Peter, it’s fine. I didn’t mean to bring it up. We don’t have to talk about that.” You waved your hand.

“It’s not fine. I wish I explained myself better when I had the chance. You were so excited about spending Christmas together. I left our relationship on the line because I didn’t know how to communicate.”

“Well, I’m here now.” You said and put your hand over his. “What did you want to explain?”

Peter froze at the contact and slowly looked into your eyes. You gave him a sad smile and rubbed his hand with your thumb to let him know it was okay.

“When you ended things that day,” he began, “it came as such a surprise that I got mean and defensive instead of listening to you. I have spent every day since wishing I just shut up and heard you out instead of agreeing that we should break up. I wish I fought harder to save us.”

“I appreciate you saying that, Peter. I do. But I don’t really see how it was a surprise that I ended things. I mean, no offense, but don’t act like you were kind. We were practically living together yet barely speaking. Towards the end, I felt like I was just haunting your apartment and you were trying to sage the place to get rid of me.”

“I know. I know I really messed up. And I’m sorry it took you breaking up with me to realize how shitty I was to you. I don’t blame you for leaving. I just don’t know how you ever stayed.”

“Well, it wasn’t bad the whole time.” You told him. “The first three months were amazing. At your best, you were magic. I was completely enamored with you. That’s why I stayed. But then, I don’t know. Things were different. You changed so quickly. I went from falling in love to feeling like I was slowly dying in your apartment while I waited for you to come home from patrol each night.”

“That sounds miserable. Jesus. Why didn’t you break up with me sooner?” Peter wondered.

“Because I knew that wasn’t you.” You told him. “I could tell you were going through something. I just didn’t know what it was. And the hope that things would return to how they used to be kept me around.”

“And they never did. Instead, I called you a bitch and drove you to leave.” Peter sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. As he did this, he fully registered what you had said. You had just told him you were falling in love. The tips of his ears became hot and he rubbed his eyes quickly so you wouldn’t see that he was emotional.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. For everything I did and didn’t do. I would change so many things if I could go back.” Peter said as he stared blankly ahead. You gave his hand a gently squeeze, making him look at you.

“I know it’s none of my business anymore. But we’re here and I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to ask you again. Why do you hate December so much? What made you so angry that month?” You asked him. You could feel Peter tense up and he immediately stopped making eye contact with you. Instead, he stared at a Christmas tree in the corner of the room and let his eyes glaze over.

“It’s just…it’s a really hard month for me. I know that this is supposed to be the happiest time of the year but all it does is remind me of what I lost. I can’t see poinsettias without thinking of my mom. I can’t go into stores without thinking of my dad taking me to every jewelry store in New York to find a necklace that May would like. And every bakery I walk past makes me think of my uncle. All December does is remind me that everyone is gone now. I get so depressed that I push away the people I have left until it’s just me and my anger. I did it to you last year because I convinced myself that I was going to lose you anyway and now I’m doing it to May. And I don’t know how to stop.”

You and Peter sat in silence for a long time after that. Your lunch break had ended five minutes ago but you weren’t going anywhere. You looked each other in the eyes after a beat of silence and you reached forward to wipe tears from Peter’s face. His bottom lip started to tremble so you pulled him into a hug. You stayed like that in the calm silence of the room and just held each other.

“Well now I feel really bad for calling you a “grinch” a few minutes ago.” You said quietly. To your surprise, you felt Peter laugh as he pulled out of the hug.

“It’s okay. I am one. I literally punched a snowman yesterday on the sidewalk because it-“

Peter’s sentence was cut short by your lips meeting his. Once his initial shock wore off, he melted into you and kissed you back. He cupped your face with his cold hands and pulled you closer to him to make yo for lost time. You kissed him until you both couldn’t breathe and had to pull away.

“I think I just felt my heart grow three sizes.” Peter said breathlessly.

“Shut up.” You laughed. “I really need to get back to work now. Do you still live near that bodega with the good muffins?”

“I do. I ate a bran one this morning.” He told you.

“Okay, well that’s disgusting.” You grimaced. “But can I come over later so we can really talk?”

“I would love that.” Peter smiled and nodded his head.

“So would I. Come on. Walk me back to the office.” You said as you stood up and held out your hand. Peter eagerly took it and followed you back to the office. When you walked in, May was waiting for you.

“Oh. Peter!” She exclaimed and pulled him into a hug. “What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, May.” Peter said sheepishly. You watched them as the hug lingered as both of them desperately needed it.

“So, May, Peter was just telling me he didn’t have any Christmas plans.” You interjected.

“Well you’ll have to come over then.” May insisted. “It was just going to be me and Happy and you know I always make too much food. We’d love to have you.”

“Are you sure?” Peter hesitated. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose? You could never. It would mean the world to me to have you there. We can finally catch up.”

“He’ll be there.” You answered for Peter, knowing he was reluctant to let himself be forgiven.

“I’ll be there.” He echoed and gave May a smile. May smiled back and pulled him into another hug.

Peter left the center with a very different feeling in his chest than the one he arrived with. He was starting to feel whole again after feeling fragmented for the better part of a year now. Snow fell on his head as he walked to his apartment and he found himself enjoying the feeling of it.

When your shift ended, you arrived at Peter’s apartment promptly at 6 o’clock. He helped you out of your jacket and brought you to his couch, where you spent the next two hours catching each other up on the past year. As you spoke, you looked around his apartment to see if anything was different. Your eyes immediately gravitated towards a little Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

Peter had only one ornament hanging on his tree. Right in the center was a heart made out of air dry clay. The words “I love you” were painted on it in bright white letters. It was your gift to him the year before and the only reason he put up a tree that year. Without one, he would have nowhere to display the reminder that at one point in his life, he did something right.

“You hung up my ornament.” You said as you turned to him with a smile.

“Of course I did. It’s the best gift I’d ever received.” He told you.

“That ugly little clay thing was the best gift you’ve ever received?” You laughed in disbelief.

“Not the ornament itself. You telling me you loved me.” He said in a soft voice. You smiled sadly and nodded your head. Things were so different now from when you first made that ornament. You had made it to tell him you loved him for the first time but it ended up being how you told him goodbye.

“I felt it too, by the way.” Peter continued. “I know I never said it. And I definitely didn’t show it towards the end. But I loved you too.”

You looked at the ornament one more time before turned to Peter and wrapping your arms around his neck, taking him by surprise. He hesitantly rested his forehead against yours to be closer.

“If you’re about to tell me you want to try again, I don’t deserve it. I made you miserable.” Peter said with eyes full of remorse.

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But what if I wanted to try again anyway?”

“Why would you do that? Why would you forgive me?”

“I don’t know. Would “tis the season” be an acceptable answer?” You asked, making Peter laugh softly.

“No. It would not.”

“I know you think you don’t deserve to try again.” You said. “But I feel like I understand you so much better now. And I know you know better now than to shut me out. We’ve different people than we were a year ago. Why not give us another shot?”

“I don’t know.” Peter sighed. “What if I hurt you again?”

“I know it’s a lot. Why don’t you think about it tonight and when you figure it out, you can call me?” You asked him.

Peter met your eyes and nodded his head, satisfied with that compromise. You stroked his cheek with your thumb before getting up off the couch. You slipped your jacket back on while he thought about everything you had talked about that day. Just as you were about to walk out his doo, you stepped back in.

“Peter?” You asked.

“Yeah?”

“Please, call me.” You asked him with sincerity. Peter smiled a little and nodded his head.

“I will.” He promised. You smiled in return and left his apartment.

You hadn’t made it to the lobby of his building before your phone rang in your pocket.

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misctf · 3 months ago

Note

Me and my buddy get along well but I don’t have a father and for some reason I feel like I look up to him. He’s a brunette hockey player who really cares about his body and tracks all of his cals. Any way you could spike one of his beers and give me the best exjock dad ever?

“Let’s go!” Your bro throws down his game controller and looks over at you. His confident smile adorning his handsome, angular face, “I used that same move on the ice the other day.” His clear excitement is infectious and you can’t help but smile.

It was another one of your usual game nights with your bro. The two of you sitting on the couch, controllers in hand, playing some hockey videogame. And even though he always seemed to win, you just enjoy the moment. Your friendship started out when you were younger- the two of you meeting in grade school. And as the years went on, you grew closer. You’d go to his hockey games and cheer him on. He’d fill in as that male role model you needed. When you went to college, he’d continue playing hockey, while you focused on your studies. But you continued to enjoy each other’s company. But this was your last year, and he planned to move across the country. The very thought was painful. Losing him would be tough.

“Hey, you good?” He asks, “I told you I wasn’t going easy.”

You smile, “I was wondering,” You begin, “I know you don’t like beer...”

“Gotta keep these toned.” He says, running a hand down his exposed abs.

“But it’s bro night.” You continue, “I got some special beers for us.”

He seems to consider the offer. Part of him looking a bit apprehensive. After all, he spent much of his time focusing on maintaining his body. His lean muscles and thicc hockey butt were all products of his careful diet and dedicated workouts. But he could tell it would mean a lot to you. He nods slowly.

“One won’t hurt.” He says with a grin, “Cheers to another game night.”

Part of you feels relieved. Another part of you feels somewhat apprehensive. If the man you bought this beer from was telling you the truth... well, you didn’t know what to think. It was probably some prank anyway, and you probably wasted the money. You hand him a solo cup with the beer in it.

“To bro night.” He smiles and takes a sip of the beer, “You know, I’m gonna miss this.” You feel a pang of sadness in your chest, “But we’ll always be bros.”

You nod, taking in his words. Feeling a sense of impending loss. Wishing you could just enjoy these moments forever.

“I’m gonna miss this too... dad.”

He looks over at you and raises an eyebrow, “What did you just call me?” He chuckles.

And you can see it. A few hairs starting to emerge from his once clean-shaven face. A few greys appearing in his brunette locks. Was it true? Was this stuff really going to do what the man said it would?

“Nothing, dad.”

And as the words leave your lips, your buddy groans. His youthful skin starts to lose its glow. A few wrinkles appear on his forehead. And the hair on his face sprouts into a full beard. His hands rush to scratch his new facial hair and his eyes widen.

“Bro, what the hell...” He whispers, “Something’s wrong...”

“What do you mean, dad?”

You watch as his brunette locks begin to recede and his tan vanishes. All the while, small, itchy hairs start to sprout from your buddy’s chest and abs. At this point, he stands up and runs his hands down his new body hair. There’s a look of disgust and confusion on his face, and you can’t help but feel bad for him. After all, he did pride his clean-shaven look.

“You keep calling me dad.” He says, staring at you, “And now...” He catches a glimpse of his receding hairline and aged skin in the mirror, “Bro, please. Whatever you’re doing, you gotta fuckin’ stop.”

You could tell he was getting angry. But you were still marveling over the effects of this drink. You couldn’t believe it was actually working.

“Bro, are you even listening to me?” He says, “Please! You can’t...”

“Sorry dad.” You reply, putting even more emphasis on “dad.”

The effects are more dramatic. Your buddy lets out a pained moan and falls to his knees, gripping his abs. You can see tears fall from his eyes as he realizes his firm abs are feeling softer. And in only a few moments, his abs are covered by a thick layer of fat. And another. And another. And although your buddy is too busy squeezing his new flabby stomach, you can see his pecs fill with fat and sag, resting atop his new gut.

“This can’t be...” He winces at his new, gravelly voice, “Oh god, I sound so old.” He looks up at you, tears still staining his eyes, “Dude, come on... please... I can’t be this.”

A part of you feels bad, even guilty. Your friend’s anger replaced by fear. His confidence shattered. His toned physique truly replaced by that of a middle-aged dad. Part of you wants to reverse this. But you don’t even know how.

“I...” You bite your lip, “Look, I don’t even know if I can undo this, dad.”

Your buddy shuts his eyes and shakes as the short hairs erupt into longer follicles. You watch as a forest of hairs emerge from under his shorts and travel down his legs. His new gut and soft chest are covered in a forest of gray and dark hairs. And you realize now there’s nothing left of your old buddy, at least physically. His receding hairline, gray hairs, gut, and hirsute form all scream middle-aged dad. He slowly stands up, wincing at a pain in his lower back and knees, as he becomes more familiar with his new age.

“Dude...” He whispers, “What did you do?” You can hear the anger return to his voice.

“I didn’t want to lose you, bro.” You say, “And I’ve always looked up to you. And truthfully, I’ve always wanted a dad and the beer promised it could do that. Just as long as I called whoever drank it dad.” Your friend looks shocked and picks up the solo cup.

“Good one dude.” He laughs, “Okay, okay you got me. Maybe if I drink the beer and you call me bro or something, I can return to normal.” He says hopefully, “I promise we can forget all about this.” The desperation starts to creep back into his voice, “Just... please I don’t want this.” He begs.

You’re not a bad person. You even feel a bit guilty. And part of you even wants to do as he suggests. But another thought enters your head. Would he be able to forget all about this? Would he forgive you? You bite your lip and sigh.

“I’m sorry,” You can see his eyes widen in terror, “Dad.”

He drops the beer in his hand, causing the beer inside to spray everywhere. His eyes glaze over and his jaw goes slack. A part of you worries for a moment, but slowly he smiles. There’s no evidence of concern on his face.

“Ah sorry, I spaced out there for a second.” He chuckles, “Looks like I made a mess.” He goes to bend over to pick up the cup, but winces, “Damn back’s been acting up.”

“Don’t worry dad.” You say as he sits back down on the couch, “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” He reassures, “Come on, we have to finish our game.” He says with a grin, grabbing the game controller, “You know, I was quite the hockey player back in my day. Well before this.” He chuckles, patting his beer gut.

“I know.” You reply, sitting next to him, “You tell me all the time.” The two of you start to play, and you immediately notice his videogame skills are not where they used to be. But you’re enjoying this moment- going on as if nothing changed.

“Look at that!” He cheers when he scores a goal, “I told you not to take it easy on me, son.”

You go to reply but you feel a warmth coarse through your body. You quickly shake your head and return to the game. And only a few minutes later, he scores another goal.

“You doing okay there, son?” He asks.

And again, you feel a warmth coarse through your body. You look down at the controller and can’t help but notice that your forearms look a bit thicker- your hands meatier. You shake your head and look up at your dad.

“Uh, I’m good dad.” Your voice even sounds deeper- somewhat dumb too, “I-I gotta go to my room.”

You stumble towards your room, feeling somewhat off balance. Entering your room, you’re immediately hit by the smell of intense BO. The same way your bro would smell after a hockey game. There’s gear on your bed and random posters of hockey players on your walls. You barely have time to comprehend what’s going on, when you hear your dad’s voice.

“Hey son, are you okay?”

You groan as your muscles begin to contract violently and your shirt tears from your growing musculature. You can see yourself in the mirror- abs, thicc ass, and lean muscles- the body of a hockey player. And you realize that you’re becoming your dad’s ideal son. Somehow, the beer that splashed on you had the same effects as drinking it.

“Wait dad!” You call out, wincing at the oafish jock-like tone that saturates your words, “Please...!”

“Son?” He asks opening the door.

And your eyes glaze over. Your jaw goes slack. And you feel your mind warping and changing. Any memories you had of your old life or self are being forced into the very back of your mind- all to make room for your new existence as a smelly, ripped, hockey jock. Your dad’s perfect son.

“God it reeks in here.” Your dad laughs, patting you on the back, “Must be workin’ hard out there.”

“You fuckin’ know it.” You reply, eyes dull, “It’s gonna be a good game tomorrow, pops.”

“You learned from the best, champ.” He smiles, “Now come on, we got a game to finish.” You smile, “I want to show you one of my favorite moves. Worked every time. Maybe you can try it out on the ice tomorrow.”

“For sure, pops.”

You follow your dad back to the couch. The two of you playing videogames late into the night, filling the air with boisterous cheers as you played. You couldn’t have asked for a better dad. And he couldn’t have asked for a better son.

#male tf #age progression #mental change #personality tf #jock tf #dumber tf #male transformation

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shdysders · 14 days ago

Text

no one noticed

pairing: jenna ortega & female reader

summary: in which you fly across the country to surprise jenna, holding onto the hope that things will go back to the way they were.

word count: 6.0k

author’s note: no one noticed - the marias

You couldn't tell when it had all started.

You didn't even know what it was.

All you knew was that it wasn't like it used to be.

Jenna used to notice everything. It was the way her gaze would linger a little longer than anyone else's, searching your face like it held all the answers.

She'd catch the smallest changes in your mood, the tiniest cracks in the facade you showed the world.

No one else noticed those things—not when you were quieter than usual, not when your smile didn't quite reach your eyes—but Jenna always did. She'd tilt her head, her brow furrowing in that way that meant she was piecing together a puzzle, and ask softly what was wrong.

It wasn't just your emotions she picked up on. It was everything. The way she'd notice when you'd changed your perfume, leaning closer and smiling as if it were her favorite secret.

Or how she'd spot the faintest smudge of eyeliner you'd tried to wipe away, running her thumb gently along your cheek without a word.

You hadn't even realized how much it had meant to you at the time, the way she saw you in ways no one else did. How she made you feel like you were someone worth noticing.

It had been effortless for her, her attention so natural and constant that you never had to ask for it. You'd be talking about something insignificant—some show you'd watched, something you'd read online—and she'd interrupt with a soft laugh, telling you how your eyes lit up when you were excited. She'd make you feel seen in a way that no one ever had, as if every little thing about you was worth treasuring.

Jenna had always been the person who noticed, even when no one else did.

So when that started to change, you wondered if it was all in your head.

At first, it felt small—just a few moments here and there that you could shrug off. Like when you'd been quiet during a phone call, and Jenna didn't pause to ask if something was wrong. Or when she'd missed the faint tremor in your voice, something she'd once been able to pick up on like a second language.

You told yourself it wasn't a big deal, that you were overthinking. But then it started happening more often. Little things piled up until they didn't feel so little anymore.

Still, you didn't want to blame her. Instead, you turned it on yourself, convincing yourself that you were imagining it. That you were making something out of nothing.

Maybe you'd just grown too used to her attention, you thought. Too dependent on the way she always noticed things no one else did. You felt almost ashamed for needing that kind of validation, for craving it the way you did.

There were nights when you couldn't sleep, lying awake and wondering if you'd lost your mind. You told yourself that she hadn't changed, that you were the problem—that you'd become hypersensitive, searching for cracks that weren't really there.

And since no one else seemed to notice it, you couldn't help but feel like you were wrong. Like you'd made it all up.

Jenna still said the right things sometimes. She still asked how you were, still smiled at you like you were her whole world when you were 'together'. But it didn't feel the same. There was a distance now, subtle but unmistakable, like a thin layer of glass separating you.

You told yourself that if no one else could see it, then it couldn't possibly be real. But deep down, you knew.

You knew, even if you couldn't admit it to yourself yet.

You'd told yourself over and over that things would get better.

Every time Jenna's name flashed across your screen, every time you saw her face smiling at you through a grainy video call, you felt that flicker of hope. She'd always say the right things—how much she missed you, how she couldn't wait to see you again. For a moment, you'd believe her.

But then the call would end, and you'd be left staring at your reflection on the dark screen, feeling emptier than before.

It was getting old, this routine of clinging to a connection that didn't feel real anymore. The virtual version of Jenna wasn't enough—it never was. You didn't want to see her through a screen; you wanted her here, next to you, holding you, laughing with you, noticing you.

But instead, you sat alone in the silence of your room, waiting for a text that might not come.

There were moments when you hated yourself for feeling this way. For needing her so much. You tried to rationalize it, telling yourself she was busy, that her work demanded more of her time now. You knew she wasn't doing it on purpose—but that didn't make the loneliness any easier to bear.

You'd catch yourself staring at your phone, half-hoping she'd call, half-hoping she wouldn't, because you didn't know if you could stand hearing her voice and still feeling so far away.

The distance wasn't just physical anymore. It was in every text that felt shorter than it used to, in the FaceTime calls where her eyes darted off-screen as if she had somewhere else to be. You'd thought, more than once, about asking her why she always looked like she was about to disappear. But you never did.

You'd told yourself it was because of work.

She loved what she did, and you loved that for her. How could you not? She'd always dreamed of it, always thrown herself into it with a passion that had drawn you to her in the first place. So, of course, she was busy. Of course, there were long days, packed schedules, and late nights. You'd whispered those words to yourself so often they became a mantra.

She's not ignoring you. She's just busy.

You told yourself that was the reason for the less frequent texts, the shorter calls, the way her replies came hours later now—sometimes not at all. It was work. It had to be. And you couldn't blame her for it. You wouldn’t blame her for it.

But that didn't make it any easier to bear.

It was getting old—lying awake in bed, phone clutched in your hand, fighting the pull of sleep just in case she'd call. Some nights, you didn't even know what you were waiting for. The sound of her voice? The comfort of knowing she was thinking of you? It never felt like enough.

And yet you kept waiting, night after night, feeling the ache of loneliness settle deeper into your chest.

You used to think you were strong, that you could handle the distance because it wasn't permanent, not really. But now, you weren't so sure. You felt yourself slipping, losing the ability to pretend everything was fine.

Maybe you'd lost it.

Maybe you were losing it—overanalyzing, clinging too tightly, wanting too much.

It wasn't like you could explain it to anyone else either. Nobody else saw what you did. Nobody else noticed how the little things were falling apart. So maybe you'd imagined it all.

And yet, lying there alone, staring at the darkened screen of your phone, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it wasn't just work.

It was something else.

You felt awful for even thinking it. The thought alone was enough to make your stomach churn and your chest tighten with guilt. But sometimes, late at night when the silence felt too heavy, the whispers in your mind grew too loud to ignore.

What if Jenna had found someone else?

She'd been gone for months now, busy with filming, constantly surrounded by new faces, sharing spaces and moments with people you didn't know and couldn't see. You knew it wasn't fair to think that way. She was away for work, doing what she loved. But still, the idea crept in like a shadow you couldn't chase away.

What if she'd found someone who could give her the things you couldn't? Someone who could be there for her in ways you weren't able to, offering physical comfort while you were hundreds of miles away?

You hated yourself for even entertaining the thought. It felt like a betrayal of her trust, an insult to everything you shared. Jenna wasn't like that. She wouldn't do that. But still, the ache of doubt lingered.

So instead, you turned the blame inward.

Maybe you were the problem.

Maybe this was all in your head, some twisted fabrication of a restless mind desperate for attention and reassurance. Maybe you were losing it—grasping at straws and creating problems where there weren't any. Or worse, maybe Jenna really was pulling away because of you.

Maybe you were too clingy, too needy, too pushy. Maybe she'd grown tired of the late-night calls, of your questions about her day, of you trying to hold onto something that felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You'd lie awake in bed, turning those thoughts over and over until your chest felt tight and your eyes burned with tears you refused to let fall.

But you couldn't let yourself think that way. You couldn't let yourself spiral.

So you shoved it all down—every fear, every doubt, every whispered insecurity. You buried it beneath forced smiles and reassuring words, convincing yourself that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You'd wait for her call, for her text, for any sign that things were still okay.

You had to believe it was just work.

Because the alternative would break you.

It made sense to keep it to yourself too. You avoided bringing it up—not to family, not to friends, and certainly not to Jenna. What would be the point? You'd perfected the art of acting like everything was fine, pasting on a smile that didn't falter even when your chest felt tight and your head felt heavy with unspoken worries.

Around others, you acted normal. You laughed when you were supposed to, nodded when the conversation called for it, and deflected any questions that veered too close to how you were really feeling. Because, in the end, nobody could read your eyes.

Nobody even tried.

Nobody but Jenna.

At least, that's how it used to be. Once, she'd been the only one who could see through the cracks in your facade. She could look at you and know instantly when something was wrong, even when no one else had a clue. She wouldn't even have to ask; she just knew. It was something you'd always loved about her—that quiet attentiveness, the way she cared so deeply and effortlessly.

But now, it didn't feel that way anymore.

There was no point in letting the cracks show, no point in spilling everything when it felt like she wouldn't notice, or worse, that she didn't want to. So you kept it buried, tucked away behind your smiles and your carefully constructed responses.

You wished it weren't true. You wished you could believe she still saw you the way she once did. That she still noticed the things no one else did. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, that belief became harder and harder to hold onto.

And you hated yourself for it. For doubting her. For doubting what you had. For doubting the one person who had once been your constant.

It wasn't like you had proof. Nothing you were feeling, none of the doubts gnawing at the back of your mind, were confirmed to be true. That's what made it worse—the uncertainty of it all. You were acting like everything was fine, smiling through conversations and going about your days like you weren't slowly unraveling inside, but the truth was, you didn't even know what you were holding back anymore.

You didn't know if Jenna really was pulling away, or if you were just imagining it. You didn't know if the long silences and the hurried calls were a sign of something deeper, or just a product of her busy schedule. You didn't know if it was you, if maybe you'd been too needy, too much, or if it was something entirely out of your control.

And yet, you were pretending like you were fine. Around family, friends, even Jenna during the few moments you got to speak to her, you tried your best to act normal. Because if you couldn't even be sure of how you felt—if you couldn't even figure out what was real and what wasn't—then how could you explain it to anyone else?

It was easier to push it down, to keep the doubts and the worries locked up where no one could see them. Easier to smile and nod and go through the motions than to let anyone in on how you were really feeling.

Because deep down, you knew there was no point. Nobody had ever tried to read you, not really. Nobody but Jenna.

And that was what scared you the most. Because if she wasn't noticing now, maybe she never would.

Nothing about this felt right. The distance between you and Jenna was like a heavy fog, clouding every thought, every action, every word. Should you ask her about it? Should you speak up, lay everything bare, and risk hearing what you were most afraid of?

It felt like the logical choice, the brave thing to do, but even the thought of it made your chest tighten. What if she confirmed your worst fears? What if she told you it was over, or worse—that she hadn't even noticed anything was wrong?

But keeping quiet didn't feel right either. Pretending you didn't feel the cracks widening between you, ignoring the ache of unanswered questions, felt like a betrayal to yourself. And yet, every time you tried to muster the courage to bring it up, something held you back.

The words would sit on the tip of your tongue, heavy and unspoken, while you sat in silence. You didn't know what to do, caught in this limbo where every decision felt wrong.

And maybe that was why you kept spiraling—because the loneliness of it all was unbearable. Lying in bed at night, staring at the empty space beside you, the silence felt deafening.

You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that this was normal, but the truth was that loneliness had a way of magnifying everything.

Every little doubt, every unanswered text, every distant call felt like another brick in the wall building between you.

You hated how much you overanalyzed everything, how your mind wouldn't let you rest. Every time your phone vibrated, you'd hold your breath, hoping it was her.

Every time it wasn't, your heart sank a little further. The quiet ate away at you, and the more time passed, the more you felt like you were the only one fighting to bridge the gap.

But forcing her wasn't an option either. It didn't feel right to demand more of her, to pull her into a conversation she didn't seem ready to have.

If you confronted her, if you said everything you'd been holding inside, what would happen? Would she tell you that you were right, that she'd already started to drift away?

Would she admit there was someone else, someone who could give her the kind of presence and attention you couldn't?

You couldn't bring yourself to think about it, let alone ask. If she wasn't yours in the way she used to be, you didn't want to know.

The idea of forcing her to stay, of begging her for something she wasn't willing to give freely, felt wrong in every sense. And yet, the thought of losing her entirely was unbearable.

So instead, you clung to the hope that time would fix it. If you didn't say anything, maybe things would fall back into place on their own. Maybe Jenna just needed space, time to navigate her busy schedule, and she'd eventually find her way back to you.

If you waited, if you were patient enough, maybe she'd realize what she had with you and want to hold onto it again.

But the waiting was agony. The longer you stayed silent, the more it felt like you were watching the clock, counting the minutes until something changed—or until it was too late. Time was supposed to heal things, wasn't it?

So why did it feel like the more time passed, the more everything unraveled?

There were moments when the thought crept in, uninvited and unwelcome: What if Jenna was pulling away because she was leaving? It lingered at the edges of your mind, whispering possibilities you didn't want to believe.

The way her replies had become shorter, her texts less frequent, the way her calls felt rushed, like she couldn't wait to hang up. Was it just the stress of her work, or was she trying to create distance before breaking things off completely?

It felt absurd, cruel even, to think that way about her. But those doubts had a way of twisting everything, making every interaction feel like a confirmation of your worst fears.

Still, you clung to one fragile belief: it couldn't be that easy for her. Jenna wasn't the kind of person to let go without a fight. She wasn't the kind of person to give up on something she cared about.

And wasn't she still calling, even if less often? Wasn't she still texting, even if her words felt half-hearted? Surely, if she wanted to leave, she wouldn't be holding onto these threads of connection.

Surely, she couldn't just walk away from everything you'd built together. It wasn't that simple—was it?

It can't be that easy.

But even as you thought it, the uncertainty lingered. Because sometimes, it was easier to leave quietly, to let things fade without confrontation.

And what if that's what she was doing? What if she was pulling away so subtly that by the time you noticed, it would already be too late?

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone.

You didn't know what scared you more—the possibility that Jenna was leaving or the thought that, deep down, she might already be gone. The uncertainty clawed at you, feeding off the spaces between her words, the silences that stretched just a little too long.

Every time you hung up the phone, you'd sit there, staring at the darkened screen, trying to convince yourself that you were imagining things. That there was no way she could leave without a word.

But then she mentioned it. Casually, like it wasn't supposed to mean anything at all.

"We just wrapped the last scenes today. I'll be flying home soon," she said one night, her voice smooth and even. It was the sort of news that should've lit up your entire world, something that should've made you count the days until she walked through the door again.

But as much as you wanted to believe her, there was something in the way she said it that didn't sit right.

Her smile—soft, rehearsed—didn't reach her eyes. Her voice carried the right notes, hitting every expected beat, but none of it felt real. Not the way it used to.

She said she couldn't wait to see you, to hold you, to console you after being apart for so long, but it sounded like a line from one of her scripts—memorized, polished, and distant.

And the way her eyes darted away from the camera only added to the weight in your chest. You watched as her attention flickered to something else, something out of reach—a notification, a script, maybe just the corner of the room she was sitting in. It didn't matter what it was. What mattered was that it wasn't you.

She looked like she was about to disappear, like she couldn't wait to hang up.

The thought clung to you, sharp and unrelenting. You wanted to believe her, to hold onto the version of Jenna who used to make you feel like the center of her universe. But that Jenna was slipping through your fingers, one short call at a time.

Still, you smiled through it. You nodded when she said she'd be home soon, when she promised things would feel better once she was back. You told her you couldn't wait, forcing enthusiasm into your voice even though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

What else could you do? Confront her? Push her to say something she might not even be ready to admit? You didn't know if you were prepared to hear the answer, especially if it confirmed the worst of your fears.

So you kept quiet. You waited, holding onto the hope that maybe this time, when she walked through the door, she'd prove you wrong. That she'd wrap you in her arms and make you feel like everything was okay again.

But that hope, thin as it was, didn't erase the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. It didn't stop you from replaying her words over and over, searching for something that wasn't there.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time.

And deep down, you knew—this time wasn't like every other time. But that didn't stop you from trying to convince yourself otherwise.

If she was coming home, maybe things could go back to how they used to be. Maybe the woman who noticed every small detail, who could read your emotions before you even knew how to name them, was still there. You clung to that possibility, desperate for it to be true. It felt like your last thread of hope, fragile and fraying, but still holding on.

Unable to sit in your spiraling thoughts any longer, you booked a flight to her city. It wasn't a decision you made lightly—flights weren't cheap, and it wasn't like you had money to throw away.

But logic didn't matter anymore. You told yourself it was worth it, that seeing her in person, surprising her as she was about to board her flight home, would make her remember what you had. It was reckless, maybe even unnecessary, but you didn't care.

You told yourself it was about the surprise. Showing up unannounced at the airport, catching her before she stepped on the plane home—it felt romantic in a way that you hadn't felt in months. A grand gesture to prove, not only to Jenna but to yourself, that there was still something worth fighting for.

If she saw you there, waiting for her at the airport before she even boarded her flight home, maybe it would remind her of what you had. Maybe it would remind her of the love that had once felt so natural, so easy.

You weren't packing bags or planning to stay; this wasn't about extending your time together. It was about showing her that you still cared enough to make the effort. That even when everything felt wrong, you were willing to fight for what you had. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to remind her why she had once fought for you, too.

You spent the entire flight running through scenarios in your mind. She'd see you across the terminal, and maybe her face would light up the way it used to when you surprised her.

Or maybe she'd be confused, unsure why you'd gone to such lengths when she'd already promised to come home. And then there was the other possibility, the one you couldn't bear to entertain for long: what if she didn't seem happy to see you at all?

What if her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she asked, gently but firmly, why you'd bothered?

Still, you clung to the hope. It was all you had left.

The plan was simple: show up unannounced, surprise her at the airport, and make her feel the way you used to. You pictured her running into your arms, her words spilling over with apologies for how distant she'd been.

Maybe she'd tell you she'd missed you just as much as you'd missed her. Maybe this would be the moment everything changed, the turning point you'd been waiting for.

But beneath that hope, there was a voice you couldn't silence. It whispered doubts you didn't want to hear: What if she'd already let go? What if this trip wasn't the romantic gesture you'd built it up to be, but just another reminder of how far apart you'd drifted?

You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the idea of seeing her again. That was what mattered. She was coming home, and you were going to make sure that this time, it felt like coming home to you.

When you arrived at the airport, the rush of excitement coursing through you made your hands tremble.

The overhead announcements blended with the distant hum of engines and the chatter of travelers, but all of it felt like background noise. Your focus was sharp, your mind singular: find Jenna.

You moved through the terminal with purpose, your eyes scanning every face in the crowd. Each time someone walked by, your heart jumped, only to settle back when it wasn't her. It was almost overwhelming—the sheer volume of people, the endless possibilities of where she might be.

But you didn't let it deter you. You kept walking, your sneakers squeaking against the polished floors as you weaved between bustling families and travelers clutching their luggage. The excitement hadn't dulled; it thrummed in your chest with every step.

You were just excited to see her face.

There was something surreal about the thought of seeing Jenna in person again. For months, your interactions had been reduced to grainy screens and lagging calls. The details of her face—once so familiar—had started to feel distant, like a memory that wasn't quite sharp anymore. But now, you'd see her clearly. No pixelation, no delays, no guessing whether her tone matched the look in her eyes.

You found yourself craning your neck, peering through the crowd, your pulse quickening with each new face that wasn't hers. Every person walking by seemed to blur together, but you didn't care. The anticipation was too strong, too consuming.

She'd be here soon. You were sure of it. And when you saw her—when she looked at you and realized you'd come all this way just to surprise her—you felt certain everything would fall back into place. You'd wrap her in your arms, and she'd smile that smile that made you feel like the only person in the world. Everything would go back to normal.

Your excitement only grew as you kept moving, your gaze darting across the terminal. The weight of the past few months seemed lighter here, replaced by the spark of hope that seeing her again brought.

You were so ready to leave behind the grainy screens, the clipped conversations, and the gnawing loneliness. Soon, you'd have her here—right in front of you.

Every brunette you spotted sent a rush of anticipation through you, only for it to fade as you realized it wasn't her. But the thought of seeing her in person kept you moving, your steps light despite the weight of everything you'd been carrying inside.

Then, you saw her.

For a split second, you felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs. She was just ahead, standing near one of the boarding gates, her familiar figure unmistakable even from this distance. Your heart swelled with relief and excitement, your hand twitching at your side as if it already itched to reach out to her. She was right there, and everything you'd been holding onto—the doubts, the fears—seemed to melt away.

But the joy that had begun to bloom in your chest withered almost instantly.

She wasn't alone.

There was someone standing next to her—a blonde, their features partially obscured by the way they were leaning close to Jenna. The scene in front of you felt like a punch to the stomach, your body freezing as the sight registered.

It wasn't just the proximity of their bodies; it was the way they seemed so at ease with one another. Jenna's laughter rang out, soft and warm, a sound you hadn't heard in weeks.

You took a shaky step closer, trying to convince yourself that there was some reasonable explanation. Maybe it was a colleague, a friend—someone who worked with her.

It had to be.

But the way Jenna tilted her head toward the person, her gaze soft and unguarded, made it impossible to ignore the intimacy between them.

Your breath caught when she reached out, her fingers brushing a strand of blonde hair away from the other person's face. The gesture was gentle, almost tender, and it felt like someone had grabbed your chest and squeezed. You couldn't tear your eyes away, even as your stomach churned with a sickening mix of disbelief and hurt.

She hadn't looked at you like that in months. Maybe longer.

The thought hit you before you could stop it, an unwelcome truth that only deepened the ache spreading through your chest. You tried to rationalize it—tried to tell yourself that you were overthinking, that you didn't know the full story—but the way they leaned toward each other, the way Jenna's lips curled into a smile that felt entirely too genuine, shattered every excuse you could muster.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, the bustling crowd around you fading into the background. Your fingers clenched at your sides, the hope you'd clung to so tightly now slipping through your grasp like sand.

The excitement that had carried you here dissolved, leaving behind a hollow ache that spread through your entire body.

You didn't know who the blonde was, couldn't make out their features fully, but it didn't matter.

All you could see was the way Jenna looked at them—the way she leaned in to whisper something, her expression so open and free. It was a look that once belonged to you, and now, it felt like a memory you could barely hold onto.

Your mind raced, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and heartbreak. Part of you wanted to march up to her, to demand answers, to ask her why she hadn't looked at you like that in so long. But another part of you—the quieter, more vulnerable part—knew you wouldn't.

Because what if the answer was exactly what you feared?

So, you stayed where you were, your chest tightening with every second that passed. The Jenna you'd come here to surprise, the one you'd hoped to reconnect with, felt farther away than ever—even though she was standing just a few feet in front of you.

You had wanted so badly to see her face, to feel like everything could be okay again. But now, as the scene played out before you, all you could think about was how foolish you'd been to hope.

You couldn't look away, no matter how much it hurt. It was like watching a glass shatter in slow motion—every crack and splinter dragging out the inevitable.

Jenna didn't even glance around the terminal, didn't seem to notice anyone but the blonde in front of her. Her focus was entirely on them, like the rest of the world didn't exist.

You tried to remind yourself that she couldn't have been looking for you—there was no reason for her to. She didn't know you were here, waiting, desperate to surprise her. Still, it didn't dull the sting. It didn't stop the ache in your chest as you watched her laugh, completely unaware of your presence. She looked so... comfortable. So at ease. She didn't even flinch when someone brushed past her shoulder, her attention glued to the person in front of her.

You felt rooted to the spot, your legs heavy and unwilling to move. All you could do was watch it unfold—the way her smile seemed unguarded, the way her body tilted slightly toward theirs as though pulled by an invisible string. It didn't matter that you couldn't hear what they were saying; their body language spoke louder than words ever could.

You wanted to believe that you were overreacting, that there was some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But the longer you stood there, the harder it became to convince yourself. Jenna didn't look like someone who was holding back. She didn't look like someone who was keeping anyone at arm's length.

And it hit you—how easy it all seemed for her.

Maybe leaving you really had been that easy for her.

The thought clawed at your insides, tearing through the fragile hope you'd carried with you. You'd thought it wouldn't be simple for her to drift away, that the bond you shared was too strong to break so easily. You'd convinced yourself that, deep down, she'd be struggling as much as you were, that her distance was temporary, that she still cared.

But now? Watching her like this, so at ease, so unbothered, you couldn't help but feel foolish. Maybe it really hadn't been hard for her to let go. Maybe she'd been letting go for a long time—so slowly, so quietly, that you hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

Your chest tightened as the realization sunk in. You'd spent weeks, months, holding on to the hope that she would come back to you, that the distance between you wasn't as wide as it felt. And yet, here she was, looking happier and more present than you'd seen her in months—just not with you.

You blinked rapidly, your throat burning as you fought the urge to cry. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

Seeing her again, being here, was supposed to remind you why you'd fought so hard to hold on. Instead, it was like a door being slammed shut in your face, a reminder of just how far apart you'd grown.

The irony wasn't lost on you: she was finally here, right in front of you, but it felt like you'd already lost her a long time ago.

You stood frozen, watching Jenna and the girl, their conversation seeming so effortless, so natural.

Their laughter was soft, shared like a secret, and it pulled them closer. You didn't need to hear what they were saying to know where it was heading.

The way Jenna leaned in just slightly, her head tilting toward the blonde, was enough to make your stomach drop.

You'd waited so long for this moment—for Jenna to come home, for her to hold you again, to console you with promises that everything was going to be okay. But as you watched her now, it was clear that wasn't going to happen. Not here. Not now. Not with you.

Your chest felt heavy, a knot tightening in your throat as you took a shaky step back, then another.

The world around you blurred, but it wasn't until you felt the wet streak on your cheek that you realized you were crying. The tears came slow and small, a quiet betrayal of everything you'd tried so hard to hold in.

You couldn't watch anymore. You couldn't stay there, hoping for something that had already slipped through your fingers. Without a second thought, you turned and started walking, weaving through the crowd with no real direction, just an aching need to get away.

You left before Jenna could see you, before she could ever know you were there.

And as you disappeared into the throng of travelers, you felt the weight of it—the emptiness, the quiet finality of leaving without a trace.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #mabel x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter

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nerdy-novelist017 · 7 months ago

Note

Benny x bunny, where she faints and she gets taken to the hospital but he wasn't around when she fainted, so once he gets to the hospital and asks what happened she completely downplays it. Also if you could write him getting the call it would be 10/10.

You guys are so self-indulgent and I love it! This was really fun to write so I hope you enjoy! Benny's really just a stressed little muffin in this

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 2.2k

Summary- See request above.

Bruised Ego (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

The cue ball struck against the green stripes, a significant clack echoing in the clubhouse as he sunk the last ball into the pocket. With a smirk around his cigarette, Benny straightened to his full height, hands sliding down the cue stick smugly.

“That’s two games in a row, kid,” Wahoo groaned as he rounded the pool table to throw another five dollar bill into Benny’s winnings. “You must be lucky.”

“We can see if my luck will make it to an even 3,” Benny chided. He knew it wasn’t luck, Wahoo just sucked at playing pool. The slow afternoon was passed by the few integral members of the Vandals hanging out in the clubhouse, drinking, smoking and razzing each other. There was going to be a race tonight at the club bonfire; some newcomer kid on a piece of shit hand-built bike thought he was going to take on Cal’s racing Harley. Everyone knew he was going to blow him away, but it was still free entertainment and a chance for the club to meet again.

“Yeah fine, but I want the stripes this time.” Wahoo grumbled.

“You know what the definition of insanity is, Wahoo?” Johnny asked over his shoulder. He sat at the bar, counting a few stacks of cash as he and Brucie worked on the finances of this month's dues.

“Well, your boy keeps doin’ all these trick shots,” Wahoo retorted as he began to rack for the new game.

“Of course he is,” Johnny looked over his shoulder, smirking. “I taught ‘em how.”

Johnny turned back to his task at hand before he could see the bird Wahoo flipped him. The phone rang from the back of the bar and Cal went to answer it.

“I’m feeling pretty lucky for this game too,” Benny laughed as he bent forward to position the first shot. Clack, another shot that sent multiple solid colors spiraling around the table.

“Benny,” Cal called, holding the phone up. “It’s for you.”

“Okay,” Benny nodded, chalking the end of his cue stick. It was probably you calling to tell him you missed him. You often called him at least once if he was gone for a few hours, your way of checking on him as you worried about him. He’s tried telling you multiple times that you don’t have to worry about him, he’d be more careful because he had you to come home to every night. You promised you'd stop calling so much but he told you he didn't mind hearing your voice so sometimes, you’d call and ask him to pick up something from the store, too. “Tell her I'll be over in a minute.”

“No,” Cal said slowly, voice tight. “It’s Kathy. She said somethin’s happened to Bunny.”

Benny’s heart stopped. “What?”

“She’s at the hospital–”

Johnny turned to Cal and said something – asked a question maybe – but that was all Benny needed to hear before he tossed the cue stick onto the table and turned for the door. He shoved it open and fished his bike keys out of his pocket as he tossed the rest of his cigarette onto the sidewalk. He set off for his bike, throwing his leg over the seat and flipping the ignition switch.

He brought his foot down onto the kickstart but it only sputtered. He tried it once more. Twice. And Benny felt tears of frustration burning in his eyes as he pictured you laying lifeless in one of those awful hospital beds, every worst case scenario running through his mind. He kicked it again. “Fucking, c’mon!”

“Benny,” Johnny’s calm but assertive voice cut through the ringing in Benny’s ears. “I’ll drive. Get in.”

He nodded, wanting to say thanks, but he found his mouth too dry to speak, jaw clenched too tightly. He followed Johnny to his car, quickly sliding into the passenger seat. Johnny twisted the key in the ignition, threw it into reverse and peeled out as he drove in the direction of the hospital.

“Kathy said she’s okay,” Johnny assured, his voice composed as Benny’s knee bounced up and down with anxiety. “Said she was up and talkin’ to the doctors.”

“I can’t – I can’t lose–” Benny started but his voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of something happening to you.

“She’s okay, Benny,” Johnny repeated, firmer this time. “She’s okay.”

******

Benny practically ran through the hospital waiting room to get to the front desk, skidding to a stop and asking the nearest nurse where you were. Johnny had dropped him off at the door, saying he would find a place to park and be in as soon as he could.

“Benny!” Kathy called out for him down the hall. He abandoned the nurse’s station and approached her.

“What happened? Where is she?” he asked, swallowing hard in an attempt to control his nerves.

“I’ll take you to her,” Kathy touched his arm gently and led him down the hallway of ER rooms. “We were outside workin’ in my garden, ya know? A–and she just fell over, like completely onto her face, didn’t even try to catch herself. She hit her head pretty good when she landed so they’re runnin’ some test.”

Benny nodded, trying to process her words in his jumbled brain. She stopped in front of a room and motioned for him to enter. He took a deep breath, hoping his shaking hands weren’t noticeable and pushed the door open.

And the sight of you nearly crushed his heart. You looked so small sitting on the hospital bed, legs dangling off the side, hand pressing a blue ice pack to the side of your face. When you looked up and noticed him, you sat up straighter and squeaked out, “Benny!”

He was at your side in an instant, hands carefully roaming in an attempt to find anything physically wrong with you besides the obvious head wound. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” you said, taking his hand in your unoccupied one and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s nothing, Benny.”

“It wasn’t nothin’,” Kathy spoke up from the doorway, nervously glancing between you two. “You were out for a good couple minutes. Scared the livin’ shit outta me. ”

You shook your head, shooting her an exasperated look around Benny’s shoulder. “I told you not to call him.”

“Bullshit,” Benny interjected. “You get taken to the hospital and you think I shouldn’t know ‘bout it?”

“I’m fine, really,” you said with a sigh and you looked so . . . tired. Benny wanted to scoop you up in his arms and take you home in that instant. “The doctor said I just got overheated. You know how hot it’s been.”

Benny’s hand gently encased yours holding the ice pack, pulling it away so he could inspect the damage. He grimaced at the sight of the nasty purple and red bruise forming around your right brow bone and down to your eye socket. Despite his best efforts, his hands still shook as he pulled away. He’d seen his fair share of bruising – most of the time it was from his own reflection in the mirror after a fight. But the sight of the injury coloring your beautiful skin. . . it made his stomach flip. You were so frail, so breakable and the realization squeezed at Benny’s heart. He was supposed to protect you and if he could, he’d shrink you down and put you in his pocket, safe and secure. He looked over his shoulder to Kathy, “Would you. . . would you let Johnny know what’s goin’ on?”

“Sure thing,” she answered and disappeared out the door.

Silence fell heavy between you and Benny desperately searched for something to say to make you smile again, to make you blush . . . but his heart still pounded too hard and his stomach still churned from the uncertainty to come up with anything. So he did the only thing he could in that moment; He pulled you into a tight hug, hand cradling the back of your neck as he fought back that awful sting of tears again.

“I’m okay, Benny.” Your voice was muffled against his chest. “I promise.”

“You can’t–” his voice broke and he had to swallow thickly before continuing. “You can’t scare me like that, Bunny.”

“I didn’t mean to–”

“I just– I just love you so much,” he breathed out as he pulled you impossibly closer.

“I know you do,” you whispered gently and he couldn’t understand how you were always so strong, so resilient. “I love you too, Benny.”

You gave him a moment to compose himself, to slow his erratic heartbeat and melt into your sweet touch before you pulled back, lowering the ice pack and said, “There is something that will make me feel better.”

“What’s that?” he asked, heart softening at your brazen smile.

“A kiss.”

“Is that so?” His gaze fluttered over your angelic face, still beautiful despite the bruise.

“Mhhm, it’s what the doctor ordered, actually.” Your grin grew wider as he put both hands on the sides of your face, thumbs sliding gently along your jaw. He kissed you softly, lips barely ghosting over yours in fear of hurting you as if you would crumble beneath his touch. That wasn’t good enough for you apparently as you leaned forward to chase him before he could pull away completely. Your hands came up to hold his in place over your face and you returned his kiss with such vehemence that Benny’s brows pinched together in enthrallment.

The distinct clearing of a throat broke you both apart and Benny caught sight of the doctor standing in the doorway, hand rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. You blushed and looked away as the doctor entered, apologizing for the intrusion.

“We got the test results back,” he said and Benny straightened, feeling his heart rate pick up again. “Bad news is we figure you passed out due to heatstroke. With this severe heat wave hitting Chicago, we’ve had multiple patients come in from it so don’t feel bad. Good news is you were able to get here quick enough that we could get your core temperature brought down before any damage was done. As far as your head, you don’t appear to have a concussion, but you will have a pretty nasty bruise for a while.”

“So . . . she’s okay?” Benny asked, hand finding the top of your thigh to ground him.

The doctor nodded. “Yeah she’ll be just fine as long as she takes it easy for the rest of the day. No more gardening in this weather, okay?”

You giggled abashedly at his joke and Benny breathed a sigh of relief.

The doctor continued, “I’ll have the nurse bring around another ice pack for you to take home before we start your paperwork to leave.”

Benny held your hand as he stood beside your bed faithfully while they worked on getting you discharged of the hospital. You were okay, he repeated in his head like a chant. You were okay and that made him okay.

“You know since I'm gettin' out of here early we’ll still be able to go to the race tonight,” you pointed out with a small smile as you nudged him with your foot to get his attention.

“No, I’m taking you home where you’re going to lay your pretty little butt down in bed for the rest of the day,” he said firmly with a shake of his head.

“I don’t want you to miss Cal’s race!” you said as you tugged on his hand gently, lip pouting.

“I don’t care about the race,” he replied flippantly.

“Well, I do! Plus I want to see the girls, too. C’mon, please Benny?”

He shook his head, trying to remain firm in his decision even as you gave him your irresistible puppy eyes.

“Please Bennyyyy?” you dragged out his name in that adorable way you did when you wanted something. “I’ll sit in the shade and I’ll let you know if I’m not feeling good, I promise.”

He contemplated it. The race wasn't until later in the evening and the temperature should be cooler, but still. . . “You’ll go home and lay in bed until then?”

You nodded, holding your pinky out to him in a silent promise.

Unable to deny you of anything, he reluctantly looped his pinky with yours. “Fine, but we’re only stayin’ for the race. No bonfire afterwards.”

You beamed at him and he knew you were proud of yourself for once again swaying him with your charms.

******

Hours later, as the picnic was just getting into full swing, Johnny couldn’t hide the smile on his face as Benny pulled up with you on the back of his bike. Though surprised, he was sure you had roped the kid into coming, you seemed to be able to get away with just about anything when it came to Benny. He shook his head, as he watched Benny help you off and the two of you approached his picnic table filled with the core members of the Vandals, noting how he seemed to hold you a little tighter as if you were bound to trip and fall.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be takin’ it easy?” he badgered as he stood to give you a hug.

“And miss out on a race?” you grinned as you gave him a quick hug before looping your arm back through Benny's. “Never.”

“Well, it’s good to see you’re feelin’ better, kid,” he said honestly.

Funny Sonny caught sight of the reunion and hollered as he approached. “Hey Bunny, I’d hate to see the other guy!”

You blushed as you remembered the bruise forming on your face and before you could say anything, Benny spoke up from beside you. “Yeah, she got ‘em good with her mean right hook.”

You grinned at him as Sonny laughed. “Hell yeah! Bunny’s a fighter now, boys!”

They cheered and you rolled your eyes playful as you leaned up on your tippy-toes to plant a kiss on Benny’s cheek.

-Tag List-

@imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @eugene-emt-roe @semperamans @groovyangelkisses @charmingballoon @sunnbib @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @twisteduniverse5 @justsomewritingblog @nhlfs @dudii4love @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @nethanybear @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @butler-trouble @autumnleaves1991-blog @lindszeppelin @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @ilovehyperfixating @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms @youngestxhearts @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned @hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @pearlstiare @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters

#the taglist is getting so long omg #might have to switch to post notifications instead #angst with a happy ending #benny x bunny #benny cross #austin butler #the bikeriders #austin butler x reader #benny cross x reader #benny x reader #imagine #fluff #johnny davis #tom hardy #jodie comer #motorcycle #austin butler fandom #the bikeriders fanfiction #fanfic

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