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eureka-its-zico · 4 months ago

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Residuals Pt.2

Ongoing Series

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

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

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

Warnings: Language, sexual themes (it's the patient)

A/N: So, this chapter is much beefier than the last. To anyone new here and my writing - I'm a long-winded bitch, so I apologize in advance 🤣. This chapter also uses slight dialogue from the show. There is a scene in this I took from my time working in the ER during the 2020/2021 pandemic. 100% this actually happened. It was traumatizing lol. Thank you, guys, so much for taking such an interest in this fic! For showing so much love and loving on this show along with me (and Dr. Robby lol) because it's fantastic and deserves all the fics and all the love! I truly am grateful and hope that you enjoy this chapter. Much Love, Jenn 🖤

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me. Thank you for putting up with me lol. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word count: 7524

Previous I Next

7:00 AM - 8:00 AM

You’d been staring at the screen for what accumulated into an eternity in the ED. The longer you kept staring, kept from just choosing one of the damn patients on the board, the bigger the risk grew that Dana would notice.

Or worse - Robby.

If Dana took notice of you willfully choosing to stare off into premeditated space, you were willing to bet your firstborn she’d reprimand you first and tell Robby second. She'd shoo you away from her desk with a fervor usually saved for psych patients, as if you had cooties. With your current calculations on how this morning started, either option would be unpleasant.

Whether any of you liked it or not, you were here, and that meant one glaringly - neon sign bright - reality. Robby was going to be your fucking boss for the next twenty-four hours. And not in a kinky way. At least, not the way either of you used to enjoy.

From the moment the briefing ended, the disdain at your presence made it painfully clear that you were not welcome. Everyone dispersed in true manic speed to meet the batshit energy that constantly swirled inside the Pitt. It was the place that kept on giving even when you politely asked to be put in time out - because damn you needed just a moment to get your shit together. But the ER was in its own solar system, and it required everyone who walked inside to be ready for whatever was thrown their way. You didn’t get a say - weren’t allowed to say no or ‘hard pass’, on cases that came flowing in and what dictated an emergency. You were either ready or you weren’t. You either made it or you cracked.

There wasn’t any damn structure here. Just spontaneity with a dash of madness but, in that madness, greatness could be born. Adamson always said you never knew what kind of doctor you were - the depths of your compassion - until it was tested in the blood, sweat, and fire of the Pitt.

You’d been tried, tested, and by the end knew exactly what kind of doctor you were. What kind of doctor you strived to be - like Adamson. Just like Robby. But it’d been two very long years since you’d been able to call this madhouse home. The ease of set-timed patients with a patient history readily at your fingertips had spoiled you. Every question that needed to be asked without actually asking was answered and waiting just for you to see. Pre-existing conditions or possible new ones with known side effects were readily available for you to view.

So, yeah, you were panicky - terrified - about heading out onto the floor with a thousand unknowns. It wasn’t helping that Perlah and Princess hadn’t greeted you with more than a sneer and an eye roll that’d impress your fifteen-year-old niece. Robby and his flock of med students bounded off to make rounds that lasted less than three minutes before rapids began flowing through the ambulance bay. With any luck, you’d have one solid minute to look over the board, dissect what room held the most viable case to close, and head there.

Just jump right back in and pray you didn’t fall flat on your face.

The numbing sensation that resonated earlier in your chest returned with a vengeance. It didn’t start gradually, but collided against your nerves; exploding like a colony of ants that bit and tore leaving behind flashes of panic. You tried to lead the sensation out through your hands with a subtle shake. If you allowed the anxiety to fester itself it would no doubt become housed to you the entire shift.

You were better than this. You interned in the Pitt. You chose to stay after you’d obtained a full-time position. Two years away from this damn madhouse shouldn’t have affected you this strongly but that wasn’t accounting for outside stimuli…

But looking up at the large TV monitor, new names being added to the FirstNet system with brightly colored labels, it made you want to scream. It made you feel hopeless.

Fuck. You were better than this.

The background erupted with shouts from an incoming trauma. Two severe traumas from the sound of rushing feet and Robby’s directions. You didn’t hear most of what the paramedics relayed to Robby and the med students. You did, however, catch the word degloving as they rolled into trauma rooms one and two. You did not envy the med students.

You gave your hands one last shake as your eyes combed over the patient list one more time. You’d found a possible ingestion of a foreign object by a child in triage room eleven. Simple. Easy. You were already going over possible orders to give. An x-ray was to get a better picture if the obstruction was heading downward or if an endoscopy would be necessary for removal. What signs to look for as you assessed the child while making sure they were still alert and swallowing normally. You thought of how to introduce yourself when a familiar voice thrust you back into the present.

“Forget how to read a patient board, Fullerton?”

Dana’s words were pure ice. The years of friendship and playful jokes appeared to be burned to a pile of ash. You didn’t need to look at her to know she wasn’t regarding you with a friendlier expression than Perlah had moments before.

“No,” you sighed, your eyes finally dragged from the screen to her. “Just taking in the options.”

“This isn’t a buffet, in case you forgot. I know it runs easier and less dirty for you guys upstairs, but down here time is a precious commodity.”

“I am well aware of how simple consultations can turn serious, Dana.”

“Oh, you do,” she gasped in mock surprise. She’d removed her glasses from her nose and held them against her chest. “I guess that means you should stop wasting time and do your job. Don’t want your Press Ganey scores droppin’.”

“Not that I don’t love the pep talk, Dana. I’m just curious, are you going to be riding my ass this hard the whole shift?”

The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. The ears of every available RN and technician who sat around Dana’s nursing station no doubt heard. The verbal back and forth so early in the morning was beginning to give you whiplash.

“I don’t know, sunshine is there a reason you think I shouldn’t? You know,” she began, her body involuntarily inching closer. Her shoulder leaned in closer so her barbed words could sink deep enough to wound. “What a surprise to learn that this whole time - the entire fucking two years you were gone - you’d simply been up-fucking-stairs.”

It was in those last few words you saw it. It was so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t dialed in. No matter what Dana, or anyone else, said to you today, it would never compare to the carnage you’d left behind with your silence. The pain of seeing the hurt you’d left behind, sharp and unforgiving, was like a lancet; slicing through the tough hide you’d prepared for the day.

“Dana -”

Shit, you did not need your voice to crack. You did not need to crack.

Unluckily for you, she wasn’t in the mood to hear from you. A hand rushed up to brush off whatever weak attempt at placating her she knew you would try and send her way.

“I don’t want to hear it, kid. Months I was worried sick about you. Just to find out you chose to forget we even existed down here. A literal ghost walking back into our lives right when we’ve just about healed. You’re a real asshole, Fullerton.”

She lifted the glasses back to rest on the bridge of her nose. The coolness of her stare reminded you - if her final words didn’t - that you weren’t a welcome sight in the Pitt. Your presence threw off what little harmony they coveted, the family dynamics, and you knew she would fight to preserve it - to protect Robby - and everyone else in the process.

Your tongue pressed against the side of your cheek. A weak balm to cool the warring wave of emotions that rapidly replaced the anxiety that moments ago threatened to shatter you into embarrassing little pieces. Now you only felt like shattering for an entirely different reason.

Dana tore her gaze away from you and answered an incoming phone call. Whatever emotions she contended with were conveniently pushed down because she had a job to do. So did you. You found yourself wanting to say to hell with today; with Gloria and all her standards. You hadn’t agreed to be fucking public enemy number one.

It didn’t matter how anyone else saw you. What mattered right now was the glaringly obvious pain you’d caused to someone who was the Pitt’s raining surrogate mother. Who’d checked in on you, and brought extra food from home because she miraculously knew you’d forgotten yours. A friend that invited you to her family’s Christmas Eve dinner your first year as an intern because you didn’t have family to celebrate with. The woman who’d held you when you’d lost your first patient and scolded you about smoking cigarettes even though she smoked herself.

You wanted to be stubborn. To wait for her to get off that damn phone so you could try and explain, but really what could you say? It wasn’t just Robby you left. You’d chosen to abandon ship with all of them aboard a sinking ship. They never even knew they needed life jackets in the first place.

The cool stare of the nursing staff made your back itch. You needed to get away and get back to why you were here. What you were damn good at doing. Clearing your throat, you made your way around the nurses' station. The stride of your steps was suspiciously close to turning into a jog. Although, you’d never admit that out loud. The sooner you could get to the patient's room the more normal this day would be.

“Holy shit, Fullerton? Is that you?”

The chipper tone and the laughter behind it had warning bells going off in your head in a matter of minutes. You only knew one surgeon who took glee in other people’s discomfort.

Yolanda Garcia, the resident pain in the ass at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, beamed at you like the cat who was dangerously close to eating a new canary. You had a not-so-sneaking suspicion you were the canary in this scenario.

“I don’t know, Garcia does it look like me? It’s too early for you to be hallucinating.”

“Does Robby know you’re here?”

Oh, she had to be eating this up. The sheer mayhem she knew this would cause - psychologically speaking - must have been making her toes curl. She was beaming, practically euphoric from the very thought. Her feet were no doubt burning to run and tell him as if he didn’t already know.

You tried to sidestep around her obnoxiously grinning form only for her to shadow your movement.

“It’s great to see you haven’t lost that dream of auditioning for the Wicked Witch of the East, Yolanda.”

“Robby is going to flip when he hears about this.”

“Great. Why don’t you run along now and tell him,” you quipped while patting her arm. “I have patients to attend to.”

“I bet you do.”

This time when you moved to sidestep her, Garcia didn’t make any move to follow. No doubt too busy riding her broom to be the harbinger of doom all over again for one specific unfortunate soul.

“Are you aware that Fullerton is here? Just walking around the Pitt attending to patients?”

It shouldn’t have come as a shock that once Garcia saw you, she’d use you in any capacity to rile him up. Hell, Robby was willing to bet the minute she’d noticed you - whether walking or inside a patient room - Garcia would’ve encroached on your space. The two of you historically had one of the worst feuds Adamson said he’d seen between interns in years. It didn’t surprise him that even after you’d both secured your jobs within the hospital it never ended.

What did surprise him was how breezily she asked her questions. She hadn’t even taken five steps into trauma one before she fired each one off in his direction. His hands crossed his body to grip his shoulders. He needed something to steady himself and each finger that dug into the meat of his biceps was all he needed to help keep him centered. Keep his head in this room with this patient and not somewhere else.

“Yes, Dr. Garcia I am well aware she is here.”

He watched the exchange between Collins and Garcia and nodded his approval at Collin’s when she stood her ground and called for a popliteal block instead of morphine.

“Where’s the next guy?”

“Next door. He’s a bit worse.”

This was something he could do. Something his mind could piece together and work around. Robby knew medicine. Saving lives wasn’t the hardest part of his day - it was having to try and make sense of his own that held that prize.

Garcia was in the middle of giving one last instruction of what she wanted before she fully followed him into the room. Dr. Mohan and a med student, Santos, were in the process of intubating Mr. Wallace.

“How do you feel about that?”

Robby had been so laser-focused watching them place the tube that he hadn’t heard Dr. Garcia the first time. So, of course, she asked again.

“Feel about what?”

He was under the impression they were focused on the patient. He should've known better when it came to Garcia. She was relentless until she got what she wanted.

“Come on, Robby, let’s not be coy. You expect me to believe you don’t have big feelings about her being down here? You guys were engaged - ”

A split second. That was all it took for him to become glaringly aware of the room. Of all the people in it, they no longer were singularly focused on the patient but split down the middle. While Garcia effortlessly watched over the med students and their progress, she equally watched him for any sign of a reaction.

He needed to put an end to her question before she overshared information that first-day interns had no business knowing. Robby found himself itching under the watchful gazes of staff. Princess in particular he caught glancing up from where she was handing over instruments.

“I don’t see how that information pertains to anything dealing with our patients, Dr. Garcia. How about we stay focused on the task at hand.”

Robby saw the smirk on her face. A dog with a bone. That’s what Garcia was going to be like all fucking day because she was just eating this up.

He put himself back in motion - being the watchful attendee as Dr. Mohan successfully placed the intubation tube.

“I’m in!”

“Good! Well done.”

Robby could do this. He could be a doctor. He could be the attendee overseeing and teaching others. He could do this. He could do this. He listened closely as Dr. King checked for the patient’s medical history - there was none. He listened to Yolanda give off medication to administer before shipping Mr. Wallace up to CT for a scan. Once Robby was sure everything was moving smoothly, he moved around the foot of the patient’s bed to stand next to Princess.

“Do me a favor,” he asked gently, “Swap out with Jessie for me, would you?”

Their degloving patient screamed in a language no one knew but - Robby was hoping - Princess would know. He was following behind her when a familiar - and unwelcome voice - called out behind him.

“Dr. Robinavitch. Do you have a moment?”

No. He would never have another fucking moment for Gloria. She effectively used up every last moment he had left to spare when she dragged you down here. Robby was barely holding on to what small pieces of sanity he had left. He didn’t need any more shit to deal with before 7:30 am.

“Ugh, I’m a little busy right now, Gloria. One sec.”

He meant no fucking seconds but he still had to play nice, right. Robby was never good at playing politics. Adamson told him countless times it was the unseen added responsibility of an attending. The constant hounding from the administration staff and CEOs demanding doctors and nurses carried more than just keeping people alive.

Gloria followed him through the rooms and stood at the side. Her presence was a constant reminder to him that she wasn’t going to leave empty-handed.

Robby did all he could to monitor the med students’ and his residents as they made their assessments. When Princess notified him she couldn’t figure out the language, Robby took it as a small win to allow him to grab language services, giving him a few seconds to breathe.

It was short-lived.

By the time the officer walked in, Gloria had her fill of being on the back burner. She wouldn’t be ignored any longer and they both knew Robby was no longer needed. His residents’ had both patients stabilized and were finishing up preparing them to begin proper treatments. It left him the odd man out. It left him having to take a walk with Gloria.

The walking and talking was about metrics - Press Ganey scores. The endless bitching about low numbers that couldn’t be fixed without proper staffing was affecting patient satisfaction. It was easy for Gloria to pin the poor numbers on Robby, Abbot, and the entire Pitt staff. Easier to claim they just weren’t already busting their ass hard enough instead of admitting they were short-staffed in every department. That their metrics and data issues of force-fed shitty scores could be solved simply by hiring more nurses - paying better wages.

But everything Robby ever said - tried to tell Gloria until his vision reddened - fell on uncaring ears.

After everything he tried to tell her again all she latched onto was when he used the word “Pitt” instead of the official term of an emergency department. Derogatory. That was what she called it. Incompatible with institutional images.

Robby wanted to scream.

“You know what's incompatible with the institution's image? Me speaking to the media about people who code in our waiting rooms and people who get shitty care in our hallways waiting for an ICU bed for days.”

“I’ve heard about doctors who tried that and found themselves out of work.”

The thinly veiled threat wasn’t lost on him. The next words he would’ve liked to have said to Gloria in response, he was forced to cover up under a mirthless laugh.

“I know today is difficult for you - “

Fuuuck no. No. He was not doing this, especially not with Gloria. No matter what was said after this, Robby could feel the cusp of a storm riding at the frayed edges of his psyche. Knew it was there with each passing millisecond as he waited for it to implode.

“Everyday is difficult down here,” he bit in.

“Boarding is a nationwide problem. Your predecessor, Adamson, sure as hell knew that. Or wasn’t that something he taught you?”

And there it fucking was. His eyes snapped shut as he tried to rain in the tidal wave that roared in his ears. The cautionary warnings of a catastrophe brewing beneath the surface only grew louder.

It wasn’t even fucking 7:30 yet.

“Fuuuuck. Wow. Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Gloria would never back down. She was as strong and determined as anyone Robby ever met. Under different circumstances, he would’ve found her impressive, but this wasn’t any other circumstance than her riding his ass like she usually did.

Robby shook his head again to try and clear the black dots from his vision. It was just a brief shake. His eyes skimmed across each full bed that held a waiting patient. The universe must have perfect timing with fucking with him today. In that brief look, Robby watched you appear from behind a patient curtain. A reassuring smile on your face as you spoke one final time to the family of three inside before you closed it shut behind you.

You weren’t aware he’d seen you - that he was watching. It was a split second but live wires only needed one second to find a conduit to create sparks that burned down everything around it. He shook his head to try and clear it. His gaze landing back on Gloria with a new bone to pick.

“Don’t you think you should’ve cleared it with me before you brought Dr. Fullerton down?”

Before his sentence finished, Robby could tell by Gloria’s response she found his question idiotic.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware the board needed to clear every decision with you first, Dr. Robby. Also, weren’t you just complaining about the lack of staffing?”

“I was saying to hire more nurses - not to bring down a doctor from a whole other floor.”

“A doctor who has been with this hospital for close to a decade, trained by Adamson, and you, might I add. Look, I get it. You two have…history. Which is one of the main reasons we frown upon fraternization.”

“Please, spare me the HR talk, Gloria.”

“You need to put your big boy pants on, Dr. Robby. Fullerton is staying down here whether you like it or not. Don’t like it, can’t manage the crisis or who the hospital chooses to staff down in the ER, you can either step up or step aside.”

Gloria didn’t give him a chance to respond. She gave him one last condescending look, one Robby hoped he mirrored back to her, before turning on her heels and walking away. His eyes followed her for a few seconds, debating if he wanted to chase after her. Just hand over his badge and call it quits because the feeling of defeat weighed so damn heavy on his shoulders that he thought there might be a chance he’d never get back up.

Instead, he turned to look at the nursing station where Dana was casually walking. He knew she heard the entire conversation. He just didn’t want to have to repeat what just occurred or discuss it in the slightest.

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and was ready to return into the fray because he could handle that. He could help patients. He could be the doctor they needed. Before he even moved a step Dana motioned for him to come towards the desk.

The little devil on his shoulder warned him that he might end up regretting it.

“You know, Robby, I’ve been thinking - “

“Why do I feel like this isn’t going to go well,” he sighed.

Dana simply waved him off before she continued.

“You aren’t being very realistic on the whole, ‘stay in the triage only’ demand. You want her to just waste her skills by only helping out in the front?”

“She won’t be wasting them,” he huffed.

His hands reached out to grip the edge of the counter. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He did not want to have this conver -

“I think you’re just hoping that’s where she stays so you don’t have to see her.”

“One can dream, Dana.”

Robby did not trust - nor like - the coy look he received in response to his words.

“Who am I to get in the way of a man’s dream?” She replied, her eyes examining him in a way he hated. No one could hide anything from Dana. “Although, if I know you -“

“Dana -“ he warned.

“ - I would be willing to bet -“

“Dana, I’m being serious -“

“ - that you want to see her.”

“Now why would I want that?”

“You’ve been scanning the halls every few seconds since we’ve been talking, Robby. I don’t think you’re admiring the wonderful view of bodily fluids and stale piss scent.”

“Alright I’ve had enough of your idea of what I’m assuming is a half-assed pep talk.”

“Just…be honest with yourself, Robby. You both got a lot of unresolved tension with a dash of a shit ton of issues. Probably be better to hash it out when you can, and in private, instead of exploding in front of interns or patients.”

Robby wanted to question if she was willing to do the same. Would Dana be able to have you come to the desk for patient transfer information, for updates, calls; and for everything and not be as affected as he was? Robby remembered he wasn’t the only one who’d lost you - felt lost without you.

Robby wasn’t ready to confront you. Hell, he wasn’t ready to be alone with you and try to talk like civil adults. He wasn’t there yet and maybe he wouldn’t be. What he could be was an attending physician. He was great at that.

He could do that. Everything else would just have to wait.

Upon further examination of the little penny swallower in 7 North, he showed no signs of abnormal drooling or trouble swallowing. Palpitating the stomach didn’t have any response of abdominal pain or tenderness. With a few more questions about possible fever or trouble breathing, you felt confident in informing the family an x-ray would be needed just to verify the penny was making safe travels down to be…expelled. Easier and less invasive to exit that way.

You told them once you were notified the x-ray results were ready, you’d come to speak to them about the next steps. Hopefully, it meant they could be discharged in an hour or less. Which meant you had an hour to kill between waiting for the results. After reading the chief complaint on the board for 12 South, you thought it was a solid contender for a quickie.

As it turned out, it was the worst idea you’d had that morning.

When you pulled back the curtain and began the examination, what you’d found waiting for you under the dressing gown wasn’t on your bingo card. Actually, it should never be on anyone’s bingo card. Not ever.

You’d tried to come up with any other option than needing to consult Robby. He didn’t want to see you throughout the day - ever. It was a sentiment you equally shared with him and one you happily would’ve avoided except…you need the advice.

You need to present the case and get some solid, solid advice and, quite possibly, traumatize him in the process. You couldn’t be the only one subjected to seeing what you saw at freaking 7:37 in the morning. The only issue: you had no fucking clue where he was.

In true Pitt fashion, doctors were bouncing from one room to another. Already you’d heard McKay call earlier about needing a crash cart. When you’d run out to assist, Mateo, a newer RN you’d yet to meet let you know they had it - if you were needed they’d call.

You also knew that after 7:30, rigs would be bringing in elderly patients from the nursing homes. Another thing that would keep Robby busy and make it near impossible for you to try and consult with him. It was already going to be a battle just to keep him from turning and bolting in the other direction when he saw you.

This limbo of time left you a few minutes to run to the break room and take a blissful sip of your more than likely room-temperature coffee. It didn’t matter: caffeine was caffeine and you would take it any way you could get it. You just had to make one last pit stop before you disappeared.

You circled the nurses' station and found the exact nurse you were looking for sitting at one of the station’s computers. You had to hand it to Perlah, whether she saw you coming or sensed your presence like a disturbance in the force, she refused to glance up from the screen. Her eyes scan over something repeatedly as her fingers pound into the keyboard.

“Perlah, have you seen Robby?”

She still wasn’t looking up.

“Nope,” she replied, popping her P heavily.

“If you do see him, can you let him know I’m looking for him?”

“Nope.”

Your lips tucked into a grimace as your gaze peered over the edge of the computer. Perlah’s eyes didn’t lift once.

“Okay. Great talk.”

“Mhmm.”

Yeah, today was off to a really fantastic start.

There wasn’t any point hanging around the nurses' station for longer than was embarrassingly needed. You took the loss in stride, and by stride, it meant with a heavy sigh of defeat that had your feet dragging that defeatist attitude into the breakroom. Where you found one of Robby’s newest med students sitting at the break room’s table.

If you felt defeated, you weren’t sure what the proper word for her would be. She looked like a reprimanded child instead of a doctor. Her small frame was tucked in tight, like a fetal position with her forehead almost completely collapsing onto the table.

You weren’t able to catch any of their names earlier because you all but missed morning rounds. All you knew was she was one of Robby’s four interns and by far the youngest from the looks of it.

You eyed her warily as you moved towards the side counter. You’d stashed your coffee on top of the microwave and, once in hand, immediately brought it to your lips for a long pull.

Yep. It tasted as good as you thought it would.

The girl brightened once she realized you’d entered. Her nerves had her eyes darting down and back up again seemingly unable, or just not comfortable enough, to keep them trained on you.

“You’re one of Robby’s new med students today, right?” A timid smile rose and fell on her lips. You watched while she tried to make out if you were friend or foe. In an attempt to prove the former, you offered up a warm smile as you introduced yourself.

“Victoria Javadi - MS3.”

“It’s a pleasure, Dr. Javadi. May I ask what you’re doing in the breakroom instead of out in the Pitt?”

Your question was meant to be that: a simple question. No ulterior motives were waiting in the wings especially not the lecture Adamson gave you your first year when he caught you napping in here. But your simple question extinguished what little bit of life had lit up in the young girls’ eyes.

“I - I - my foot hit a gurney during Dr. Collin’s and Dr. Langdon’s demonstration on the degloving patient. It was nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing. Whatever happened was everything to her and not in the best of ways.

“That’s okay. It happens,” you shrugged. “I stuck myself with a needle once.”

“Really?” She asked, her voice timid and eyes unbelieving.

“Oh, yeah. My second year of residency too. The patient became combative while I was trying to administer the medication. The needle got jammed in my clavicle.”

You couldn’t believe it - it earned you a laugh. A nervous one, but it was still a laugh. You watched her as she brightened and dimmed; a constant flux of warring thoughts that you weren’t sure which side was winning.

“Whatever happens out there, don't let it get you down. We never stop learning as human beings or as doctors. Everyone out there has made a mistake in some capacity. Hell,” you snorted as you pushed off from the kitchenette’s counter, “Michael got hit with a bedpan once.”

“Michael?”

God, you’d gotten too familiar. Your memory of that day makes you have a Freudian slip into the days you called him more by his first name instead of his nickname.

“Oh, uhm, Dr. Robby. I’m going to head out but if you want, once you’re done here, you can come find me. I’d be more than happy to teach you.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure Dr. Robby is just having me take a break. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

You were tempted to tell her to come find you anyway, just in case. In case it didn’t go how she thought when she did finally check back in with Robby. Whether she verbally agreed to the offer or not, you hoped she knew it was still there. This was a teaching hospital after all.

Dana and Robby were walking back to the nurses' station. He’d just gotten one major surprise of finding out Javadi was Eileen Shamsi’s daughter and while he was all for surprises, that was one he'd like to have been prepared for.

Just like Dana had warned him, via Perlah, that you were looking for him he saw you standing there waiting. For him. He’d had all of five seconds to come to terms with the fact you were both about to have your first direct conversation in over two years. After two long years of no contact, it was about work.

He should’ve been happy it was just about work and not all the other bullshit that’d accumulated over those two years. He should’ve been fucking thrilled, but he wasn’t. Robby had so many questions - so many things he wanted to say. There was so much to say - to ask - and instead here he was preparing to discuss something easy.

Robby and Dana split up at the middle entrance. She returned to man her station in the center of this circus, while he came up to stand beside you leaning against the nurses' station. Your fingers tapped on the counter while your chin rested in your other hand.

“Something’s got you deep in thought.”

Robby knew the answer - knew it because outside of himself, outside of Jake, you were the only other person he knew inside out. Your fidgeting fingers, a tick he knew well, would tap out a Morse Code of a problem you were trying to solve. The faster the tapping, the closer Robby knew you were coming closer to asking for his opinion. You’d done this all the years you’d worked together and at home when you couldn’t decide if oregano was an okay substitution for Italian seasoning.

“Cock rings.”

“Excuse me?”

Robby could feel his eyebrows skyrocketing towards the ceiling. He rocked forward and back on his feet while the fists he’d buried inside his hoodie pushed against the fabric. His body subconsciously leaned towards you because, well hell, he couldn’t believe those two words just left your mouth.

He hated that his eyes caught the slight uptick in the corner of your mouth. The same corner where all your sarcastic ass smirks originated before they blackmailed their way to full-blown smiles. What Robby hated the most was how that small bit of familiarity took a sledgehammer to the carefully constructed walls he’d built. Fucking hated how his lips betrayed him by beginning to match the playfulness in your eyes. Loathed entirely how his heart did somersaults like he was a teenager again and the girl he’d crushed on just looked at him like he hung the stars.

“Cock rings.” You said it like it wasn’t the lewdest thing he’d heard all day. Simple. Matter-of-fact. “What do you know about them?”

This was fucking absurd, was all he could think.

“Uhm, why exactly is this your question?”

“Jesus, Robby, I’m not asking if you’ve used them. My patient in 12 South - was brought in by his mother for supposed swelling and pain in the inguinal region. Upon examination, found he attached sixteen key rings as makeshift cock rings along the length of his penis.”

His brain was still in the process of trying to comprehend the scenario you’d just fed him. That was his excuse for his eloquent reply, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I sincerely, with my full chest, wish I was. He’s traumatized. Mom’s traumatized. Shit, I’m traumatized, but I can’t figure out a safe alternative to removing the rings without causing damage.”

“What are you two discussing?”

Dana seemed to arrive at the best and worst possible moment because Robby didn’t know how to answer that question. Apparently, you had no problem informing her it was -

“Cock rings.”

Robby wondered if Dana’s stunned-to-silence expression was how he’d looked earlier.

“Well, shit, Fullerton this is the wrong department for that - “

“It’s my patient in 12 South. He decided to MacGyver himself some cock rings out of key rings.”

“What about MacGyver?”

Langdon slid a tablet back on the charging station - gaze laser focused between you and him. One of Langdon’s brows rose in silent question that Robby could only answer with a shrug.

“I’m sorry but who is MacGyver?” Dr. King asked, eyes shifting with expectation between the four of them for whoever would give up the answer.

“MacGyver’s an old 80’s TV show where the detective guy gets himself out of sticky situations by using random stuff.”

“Random stuff?”

“Anything eye level,” you quipped.

“Okay, anyways, Fullerton,” Langdon butted in, “What’s with your MacGyver patient.”

“Cock rings.”

Robby swore if he heard the words “cock” and “ring” come out of your mouth one more time he was going to fucking combust.

“Cock…rings?”

From how green Mel looked after stuttering out those words, Robby was sure he wasn’t alone in his earlier sentiment.

“They say it’s meant to enhance stimulation by restricting blood flow to the penis. I’m pretty sure men buy them because it enlarges the penis making it thicker with the possibility they’ll last longer in bed. You can currently pick one up on Amazon.”

“Jesus,” Dana mumbled.

“Really?”

Mel took a giant step closer to the edge of the desk. Her earlier discomfort was removed by the idea of garnering new information. The warning signs were blaring loudly when you whipped your phone from your scrub's back pocket.

“Oh, yeah and they come in different styles of materials - “

“Oookay.” Robby heard more than enough. If he was being honest with himself, fuck he hated how it bothered him hearing you talk so casually about sex toys. Toys he knew, for a fact, the two of you never used because he never needed the extra help. He knew every inch of your skin; how you liked to be handled and touched. Could recall with crystal clarity the plains of your body, mapped out to memory by his hands, by his mouth, and the way your breath would hitch just before a moan slid past your lips. If any asshole was touching you now - he wasn’t fucking doing it right. Clearing his throat - and his fucking head because Jesus H. Christ - he rested his forearms on the counter as he leaned closer to you. “Can we please move past showing my med students unnecessary sex toys?”

Robby was leaned down enough that the next time you looked at him it was direct. Direct and ready to challenge him every step of the way. A spark of some hidden remark you were burying back under your tongue brightened his favorite color of iris.

“Squeamish, Michael?”

And there it was again. That fucking smirk.

The use of his name falling so casually from your lips was a gut punch that stole the air from his lungs. He couldn’t stop the pinch of his eyes that narrowed in on you.

Did you just lean closer?

“Not particularly, no. I am, however, making sure we aren’t having an unnecessary conversation that doesn’t pertain to the care and wellbeing of our patients.”

“Sex education is fundamental education. Dr. King asked a question and I was teaching. This form of teaching does pertain to my specific patient who used a similar style of material usually made for this particular toy and, because of lack of education, thought key rings would be a supplementary alternative rather than a safer one. In showing Dr. King the types of materials safely used, and how obtainable and discrete it is to get one, she could educate someone else if she finds herself in a similar situation. Also, it’s 2025, Dr. Robby - we don’t kink shame here. We educate on safe sex practices.”

“Here, here!”

Robby shot a look in Dana’s direction and caught the wisp of a smile before she turned away.

“What a great speech just to cover up your kinks, Fullerton.”

Robby couldn’t tell if Langdon was trying to bait you on purpose just to rile you up or to get you to slip up. He got neither in return.

“You found me out, Frank.”

“Alright, enough.” He needed to cut in before you both went back and forth in an endless loop of who could irritate who the most. It was just a little over half an hour into the shift. “Dr. Fullerton, is there anything else?”

“Ugh, yeah. You still haven’t given me your opinion.”

“Because you never asked a specific question,” he reminded you.

He watched you consider his words; your lips rising into that small pucker. It was your tell that always let him know the debating was over and you were ready to listen to what he had to say.

A part of him hated the familiarity that rested between the two of you. Fuck, you hadn’t changed. Not in any way Robby was able to notice. It was barbaric; and painfully unfair that every mannerism and every glance housed years’ worth of memories. The most painful part of being reminded was the remembrance of loss.

Loving you had been as easy as breathing for him. Until it wasn’t.

The communication the two of you held so easily for years was torn apart during the pandemic. There was too much happening and not enough support mentally when the PTSD started. When the sleeplessness and hopeless feeling began to press a weight down on his chest - his existential crisis bloomed red and bright. Robby didn’t know how to stop the bleeding.

And then you…you’d…

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Your words cut through the fog in his mind, bringing him roaring back to the surface. “If you have a few moments, I would like to get your opinion on my patient and what you think will be best for this particular…situation.”

Robby pushed his arms off the counter. An arm swept out in the direction of the hallway south to indicate you could lead.

“Alright. Let’s see what you got.”

You clapped your hands together before you took a step forward. You hadn’t expected him to agree and the giddiness at winning a battle - or not having to fight one? - intoxicated him. A ghost of a smile tilting the edges of his lips unwillingly up.

The two of you’d made it about five feet before Myrna rolled herself from beside her latest haunt.

“Hey Sugar Tits, where are you skipping off to?”

“Myrna, I’ve expressly told you, my name is Dr. Robby.”

“I’m not talking to you, Fruitcake.”

“It’s me,” you whisper to him before returning your attention to Myrna. Never stopping. Always moving. “I can’t talk now, Myrna. I have a patient.”

“You always say you have a patient,” came her gruff reply.

It was the first hint her chipper demeanor was about to expire.

“Yes, because this is the ER; where I work.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice talking to you again too, Myrna.”

The walk to 12 South wasn’t quick enough. Every step and moment he spent walking beside you sent a flood of memories rushing to the surface. Robby didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to pretend you hadn’t shared a life - that he hadn’t spent time loving you in every way he could.

“Fruitcake, huh?”

Your words cut through his thoughts and, at first, he’d been grateful for the interruption. Grateful until Robby noticed the teasing gleam in your eyes. How he could spot the mischief that darkened your eyes and didn’t have enough time to prepare.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled.

He didn’t need to look to know you were side-eyeing him.

“It could be worse.”

“Oh, no I doubt that.”

“She could call you something less delicious.”

His hand was mid-reach to pull back the curtain. Your sentence pulled him short and forced him to look down at you like you’d just grown a second head.

“You think fruitcake is delicious? Nobody thinks fruitcake is delicious.”

“True, but it’s arguably better to be called a shitty holiday dessert than, say, something like cocksucker,” you shrugged, moving yourself around him to push behind the curtain.

He was supposed to be angry with you - and he was. He fucking was but…it was easy, almost too fucking easy, to forget the last few months that led up to what dissolved your relationship. It was easy to forget you’d both broken each other in different ways. Robby should’ve hated you, but he couldn’t, and, because of that, he was grateful you couldn’t hear the chuckle he tried to shake away before he followed in after you.

____________

As always thank you so much for your support and for reading! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Much Love,

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

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alloftheimaginesblog · 8 months ago

Text

ready (klaus mikaelson)

plot: klaus always knew that one day you'd take him up on his offer.

character: female vampire reader x klaus mikaelson

inspired by something similar he says to caroline

"One day, love, you'll come to me. Might be in two years, might be two hundred but mark my words, you'll realise I was right along. I am the only one who can fulfil your wildest desires and your largest dreams. When you realise that, you'll come knocking on my door and then... well, love, then I'll give you the world."

It had been three and a half years since Klaus Mikaelson had said this to you. Three long years. He'd came into your life as a villain, you were supposed to hate him. He had killed, harmed and tortured so many of your friends (and his sister had tortured you a fair few times) and yet, he was always so delicate and gentle with you. He'd been interested in you pretty much ever since he came to Mystic Falls. You'd hated him... or at least, you tried.

He had gotten under your skin all of those years ago. He'd saved you too many times to count. He had shown you kindness and compassion, had recognised you for who you were; Klaus had seen you. You'd gotten to see a glimpse of the human side to him, not the scary big bad wolf, you'd started to see him. And when he left, with an invite extended your way, it took everything in you to say no.

Klaus hadn't stepped foot in Mystic Falls since he left and yet, every few months or so, he would write to you. Seldom did you respond but you enjoyed reading about his travels. Each time he wrote, he would send photos of the new place he was visiting usually with a list of reasons as to why you'd love it there with drawings he'd done and every single time he wrote, he attached a plane ticket to whatever destination with your name on it. You never used them, instead they gathered dust in a drawer which was full of his old letters. Klaus also always wrote exactly where he was staying at the end of the letter so you knew exactly how to get to him. Periodically, you'd go through and read some of them. They always smelled like him and had the same send off each time.

'Unequivocally yours, Klaus'

You knew that if you needed him, he would be there immediately. He had promised you as such. And the one time you called for help when Caroline got bit by a werewolf, Klaus couldn't be there in person but he sent Elijah with a few vials of his blood (extras for any future emergencies). He would do anything for you and all he wanted was the chance to show you as such.

So when this month's letter arrived with details of his new adventure complete with a plane ticket to Italy, you decided to take the chance you'd regretted not taking three and a half years prior. Your friends were oddly supportive which surprised you but Bonnie had told you she wanted you to be happy and if he's what made you happy then so be it. Damon wasn't impressed but he rarely ever was. Stefan urged you to your happy ending. Caroline approved, she'd seen the way Klaus would've done anything for you so even though she didn't like him, she knew that he was the real deal. Elena was supportive, she'd gone for the 'bad guy' in Damon so she understood the inner conflict and told you that it was okay to let yourself be happy.

So, you packed a bag and headed to Italy.

Getting there was the easy bit; the hard bit was finding the courage to knock on the front door. Your heart hammered in your chest as you stood on the grounds of what you could only describe as a small castle. It was beautiful, with glorious gardens and fragrant flowers. You swallowed hard before taking a breath, this is what you came for, and you knocked three times.

After a few seconds, you could hear someone's voice approaching. Klaus.

"-I didn't ask you to go to such lengths, brother, though I have to say I do appreciate it-"

He opened the door and his expression turned from one of mild annoyance to complete shock.

"Elijah, more important matters have emerged, I'll speak to you later." He hung up, pocketing his phone quickly. He looked good. The Italian sun suited him, turning his hair a shade blonder and making his blue eyes pop, "(y/n)..." A slow, wide smile spread onto his face.

You swallowed hard, "Hi, Klaus."

He stepped aside, silently inviting you into his castle, and with a small smile you breezed past him. He closed the door and led you through to a grand room with various couches and paintings. You looked around incredulously, "This place... it's incredible."

Klaus smiled, "I told you that you'd like this one."

You looked at him and felt nerves bubble in your stomach. You'd came all this way and now... you didn't know what to do. Klaus eyed you curiously, trying to gauge how you were feeling, "Do you need something?" Oh, how he hoped that you were here for him but he had to be sure.

You shook your head, finding words too hard to find, and instead looked back to the paintings, "These are beautiful, did you do these?"

Klaus appeared at your side, making you jump slightly, "Sorry, love," he smirked. He was so close to you, so near that you could smell his cologne. Your heart raced. His hand reached out past you to touch the painting, "I painted all of these, yes. This one is my favourite."

"The colours are lovely," you nodded.

Klaus smiled, quickly vanishing and then returning to your side, "Here, look in the mirror and then look at the painting."

You frowned at him but complied regardless of your confusion. He handed you a small hand mirror which you looked into and then at the painting, "I don't get it," you said to which he urged you to look again and then you realised, "my eyes."

Klaus grinned, "There we go, love," he beamed proudly, "my favourite colours and shades to use. They crop up a lot in my paintings. Go, look," he encouraged you forwards, "take a look and you'll see how often you feature in my paintings."

For a moment, you walked around the room, soaking in the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) hints of your eye colour in every single one of his paintings. It touched you causing you to feel warm inside and you couldn't understand why. You looked at him. He stood on the other side of the room watching you with awe filled eyes, "But why?" You asked softly with tears filling your eyes, "Why me?"

In an instant, he was in front of you, chest touching yours, with his eyes locked with yours, "Oh, love," he whispered, hand reaching out to graze your cheek softly, "It's always been you."

You looked up at him, "You asked me if I needed something earlier." Klaus's brow furrowed and his hand stilled - fear; fear that you weren't here for him, fear that you needed something and then you'd disappear again. "I do need something, Klaus."

"Anything."

"I want... I need you." Your admission was quiet but he heard you loud and clear, "For years, I've regretted saying no to your offer to come with you. I want to live, Klaus. I want to be free. I want to be happy and that means letting myself be happy with... you."

"Me?" Klaus asked.

You nodded as your own hand found its way to rest on his chest, "I'm ready to fall in love with you, Klaus. I just hope I'm not too late."

He grinned, wider than you'd ever seen him smile, "You're right on time, love," he said before his lips crashed to yours. And for the first time ever, you let yourself give in.

#one shot #reader insert #os #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson imagine #imagine #tvd #tvd imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries

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munsonify · 1 month ago

Note

Hello! Since u write for Joaquin could we get a fic based on the song Moonlight bc Kali Uchis please 🥹 thank you in advance 💘

a/n. hi! absolutely, thanks for sending this in! ❤️ i love joaquin and i love kali uchis this is my shit. i decided to do this based off of lyrics and the vibes i get from the song. also i perhaps went a little to heavy on the setup of the fic but shhh. i hope you can see the vision i had for this! (click link on title to see song on spotify)

moonlight - joaquin torres x fem!reader

summary. you’re always joaquin’s plus one at events, and tonight was no different. this time around, however, after joaquin attended to what he needed to, you two were desperate to get away from the crowd and enjoy each others company

content warnings. so much fluff, sexual tension, established relationships, r in a dress+heels, secluded make out sess, joaquin being insatiable and absolutely adorable, very little alcohol consumption, pet names (pretty girl, baby, baby girl), thunderbolts spoilers

word count. 3362

———

it was important that joaquin and sam made public appearances together to keep up a good image. with everything that’d happened within the past few years - the snap reversal, sam taking over the responsibility of being captain america, several mishaps that had to do with superhero’s, ones that usually didnt give them the best rep - they needed to make sure the public knew they were on their side. that they are here to help.

and, while joaquin didnt mind attending these events, it was always nice having you around. with you around, the tension in his jaw and his shoulders eased up. he’s personable, charming, kind, and you know that of him very well. that didn’t stop him from becoming a little stressed during these sort of relations and the formality of it all. when you’re by his side, delicate hand placed on his bicep, a sweet, reassuring smile shining over at him, he remembers that it’s all okay. he remembers to loosen up a little, to breathe, that you always have his back.

more importantly, you help joaquin remember why he began doing this in the first place. people need someone to step in and protect, someone who’s dedicated and passionate. he knows he can be that person, it’s who he strives to be every day. and, despite making one too many lighthearted jokes to the wrong person, or nearly knocking things over from walking aimlessly, he still manages to charm people over. you admire every last bit of that about the man.

tonight there was a fundraising event sam thought was best for them to attend. fundraisers were always a little easier for joaquin, a little less tense. while government hearings had a lot more on the line, a little more difficult to navigate, fundraisers first and foremost required his compassion and empathy. easy. regardless, he was able to bring a plus one, a spot he filled without hesitation.

that’s how you, joaquin, and sam ended up in the back of a limo, riding steady through new york city to the venue.

“you think bucks gonna be here?” joaquin asked, leaned back and casual in his seat. you couldn’t help but admire how good he looked in his suit with his hair combed back out of his eyes, strands that curled slightly at the ends through the gel.

“now that he’s working with valentina, there’s no way in hell he’s not,” sam scoffed, head shaking slightly. he was right. while bucky might not be the best at public relations, valentina was, both out of necessity and desperation. she knew how to work and redirect a crowd. besides, he was there during the incident - crumbling buildings, cars gone airborne, people turned to darkened shadows-, it was only right he made an appearance. it wouldn’t be a surprised if valentina dragged the rest of the newfound “team” along with them.

joaquin couldn’t help but chuckle, his mind clearly fumbling through a long line of remarks to spew out. “poor guy can’t even articulate senate cases properly, there’s no chance he’s making it through trying to justify what happened,” he joked, earning another scoff from the man. the small smirk the played on yours and sam’s face was enough to egg him on. joaquin straightened up his shoulders as he began to impersonate bucky the vest he could, voice deepening slightly, trying his best to be brooding.

“the incident was… very bad, very unfortunate, ya know. it was a very bad thing that happened. i just so happened to be there when the very unfortunate thing occurred.”

a small giggle slipped from your lips, smiling wide at joaquin as he spoke. sam was pushing back a small smile that tried to force its way onto his face. even if he didn’t want to admit it, joaquin was amusing. only sometimes. the three of you didn’t get much else in before you’d finally arrived at the venue, pulling up as close to the entrance as the driver could.

sam was the first out of the vehicle, stepping out and immediately being hit with camera flashes, a few of the photographers shouting to get his attention. joaquin was next, though he stalled only slightly so you could give him a gentle, reassuring kiss on the lips. he ignored the camera flashes and the voices as he stepped out, immediately turning to offer you a hand, one you accepted gratefully. he helped you out of the limo, letting go only when you found your footing, the heels you wore a little higher than you were used to.

joaquin was quick to offer his arm up to you in replacement of his hand. your hand slipped right below his bicep near the crook of his elbow, throwing a smile his way as he begins guiding you up towards the entrance. he gave the photographers a few polite waves as you two followed sam inside. you realized during the flashes of the cameras that you’d accidentally left traces of lipgloss on his lips.

“baby,” you cooed quietly as you stepped into the building, giving his arm a small squeeze to get his attention. joaquin hummed a pleasant ‘yeah’, head turning towards you. “you’ve got a little lipgloss on you.”

all he did was give you a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders before he leaned in to whisper. “i think i’ll live.”

joaquin continued to walk you proudly through the venue, eyes wandering around to figure out where he should be. sam stopped him to give him some direction, a few pointers to keep him afloat for the night. be respectful, show that you care, be optimistic about rebuilding what was lost. he could do that.

many business were destroyed during the attack, apartments in shambles and cars wedged into poles. with you by his side, hovering in the vicinity as he spoke, or simply seeing you in the corner of his eye entertaining a government official in his boring, long drawn out story, he was able to keep pushing. a journalist had a few pressing questions for joaquin to answer, ones he was more than happy to answer. in regards to what the world could expect from him and sam in efforts to make sure that was a contained incident, he gave the best answer he could muster on the spot.

while they may not have a proper plan, they had spoken on a few occasions about it. this was his time to keep it short and simple, dodge the question a little, maybe even throw in a small joke.

“as we move forward with the relief team, our biggest priority is making sure everyone gets back on their feet. we’re closely monitoring any activity that occurs in the area, and so far we’ve been in the clear. have you seen yet? the dust finally settled.”

that finalized the impromptu interview, joaquin bidding her a goodbye with a firm handshake, before the journalist walked off. he’d been speaking with people for what felt like nonstop, the two and a half hours starting to bear down on him. right when the exhaustion threatened to sink in, he caught eye of you. the prettiest, most respectful smile graced your face, lips still shiny with lipgloss. you held a champagne glass loosely in both hands as you nodded along with the woman in front of you.

joaquin slowly found his way towards you, tuning in immediately to the conversation you were having. he was sure the conversation was nice, he realized quickly she was speaking of a book she published. she only stopped for a few seconds to shake his hand and introduce herself, eyes lighting up when she recognized who he was. she was quick to stumble back into the conversation, detailing a little more on her research.

for once, joaquin didn’t feel like he needed to take the lead in the conversation, or have much of importance to say. he let you finish out what you had started, watching as you nod along and add quips and responses at the perfect moments. he nodded along, too, despite being thoroughly distracted.

he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. you had your hair made up nice to accompany long, delicate black dress you wore. the fabric hugged your curves perfectly, sitting just right on your body. there was a slit in the dress that dragged up one of your thighs just high enough for joaquin’s mind to slip away slightly. it wasn’t until he noticed the glass in your hands shift to only one, reaching your free hand to give the woman a firm shake. he mindlessly followed your direction, shaking her hand right afterwards.

“it was very nice talking to you, ma’am,” you spoke, your polite smile still gracing your lips. she offered the same sentiment before she excused herself, walking off to greet someone she seemed to know. your shoulders visibly relaxed when she was far enough away, body turning towards your boyfriend for the first time in around an hour. joaquin seemed just as relieved to be by your side again without all of the formality.

a hand of his slipped to your waist, tugging you slightly towards him in a gentle, unprovoked sort of possessiveness. he simply missed having your attention and having you near him, something he made that very clear to you. you knew his tell signs, you were always quick to pick up on them. the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you made your heart flutter, even more so now that he’s speaking to you in a whisper.

“missed you, pretty girl. think i can steal you away for a second?” your nose scrunched up slightly at his compliment, humming out slightly as you began to think, a fake sort of contemplation that joaquin could see right through. you let your free hand move to smooth up his chest, fingers sprawled out slightly, feeling his heartbeat quicken just barely under your touch.

“i think so, handsome,” you finally said, hand moving to smooth the white button up you’d wrinkled slightly. joaquin’s large hand found its way to your lower back, before gently guiding you through the busy room. he helped you weave through people until he found a staircase to ascend. that’s when his hand moved to yours, walking you up the stairs all the way to the second floor.

joaquin didn’t stop walking you guys through the building until he found a narrow, empty hallway that didn’t seem to be of use. there was a lengthy window at the end of the hallway, one that let a sliver of moonlight shine through. gently illuminating the ground. the warm light from inside of the venue helped you properly take in your boyfriend in his entirety. he truly did look handsome tonight, he always looked especially good in a tux.

you always tried to take a moment to take him in when he was done up like this, something about him in formal making your knees a little weak. joaquin noticed every time you started to zone in on it, too, you gave it away easily. he was careful with the way he corned you against the wall, his hand grasping your glass and setting it on the ground, far enough away that it wouldn’t get kicked. he noticed the way your eyes were dragging along his face, your bottom lip being tugged between your teeth. your hands smoothed against his shoulders, feeling his muscles even through his tux.

“busy night tonight,” you spoke, filling the silence as joaquin’s hands found their way to your waist, his hold firm as he keeps you against the wall. you decided to wrap your arms around his shoulders, trying to discreetly tug him near you a little more.

“i know, barely got to see you,” he spoke lowly, eyes trailing down to your lips. his tiredness was evident, though he seemed a little more lively now that he had you alone for the time being.

joaquin gave into you happily, moving to slot himself right against you, broad chest against yours. he tried not to think too hard about how your chest felt against his, soft and in view, something he thanked himself for. he’d bought this dress for you, and even though his intentions were for you to have another formal dress to add to your collection, the plunging neckline was a very nice bonus. joaquin’s lips found yours in a soft, needy kiss, slotting between yours with a little pout.

your lipgloss clung to his lips again, this time making an audible clicking sound when you pulled away. when his eyes opened up again, eyelashes fluttering, you were already looking at him. your eyelids were hooded slightly as you admired his gentle features, noticing the stubble that was beginning to grow in. you brought a hand over to to reach for his jawline, fingertips dragging across the subtle hair with care.

“let’s get outta here, baby,” joaquin whispered just before leaning in for another kiss, this time a little slower, more intentional. you kept your hand at his jaw to cradle it, kissing him back with a desire that’d been pilling up since the moment you’d gotten here. between how good he looked, the way he took the lead and guided you around, and the multiple lingering stares you gave each other all night, there was no reason you wouldn’t be feeling this way.

“and leave sam alone?” you questioned breathlessly, lips parted slightly after the kiss he’d given you. joaquin smiled a little, shaking his head at your words. his arms moved to wrap around your waist, moving you away from the wall just a little. he gave you another quick peck on the lips before he responded.

“bucky’s here,” he pointed out, maintaining an eye contact that kept you just as breathless as before. “besides, he’s a big boy. he can manage the last 40 minutes alone. we’ve done our part.”

“i’m sold,” you told him, giving him a smile to match his. this time, you pulled him in for a kiss, a lot more forward than his had been, a deeper kiss, yet still slow. your tongue swiped against his bottom lip teasingly, as if trying to get a rise out of him. it worked the moment you pulled away, joaquin’s eyebrows knitting together at the loss of contact.

a hand of his found the back of your neck, holding you firm, guiding you back to his lips. that’s what kickstarted a slow make out session, joaquin’s lips warm against yours, coaxing your mouth open just enough for his tongue to find its way in. the kiss was a little wet and laced with need, so much so that you’d hardly remembered where you were.

only a few minutes had gone by with his lips on yours in a perfect unison before the two of you heard footsteps nearby, pulling you away from the moment. a small string of spit attached to your lips and broke quicker than you could process it. you glance over to see three men walking past you, not even noticing your presence as they continue on and talk. joaquin’s eyes, however, never leave you. he leaned in to place a kiss to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear.

your eyes finally made their way back to him, a loving, dopey expression on his face. you brought your other hand over to cradle his face in your hands, feeling his arms going back to wrapping around your waist again. you were both lovesick, giddy, tired. it was evident in his eyes, though filled with so much love, that he was worn.

“if we’re quick enough sam wont even notice we left,” you whispered to joaquin, watching his face light up. “you’re tired, i can see it in your face. it’s time to get us home.”

he nodded at your words in a silent agreement, letting you reach down to grab his hands, finally guiding him like he’d been doing for you. still, he helped you gently down the stairs, letting you steady yourself in your heels as you descended. you thought you were being stealthy, quiet, quick. clearly, it hadn’t been good enough, sam appearing behind you two just before you’d exited the building. you whipped around at the sound of his voice, stopping in your tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

“you couldn’t even bother to say bye to me?” sam asked, a little offended. his eyebrows were raised slightly as he stood there staring. joaquin stared at him for a split second before he raised a hand up, waving at him.

“bye, sam,” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. all sam could do was fumble with his phone, moving to send a text.

“take the limo, i’ll find a way back,” he said as he alerted the driver, stuffing his phone away again.

“you sure?” joaquin asked, despite tugging you towards the exit. sam nodded, before shooing the two of you away. you both turned on your heels and scurried away before he could say anything else. your hand gripped his as you waddled your way to the sidewalk, stepping off to the side to wait on the driver to pull up.

joaquin took this opportunity to pull you into him again, arms wrapped protectively around you. this time, instead of kissing you, he simply kept you secured in his embrace. your arms wrapped back around his shoulders, tugging him closer to you. he hummed contently the moment you hugged him close to you. his cologne invaded your senses as you rest your head on his shoulder, his warmth engulfing as you wait.

“did i tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” joaquin asked against your hair, a soft kiss pressing against your head. you smiled against him, nodding gently as you thought back. even before you’d left the hotel room earlier in the day, he was showering you in compliments. even if he hadn’t, his actions spoke loud enough - his lingering eyes, heated kisses, slightly roaming hands -, he was a doting boyfriend.

“yeah honey, you did,” you told him, your voice slightly muffled against him.

“good,” joaquin replied contently, smiling as he continued to hold you close. and, as much as you loved being in his embrace, you were beyond happy when your ride pulled up. you realized quickly how feet were aching as you waddled some more towards the vehicle. joaquin held the door open for you, guiding your head down to help you into the limo, following close behind you, shutting the door. you watched with a small pout when he didn’t sit next to you, rather in front of you. it wasn’t until he motioned towards him, eyes trailing down to your feet that you caught on to his intentions.

you lifted a leg up to rest your foot on joaquin’s thigh, pointing slightly as he immediately starts to undo your heel. he was always so gentle with the way he grabbed ahold of you and treated you, you sometimes wondered what you’d done to deserve it all. the moment he slide your heel off, he ushered you to switch feet, undoing and sliding your other heel off just as gently.

“that’s gotta hurt your feet, baby girl,” joaquin said, concern itched in his expression, setting your heels in his lap as you rest your feet down against the floor. you grumbled out in agreement, playing up your pain just a little. you got what you were searching for, your boyfriend quick to coo out apologies and praises to you.

it was only right for him to play into it, even if he hadn’t quite realized you were over exaggerating a little. after everything you’ve done for him tonight, standing by his side and accompanying him, being his biggest supporter, tugging him out the moment he showed signs of exhaustion, it was the least he could do. joaquin appreciated you beyond words. it was only right to show his gratitude to you, his rock. he couldn’t have gotten luckier with you.

#munsonify #joaquin torres #joaquin torres imagines #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquin torres x y/n #joaquin torres fluff #joaquin torres x fem reader #joaquin torres fic

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timmydraker · 4 months ago

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Tim Drake first took a life when he was twelve.

It wasn’t in an armed robbery or attack from a rogue, not to protect himself or in defence of an innocent.

In fact, it was practically an innocent that he killed.

Batman was so deep into his grief filled rage that he was attacking any poor mugger or civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Albert Jones, a thirty year old man working as an apprentice to his father’s shoe repair shop, was dealing with a recent heartbreak with some pick me up drugs.

Batman didn’t give his usual speech of ‘find another coping mechanism and don’t let me see you here again’ and instead swung at both dealer and customer. The dealer, a teenager no less, was left with two broken legs and a busted shoulder.

Albert was left with bruising all over his face and three stomps directly onto his chest.

Tim found him gasping for air as blood filled his lungs and was left with the truth of this man not having a chance. No ambulance was going to be able to save him like all the others, there was no basic first aid or well educated aid that could save him.

This was going to be the first murder of Batman.

Unless…

Tim didn’t feel good as he picked up the knife from dealer had tried to use on the bat and quickly jab it into the man’s neck.

And then he stabbed again.

And again.

Albert Jones was dead by his hand, not Batman’s, not Bruce’s. Tim’s.

The dealer, who was really just a kid, ended up taking the fall as Tim had selfishly planned.

Batman didn’t even notice or recognise the faces of either man on the news.

Albert’s father sobbed on TV, talking about his son didn’t even like being an apprentice but knew his father needed the help with his growing arthritis. He talked about how his son had been in an emotionally abusive relationship and just wanted to feel better for a bit, he wasn’t a druggie, not really.

Tim throws up and wears gloves for weeks to avoid looking at his hands. He swears he can see blood in them and not in a metaphorical sense.

Nobody ever finds out and when Tim becomes Robin and gets Bruce to stop hurting people so badly, he decides it’s worth it. That innocent life was taken by him, so his death isn’t on Bruce’s soul. It’s okay, Batman is still good and he’s getting better, which he wouldn’t have been able to if he had cleared his head and found out he took a life.

Robin never takes a life, not exactly, but seen as he’s already killed someone with his own hands, Tim doesn’t really hesitate at opportunities to leave certain people to die.

Rapist, pedophiles, zoophiles, fascist… it doesn’t really count if he didn’t double it by his own hands and he’s done that anyway, so who cares if a few stray people die from the new Robins pack of skill and baby faced newness to the horror of the world.

Batman always yells at him, ups his training, but Tim doesn’t care if it means leaving that one bad person behind helped him save more decent lives.

Red Robin kills more… purposefully.

Not in a serial killer sense, he’s not stupid, but in a ‘blowing up the entire LOA and just assuming Ra’s will dunk at least some of them in the pit’ kind of way.

Truthfully that’s it.

He’s not like Red Hood or Slade or Harley, he just doesn’t mind bending and shifting his moral compass every now and again to better fit certain situations.

Like when Kon’s clones woke up and he had to slaughter them all with an emergency kryptonite sword he kept on stand by.

Or the two he had to track down and hunt after they escaped and, thank god he planted trackers in them, because they weren’t Kon and instead seemed more like animals that couldn’t even talk.

Oh and that one time this guy tried to drug Damian at a gala and Tim managed to ‘dispose’ of the guy before Damian realised what he had tried to do and did something stupid.

There was also that time he cut of Ra’s head in a luckily opening during a fight and kept it in a jar in The Nest as revenge for the whole spleen thing…

But that doesn’t count, cause he just got brought back to life.

#batfam #dc comics #tim drake #bat family #dc universe #batfamily #dc #tim drake is red robin #tim drake is a menace #tim drake centric #tim drake headcanon #Tim Drake has issues #dark tim drake #anti hero time drake #batman and red robin #Bruce Wayne

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diabhussein · 3 months ago

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Hello, I’m Diab a24 yo Palestinian. I am a Dental Graduate, but My Graduation Has Been Halted Due to the Ongoing War in Gaza.

I never imagined I would be writing these words, but here I am, reaching out for help as my life, and the future I worked so hard for, hangs in the balance. I am a 24-year-old dental student who has put in years of study and effort to earn my degree. I was so close to finishing my studies and becoming a professional, but the ongoing war in Gaza has halted everything in its tracks.

As the conflict continues to devastate Gaza, my life and the lives of many others have been turned upside down. We face an endless struggle for basic necessities. The situation is unbearable—there is constant shelling and airstrikes, making it impossible to feel safe or secure. Buildings and homes are destroyed, and there’s a scarcity of food and essential supplies. Many of us have lost our homes, our loved ones, and the opportunities we once had.

In Gaza, the effects of the war are not just felt in the destruction of buildings, but in the destruction of lives. The education system has been severely disrupted, making it nearly impossible for students to continue their studies. I have been stuck in a place where my dreams feel unreachable, as the daily battles for survival overshadow the dreams of a better future.

The lack of resources and access to basic healthcare, including dental services, is also becoming a growing concern. People are unable to seek proper medical treatment, and the already fragile healthcare system is now on the verge of collapse.

This is where your support can make a difference. With the contributions from kind-hearted individuals like you, I can hold onto the hope that despite the darkness, there is still a chance to rebuild my life and my career. Your donations will help me get back on my feet by enabling me to finish my dental degree and, ultimately, give back to my community. The road ahead is long, but with your help, I can start making a difference, even in the smallest ways.

The situation here is dire, and every bit of help counts. Even the smallest donation can provide immediate relief, help restore some of the lost hope, and give me the chance to continue my education. With the support of generous people, I can continue to strive for a future that has so far seemed impossible.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Your generosity and compassion can make all the difference in helping me—and others like me—through this difficult time.

#dentist #free palestine #gaza #gaza genocide #help gaza

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milo-the-trans-boy · 8 months ago

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Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future.

Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶

If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏

Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤️‍🩹

https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗

Hi Mohammad,

Thank you for reaching out and sharing your story. I can’t imagine the difficulties you and your family are facing right now. Your determination to seek a safer future for your children is truly inspiring.

Unfortunately, I am unable to contribute financially at this time. However, I will definitely share your campaign with others who might be able to help. Every little bit counts, and I hope you find the support you need.

Wishing you and your family strength during this challenging time.

Take care.

#free palestine #palestinian genocide #support palestine #free gaza #gaza gofundme #gazaunderattack #gaza strip #i stand with palestine #palestine fundraiser #mohammad #save palestine #palestine gfm

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kinkyniragi · 4 months ago

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Until the debt is paid – Chapter 4: Guidance

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Genre: Smut 18+

Word count: 1,6k

Summary: As payment for your father’s debt, you’ve been handed over to Thomas Shelby—a ruthless criminal with a reputation as dangerous as his smirk. It’s getting dangerous for you—food and water are running low. Your attempt to coax some mercy out of Tommy comes at a cost…

CN: Power play, degradation, humiliation. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care.

Author’s note: After writing a lot of smut for Niragi from Alice in Borderland, I’m now diving into the world of Cillian Murphy. Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Also, I’m not a native speaker, so if you spot any creative grammar choices…call them artistic liberties, ok?

***

<<Chapter 3

The second night in the stable is worse than the first. No surprise there. The cold has seeped into your bones, straw clings to your skin, and your stomach aches with hunger. You try to ignore the dull, persistent thirst scratching at your throat, but it’s no use. Your body betrays you with its needs, making it impossible to maintain even a shred of dignity.

You need water. Food. A chance to wash the filth from your skin.

But more than that, you need answers.

So, when the heavy barn doors groan open in the - you assume - early morning hours, and he steps inside, your pulse kicks up—fear and something else twisting in your stomach like a vice.

Thomas Shelby stands there, silhouetted against the dim lantern light, his ice-blue eyes scanning you with something in them that is neither amusement nor pity. Just quiet, calculating interest. The kind of attitude that strips away pretense, that pins you in place without even trying.

You push yourself up from the pile of hay, ignoring the way your body protests. You don’t want to look weak. Not in front of him.

"What about my father? I am sure he must have paid off his debts by now.” The words leave your lips before you can second-guess them.

The look on his face makes you realize that it was a mistake to have asked at all, though it’s crystl clear that this is all that counts for you right now.

"That’s a dangerous question, love."

A slow inhale, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers.

"He has time."

A pause.

"Let’s hope he uses it wisely," but there’s not a trace of real hope in his voice—if anything, quite the opposite.

A sick feeling settles in your stomach. Your mind screams at you to back down, to accept the non-answer, but you can't. You won’t.

"What does that mean?" You look at him with wide eyes, struggling to keep your dismay from showing.

His response is a quiet chuckle, one that carries no warmth. "When you plan something well, there’s no need to rush, you know?”

You hate the way he speaks in riddles and yet seems to reveal so much that he fuels your worries. So much on point that it hurts. A dangerous question, you almost get angry that you fell for it. No, at least you won't play this game anymore. But what's the alternative? Maybe he'll give out information if you try a different approach—less...directly.

„Look at you.“ His voice is smooth, the mockery laced with something almost gentle—almost. „Filthy. Desperate. Poor thing, eh.“

A pause. Then softer, yet audibly crueler: "It’s a shame, really. You could be something else entirely, under the right… circumstances." Even though his attempts to degrade you are so obvious, they still hurt you. Is he also alluding to your father's complicated role in Birmingham's gang activities? You couldn’t tell.

"You’re right. That’s why I can’t stay out here forever," you grasp at the only solid piece in the wreckage of his humiliation, ignoring the true intention. Your voice is steady, though it takes effort. "I need something to drink. Food. To clean myself up. Thomas, you know it," you try to appeal to his compassion even though you know it’s hopeless.

He takes a slow step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots.

"Need," he repeats, savoring the word. "You do like making demands, eh?"

Your jaw clenches. This is fucking victim blaming. You won’t beg. You won’t—

His head tilts, as if considering. " And what makes you think that I will comply with your impudent demands?”

You swallow hard.

You won’t beg Thomas fucking Shelby.

But the thought of another cold night in this shed, weak and filthy, is worse than whatever game he’s playing—At least that is your assumption at this moment.

"Because I can’t be of any use to you if I starve," you say, lifting your chin. "You’re keeping me for a reason, aren’t you?"

Something flickers in his expression—approval, maybe. Amusement. Something darker.

"Clever girl."

He steps closer, his boots nearly brushing against your bare toes. You should step back, but there’s nowhere to go. For a moment, he simply looks at you, dragging his gaze over you like he's peeling away layers, stripping you down past skin and bone more effectively than hands ever could. You feel it, the way he takes his time, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you squirm. The grime on your skin should be a shield, a layer between you and him, but under his eyes, it feels like an open wound.

You hate the way it unsettles you, how it coils something hot and unwanted in your core. He is everything you should despise, a man who holds power over you and enjoys it far too much. And yet, the slow drag of his eyes over your body sends a pulse of something dark and traitorous through you that you can hardly deny.

You force yourself to hold his stare, to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

He can’t know.

He can’t see.

And yet, the slight curve of his lips suggests that he already does.

Then, with deliberate ease, he flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot.

"Fine," he eventually gives in, almost bored. "You can come inside."

Relief flutters in your chest, but it’s short-lived.

„If you ask nicely.“ He raises his head.

Self-assured.

Dominant.

Watching your struggle. His attitude carries something disgustingly arrogant in it, as if your resistance is just a minor inconvenience rather than a real obstacle.

You hate it.

„On your knees would be a start,” he says, his words cold and devoid of emotion. His face remains an impassable mask, offering no hint of what he thinks or feels, just the same unreadable expression that never betrays a thing.

Your body stiffens. You lift your chin, refusing to break under his unflinching stare.“

On your knees? Over your dead body.

Slowly, resolutely, you take a step toward him. Not submissively—never that—but with a quiet, simmering resistance. Your heart pounds, the scent of whiskey and smoke fills your nose. You meet his gaze head-on, daring him to push further.

„Not happening,“ you bite out.

Something dark flickers in his eyes, and his smirk spreads— disturbingly relaxed, knowing, pleased.

„Oh, I do appreciate watching you fight, love.“

He gives an affected sigh, the kind a teacher might give when a particularly slow student just can't grasp the lesson. „You know what,” he continues. “Women usually beg me for a place in my house. You, however… You’re just lucky I enjoy watching you act coy, knowing full well that you're going to do it anyway.”

You hesitate, heat rising in your cheeks. His eyes gleam with a dark kind of arousal, waiting. Expecting.

"I won’t kneel for you."

"No?" He snorts contemptuously and pulls a metal bottle out of the pocket of his coat, unscrewing the lid with one flick of his thumb.

Water. Your throat tightens at the sight.

His lips curl, as if enjoying your desparation. " You must be very thirsty, eh? Go on, love. Show some manners if you want me to share some drops with you!"

He swirls the liquid, letting it slosh against the metal walls of the bottle. "Shame. And here I thought you might be a fast learner."

Your pride wars with the raw, aching thirst in your body. You refuse to look at the water, but he notices anyway.

Of course, he does.

"Go on," he coaxes, voice deceptively smooth. "Ask nicely, and I’ll let you have some."

You swallow hard. Every second stretches, thick with tension. The stable is silent except for your breathing, the distant creak of wood shifting in the cold.

And then—slowly—you sink to your knees.

A victorious hum rumbles in his throat. He takes a sip from the bottle, then crouches before you, fingers tilting your chin up.

"Open."

The command is soft, but absolute.

Your lips part, shame burning through you as he leans in. He takes another sip, then—deliberate, taunting—he presses his fingers to your jaw, prying your mouth open further.

And then, he slowly lets the water spill from his mouth into yours.

It’s warm, laced with the taste of whiskey and something else, something distinctly him. You swallow instinctively, the relief of the water mingling with humiliation, fury, something you can’t quite name.

When he finally pulls away, his thumb brushes over your lower lip, catching the last drop of water before smirking.

"See?" he murmurs, savoring your reaction. "You just needed a little guidance."

His fingers lift, just barely brushing against your jaw. The touch is light—mocking in its gentleness. "Now, you’ll say ‘thank you’ like a good girl," he says in a stern tone. "And you’ll mean it."

Your hands curl into fists, but you force the words out between clenched teeth. The words catch in your throat, pride and desperation warring inside you.

The ‘thank you’ barely makes it past your lips, agonized and brittle.

A small, satisfied smile tugs at his lips.

"Very well. Peter will take you into the house right away and provide you with everything you need."

He turns, already walking away, but tosses one last remark over his shoulder. "I don't want to hear any complaints from him, got it? If I hear a single word of whining, I’ll make sure you regret it."

The stable door closes behind him.

Peter.

That disgusting man who ate bread in front of you while you starved.

And just like that, you realize—you may be stepping out of the shed, but you’re walking straight into the lion’s den.

Chapter 5>>

#cillian murphy smut #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #cillian x reader #cillian murphy #cillian fanfic #cillian fic #cillian x fem!reader

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villainsoftheweek · 1 month ago

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stormy weather.

explicit. 18+ only. - 3.3k+ - The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader

content: hurt/comfort (ish), canon-typical violence, blood and injuries, wound care, enemies to lovers vibes, second chance tension, emotional repression, smut

you and the Ghoul have tried to kill each other, forget each other, outrun each other — and failed every time.

There are a lot of intolerable things about the Wasteland. The abominations that slither and skitter from the crevices of irradiated ruin — the bloated, half-melted things that used to be deer or men. The skies that never stay blue for long, always choked with ash or storm or the ghost of a mushroom cloud long since burned away. The land itself is scarred, crumbling underfoot like the bones of something ancient and angry, graffitied with the fingerprints of nuclear sins too old for memory.

But the monsters and the mire, the storms and the rot — that’s not the worst of it.

No, the worst part of the Wasteland?

The people.

Because unlike the scorched earth, they’re the only thing that chose to survive like this. The only ones who could’ve done better, but didn’t. You can’t blame a Radscorpion for being a Radscorpion. But a man who burns a family alive for a can of Cram? That’s a choice.

Then again…maybe that’s generous. Kindness gets you killed. Mercy doesn’t dig graves — it gets buried in them. So maybe there’s no point in judging. Maybe you’ve just learned to stop pretending there’s a good or a bad anymore.

What helps you get through the day-to-day is remembering that moral compasses rust fast in places like this. That every so-called monster used to be somebody’s baby, and that even the devil was probably decent once, before the world got its claws in. In a place like this, “dangerous” counts for more than “evil.” And if that’s the bar…

Then he is the most dangerous thing you’ve ever known.

Which is why your hand trembles when you knock — if the pitiful, dragging tap of your bruised knuckles against his door even qualifies as knocking. The wind howls around you like it knows you shouldn’t be here. Blood slides hot and sticky down your ribs, soaking your shirt, slicking your palm. But the worst part isn’t the pain. It’s the fucking shame of having to come to him. Again.

The hinges creak open with the groan of old metal and older reluctance, just enough for him to look out.

“Let me explain somethin’ to you for the millionth goddamn time,” comes his voice — low, hoarse, and already soaked in irritation. “You ain’t welcome ‘round here no more.”

“Yeah,” you rasp, coughing hard into the crook of your arm. “Yeah, you keep sayin’ that.”

The rain spits harder now, stinging your back, matting your hair to your face. You lean heavier against the doorframe, leaving a smear of blood on the wood. The storm behind you is swelling. And still, you don’t step inside.

“You keep tryin’ to push my buttons,” he says after a moment. There’s something quieter in his voice now. Something puzzled, like he’s trying to figure out what the fuck you want — because it can’t be him. “There a reason for that?”

“They’re fun ones to push,” you mutter. No edge to it. No grin. Just air and exhaustion. And a little bit of truth.

There’s a pause thick as blood.

“Lucky I ain’t tested one of these new shiny guns on your forehead yet,” he grumbles, but the threat feels more like ritual than rage. “Whatchu want?”

You breathe shallowly, swaying where you stand.

“Got into some trouble up north,” you start, tongue leaden in your mouth. “Poking ‘round an old Vault. You know how I do…”

His tone sharpens instantly. “What kinda trouble?”

Before you can answer, there’s a crack behind you — a dry snap of wood or bone, maybe both. You twist with a grunt, blade half-raised, but the motion makes your vision blacken at the edges. You stagger, nearly collapse. Moonlight spills across your face like a spotlight, and you know he sees it now. The state you’re in. The bleeding. The torn shirt. The dust and blood clinging to your lashes like warpaint.

He sees you.

And this time…he doesn’t look away.

The door creaks wider behind you.

“Get in.”

“I —”

“Didn’t ask for you to open your mouth.”

So you don’t. You don’t thank him. You don’t hesitate. You step inside.

The warmth slams into you like a backhand — dry, sour air tinged with scorched whiskey, old gun oil, and the memory of cigarettes long since burned. It’s not clean, but it’s safer than the storm. Safer than out there. You collapse onto the battered couch in the corner, one hand clamped tight over your side, the other gripping the edge of the cushion like it might float you away from the pain.

He crouches beside you, already scanning you like a soldier would a landmine.

“You know who it is?”

You shake your head once, too dizzy for more. “Just…a group of raiders.”

“Raiders in a Vault?”

“Vault’s empty. No Dwellers for years, from the look of it. Just bones and old tech.”

“You shot or stabbed?”

“Stabbed,” you grunt. “Left side. Think they nicked somethin’, maybe.”

“Better hope it wasn’t too deep,” he mutters. “Otherwise you’ll bleed out ‘fore I’m back.”

You don’t ask where he’s going. You don’t need to. You hear his boots stomp off, hear the metallic clatter of him pulling drawers open, rummaging through a field kit.

You lean back. Your vision swims. Your fingers slip from the wound, and the blood comes faster now, warm and wet. You register the soft tink of glass and steel as he prepares something behind you for when he returns — med-x, gauze, tweezers — but you don’t stay conscious long enough to feel any of it when the time comes.

The last thing you hear is his voice, low and irritated, almost too soft to catch.

“Dumbass,” he mutters. “Could’ve died anywhere. But you came here.”

Then everything fades.

The storm outside howls like a dying animal, clawing at the tin walls and the bolted door. Inside, it’s quieter. Not silent — never silent — but the wind becomes background noise, distant behind the low, deliberate rhythm of the Ghoul’s boots on creaking floorboards.

He’s just gotten back.

His coat’s soaked, dark with blood that isn’t his. He reeks of sweat, cordite, and the metallic tang of fresh kill. The kind of scent you don’t mistake — he’s been busy. The kind of busy that ends with bodies cooling in the dark, every last one of those raiders who touched you now a stain in the dust.

He said nothing when he came through the door.

Just dropped his gun on the table — its barrel still warm — then crouched beside you like he hadn’t just walked out into the night to settle a blood debt in your name.

You didn’t hear any of it. You didn’t see the way his fists clenched when he found your blood trail leading from the Vault. Didn’t see what he did to the last one when they tried to run. You were still passed out before he came back, limp and half-soaked on his couch, your blood staining the cushions and your breath coming in shallow gasps.

But he’s here now.

And he’s still angry. Not yelling angry. Quiet angry. The kind that simmers behind his teeth and bleeds into everything he does.

He doesn’t move fast. He never does. Everything about him is methodical, practiced — not out of care, but because he’s had to do this too many damn times to waste energy now. He lays out the cracked metal tray beside the couch: scissors, clamps, thick stained gauze, a bottle of alcohol that smells like it could strip paint. And for a moment, he just stands over you.

His eyes rake over your limp form — torn clothes stuck to your skin, bruises blooming like rot beneath your ribs, the wet shine of blood clinging to your side. You look smaller now. Weaker. Still.

“Fucking idiot,” he mutters under his breath.

He crouches beside you, knees popping, and brushes your shirt up — careful, but only just. The fabric clings, and when he peels it back, it peels wet, strings of blood and cotton coming away like sap. The wound’s not clean. It’s ragged, uneven, an improvised blade if he had to guess. Raiders don’t always stab to kill — they stab to make you bleed out.

He curses and reaches for the med-x. The syringe trembles slightly in his hand before he sticks it in your thigh with practiced ease. You don’t stir. Your lashes flutter once, but you’re too far under to feel it. He watches for signs of breath — just enough movement to know you’re alive — and then gets to work.

Scissors slice through the remaining fabric around the wound. You twitch reflexively, a breath catching in your chest, and his hand flies to your sternum, grounding you with a firm press.

“Easy,” he mutters. “Ain’t no one left to hurt you.”

The moment lingers longer than it should. His hand stays too long. Maybe he’s grounding himself, too.

He cleans the wound with the alcohol first. There’s no ceremony, no tenderness, but his hand doesn’t shake. He wipes away the blood, layer by layer, watching the flesh beneath slowly reveal itself — angry, pulsing, split deep along the edge. A rib might be fractured. Maybe cracked. He’s no doctor. But he’s patched up worse.

He pours more alcohol over it and watches your body twitch again, this time in unconscious protest. Your mouth moves — soundless, lips trembling around something like a name. Not his. Not anything he recognizes.

Something cold knots in his gut.

“Don’t start dyin’ on me now,” he growls, tearing open a packet of thick-threaded sutures. “I just cleaned up the mess.”

The needle bites into your skin. He sews slowly, tightly, with a precision born of violence. You flinch once. He pauses, waits, then continues. When he’s done, the wound is ugly — but closed. The bleeding has mostly stopped.

He wraps you in gauze with the same quiet focus, looping the bandage around your waist, anchoring it tight across your ribs. His fingers linger at your spine, calloused and cold, brushing bare skin before he realizes what the hell he’s doing and pulls away like it burned him.

He stands up.

Wipes his hands on a cloth.

And just…looks at you.

Collapsed against his couch like a dying thing. Bloodless lips parted. Hair matted to your temple, neck streaked with sweat and rainwater. Even now, you manage to look like you’re surviving something you shouldn't have walked away from.

He exhales, rough and low. He looks away fast.

From a rusted cabinet, he pulls a faded wool blanket. Threads it over your form with an awkwardness that makes his jaw tick. Tucks it under your shoulder like he’s done this before — maybe with someone else. Maybe in another life.

Then he crouches beside you again. His elbows on his knees. His voice barely more than gravel and regret.

“You coulda died anywhere,” he mutters. “Coulda gone cryin’ to some idiot in the Brotherhood, or curled up under a bridge.”

His eyes narrow.

“But you came here.”

You don’t respond. You’re still out cold.

But your breathing has steadied. Slowed.

He watches you for another long moment. Then reaches for a cigarette, lights it with a scratched-up lighter, and walks to the window. Stares out into the storm.

Just his silhouette now — rigid shoulders, smoke curling around his jaw, the faint orange glow of ember flickering as the thunder rolls low and close.

Outside, the Wasteland rages on.

Inside, he keeps watch.

The pain wakes you, but it’s the silence that holds you.

It’s not sharp anymore — whatever tore through your side has dulled, smothered beneath bandages soaked in heat and sweat and antiseptic. It’s a thick, pulsing throb now, like your heartbeat's grown teeth and is gnawing slowly at your ribs. Every breath tugs the wound, a tug-of-war between healing and the memory of the blade. You shift — barely — and it drags under your ribs like someone lighting a match against your flesh.

But it’s not the pain that has your attention.

It’s the quiet. Dense. Waiting. The kind of silence that follows gunfire and screams, when the world holds its breath to see who’s still alive. The kind that creeps into old bunkers and burned-out homes and hearts that never stopped breaking. The kind you’ve bled into before.

Light cuts in through rust-scabbed blinds, dust dancing in shafts of gold. Your shirt’s been sliced open, converted into rags held together by scavenger’s thread and a prayer. Dried blood forms brittle ridges down your ribs. A blanket’s tossed haphazard over your legs — threadbare wool, rough as sandpaper, still warm with the ghost of another body. It smells like him. Like the inside of a saddlebag left in the sun — leather, copper, salt, sweat, and a faint trace of gun oil. And under that, something older. Something like regret.

Your mouth tastes like rust and fever. Your lips are cracked.

“How long was I out?” you croak, your voice like gravel dragged across dry stone.

“A day,” comes the reply. Low. Coarse. Familiar.

That voice could find you in a warzone. Could drag you out of hell by the wrist. It carries shrapnel in every syllable, years buried between the pauses.

“Damn it,” you whisper.

“Don’t try it, missy,” he barks, already stepping in before you can sit up. “Didn’t stitch you together for you to fuckin’ unravel right in front of me.”

You blink against the light, your vision swimming. His shape sharpens: arms crossed, boots planted like he’s grown roots. He’s been standing watch — long enough that the dust hasn’t dared settle on him. Your pack’s been emptied and repacked nearby, gear checked. His work, probably. Your blood’s on his hands.

“Can pay you,” you rasp. “For the stitches. And the raiders.”

“Already took my cut,” he says without flinching. “Looted what’s worth looting. Even the twitchy one you left whimperin’.”

Your gaze flicks to the corner, where his bloodied gloves rest beside a half-spent stimpack. Medical gear, half-cleaned. A belt of tools laid out with more care than you’d expect from a man like him.

“Anything from the Vault?”

His jaw tightens. “You still on that fool’s errand, huntin’ for that bullshit?”

“I could ask you the same.”

A beat passes. Something behind his eyes flinches. Something old and buried clawing its way back to the surface.

“Careful,” he says, quieter. Not gentler.

The air thickens — oil in water, smoke in the lungs. Your breath comes shallow under his gaze. Rust-red eyes rake across you, fierce and unrelenting. You swear your pulse skips. His stare could pin a deathclaw. Could undress a memory.

Then: “How’d you know where I was?”

You turn your head slowly toward him. Smile, faint and cracked.

“I always know,” you whisper. “You owe me. You know I keep score.”

He doesn’t move, but something in his face shifts. Like a wire inside him’s gone taut. Memory, maybe. Or guilt with a new name.

“You took everything,” you murmur, voice firm now. “Even what you didn’t need. And then you left me.”

His teeth grit.

“Didn’t seem to take.”

“Guess you’re bad at finishing jobs,” you breathe.

He steps closer, voice dropping into a growl. “Guess you’re bad at stayin’ dead.”

The tension snaps.

You inhale sharply as he closes the distance, the scent of him hitting you like a punch — sunbaked leather, fire-dried sweat, faint whiskey, iron, the Mojave clinging to him like second skin. Everything dangerous and male.

“I never asked you to save me,” you say, barely louder than breath.

“Then why the fuck do I keep doin’ it?” His voice breaks like gunfire — raw, frayed at the edges.

You flinch — but only for a heartbeat.

His hand finds your throat. Not choking. Just there — steady, warm, rough. A warning. A claim. His thumb brushes beneath your jaw, over the pulse that won’t lie.

“You always looked at me like this,” he mutters, eyes locked to yours. “Like you wanted to be ruined.”

“I did,” you whisper. “Still do.”

And then his mouth crashes into yours.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a fucking collision. Teeth scrape, tongues clash, and you feel his desperation in the way he devours you, like he’s been starving for years and only just realized what he lost. His coat’s half-off before you even realize your hands are yanking at it, clumsy and desperate. You want him bare. Want to feel every old scar and sunburnt inch of him under your hands.

The coat drops. Then the gear harness. Then the sweat-stiff shirt. The smell of him hits stronger — dust and blood and heat. You run your fingers over his ribs, over the stories etched into his skin. A brand. A burn. A long-healed bullet wound. He shudders under your touch.

He hesitates when he brushes your side.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, lips against your neck. “That stab wound —”

“I know,” you grit. “Shut up and fuck me anyway.”

His eyes darken.

He strips you bare fast — what’s left of your clothes barely clinging. His hands are calloused and hot and too careful at first.

But you grab his wrist. “Harder,” you snap. “I don’t need soft.”

His pants hit the floor with a thud, and when he kneels between your legs, he’s already hard — thick and flushed, veins standing out, leaking at the tip. He lines up against you and pauses just a second longer.

Then he drives in — slow enough to stretch you, brutal enough to burn.

The breath leaves your lungs in a ragged gasp. Your wound screams for a moment, but it’s dwarfed by the way he fills you, thick and deep and perfect. You arch, bracing your good side against the cot, legs wrapping around his hips to drag him deeper. You want him buried. You want to be wrecked.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, voice all gravel and ruin. “You’re still so tight — feels like you never let go.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders. “I didn’t.”

He moves — hard and fast. The couch jerks beneath you, protesting every thrust, the old springs screaming. You grip the blanket under you, gasping as he fucks you through pain and into pleasure, each movement a brutal rhythm you know by heart.

“You missed this,” he grits. “Missed me.”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “Fuck — yeah.”

He lifts your thigh higher, angling deeper. Hits something inside you that makes you cry out, a raw, needy sound that’s swallowed by the metal walls.

“Say it,” he snarls.

“Cooper —!” you moan, broken and loud.

“That’s right, sugar,” he pants, sweat dripping from his brow. “Ain’t no one else gets you like this.”

He pulls out only to flip you onto your front, careful of your side but ruthless otherwise. Your stab wound flares — but you want the pain. Need it. It’s part of you now. He enters you again, slamming in from behind, one hand gripping your hip, the other at the back of your neck.

You cry out, face pressed to your arm.

“You wanted me like this,” he growls. “Slick, ruined, beggin’ for it. You love when I break you open.”

“I fucking love you,” you gasp, barely even hearing yourself.

He stills for a heartbeat.

Then his thrusts become savage. Messy. Unforgiving. Your name leaves his mouth like a curse. Like a prayer. His groan deepens, hips slamming against you again and again, until he surges forward, buries himself to the hilt, and comes hard — growling, panting, twitching inside you.

You feel the warmth flood into you. The way he stays buried. Possessive.

You’re both shaking.

He collapses onto you, forehead pressed to your spine, both of you sticky and breathless and tangled.

Minutes pass.

“You leavin’ again?” he rasps, voice low and rough like gravel scraping bone.

You shake your head.

He grins — barely, but something dangerous flickers in his eyes, and though you can’t see it, you can feel his grin against your back. “Good. ‘Cause the hell if I’m lettin’ you slip through my fingers again.”

You reach back. Find his hand. Latch your fingers into his like you’re anchoring both your souls.

“Then don’t talk,” you say. “Just hold me.”

And for once — just once — he does.

MASTERLIST.

#fallout #fallout tv show #fallout tv series #fallout smut #fallout fanfiction #the ghoul #the ghoul fanfiction #the ghoul smut #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard #cooper howard smut #cooper howard fanfiction #cooper howard x reader

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anika-ann · 3 months ago

Text

Take the Ache - pt.4

Part 4: The Nice in Nice Try

Type: series, slightly canon-divergent, idiots in love with sprinkles of angst

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 11,8k (double serving, y'all)

Series masterlist (and summary)

Warnings: canon semi-typical injuries, mentions of temporary death (cardiac arrest, reader) and the use of AED and brief CPR, references to Steve’s sacrifice in CA:TFA, Lo and Steve being idiots, feels

A/N: written for Stella’s Starry Winter Sky challenge, using various prompts; DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; the title is, just like chapter titles, taken from The Script’s No Good in Goodbye

A/N 2: No use of Y/N. Main character’s nickname made up by Steve is 'Lo (will be expalined at some point, promise). Thank you for reading so far and enjoy 💕

This feeling – this heavy weight sitting on your chest – felt entirely out of place. It felt so foreign; and seemed so nonsensical, contrasting sharply with the light behind your eyelids.

There was light, undeniably so. The light was cold and warm all at once, pulsing tenderly and steadily with every beat of your heart; or perhaps that was an illusion created by the low periodical beeping reaching your ears as you were lying in all that brightness.

The feeling was a little funny – the more the light consumed you, the warmer it tangled with something deep within you. But with the warmth taking over, so was the weight.

God, the weight. Every cell of your body fought natural laws except for gravity and it felt like it weighted a ton.

As the light consumed you, so did the instinct to smile, as the breathless sound of your name – your nickname really – pulled you further into the inviting light and brought on a memory, tied to a pair of bright blue eyes with a speckle of green making them all the more perfect; a pair of pretty eyes slightly unfocused as they stared at you when you put your foot in your mouth and earned yourself a sweet nickname in the process.

Steve Rogers had no reason to be in the lab that day; he usually didn’t. His visits to your workshop had no other reason than him being the epitome of a caring Captain, checking up on a new addition to the Avengers’ team and the adjacent. You.

He strode in there with what could be considered a regularity at this point. He’d always stand there or paced a little bit, shoulders slightly stiff, his smile genuine but a bit unsure as if he couldn’t quite tell if he was bothering you by his presence. Today was no different. All handsome in the dark blue button-down and charcoal slacks, hair a little messy as if he had been running his hand though it – probably after a stressful meeting with a politician or two – he had come down to your lab to see how you were doing.

You liked his visits, no matter how brief. Steve – well, Captain Rogers, who gently insisted you called him his first name – seemed to genuinely care about the people under his albeit indirect command, and about people in general. It was one of the qualities you appreciated in people, even if your territory was mostly machines and equipment – and Steve seemed to have this feature ingrained in his tender heart. It softened your heart every time, seeing the deep sincerity in his gaze proving what he stood for, truly and not only for show – not only in front of the press, but in a more private setting. It softened your heart to see that the urban legends of his moral compass and sense for justice, even as it sometimes involved violence for the sake of peace and kindness, were not exaggerated. It was his demeanour too; you might be better at reading charts than people, but it was impossible to be blind to Steve Rogers being a brilliant, profoundly good man.

Frankly – though of that you had no proof beyond personal experience – the man made it hard for people not to fall for him; that was a scientific fact. It did not help Steve’ss situation that oftentimes, he seemed to know what people around him needed the most.

He must have, because he brought you coffee on at least three separate occasions, staying a while longer to talk you through your break on days when you needed to lean on someone, anyone, who had an understanding of the nature of your job without actually being in the business himself. Those little talks seemed to leave you not only with caffeine in your bloodstream and more peace in your mind, but also – unless you truly forgot how to be a human being after spending long hours in the world of circuits and codes and charts – in Steve’s as well. During his visits, his smile might sometimes barely be there at all, but it was always sweet – and always appeared a tad wider after your little chat.

And there came another scientific fact; it was literally impossible to not notice and fall for how unfairly pretty his smile was. You supposed one could expect as much on as a man who had literally been genetically improved to be a perfect soldier – but the reason for your heart thumbing soft and wild wasn’t the shape of his lips or their plumpness, as alluring it was. It was something you could not quite put your finger on, but yet again, undeniably existed.

And it always distracted you; like now, when this memory went far beyond how well-shaped his shoulders were, how wonderfully wide in comparison to his waist, or how gentle his hands could be when handing you coffee or tools despite how large they were and how hard they could punch a man.

He wasn’t supposed to be here today and yet he belonged and you could not imagine your workspace being deprived of his presence.

Today, he certainly was a welcoming and perfectly handsome distraction from the discussion you had had with Tony, resulting in him simply leaving one of his prototypes behind for you to take a look at as soon as possible despite you having told him you were busy with your own projects.

Upon pointing out repeatedly that refocusing was not possible at the very second, Tony had left; but he had met with Steve in the doorway. And Steve stayed. Asking how you were settling in, how it felt being here now, after a bit over a month.

The warmth blooming in your chest at him remembering the date even as you were sure he simply liked to keep track of things and people at the AI would haunt your days to come.

“Hey Steve… doing alright. It feels… right to be here,” you said after thinking about it briefly, feeling your shoulders relax, the interaction with Tony not forgotten, but momentarily overshadowed by Steve observing you with a small lopsided smile prompting you to elaborate. “I uhm… the last position, it wasn’t for me.”

“How so?” Steve inquired kindly, a flash of amusement in his eye as his watch vibrated with a message which – as it turned out later – was from Tony and he knew without checking.

God, his smile lit up the damn room when it reached his eyes and the sharp edge of his jaw should be illegal--

“Well, I know it sounds awful, but… I like having a workshop on my own, cooperating with others only when necessary.”

“Others like Tony, your absolute favourite person in the whole world?”

Steve grinned as you couldn’t but grimace slightly, huffing and sipping at the tea he had brought along; and then, because the man in front of you was so damn impossible, you exchanged a conspiratorial smile with him over the edge of the cup. It felt like you could do that; Steve definitely sounded like someone who had a fair share of experience with the man and it wasn’t badmouthing a boss if you only hinted at it.

Not to mention that something about Steve’s demeanour whispered that it was safe to tell the truth and the words spoken would not leave this room unless you wanted to.

“I admit nothing, but maybe he’s in the lower part of my favourite people list right now.”

Steve’s smile widened, almost boyish now, despite the fact you were all too aware that his soul was weighted with past losses and pain no boy should ever experience; and your heart skipped a beat, your thoughts stumbling one over the other, untying your tongue unwisely.

“But uhm… what I meant is that I definitely enjoy not having to be the boss to anyone but myself, you know? I don’t… I really don’t have the qualities of a boss, I think. I’m not… bossy.”

“Oh? Is that the main quality of a leader? Being unbearably bossy?” he asked.

One corner of his lips rose higher, his irises crinkling with laughter, utterly distracting, your already tangled thoughts scattering altogether.

“Hm?”

Steve smile turned downright beaming now – the gorgeous jerk – and it took you embarrassingly long to understand why he seemed to be holding back laughter.

When it did dawn to you, you set your cup down hastily, your whole world exploding in social propriety horror, blood draining from your face as you realized any courteous relationship you two had been building probably shattered and you had most definitely crossed a line.

But before you could somehow apologize for implying that he was obviously that, your colleague and living legend and yes, your boss in a way, he burst out laughing with such pure sincerity – and so damn brightly, the halo of warmth around him calling out to your heart – that you couldn’t but chuckle with him despite the embarrassment piercing as deep as to where your bones were.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Please, don’t, I needed that. Thank you,” Steve chuckled again, the cerulean blue of his eyes, with the cutest droplets of greenery you never failed to notice, crinkling with laughter still. “I’m sure many would agree, Tony most of all. But I’m glad you’re content here. It means you might stay… despite having to deal with some peculiar or bossy people keeping you company-”

“Oh my god-“

You whined, fighting the urge to hide your flushed face or simply walk out of your own workshop and leave him there, the jester, the little shit who was supposed to be and was a gentleman but there he was, having fun at your expense – and yet, you stayed and couldn’t but chuckle again, the joy of sharing a laugh with him mixing with mortification.

What a prime example of how capable you were of putting your foot in your mouth, wasn’t it?

But that was not how you earned your nickname, so sweet and unique to Steve, no.

That only came a few minutes later.

When Tony’s goddamn untested prototype simply decided to explode without as much as a warning beyond a silent click Steve’s supersoldier ears must have picked up on, because as the noise of explosion hit your own ears, you were already tackled down. Pinned to the ground and shielded by a warm weight of a man who didn’t hesitate to use his own body to protect you from harm since his vibranium shield wasn’t at hand.

By the time you began to process what had happened, Steve had rolled you over so he wasn’t crushing you. Your breaths were coming out short as you stared at him with wide eyes, your heart a second from beating its way out of your chest from both anger and fright – and concern.

Because that was most definitely blood trickling down Steve’s forehead.

And he was blinking up at you with confusion – as if he didn’t even remember he had been the one to shield you, the instinct simply lacing his soul and DNA alike – as you climbed off of him and coughed away the pressure in your chest. You spent a precious few moments scanning over the mess of your recently new workspace – now a bit sparkly and crispy and definitely messy, but at least with no fire – before your eyes zeroed on Steve again.

“Hey Lo,” he muttered, blinking, looking at your face with curiosity, causing you to frown harder, your pulse skyrocketing further at the nonsensical words coming out of his mouth.

He must have hit his head hard.

You prayed to lords of science that help was already on the way – so you only had to keep Steve talking, to be sure he was not passing out on you. Your eyes ran over his form quickly, apprehensive of seeing blood anywhere else – as if on his face wasn’t enough.

How seriously was he hurt? You could feel a dull echo of pain in your back but none in your head; a distant memory of Steve’s large hand cradling the back of your head tickled your mind. He had not failed to protect your skull from cracking against the floor despite having but milliseconds to get you down. Of course he had. But what about him?

With the frantic melody of your heart loud in your ears, you wanted to punch him and kiss him all at once for his reaction; and the adrenalin coursing your veins, screaming at your throw any attempt at normal behaviour out of the window, was not helping you decide which one of the two you should choose.

Maybe both?

It was the blood, the coppery scent of it and the dark patch in Steve’s light hair, that helped you push either of those urges aside, your hands aimlessly hovering above him, unsure whether you could touch him without hurting him further.

“My god, Steve, you’re blee-- Who’s Lo? Are you okay?” you demanded, laying your hand on his chest when he tried to get up, your mind scrambling for any knowledge about first aid you could possibly provide at site. All you knew was that he should not be moving much, because god knew if his head injury wasn’t connected with a spine injury. “Wha-“

To your utter bewilderment, Steve was smiling a bit in response – just how much of a concussion had he suffered? – appearing distracted as his hand covered yours on his sternum, gentle and warm, mumbling your name.

“Don’t know any Lo. But you have… this halo above your head. Looks nice. Are you okay?”

Huh?

Oh.

Not a Hey Lo. A halo.

That made a lot more sense. Why didn’t you think of that on your own? You should have. It was just a game of light and possibly Steve’s concussion affecting his vision further. It was just physics. And physics was essential for your work. You were good at physics. You were a physicist.

Which would explain why you said what you did next. Any rational person would have chuckled, embarrassed, and said something intelligently dismissive and moved on.

But not you, oh no.

Instead, your stressed-out brain went out of its way to launch into explanations of the natural phenomenon of halos, of the tinniest of crystals in the atmosphere aligning just right, reflecting the electromagnetic radiation into the eye of the beholder, and the dual nature of light as particles and waves.

You were not proud of it – but your lecture certainly kept Steve’s very conscious attention on you until the AI paramedics on duty arrived along with the cleaning crew and took an awfully calm Steve away; but not before he gave you a reassuring smile, his eyes, slightly unfocused but still, undeniably focused on you, measuring you head to toe, checking your body for any injuries. Because of course he did.

Less than 24 hours later, he walked into your lab with a new cheeky greeting that only registered after your still shaken brain decided to have you hug him out of sheer relief; settling into that hug felt like it was suddenly the only right thing in the universe, right next to Steve’s soft voice and the new nickname.

“Hey, Lo.”

You wouldn’t admit it at the time, groaning at his teasing instead, but you fell in love with the nickname the very moment he spoke it; and fell a little bit more in love with him too. And when during one of the long nights at which you didn’t feel so great and found solace in the communal living room talking to him, he admitted with a soft smile that the nickname was about more than teasing and more than a memory, you realized you had fallen too deep.

Steve said he simply thought the nickname fit you very well; bright and brilliant, your need for everything to align just right and perfect in your inventions making you shine, sometimes so much it rendered others – or even yourself – blind to that fact that no matter how big your brain was, it was your even bigger heart that made you who you were.

It was the closest thing to calling you an angel and a genius at once and you were speechless.

As sappy as his words might be, it was exactly what you needed to hear at that time: at two a.m. at a long night thinking about how your inventions, while built to help your friends and those on the side of the angels, hurt people. And when spoken with utter sincerity, by a man whom you believed was nothing but good, and with a hand over the back of yours and then over your back when you went to hug Steve close, his words, just like his arms and his light, enveloped you in warmth and safety.

The light you saw behind your eyelids now, the weight still on you, made you wonder if this was what Steve had felt and seen that day in the lab when you were still sprawled over him, seconds after the explosion.

As you were mercilessly pulled towards that light, a soft weight you just become aware had been there the whole time disappeared from your hand, leaving it feeling strangely cold with absence.

“Aaaaand she lives,” a male voice you distantly recognized as Clint stated, the last push to opening and squinting your eyes against the unusual environment and company.

You were lying in bed. Clint stood nearby, a smirk with a shade of pride and worry on his lips. Bucky loomed in the corner of the room, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking grumpy with just a hint of a smile when you met his gaze. Tony at the foot of the bed. And Steve; on the opposite side of the bed to Clint, sitting in a chair by your bedside.

It was quite a crowd; guarding you in what was undeniably one of the AI medical department hospital-like rooms. You knew the space well – you had visited Steve here plenty of times, because he was a protector at heart and a reckless son of a bitch when it came to his own well-being, the memory of that day in your workshop just a cherry of top of all the insane things he was willing to do for others, for what he believed to be greater good.

Now, your roles might be reversed, but Steve still looked a little worn; and still handsome, almost frustratingly so, almost enough to distract you from a more crucial question than whether his slightly pursed lips were as soft as you’d always imagined.

What the hell were you doing in the medical?

You’d put your life savings in on a bet it had everything to do with the pressure on your chest and Tony’s face lightly twisted in worry and outrage.

Which, ouch. Tony actually looked worried. That had to be bad.

You opened your mouth to ask when the memories started floating in, along with the realization that your throat was a bit parched.

Without a word or another hint of a request, Steve brought a cup of water to your lips along with a straw, making you realize you were not, in fact, quite lying down horizontally; the third of the bed closest to the headboard was elevated, thus helping you not to drown when drinking the pleasantly cool liquid.

While grateful for Steve’s assistance, you did not find courage to look at his expression and analyse it like those of the other men; because as the blur of memories creeped in, you were sure Steve would have a lot to say to you and not much of it would be pleasant.

Better to postpone that for as long as possible.

You had fucked up. Somehow, the encounter of the EMP wave and your own device had managed to knock you out. That was far from a cause for glowing reviews; though the uncertainty and the absence of the testing period had led you not to expect any in the first place. In fact, it was the very reason why you had insisted you would be the only one to handle the device.

A solid plan; an uncertain outcome.

“How bad?” you rasped, unwillingly prompting Steve to push the straw back to your lips, even as he still didn’t say a word and sent your heart beating very painfully against your sternum. You resisted the urge to rub on the tender spot.

“You’ll be all fine and peachy,” Tony hummed, earning a mute glare from Steve that would freeze people in spot unless they were Tony Stark. The billionaire ignored it, in turn glaring at you, even if with a lick of pride in his gaze. “Your EMP killer – nice work on the shielding and reversing, by the way – short-circuited under the load of the energy that the EMP, stronger than the last time, emitted. You really went and picked the worst possible second to be still touching it—--ew, that actually sounds dirtier than I wanted for once-”

You gulped, an unvoluntary shiver running down your back as Tony, Tony I-do-whatever-I-want-and-can’t-be-bothered Stark, observed you with something grave in his eye that easily overshadowed the pride and the clear message in his words – that you had helped the team. Immensely. You had not only protected them from the hit, but managed to reverse it, giving Hydra a taste of their own bitter medicine.

And had apparently given the team a scare in the process.

It would track; depending on the voltage, the short-circuit could have burned you or knock you out, neither of those things pleasant. You just hoped it had been worth it.

“Okay. But… you got them, right?” you asked, the flicker of a smirk on Tony’s face as he responded confirming your guess.

“Oh yeah, we got them. Bastards didn’t know what hit them, stood there like idiots for solid five seconds. It was kinda hilarious, you know, you should have seen their faces, just priceless and-“

“Your heart stopped.”

----Tony’s voice fell deadly silent, the room stilling so completely no one even dared to take a breath, least of all you; air stuck in your throat, your lips slightly parting in mute shock.

Steve’s voice wasn’t loud, nor angry; it shouldn’t have interrupted Tony’s so easily. But the quiet authority and the gravity his words carried was enough to shut up even Tony Stark for once.

The room drowned in the sudden silence. The loudest sound was the tremble of your heart, beating fiercely as if in protest to Steve’s statement, echoing in your skull as well as by the heart monitor you were attached to.

Your heart had… stopped?

That was the third option, the third part of your body potentially affected by the electric discharge; your skin, your brain… and your heart.

It was racing now and you felt it in every inch of your body, humming with life, absurdly loud so; but as Steve’s gaze met yours, you sucked in a quick breath as the damning realization slowly sank in.

There was no world in which Steve would ever joke or exaggerated about that; the blue of his irises seemed more watery than usual, speaking of a weight on his shoulders heavier than he’d ever like to carry.

Your heart stopped, he had said, a simple three words that didn’t seem to make sense in a tangible reality, uncomprehensible beyond the coldest shiver of dread running down your spine. Simple, detached words, in a way; and yet, Steve’s eyes whispered of a message far from detached, quite the opposite. Intimate even – and perhaps a little accusatory too.

You died on me. You fucking died and I held you while you did so and that was all I could do.

You remembered as much. Vaguely, in a strange fog surrounded by gentle blue bleeding into indigo and eventually black – and you did remember with startling clarity the sensation of his palms cradling your cheek and of his arms carrying you when you knew your feet wouldn’t be able to. You remembered panic you’d wish to sooth had your lips been able to move. You remembered the heaviness on your chest, preventing you from breathing.

The weight on your chest grew tenfold under Steve’s intent gaze; and made a whole lot more sense now when one thought about what must have been done to you to set your heart back on track.

“It wasn’t for too long, kiddo,” Clint said quietly, drawing your attention to him, his expression warm with almost a fatherly worry – though that might have been the fact he had called you a kid. He could be sweet and caring and responsible like that when he wasn’t up to crazy shenanigans. “But you did give us quite the scare. Arrhythmia, turning so critical your heartbeat became almost undetectable… until it disappeared altogether. You got two discharges and a few chest compressions for your trouble. It was fast and you’re gonna be just fine, but…”

As he trailed off, you gulped, trying to process the information and failing. It simply seemed too surreal of a thought, encountering your death when you were right here now, alive.

But that was the thing about death, wasn’t it? It wasn’t quite you who had encountered your death, not in your conscious sound mind. The others had. Every single person here, having been scared out of their mind; for you.

The overwhelming and perhaps a little bizarre affection that bloomed in spite of the weight sitting on your sternum warmed your bones, spreading through your veins all the way to your fingertips along with the need to say literally anything to make the shadow of gloom on everyone’s faces disappear.

But your mind was coming out blank, your ears ringing a bit.

“Oh, uhm… well. I guess that explains why it hurts so much,” you muttered.

It earned you two sighs and one sharp intake of breath at your side. On the other side of the room, Bucky shifted his weight, bouncing off of the wall with surprising elegance, and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, no shit. Why don’t we give you guys a minute…”

A brief eye-contact with Steve, meaningful but unreadable; a small beckoning at Tony and Clint, each of the two patting the nearest part of your body in encouragement with a slightly uncomfortable yet supportive smile, and then they were on their way.

Leaving you alone with Steve, who now had his elbows propped up on his thighs, fingers interlaced together to rest his chin against them as he thoughtfully observed you without a single word.

To describe your reluctant staring contest as awkward would be a gross understatement and not quite capturing the complexity of the unreadable emotion behind his blue eyes.

It was instinct, you’d later realize, to have your gaze trail along the immensity of his body, checking for bandages and bruises and the little too much tension; with relief that felt a little funny considering the circumstance, you only found the third thing on the list. Steve body was so stiff and strung it had to be painful.

You fought the urge to reach for his hand, knowing a simple gesture like that usually grounded him.

Right now, Steve seemed torn between being a concerned friend and a raging captain, and you did not believe there was anything at all that really could ground him, let alone something in your power.

“Hey…” you breathed out eventually, swallowing heavily when the trivial greeting made him wince. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

He inhaled and exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling with such effort as if he had to fight the same weight that was sitting on yours.

“I… no. I’m not. And no, not really.”

I’m the farthest thing from okay.

You gulped as the unspoken words, your lips twitching. “Did you get checked up by med-“

“Did you know?”

Your voice trailed off in an instant, just like Tony’s had earlier; the quiet intensity to Steve’s voice and the unnerving attention his eyes observed you with making a lump grow in your throat, no doubt in your mind about what he was asking about.

It seemed such an absurd question to ask and yet, you supposed it was a fair one; you just couldn’t quite grasp at the reality of Steve asking it.

“Did I know what?”

Steve didn’t avert your hesitant gaze for a second, his hands falling from his face to the space between his thigs, fingers still interlaced; only now you noticed just how tight he was holding one hand to the other, his knuckled having turned white, the vein running down his forearm bulging.

“Did you know what was gonna happen if you used the device? Because you told us it was too complicated for explanations and I trusted you--- and then it looked like you basically just went and pushed a button,” Steve said slowly, every word painfully articulated, the undertone of fire humming under the composed exterior of a Captain calmly berating those under his command, having seen right through their actions and their motivations.

God, he really was unbearably good at reading people, wasn’t he? Most of the time anyway. His gaze was so piercing you could feel it in your chest, how he practically ruminated through your very soul, no matter how feebly you tried to defend its secrets.

“So I’m asking again: did you know that this was a possibility and was that the reason why you refused to let any of us use that device?”

Did you know it might actually kill you, was the question then, not did you know you might get hurt or did you know the device could malfunction.

Well.

“No.”

Steve shook his head slightly, never releasing you from the now blazing blue of his eyes, a new emotion, harder than the others, flickering over his face, his jaw tensing further if that was even possible as he straightened in his chair and released the tight lock on his hands.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve come to despise me somehow even though I don’t know why, but don’t you dare lie to me about that-“

“I’m not,” you exclaimed firmly, straightening a bit as well as silent outrage at his accusation flushed energy into your veins. It made for a fiery cocktail with the conviction behind your very conscious decisions – unlike the one getting shocked into a damn cardiac arrest. “I didn’t know this was going to happen, Steve. All I knew was that it was an untested prototype. So I made the strategic decision to-“

All blood seemed to drain form his face only to return in a millisecond as he damn well stuttered, a outrage colouring his expression and oh, had he have done it by that-

“A strat-- it is not your place to make strategic decisions-“

“I took a calculated risk, Steve!” you cut him off, trying hard to ignore the way it literally hurt to have your heart beating against you apparently bruised ribcage. It was surprisingly easy thanks to how distracting the level of hypocrisy Steve was exercising at the moment. “What would your decision be? A weapon that could get out of hand – imagine that. If it works, it’s all dandy, isn’t it? But if it doesn’t, you’re screwed. And whether the device works or not, if it ends up hurting the person using it, because there was no time to test it properly, you’re short of one skilled fighter. I am not a skilled fighter, you said so yourself, so I knew I was the best person for the job and I stand by that and would damn well do it all over again, and you can fight me or quote me on that!”

Steve bristled.

His jaw set even tighter, now seemingly sharp enough to cut bulletproof glass – and damn had you not been in a middle of exchanging opinions, would it have distracted you – his hands curled into fists.

But for a moment, he remained silent; no doubt fighting an inner battle, because he knew you would call his bluff if he said he would have done things differently. He wouldn’t. He knew you were right and that you had done the best call possible, even without his explicit approval.

He shook his head, willing his fists to relax for a bit as he took time to inhale and exhale slowly.

“That was not supposed to be your decision. It wasn’t right. Not if this was the price to pay,” he said, continuing before you could interrupt him, his voice levelled carefully. It mollified you; a little. “We don’t trade lives, Lo, it is not your choice to-“

“But it is my choice, Steve,” you opposed, “my choice to protect my friends. And you know the rules. I never let anyone use an untested prototype in the field.”

He huffed bitterly and finally released you from the cage of his gaze, running his hand down his face and nodding along as he heard you state, not for the first time, your most basic rule.

Except his nod was not one of approval, nor quite one of understanding. It was more of a nod of infuriation and helplessness when dealing with a stubborn mule.

Well, there were two of those in this conversation.

“Except you were just fine breaking that rule yourself. And it nearly killed you.”

The shiver that ran down your spine shook you, the bite of fear as old as time ice-cold. It nearly killed you. A primal part of your brain understood that, even as you were still processing that – or rather kept postponing the processing in favour of staying sane.

But the worry, so clear and vulnerable as it revealed itself in the depth of Steve eyes, had your shoulders slump, the fire feeding your argument slowly dying out as you felt something tight in your chest loosen just a bit despite the weight still sitting there.

“I didn’t know that was gonna happen, Steve, I swear. That wasn’t a choice,” you offered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But… you’re near death every day – you all are, you make the choice every damn day-”

“Lo, that’s not-“

“And you, Steve, made a very deliberate choice like that over seventy years ago and on a whole different scale,” you reminded him, only to have to silence him when he opened his mouth to protest. “I didn’t make a conscious choice like that, but even if I did… I’m sorry, but you of all people really wouldn’t get to hold that against me. Because you already have traded your life – and you continue to risk it, every day. And the rest of us, mere mortals? We worry, we hope and we watch, unable to do a single thing, and still, we just suck it up, because that’s what you do-“

“It’s not what YOU DO!”

You flinched at the sudden outburst and the sudden movement of the mass of muscle he was, pushing to his feet and stalking a few feet away, eyes turned to the ceiling, a hand slowly running over his mouth.

You had winced at both the boom of his voice and the movement; but most of all, at his words.

Because those hurt.

It was childish in a way, you supposed; but those words burned through you like a wildfire and left nothing but smouldering ashes behind, a sharp sting at the very centre of your chest.

A razer-sharp reminder of who you were.

And who you weren’t.

Because who you weren’t, despite all you could ever do, was someone good enough.

You could feel Steve’s gaze turning back to you, no doubt drawn by the minute wince when he had noticed when he had snapped; but you refused to look at him. It hurt; and you refused to let him see just how much.

“Lo, I-“

You shook your head, a small gesture of your hand to stop him, pressing your lips in a tight line; and not at all willing to admit it was just so you wouldn’t find words to hurt him back – or to keep the stupid irrational sob in.

You got it. You really did. You had said as much to Sam; but that didn’t mean you were over it in the span of very long, very hard two days.

Steve was right, of course.

He had been right when he had said you didn’t get to make strategic decisions, and you were not able to defend yourself and that you simply weren’t an agent in the first place. Which would have been fine – because you did not want to be an agent.

You just wanted to be something more to Steve.

You used to think that maybe one day what you were – because Sam had also been right, you were irreplaceable as you were and you were pretty damn awesome, you knew that on a good day – could be enough for Steve.

But you wouldn’t. You weren’t. Never had been.

It was clear as day and violent as daylight after staying awake all night.

You licked your lips as you stared at the covers draped over your legs, trying your damn best to keep your voice calm and composed even as your nose stung with unshed tears.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Lo…”

“Was there anything else you needed, Captain?”

The sound pushing past his lips was guttural and painful, making your stomach clench. You squeezed your eyes shut.

It served him right. It served him right, because if you didn’t get to be close to him, he might as well get the hell out of your sight and out of your life. Just because you would never be a partner to him, he didn’t get to shove it to your face and make it hurt, to twist the knife in the still gaping wound. That was not fair of him. He couldn’t have it both ways.

Not even Steve damn Rogers, no matter how much your stupid heart ached for his love.

You hated how clearly you could see him even with your eyes closed; you heard his steps, could imagine the stiffness and rashness of his movements, the way he plumped back into the chair by your bed, the way he was leaning his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward.

His voice closer, a slight crack to it, a visceral note that made you nauseous just a bit with the vulnerability it displayed.

“Don’t… please don’t do this to me.”

It was almost enough. It was almost enough to make you fold and open your eyes and sooth him, but you couldn’t. Not now. You weren’t sure you ever should, if you were planning to stay sane and move on.

You gulped against the lump in your throat, but you persisted, repeating yourself.

“Was there anything else you-“

“Yeah, okay—alright,” he whispered, a rustle of fabric as he moved in his chair; but that was not the most prominent sound. That would be the resignation and barely masked hurt in his voice. “I deserve that. I do. Should I send for Sam?”

The unexpected question made you heart skip a beat and your eyes snap open despite your better judgement. A pair of eyes brimming with bright sadness stared back, an openly desperate yet achingly empty expression on Steve’s face; once more, your hands twitched with the instinctual need to comfort him.

No. Not now.

And he had asked you a question; that was why you had looked at him in the first place. The reminder had your heart skip another two very painful beats – probably literally, because Steve’s eyes flickered to the heart monitor by your bed with a frown.

“…why would you send for Sam? Where is he? Is he okay?” you demanded, mind scrambling for any memory of him being hit during the mission prior to your… intervention.

“No, he’s fine, he’s… he had a small cut on his arm and a few bruises, but he’s okay,” Steve reassured you, quick to do so, even if somewhat dully. “He said he needed to--- to take care of something.”

You breathed in and out, the ache in your ribcage easing except it did not. “Good.”

Steve looked as if he was the one in profound pain. And you broke.

You always broke when it came to him – that was your curse, even as you used to think that in a way, it was a blessing.

Where did that get you?

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, an idea occurring to you as to why he could be in pain even as he wasn’t – as unlikely it was that he would have been sitting by your bedside had it been any truth to it. “Is… Sharon okay?”

Steve’s smile might light up a room, you had often seen it happen; but the one he gave you now was just sad at its edges and did not reach his eyes, boring into yours again – intensely so, but without the previous pressure.

“We’re all just fine, Lo.”

“Good.”

Your voice was barely audible and yet it felt too loud in the sudden calm after the storm, a calm brushing over the rubble it had left behind; heavy stones you didn’t think you had the strength to move now, to build back up, the base of what you and Steve were – or used to be to each other – seemingly too shaky.

You weren’t sure you could ever rebuild it or whether you even should. Some things were better to left behind in order for something new to bloom; and yet, the idea of cutting Steve out of your life left like a hot wire splitting your heart in two.

And yet, Steve lifted the first stone, not to throw it because he was without sin; but to lay it gently into your hand so you could choose whether to throw it at him or choose to start with the restoration.

And like always, you couldn’t refuse an offer like that.

“I… I’m really sorry I yelled at you.”

“I get it, Steve, you were mad and I scared you-“

“That still didn’t give me the right,” he opposed quietly, lips slightly pursed, the sincerity of his regret breaking through the sadness still etched into his expression.

It hadn’t given him the right indeed – but he was only human.

And the volume of his voice wasn’t the problem, nor was him having startled you. You weren’t scared of him.

You were just scared of just how much he could make you feel and hurt and how little you were able to will yourself to do anything to take that power away from him.

“You barely even raised your voice, Steve-“

“And I’m still sorry,” he repeated in earnest. “I shouldn’t have. Yes, what you did, what happened to you--- it scared me, but that’s not an excuse. It definitely isn’t an excuse to blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind and hurt you.”

You gulped, your hand gripping the sheets.

Of course he had noticed the effect of his words. He wasn’t an idiot; most of the time anyway. And when he was an idiot, he was the kindest and the sincerest one. That was why you could never quite just make yourself not to love him.

God, he truly must have been the most infuriating person on the planet-

“I never want to hurt you, Lo. I’m sorry for that and for putting another thing between us even though I’m not sure what happened between us in the first place. I just…” he gulped, the deep, sad pools of blue searching your face you were sure had crumbled at his goddamn I never want to hurt you and the softness lacing your nickname. Your chest deflated a little and it hurt, physically and figuratively, Steve’s regrets about the distance that had been growing between you for weeks now tangible. “I’m sorry we’re this way. But… if I can’t be here for you, if don’t talk to me… fine—well, not fine, but--- what I’m trying to say is that whatever reason you have to hate me, fine, for now. But I know something’s been bothering you and now you nearly died, so you’d better talk to someone-“

“Why was your first thought Sam of all people?”

You couldn’t but notice a flash of hurt when you didn’t deny you hated him for the second time but you’d unpack that later – your heart was already brimming with something sweet and burning and aching.

“He… when you wouldn’t talk to me before, you… you clearly confided him in. You’re… it’s none of my business really, you two, you seem… close, so I thought-“

A sheen of ice-cold sweat covered your skin and had you shiver, your heart stumbling very painfully in your chest, the solid mattress under your body as if disappearing, replaced by a gaping void to which you stared despite the sudden vertigo.

“Hold on, did he--- tell you we talked or something?”

Did he tell you I’m fucking in love with you and jealous as hell?

Steve looked away.

“Steve?” you pressed.

“No. I… you’ve been avoiding me-“

“Oh, that’s rich-“

“And I know I haven’t exactly had a clear schedule, but it’s obvious still!” Steve interrupted your outrage with his own, even as his had earned an edge of an emotion you could not quite place. “And I tried to give you space--- but I also knew that mission where Nat got hurt would get to you too, but I had to leave and then, when I was back, you… you were already talking to Sam and—”

You watched Steve breathe in an out with growing confusion – but also with relief maddeningly mixed with disappointment.

Relief because he did not know. Disappointment for the very same reason.

Only now when you had a painful physical symptom, it dawned to you just how hard it had been to breathe around Steve due to both hope and anxiety.

“He’s a good guy, Lo. I’m… glad you have him, you deserve nothing less.”

An involuntary smile passed your lips, one that – for some reason – had Steve avert your gaze, the corners of his lips turned down just slightly, as if in a sad smile to mirror your own.

…why?

Your confusion was growing by the minute – and so was the heaviness in your limbs, but now was not the time to get tired.

“Yes, that we can agree on- Sam’s is a wonderful frie—wait hat do you mean have him? It’s not like he’s mine, we’re both friends with--- oh.”

The flicker of something on Steve’s face was a dead giveaway as to what he had meant, your brain short-circuiting for a few silent beats.

And you couldn’t but chuckle at the absurd conclusion he had come too, the sound leaving your lips unwittingly even as laughing hurt.

But… Steve thought you and Sam were dating?

Forget your heart having stopped – this was the most difficult revelation of the day to process.

Judging by the utter confusion and reluctant relief on Steve’s face, he seemed to think the very thing about your reaction.

“Sam? No. No, Steve, come on, I love Sam, but he’s like a brother to me--- not to mention he’s been gathering courage to ask Jess out for months and it’s been like a week since he did and he’s already a goner. When you said he said he needed to take care of something, he probably meant calling Jess, telling her he’s safe and sound.”

Steve’s lips parted soundlessly, a beat of silence, realization dawning on his face. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you echoed, his face so endearingly scrunched as he chewed on that thought that you couldn’t but chuckle and have mercy on him; how could you be mad at him for just about anything when he had apologized, was concerned for the state of your relationship and looked like that? How could you ever hope to keep him at arm’s length or further just to protect your foolish heart?

You sighed, a seal inside you breaking, your shoulders slumping lower.

“Look, Steve I… as for what’s been bothering me… I told you. I’m just… going through some stuff-“

Like a flash of lightning, Steve’s contemplative expression disappeared, replaced by urgency as he leaned forward again, desperate sincerity lacing his features.

“So why don’t you let me help? What did I do? Why are you avoiding me--- and don’t tell me you aren’t, please, don’t insult me like that-“

“Steve, I just-“ you interrupted him, his gaze hanging on your face like a lifeline, the gears in your head turning madly as to figure out how to tell him the truth without telling him everything. “I just… need some time to come to terms with certain things. With… myself.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, panic glimmering in his eyes for a moment.

“Are you sick?”

You frowned, confused by the question.

“…no?”

Not beyond having had a small cardiac arrest.

“Are you leaving the AI then? Is someone bothering you, giving you a hard time? We can take care of that, I’ll gladly take care of that personally—or-- look, if it’s about the money or the workshop or-“

“Steve, no-“

“Then what?” he breathed out, barely audible, but no less helpless and so unfairly gentle you felt tears sting in your eyes. “Tell me. I’ll try my best to make it better--- we all will. But please stop pushing me away unless you really do hate-”

“I don’t hate you, Jesus, Steve, I---”

The sheer visible relief at hearing that truly spoke of just how badly he had been affected by your mess of feelings and separation. Guilt instantly gnawed at your stomach.

Between all the wallowing about how Steve didn’t feel the same about you, you appeared to have forgotten about how deeply the beautiful man in front of you felt; how deeply he cared.

Of course he had been worried. Of course it had bothered him, no matter how much you tried to lie to yourself that he hadn’t to ease your ache.

His genuine relief was a vicious reminder from the universe of how deeply Steve loved his friends. It made your stomach twist and fill with butterflies all the same. Of course you only loved him for it all the more.

It was another pure viciousness of the universe to give humanity only one Steve Rogers. It was unfair that the one who existed could not be yours.

It was unfair and lovely that he continued to watch you expectantly; he was not going to let the topic go. Obviously. What a surprise, not, to see him stubborn.

You sighed again, licking your lips, unable to hold the weight of his gaze as you tried to look for the right words, fingers toying with the sheets.

“I just… I got too used to being—the girl,” you said.

You could practically hear his frown at that and huffed self-deprecatingly. “God, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud. What I mean is… the team relied on me, you know? You relied on me, you spent a lot of time with me and… then Sharon showed up, replacing me, rightfully so, and I--- this is my shit to deal with. I know that. It’s just… my stupid feelings, my stupid jealousy. That’s what I’m dealing with and have to deal with on my own… because for a huge part, I’m… ashamed of it.”

“Lo-“

“Wait, I- let me finish please, or I’ll never get it out and I never want to talk about this again, so…. I got used to being your girl--- not your girl!” you swiftly corrected yourself, mortified at the slip-up. “I mean…your girl, and I know it sounds the same but it’s not really--- and I get it. Rationally, I get it, Steve, I really do and I want you to be happy.”

Finally, you found the courage to meet his gaze, vision blurry as you smiled, even if through your tears – because this part you weren’t ashamed of and was achingly certain of.

Chuckling breathlessly, you caught the stray tear that escaped your eye.

“Because, Steve, you deserve to be so happy. For who you are, for what you’ve been through and stand for and Sharon is perfect. She’s beautiful, she’s smart, she’s badass, she’s a Carter, you’re clearly meant to be together and that’s great, so great, but I--- I have feelings too and I just… as happy as I am for you, I just need to digest the fact that I’m not the only female human in your life besides Nat and that romantic partners often come before friends and in a way they should-“

The hand suddenly enveloping yours made your voice crack and fall silent – at least that was what you told yourself. That it was the warm weight of Steve’s touch you craved every damn day, not your heart breaking at wishing Steve well with someone who was not you.

“Hold on-”

“I get it, I just… I just need some space and some time, okay?” you rasped, forcing another smile. You wanted to turn your hand to squeeze his hand reassuringly for a good measure; but he didn’t let you.

As your gaze flickered to your joined hands and back to his face, vision clearing, you were startled by two things. Three. No, make that four.

One, those handsome features of his, because goddammit, did it somehow still took you by surprise just how beautiful Steve was.

Two, his expression – caught somewhere between experiencing shell-shock and visceral need to do something.

Three, his eyes, having turned glassy.

And four and foremost, how everything about him – despite the urgency in his stance, leaning into your space so close your faces were a mere foot from each other – suddenly seemed impossibly tender.

“Whatever you need, Lo…” Steve muttered, his hand flexing over yours and gripping – gently, but very firmly. “But no. I… I truly am sorry. I never meant to neglect you because of this mission, let alone so much you’d feel like this. It… I sometimes get my head lost in the game and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have-“

“And yes,” he cut you off, holding your gaze seriously, “Sharon’s great and she’s been around a lot since we’re cooperating on this one, but… I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t needed or wanted, or god forbid, like you are somehow less than her. You are important to the team, you are our girl, you’re… as a person, as a team member, your inventions, your input – they’re crucial and I’ll never stop marvelling at what you can come up with. …even if it nearly kills you and me in the process--- Lo, I swear, when Friday reported the arrhythmia and then your heart stopped, I nearly had a heart attack and you’d better, in fact, never do that again-”

The broken rasp of his voice was like an ice-cold fist of guilt clutching at your heart and pulling, gently replaced by warm fondness, a few more tears spilling over when you spotted one of his own rolling down his cheek. You could not find your own voice, noting with slight embarrassment that your lower lip was a second from wobbling at the assault of emotion radiating off Steve.

And then his left hand slipped under your hand – now held between both of his – as he took a deep breath, chasing the clouds away, a soft frown twisting his face.

“But I have to ask… what on Earth makes you think me and Sharon are together or that I’m even interested in her as anything else than a fellow agent and a friend?”

You froze mid-inhale, air painfully catching in your bruised chest.

Your mind turned blank in an instant – a complete tabula rasa besides the essential script of your damn heart belonging to the man sitting by your bed, to the gentle giant cradling your hand between both of his, observing you with curiosity and what looked like a silent wonder.

You were wondering too.

You were confused as hell, your whole world tilting aside, your tongue feeling heavy and all kinds of funny as you tried to form words.

“You’re… not?”

“No. …no-“

Admittedly, you were rather unimpressed at the strange expression on his face and his resolute tone, contrasting sharply with how many compliments to Sharon he had just agreed with – but that was the least of your worries.

“I mean…” Steve said, hesitating slightly, “you’re right. Objectively, she’s all you said, but even if I was interested in her, the fact that she is a Carter and I was once in love with her grandaunt would make it rather awkward.”

“Oh.”

That was all you managed to choke out: an oh.

What an eloquent intelligent human being you were.

But in all honesty, your mind was blanking out on all words in English and any other language beyond what the hell and Steve is not interested in Sharon.

What he had said made sense, in a way. You supposed.

It had just never occurred to you.

But it had never also occurred to you just how wrong you could interpret Steve’s behaviour.

This whole time, ever since Sharon perfect Carter had walked in, you had been heartbrokenly sure Steve must have fallen for her. But he claimed that he hadn’t.

It would be great news if it didn’t boggle your mind and if the fact he wasn’t into her automatically meant he could ever be into you. And if all that time you had spent away, avoiding him and a broken heart at seeing him with Sharon in the process… hadn’t been for nothing and hadn’t hurt you both. Steve was clearly bothered that he hadn’t had time for you, for his close friend, and that whole time, he had known for a fact that you had been avoiding him--

God you were such an idiot.

And sure, Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to throw the first stone, not without some blame himself, but—

How could you have misjudged the situation so catastrophically…? How?

Jealousy.

Hurt.

Love.

All easy answers and complicated emotions that had blinded you.

For a rather rational person you liked to think you were, the man sitting with you still, holding your hand gently and firmly, still, sure stoked the fire of feelings so deep within you there had been no escaping that emotional bias.

It would have been wonderful had your feelings been reciprocated and had not Steve been observing you intently, eyes flickering all over your face and drinking in every detail of your face and taking a good, long look into your eyes, staring into your very soul in all its nakedness.

You reciprocated his gaze but for a few seconds until you could not bear it anymore, your heart, while trembling at his attention, speeding up with its every beat, your panic rising, because it was true what Sam had said about Steve.

He might be slow and blind when it came to certain things, but he was one damn brilliant man and you knew it.

And right now, it felt like certain puzzle pieces in his mind were falling into place and-

“You know,” Steve whispered, “Bucky told me I’m dumb like a ton of bricks if I don’t know what’s going on with you, but he wouldn’t tell me, the jerk. I… I think I’m starting to understand why.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, finding his gaze impossibly soft and you gulped, goosebumps rising all over your skin in anticipation.

You weren’t ready. You were not ready at all – to face his judgement. With your confession about jealousy and other feelings you had, with his own brilliance, he must have known now, and he was about to let you down gently, because ‘I never want to hurt you, Lo’ was something he had meant wholeheartedly.

Steve squeezed your hand, taking a deep breath – and in turn, you held your own.

“I’m going to go on a limp here, Lo, but… having established that you’re always gonna be our girl… would you… do you ever think about being my girl?” he asked softly.

Your heart skipped a beat – very, very painfully so, so much you winced and sucked in a startled breath before your body rebooted and your heart started racing again.

And your mind followed.

Your vision blurred a bit, your mouth turning dry.

He--- did he just-

Forget your heart having stopped, forget Steve having thought you were dating or about to date Sam; you had spoken too soon. This was the most definitely going to be the most difficult revelation of the day to process.

Because it--- did Steve just asked you out? Was that what he meant?

Well, you supposed that with how loosely you had used the term ‘your girl’, maybe he had-

“When… when you say your girl, you mean-“

One corner of his lips twitched, whether from nerves or a smile you couldn’t tell. His hold on your hand loosened slightly, his thumb running over the back of your hand, the gesture combined with… everything, making for a choked startled sound in the back of your throat, awaking a sparkle in Steve’s eye, his lips curling up further.

“My best girl.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s not entirely clear wording-“

“The dame I’d like to take on a date, sweep her off her feet and after she forgives me for acting like an ass, kiss her breathless if she lets me,” he stated in all seriousness.

You swallowed another startled sound, your head suddenly spinning.

Okay, that’s… that’s clearer.

And wonderful.

So, so wonderfully incredible.

You blinked, your brain somehow still processing what your heart instantly understood – and recognized as true.

Steve said was not interested in Sharon.

Steve was clearly interested in you.

Steve cared about you very deeply.

There might even be a slight chance that Steve was – just the tinniest bit at least – in love with you.

There was also a fair chance Steve had actually been jealous of Sam – perhaps the same way you had been of Sharon.

And there was a hundred percent chance you were both utter idiots.

And Steve would like to sweep you off your feet and kiss you breathless.

While he continued to regard with softly, he was also clearly expecting an answer the lack of thereof let uncertainty into his gaze, growing by the second.

You could not have that, because then he might take his words back, taking your silence for rejection; and meanwhile both of his suggestions made you speechless in the best way and gave birth to a fluttery feeling in your stomach, something warm, oh so endlessly warm, spreading in your achy ribcage.

“I’d… really like that,” you breathed out weakly, only now realizing you might have been holding your breath. How could you not? If anything, you were practising for Steve stealing all air from your lungs if he’d kiss you, those soft, undoubtedly soft lips--- your licked yours, your heart stumbling a bit as Steve’s gaze automatically flickered down to your mouth. “That, uhm… that’d be nice.”

Especially the kissing part.

Steve’s eyes snapped back up, relief mixing with amusement.

“Nice?”

Heat flooded your face, indignation, shame and affection all at once.

“Oh go to hell, Steve, my heart had like three hundred joules running through it today and I just learned that you’d like to kiss me which I really approve of, so I don’t have the mental capacity to be Shakespeare right now-“

As you automatically tried to jerk your hand free – despite his teasing being gentle – his hold on you turned into a tender vice, his features twisting with concern.

“Oh I know, doll, no need to remind me,” he muttered, sighing deeply, your mind instantly latching onto the new endearment, your face flushing further. With another sigh, Steve turned your hand to rest in his palm, his left index carefully following your lifeline “That’s one more vivid nightmare to haunt me. I… probably shouldn’t have sprung all that on you, as happy as I am that you said yes. It’s a date, though.”

A sweet, boyish smile passed his lips.

“But I should let you rest. You had a very long day.”

And wasn’t that the understatement of the goddamn year. You felt exhaustion settling into your bones despite joy still humming in your veins; you were not quite ready to let Steve go. Not now. Not ever.

After the briefest thought of telling him that perhaps the long day had earned you a goodnight kiss then, you covered his hand still drawing on your palm with yours, stilling his movements.

“So did you,” you pointed out, earning a noncommittal sound of agreement. “And uhm… sometimes we deal with a long day together, right? I miss that.”

He lifted his gaze, his smile, while not quite lighting up his face, warm like the sunshine itself and you couldn’t reciprocate, your heart finally free to thumb-thumb wildly in your chest in a rhythm of a lovesong you had been trying to silence for quite the while.

“Yeah, me too. I missed you, Lo.”

“I missed you too… plus, you just asked me out on a date, it would be rude to just leave.”

“That is true,” he said, a sparkle in his eye at last. “But I do think you should get some sleep. I’ll be here if you want me… fending off your nightmares at least.”

God knows I have enough nightmares for a lifetime, you read in his gaze. And one of them is losing you to something much worse than rejection and carrying another regret greater than life for the rest of my days.

You hummed, eyes stinging at the vulnerability of the words that might have not be pushed past his lips, but were written in his warm, sad smile.

“I’d like that, Steve… stay with me?”

He smiled a little wider, scooting his chair closer, one of his hands escaping the complicated tangle by your side in favour of pressing carefully to your shoulder to lie down into the cushions fully, brushing over your jaw lightly, tender fingers continuing up to smoothen your hair.

Despite how heavy your body was feeling by the minute – had been for a while – your heartbeat picked up at the sweet gesture, Steve’s eyes on you intently as if to look for any sign of discomfort, pain, or protest.

He found none.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lo…” he promised, squeezing your hand, fingers wavering by your cheek before he moved to cradle your jaw, leaning in. “But you should know that neither are you. I don’t care how many gadgets you and Tony come up with, how much protective gear you can get – I’m never letting you in the field again.”

“Hey-“

Before you indignation could flare up at his very bossy decision or the fact he just had to bring it up now, the little shit, the fire was put out, replaced by warmth spreading from where Steve’s lips brushed your forehead in a tender kiss, all the way to your fingertips and toes.

“But that’s a problem for another day… rest, Lo. I’ll be right here.”

Your mouth opened, any retort or protest overruled by your body literally melting under his affection.

“You’re playing dirty…” you muttered, no power behind your words. “Please continue.”

Steve’s breath tickled your hairline as he chuckled and kissed your forehead again, your eyes slipping shut, an unvoluntary but welcomed smile spreading on your lips, softening when Steve’s fingertips caressed along your jaw.

You could fall asleep to such tenderness. Every night. Especially after having quite a long day.

“Rest so I can woo you as soon as possible, Lo,” Steve whispered, kissing you one more time, this time on your cheek, before retreating back to his chair. Both his hands took one of yours again, keeping it warm, safe and his.

Just like you.

“That’s an order I can get behind, ‘ptain… Thank ya’ for being here.”

“Trust me… there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

And he meant it; every word. Of that you were sure of, even as you mind welcomed the soft darkness of a peaceful sleep, watched over by the fiercest, kindest protector you’d ever know.

As sleep led you away from him, Steve took several steadying breaths, letting the emotions of the indeed long day wash over him, closing is eyes just for a moment, wincing at the first image appearing in his mind being your terrifyingly still form.

He had not spoken a single lie to you, having been scared out of his mind – he had only kept certain truths from you. Like the truth that kept tugging at the corners of his lips up despite you being in a hospital bed.

He loved you.

And he was going to sweep you off your feet over and over to prove it, to let you feel just how much light was expanding in his chest whenever he could see you, talk to you, hold you; and feel that you cared about him too, more than he had ever hoped.

When he opened his eyes, it was almost as if you could hear his thoughts; while in the dreamland, bruised and exhausted beyond life, there was a small relaxed smile in your lips, one that drew Steve’s gaze like a magnet.

That was how Sam found him; that was what greeted Steve too. A telling, dopey grin on both of their faces.

Sam might have said Steve was far from blind and was quite brilliant, but the man himself was right up there with him, instantly understanding something had changed between you and Steve. When Steve asked him about a certain Jessica, Sam’s grin only widened; and Steve only wondered how he had missed it all before.

Love truly could be blind, couldn’t it? You would know, too; how you had never realized how he had felt for you was beyond him.

But the important thing was that he’d show you, now; and you agreed to let him.

As if Sam could hear his thoughts, he patted Steve’s shoulder, not staying longer than was necessary to learn how you were doing and to tell Steve to tell you he stopped by.

As he left, Sam took Steve’s gloomy thoughts of the day with him, leaving only contentment settling deep into Steve’s ribcage. As he still held onto you, he allowed to the sound of your regular breathing be a balm to his soul, the feeling on your hand in his be a balm for his heart.

Next chapter (Epilogue) // Series masterlist

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Thank you for reading, loves! Thoughts, encouragements and reblogs are always appreciated ✨

If you’d like to be notified on updates, follow my other blog @anika-ann-writes or let me know for a tag.

Hello dear readers! I wanted to get to this chapter much sooner, but life has been happening and muse was protesting against the length of this… so it might have taken a while, but you got a double-length serving AND feels... yay!?🥰

With this chapter, I’m also crossing the 2 mil. word count on AO3. Might have been sooner with the blurbs I posted here on tumblr, but that is not the point… I just want to thank you if you’ve been here with me for some of those words and supported my writing. Thank you 💕

May your days be filled with love 💕

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #fanfiction #take the ache #anika ann

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certainmaybe · 3 months ago

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Painting the Poster, or why Peeta Mellark is the reason it finally worked

Spoilers for SOTR as well as the rest of the hunger game franchise up to this point

This post is just my personal interpretation / subjective opinion. If you disagree that's 100% valid, and I'd be more than happy to discuss

So, I finished SORT today, and I think it's pretty obvious how a lot of the characters parallel each other. We have the theme of free-spirited covey girls, of victors driven by their need to protect the innocent, of careers regretting their role, etc. Almost every character seems at least mirrored somehow in the narrative, expect one that seems to stick out - Peeta Mellark. While I see a lot of similarity between him and young Haymitch in the way they love, it's impossible to deny that at its core, Katnisses character is way closer to Haymitch than Peeta. They are both fundamentally driven by a desire to protect, though Haymitch does it openly and with out restraint, while Katniss has already been hardened by the neglect and abandonment she faced. But when it comes down to it, they both follow the same instincts. So how does Peeta fit in?

Honestly, I just couldn't figure it out, at least not while I was thinking about the different games as individual stories. But then I thought, this isn't multiple stories. It's one story, one rebellion slowly growing until finally everything was in place, slowly collecting people and different roles until they finally had enough? So, here we go, my theory. Everything you need for the perfect poster.

1 - The Idea

This is less what we need for the poster as it's the reason we paint it. It's people like Lucy Gray Baird or Lenore Dove, people that refuse to fit into the system and force other people to admit that maybe it could or should be different. I also like to count Primrose Everdeen into this category, because even though she doesn't have the same rebellious spirit as the original covey girls, she still is somebody who values kindness and compassion in a world that wants to destroy those things, making her a rebel of her own right, at least in my book. She also serves as motivation for Katnisses fight, which will become relevant during the second point

2 - The Motive

Here we have Haymitch, Katniss, probably countless other tributes, victors and other people that were punished for their bravery. This, if everything works out, is the person you put on the poster. It can't be the idea, because they are natural rebels. People look at them and think, they must be something special, I could never be like this. While the idea gives us something to fight for, the motive is somebody we want to fight with. But because the motive isn't something 'special' on it's own, they need the right idea to make them worth painting. Or, to become a bit less metaphorical, people like Haymitch and Katniss don't just fight for no reason, they fight because they have somebody they love, somebody they fight for, somebody they are willing to break every rule and go against every norm for. This is why we need both the right idea and the right motive, on their own they just don't work.

3 - The Tools

Now we get into the practical side of things. Here we have people like Peetee, like Plutarch, possibly even Wires and very likely a ton of other people. They hardly get noticed once they are done, but they are what makes the whole thing work. The canvas, the paint brushes. It's not glamurous, it might be dirty, but with out it you won't get anywhere.

4 - The Colors

Those are the people that make the motives visible, give them their depth. Finnick, Rue, Johanna, Maysilee and Lulu, the careers, the heroes friends, families, everybody that surrounds them. With out them, we can't see the motive for what they are. We can't see them strong with out somebody to fight, we can't see them caring with somebody to care for, we can't see them as somebody to rely on with out somebody relying on them... you get the point. I could go into even more detail, but the gist is, like you need many different colors for an accurate picture, you need many different people to make a Hero visible

5 - The Artist

And here we have the big finale, the reason that with Katniss and Peeta things finally worked out. Because there are many pictures in the world, but few works of art. And to creat a work of art, you need an artist. Somebody who gets the idea, who knows how to work with all the tools, sees all the colors and most importantly, understands how to make the motive shine. And that's what Peeta did. He looked at Katniss, the way she fought and loved and cared and bled, and decided to make her shine. Other people have tried, Effi and Cinna and Coin, but with out Peeta she would just have been another Haymitch. But Peeta saw her, and understood how to show the whole world how special she was.

#sunrise on the reaping #sotr spoilers #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #haymitch abernathy #lucy gray baird #lenore dove #primrose everdeen

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m1d-45 · 1 year ago

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spoken across stars IV

summary: voicelines characters would have in sagau! ft. lyney, lynette, freminet, and two bonuses :)

word count: ~710

-> warnings: major spoilers for fontaine archon quest

-> gn reader (you/yours, one ‘their’) and unspecified traveller (they/them)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< zhongli, ayato, heizou || < masterlist >

lyney

about us: the traveller

What do I think of the traveller? Well, they’re observant, quick on their feet, and remarkably determined once set in their ways. They’re the only reason Fontaine is still standing, and the only reason I’m not stuck in the Fortress of Meropide. I owe them quite a bit, now that I think about it…

about us: the creator

friendship lv. 4

Imagine a travelling opera troupe visited town, and you decide to attend. You listen to the musical scores, watch the actors dance across the stage, years of practice and rehearsals condensed into a single scene, an unknowable amount of complexity lost from your place in the audience. You want to watch it over and over, to ask the director about his creative process and about the symbolism of the chorus, but everything packs up before you know it. You think about it forever, mourning the fragility of your own memory, wanting more than anything to watch it just one more time.

about you: worship

friendship lv. 6

Thank you for keeping my family safe. Thank you for your compassion, for believing in Lynette and Freminet and Father and… for trusting me. I lied to you and the traveller when we met and yet you still chose to help, and that means more than I can ever express. You’re kind and caring and… ah, I’m no good with words. Just… thank you. For everything.

lynette

about us: the traveller

I like them. Quick, to the point, and able to back up their words with their swordsmanship. They’re surprisingly willing to work with the Fatui; though, that shouldn’t be too unexpected considering how much Tartaglia likes to talk about them.

about us: the creator

friendship lv. 4

What does a flower think of the sun? Or the tide of the moon?

about you: worship

friendship lv. 6

Gifts and acts of service are how thanks are normally given, but considering your status… I’m no good at speeches without a script, so I’ll get to the point. Thank you for everything. I’m here if you need me. Don’t be shy about asking for help, either; no amount of errands I could run could make up for saving Teyvat thrice over. If it’s for you, I don’t mind.

freminet

about us: the traveller

The.. traveller…? Ah, I- I never got the chance to speak with them that often. Usually Lyney or Lynette interact with them… But, I am grateful they’re here. Who knows where Fontaine would be without them…

about us: the creator

friendship lv. 4

What about them? W-wait, that sounded bad—what I meant to say was: why were you asking about them? My opinion? That’s… a strange question to ask. It’s like asking what I think of the sea, or what Lynette thinks of oysters, or Lyney his shows or Father the House. I.. I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand the question…

about you: worship

friendship lv. 6

I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for you. You changed my life, how I view myself and my family, and gave me the strength to protect what I care about. I am forever in your debt. Should you ever need anything, give me the order and it will be done.

bonus!!

arlecchino

about the creator: recitals

I think it’s amusing how much effort people put into planning a thing as simple as prayer. Every day, the children carefully discuss what candles would smell the best when lit, pestering Lyney for his opinion… even Freminet, blessed as he is, practices his words at least twice before addressing them formally. Then again, he never has been confident with his words…

navia

about the creator: tea time

I rather enjoy tea parties. Brewing the tea, baking the pastries, sitting together with a few friends, it’s all so peaceful. Of course, now that Silver and Melus are gone, I find myself drinking tea all on my own. No, there’s no need to worry—sitting above a thriving Spina, knowing everything we’ve been through and the strength we’ve been given, I never feel lonely.

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cheriipetal · 7 months ago

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The wrong side of the Altar

Synopsis: At your wedding, Rin is forced to face the feelings he’s long kept hidden from the start of your relationship with a man who wasn't him.

Oneshot | Word Count: 2414 | afab! Reader | Pure angst no comfort

The chatters of the guests blurred into an indistinct hum, grating his ears. The classical music, once a soothing melody, felt like mocking each note made his heart race. Even the chime of the bells felt like a countdown to the end of everything. Everything irritated him.

Weddings were supposed to be about love and new beginnings, but for him it marked his loss and regret. Bitterness clung to him like a second skin, suffocating and inescapable. He could still remember the moments where it was just you two— those fleeting, stolen seconds when he thought he’d always have time.

But time didn’t wait, he didn’t realise what you meant to him until you weren’t his to have. Until someone else saw your love and compassion, the laugh that felt like home, and claimed it while he was frozen, too proud, and too blind to act.

Now you were gonna stand in the altar with a man that wasn’t him.

His regret was piling up recalling the memories that he’d prioritize his goals and soccer over you. How you'd get upset but didn’t let him see it. He realised that it was probably because you thought you were hindering him from his success in achieving what he wanted.

His ears picked up your laughter. He stiffened as you adjusted his tie. The fabric wrapped between your soft and warm hands. His heart beat with every second of it. His eyes adjusted to your white dress, it fitted your complexion well. You always had a knack of finding things that compliment you well. That dress was the kind of thing you’d dream about.

“Rin, you look like a mess.” You playfully said, looping the tie around. “I want you to look good in the pictures— well, you’ll still look handsome even if you look like you haven’t slept for a week.” you teased him.

Rin’s lips turned into a line, he felt a gravel in his throat. “I’ve been busy,” his voice came through, almost distant.

He looked down at you, watching your fingers tie the knot. Did you even realise what you were doing to him?

“You shouldn’t worry how I look,” he added, still frowning, showing his indifference, “it’s not my wedding, after all.”

“Yeah, because you keep pushing women or even men away from you. You’re handsome, a star captain in the japan soccer team, you have money, you have decent— well sometimes decent personality sometimes.” You jabbed at him a bit.

Rin scoffed,“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” he shot back, his tone sharper than intended.

His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. “Maybe I just don’t see the point,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear. “None of that matters if it’s not with the right person.”

“Then find them, if you really want to find the right person then don’t just be frozen in place, run and go.” You advised, finally done with his tie. You firmly straightened the fabric.

“What if I already found them?” His eyes showed vulnerability, itching for her to notice him. Wanting and longing for her to change her mind and be with him instead.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You encouraged him. Those words alone made him want to say he loved you right there.

But, he didn’t. Rin messed up a lot of things in his life. His blunt self made it harder to say what, how he felt— but it always came out wrong and not what he intended.

Rin’s heart skipped a beat at your words, the space between you suddenly feeling too small. He opened his mouth, the words almost there, but they choked in his throat. His gaze flickered away, as if afraid of what might slip out if he spoke.

“I... I don’t know if I can,” he muttered, his voice low and raw. “saying it now... it just feels too late.”

He caught your eyes for a split second, vulnerability in his own flickering like a dying flame. He wanted to say the words—he wanted to tell you how much he felt, how much he needed you—but the weight of all his failures kept him frozen

Some of the guests could be heard at the other side of the door. The awkwardness between them is heavy in the air. You pulled your hands back away from him. You weren’t sure how to break the silence between you two.

Rin’s gaze momentarily looks at the door, where the groom was laughing with others. He could feel his jaw tightened subconsciously. Everytime he even saw your fiance, he’d always have this scowl look.

You cleared your throat. Seeing the opening for a conversation, you took it, eyes lingering on Rin for a moment. “So… what do you think of him?”

Your voice was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of something else— an unspoken question hanging in the air.

Rin opened his mouth to answer but hesitated, his mind scrambling for the right words. What did he think of him? He couldn’t bring himself to admit it, even to himself.

All he could come up with was that he hated him—hated him for taking you away from him. Why did it take him so long to realize?

Soccer had always been his life—he’d worked for it, sacrificed for it. But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. You were the one who mattered most. He had realized it too late, and now the realization gnawed at him, sharp and bitter.

“He’s... alright,” he finally said, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears. It was a weak, vague answer—one that concealed the raw truth.

“I’m surprised you didn’t fight him when I said he and I were dating, honestly. I was kind of scared for him because of how much you send death glares with every man that even flirted with me.” You say with an awkward chuckle. Recalling the memories of how Rin would act so fast.

Rin’s eyes narrowed at the countless memories, and a brief moment his face hardened. “They deserved it,” he said with indifference— but not aimed towards you, to them.

—

The music changed, signalling the bride's arrival. Rin’s gaze shifted involuntarily towards the aisle, his heart pounding with every note that played. Everything seemed to slow down around him, each step echoing louder than the last as you moved closer.

Everyone was at awe by your beauty, he didn’t blame them. He was enamoured by your movements— how you looked.

Rin’s thoughts raced, the weight of everything he couldn’t say settling heavily on his shoulders. As the soft murmur of the guests filled the air. He couldn’t shake the image of you standing besides him— if only things turned out differently.

The room was alive with quiet excitement, the glow of candlelight reflecting off the polished surfaces. Laughter drifted through the air, but all Rin could hear was the steady beat of his own heart—faster now, as if it too understood the finality of what was about to happen.

A soft chime echoed through the room, and the guests fell silent, their eyes turning toward the aisle. Rin’s breath hitched in his throat, unable to tear his gaze away from where you would soon stand, arm-in-arm with him—the man you’d chosen.

The two of you said your vows, said “I do” to the question, and made the first kiss of your marriage. His body felt cold like he was trapped in the pile of snow and it was numb. It felt like someone struck a poison into him. He hated this feeling, he experienced it before when Sae said those words that left a chokehold on him for years.

He needed a drink to wash all the pain away.

—

The venue you rented was beautiful but he was too busy swallowing in his misery to even enjoy the wedding reception. He sat down in the stool ordering a heavy drink.

You were married now, it was too late for him to do anything. He can only watch on the sidelines with you living your life with another man. The bartender then handed him the glass of alcohol.

He drank it to his heart's content. The alcohol was bitter— reflecting his own emotions back at him. Alcohol was distasteful and unhealthy, he doesn’t usually drink but he’ll make an exception for just this night, to not think.

“Really want to get into the mood, huh?” your husband talked to him. Rin was already in a bad mood, your husband made it even worse.

“I guess,” Rin said with indifference, he sipped on the drink more.

“You should be hanging out with the others instead of being here all alone, she’d want you to have fun!” The words stung more than the groom probably realized.

Did he think Rin could just ‘have fun’ when everything felt wrong? He could barely keep his thoughts straight, let alone smile for the sake of others

Rin gripped his glass harder, the cold surface pressing into his palm. He could feel his vision start to blur, the alcohol doing its work. But it didn’t numb the anger. It only made it sharper.

He could feel his jaw clench, his heart rate quicken. The groom didn’t know anything. He didn’t know the weight of this situation. And every word he said made Rin’s patience thin.

Then your husband notices Rin’s reactions. He knew what was up, and that he saw how Rin would look at you, how he’d loosen up when he was with you, and now he was miserable at the wedding.

“Hey, it’s tough, I get it,” the groom says. “But you’re a great guy, Rin. You’ve got so much going for you. Don’t beat yourself up. There’s always the future, right? Maybe even someone else out there for you too.”

The more your husband said, the worse it got for Rin. It wasn’t that the groom was wrong—he was just too far removed from what Rin was feeling.

It wasn’t about finding someone else or “moving on”—it was about the one person Rin couldn’t have anymore. The one person who was slipping further away with every passing second because of him.

His grip on the glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, bitterness seeping through his voice. “You think this is just some passing thing, that I’ll ‘get over with it’. You don’t know what it feels like you’ve lost everything…. Especially when you never got the chance to tell her how you even felt. So don’t just fucking sit there and tell me that everything is okay,” with every breath, he could smell the alcohol.

“I… I didn’t mean to upset you,” the groom said, a bit taken aback. “I’m just trying to help, man. You’re a good guy, Rin. You’ll be alright.”

“Can you shut it? You think you’re the one who gets to take her away, don’t you? You think you’re the perfect guy for her, but you don’t even see it. You’re just the safe option, the ‘right choice’ on paper. All you’ve done is show up with your polished image and your nice words, pretending like you’re everything she needs—

I’m not perfect, I never was. I screwed up, I pushed her away when I should’ve held on. But I’m the one who understands her. I know what makes her laugh when she’s sad. You’re just a lukewarm piece of trash that she pitied.” He let out all his anger. All his frustrations. With each word uttered it felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders but grew more distant with his stabled mind.

“Rin,” he felt his wrist being grabbed by soft hands. His eyes looked up to see you standing there with a mix of frustration and disappointment. He was being dragged to an empty room.

He knew what was about to come, you were gonna give him a lesson, scolding him like you used to do whenever he did shit like this.

"I get it, Rin. You’re hurt. I know you care about me, but this... this isn’t how you handle it. I won’t let you disrespect him and my choice. I won’t stand for it, not after everything we’ve been through.” You touched his shoulder gently.

“You made a shitty choice.” Rin said coldly. You could smell the alcohol in his breath, too far gone to think clearly right now.

“Rin, I am proud of my decision— I love him, he never pushes me away, he never makes me feel like I’m an idiot, he never makes me feel like I was his second priority. I don’t know why you don’t want this for me, can’t you see for once… that I’m happy?”

Rin’s eyes widened, his face twisting in anger, pain, and something else— something raw and almost desperate. “And you’re saying that you found someone who can see your feelings, prioritize and love you. Then what was I? Who the hell was I to you?!”

You stepped back, your chest tightening with a mix of guilt and sorrow. “A person I love,” you said, your voice almost a whisper now. “But who taught me that love isn’t always enough.”

You couldn’t stand it anymore, everything was too overwhelming for you. Rin was too hurt— you couldn’t look him in the eyes without feeling guilty. Feeling like shit, you turned around and left the room, hoping the silence would ease your thoughts.

As you left the room, it was just him with his thoughts. His gaze lingering on the doorway where you just left. His hands grip on his suit, wrinkling it, his knuckles turned white. “What was I?” the question echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain. The words that he spat out were wrong now.

His chest tightened for a moment, the alcohol buried in his veins, dulling the clarity he had left, but only left every once of guilt that he had. How could he let it get this far? He was too damn proud… to be caught up in his own world to notice you needed more than he was giving.

Now, there you were—standing with someone else, someone who could make you happy, someone who wasn’t him.

Rin clenched his fists and took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. Nothing could. He had missed his chance.

#rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #blue lock x reader #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #angst

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myceliacrochet · 8 months ago

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Itaf and Mazen's love is beautiful, I love to see it. We are Facebook friends. She said the other day that each donation and kind word is a rose we place on her path. May Itaf and Mazen live happily ever after.

The words of her GoFundMe:

"Hello!

"I am Itaf and this is my husband Mazen.

"My husband is everything to me, and I am his everything... and we are being starved. We want to be together, and we want to see each other smile again in peace. Our love is unique to us, we don't want to lose each other. We don't want a world where one of us doesn't exist anymore. We desire the end of this constant anxiety, hunger and danger. Our love is strong and we want to connect with the whole world, we have so much to give back. Please feel your power to support us through the tiniest contribution, so we can leave Gaza eventually for freedom and peace.

"What happened to us?

"My husband and I live in Rafah, Gaza under harsh conditions. For more than five months, we have been under bombardment, war and fire.

"My house was severely damaged due to the bombing that was next to me. The shrapnel fell right on top of us. We narrowly escaped death. Many of my neighbors and relatives died because of these attacks. So we couldn't stay and had to relocate. Our new "house" is mainly made of tin sheets (see picture below).

"We are now in severe hardship, hunger and thirst. We eat grasses, animal feed and drink polluted salt water to survive. There is no water, food, or treatment. Even though the little we have, every morning if possible, we feed the cats and make sure they got something as well.

"We want to escape by all means. Please support us get out of here. You can make a difference even by donating a coffees worth.

"Helping us means that you give us life and live safely. Help, to get us out of this burning hell here. The bombs are dropping mercilessly on our land.

"Every minute makes a difference. Every little amount counts. A small amount that doesn't hurt you, can make the biggest difference to us... you personally don't have to carry a huge burden, we are asking for a collective deed, when many people give a little, we will make it. Thank you so much.

"❤️

"---

"Adressing your commonly asked questions:

"1. Can we trust this?

"Our friend in Germany has started this campaing for us, because we in Palestine are not allowed to do a GoFundme. Our friend will make sure the money reaches us safely via Western Union. Thank you so much for helping and asking!

"2. It feels like a losing battle

"That's true for every time you give a Dollar to a homeless person as well, and you still do it from time to time, so they can get something to eat today.

"In our case, we are trapped in the real life squid-games or hunger games. You can actually help a ton by giving 1$ and spread the news! We are still alive... the battle is not lost yet.

"3. Focus on two people? Then what about all the other people?

"We love this thought, because it shows so much compassion, but it will cause hopelessness and inaction. You are here now, so if you want to help, here is a good place to start. Just even 1$ and spreading this campaign on social media to reach our goal will make the biggest difference. Thank you!

"(If you want to help furthermore, we'd greatly appreciate if you consider donating to the UNWRA Gaza relief fund as well).

"This is a scene from my diary of harsh conditions. It was a very good day I bought half a kilo of rice, cooked it, and now I'm done. I was trying to buy a kilo of sugar but it is insanely high priced.

"4. Why this specific amount and does it really help?

"The little bit of food we can still get here got extremely expensive, so even just staying will be costly if we want to stay alive. The costs of coordination at the Rafah crossing will go through the Egyptian Hala company. One of the burdens we have to carry is non-reliable bureaucracy, the cost is $5,000 - $10,000 per person. There are road and crossing fees from Rafah to Cairo of approximately $100 per person. I do not know how much it costs to fly from Egypt to the host country where Carolin invited us to. So our aim is to get $20.000 (which translates to 22.500 Euros incl. the GoFundMe fee) to at least get the Rafah crossing for sure. If we have extra we can afford to get to our host country as well, which would be the absolute dream - but our first goal is to get out.

"5. How do I stay informed?

"I post my Inside-Gaza diary on Facebook and Instagram, please feel free to follow me there, I will post updates!

"Follow my diary on Facebook

"Follow me on Instagram

"Furthermore Carolin will help keep this Fundraiser up to date!

"6. Why should I help?

"Because we can only succeed when everybody gives a little bit.

"This is our current home, thanks for your help even for the slightest bit! Greetings from Gaza...

"7. How often is the money being sent?

"The donations are being transferred on a regular basis, so that they are with Itaf and Mazen as soon as possible.

"8. How is the money being used?

"It will be used to evacuate eventually and in the meantime to buy food and water, to survive the harsh conditions.

"--

"Thank you for taking the time to read this and for considering supporting our cause."

Donate:

https://gofund.me/79bcce1f

Vetting:

I don't know of any vetting for Itaf and Mazen. I just know them on Facebook, and the RIS is clean on all the pictures in this post.

@acehimbo @butchfeygela @bisexualspeed @butchjeremyfragrance @k1teko @ohjinyoung @revoltingcocks @yampulp @eraserheadbaby2 @nocturnal-notes @rememberthelaughter2016 @parfaithaven @gryficowa @tittyinfinity @6o3o9 @fantasykiri5 @sadbiooi @battleofthegarys @illpunchababy @alliterate-accident @flashingdaydreams @s7ar-sai10r @tallytals @monotremesoup @dlxxv-vetted-donations @ilikefoodandyourmom @i-named-my-cactus-albert @pogasssm @thethrillbasisindeterminable @agremlinthing @huzni @bagofbonesmp3 @hussyknee @divorce-enjoyer @treffyfrinn @effen-draws @thatsonehellofabird @neechees @queerpotat @queerstudiesnatural @maester-cressen @lampsbian @freddyfazbearboyfriend

#free gaza #free palestine #gaza #gaza genocide #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #gaza solidarity #mutual aid #the gaza strip #children of gaza

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pitchsidestories · 2 years ago

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invisible string II Lucy Bronze x Reader

a/n: based off this request.

"Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?"

~ Taylor Swift, invisible string

barcelona women masterlist I word count: 3264

North Carolina, 2009

To be honest the first time Lucy Bronze stepped into your life was not ideal. For countless reasons. One of them was how you two met back in 2009 in North Carolina. Both of you were foreign students playing for the University’s soccer team. So naturally the changing room was the place of your first meeting.

As the captain of the team, you asked every teammate to introduce themselves at the start of the fresh semester: “And you’re?” “Lucy. Lucy Bronze.”, the dark-haired woman replied while eating. In slight disgust you wrinkled your nose. To yourself you thought who talks when there’s still food in their mouth you asked yourself, but you chose to say out loud:” Pleasure.” “Want a piece?”, the English defender asked with a smile which usually won everyone over even the toughest opponents. Slowly you shook your head:“ No, thanks, training is about to start.”

The truth was you lost your appetite since your girlfriend broke up with you over your phone a few days ago. To be fair Spain and North Carolina was far apart from each other, but you had hoped your love was strong enough to handle this. It turned out you were very wrong about that. Meanwhile Lucy shrugged her shoulders nonchalant:” Fine then.”

In the evening you tried to cook for yourself while equally trying not to cry into your dinner. Someone was standing right behind you, so you turned around to see who it was: “Oh hello Lucia.” “Pretty sure I introduced myself as Lucy. Not Lucia.”, the English woman frowned. Confused you gave her a closer look: “Yes but why don’t you use your Portuguese name then it’s on the squad list?” “Mierda!”,you cursed as you realized you burnt your food while talking to the defender. Worried Lucy asked: “Because I’m English. Do you need help?” “No, maybe I do need a little bit of help. Sorry, I’m not in a good mood lately. My girlfriend back at home in Spain said she could not do this long distance thing but it’s only a year. Nevermind. God, I’m a mess.”, you opened up, not knowing exactly why you did it in front of someone who was still almost a stranger. Maybe that made it easier to talk about it.

The brunette smiled empathetically:” So heartbroken, huh?” “Yes.”, you nodded. With a grin the taller woman demanded in a bossy tone:” I know what helps with that. Move over. I’ll make you some food.”“That’s thank you.”, she took you by surprise with that small act of kindness. “Don’t worry about it.”

Curiously you asked:“ Do you like North Carolina so far?” “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”, she responded to with a grin while staying equally focused on the cooking part. You couldn’t help but to gush about your surroundings:” I agree. It’s crazy that women’s football here is more popular than men’s football, right? Feels like there’s still so much to do back home in Europe.” “Yes, you’re probably right about that.”, Lucy agreed while she secretly found your passion for change inspiring as she too felt like it was about damn time.

Suddenly you changed the topic, wanting to know more about the English woman in front of you: “Can I ask you something? What made you choose defending?” “I just love stopping people from scoring. Always did. When I played with boys, they always underestimated me. They thought I wouldn’t tackle them.”, the brunette replied, visibly amused by that memory of her childhood. “But you proved them wrong.”, you concluded. The defender laughed while she was reminiscing on her past: “I did. I made a few of them cry.” “Oh, really?”, you giggled. The English woman could still see your red eyes from the crying a few minutes ago:”Yeah, but they did cry a lot uglier than you.” “I thought pretty crying doesn’t exist.” “Apparently it does. Here, eat that.”, Lucy demanded.

As you took the first bite you closed your eyes because it tasted simply delicious:” Oh my god, this is really good. Where did you learn to cook like that?” “My mum taught me.”, the dark-haired woman answered proudly. Still with your eyes shut you remarked: “She taught you well.” “Took a long time until I perfected cooking like her.”, the defender confessed with a smile.

Now you opened your eyes again and gave her an sincere look:“Thanks though for the cooking and the talking Lucy. I really needed this tonight.” “No, worries. I had to cook anyway.”, your teammate shrugged it off.

Lucy did enjoy cooking for you although she did not think any further on that because you were clearly in an heartbroken state and she was just happy to focus on football for now and the possible friendship that would evolve from here.

Lyon 2017/18

When you joined Olympique Lyon a year ago, you immediately felt like home in this team. Today, the new signings were supposed to be introduced to the squad and you were determined to make them feel the same way.

You ran into Wendie Renard on your way to the pitch who looked down at you with a smirk; “The newest signing says she knows you, so I thought maybe you could show her around.“ “What? Who is it?“, you asked confused. But the tall defender did not even need to answer. Over her shoulder you could see a familiar face walking towards you. “Lucy? How long has it been? Seven years since North Carolina?“ Without thinking you threw yourself into the arms of your former best friend. Lucy hugged you tight and smiled; “Surprise.“ Slowly, you let go and shook your head in disbelief; “Oh wow. You’re here. I can’t believe it. But can you even speak french?“ Lucy grimaced as if you had personally offended her with that question; “Of course I speak french. I’m well prepared.“ “Really?“. You raised an eyebrow at her which Lucy only answered with a tired smile; “Don’t underestimate me.“ “We’ll see how well you do in training. They refuse to speak english.“, you kept teasing, your arms folded across your chest. But Lucy remained confident; “Not a problem for me.“ “If you say so. Come on, I’ll give you the tour.“, you decided and took a few steps away from Lucy.

The English defender immediately kept up with you; “Alright, I’ll follow you.“ As you walked side by side across the training grounds, you could not stop yourself from looking at Lucys face. It’s been a long time since you have last seen her and those seven years have done something to her. Or has she always looked that good and you just never noticed it? But that smile was definitely still the same.

As you two stepped into the empty gym, you opened your arms in a welcoming gesture; “Welcome to the best club in Europe.“ “It will be even better now.“, Lucy replied self-assured, letting her gaze wander around the room. You acknowledged her answer with an eye roll; “You did not change at all.“

“But you did?”, the defender mocked you. “Yes.” She took a long look at you before saying: “I don’t believe that.” “I’m not the sad, heartbroken young adult anymore.”, you told her. Amused your new old teammate began: “But apart from that.” In her eyes you’ve always been beautiful, and this has not changed over the years you’ve spent apart. Her gaze became a bit too intense for your liking, so you tried to get back into swing with your tour:” So these are the changing rooms.” “They’re quite nice.”, the brunette admitted while taking the view in. Smiling you promised her: ”Wait until you see the other rooms, they are way more exciting.” “Oh yeah?”, Lucy smirked and led you back to the changing room. Dazzled you looked at her:” Yes but Luce that’s not the way!” “Oh yes, it’s. Close your eyes.”, the English woman commanded. Still confused you ask her: ”Why?” “Just do it.”, the defender replied, her voice slightly impatient. A sigh escaped your lips while you closed your eyes in anticipation of what you did not know exactly:“ Okay Fine.” “Good, don’t’ move.”, the brunette said, sounding quite satisfied now. Her tone made you laugh and question what she was doing behind your closed eyes: “I promise I won’t.” “Okay, open them again.”

“What did you do?”, you stared at her slowly realizing what she has been up to. Your teammate couldn’t help but grin cheekily: “I stole your locker.” “Rude, I’ll change that back.”, you scoffed. Laughing Lucy hold you from doing what you announced: “Stop, it’s mine now.” “No, I’ve been here longer than you.”, you started pouting. She threw an innocent look at you: “I thought the newest singing gets to pick.” “You’ll regret that, Bronzy.”, you jokingly warned her before continuing showing her around.

It was matchday and Ada Hegerberg who became one of your closest friends in the team whistled at the sight of you sitting on Lucy’s lap:” Oh look we’ve two new lovebirds.” “What? No, I’m just sitting on my usual place.”, you corrected her and yet your cheeks still turned red at the Norwegian’s comment.

With a smug smile, Lucy tilted her head up at you; “Actually, your place is over there. This is mine now.“ “No, it’s always been hers.“, Ada sided with you. You held up your head in Adas direction; “See!“ But Lucy shook her head vehemently; “Nope. I picked it when I came here.“ You gasped about the fact that she would consider stealing your locker as picking one. “I won’t move.“, you declared stubbornly. The English defender shrugged; “Then we will sit here for a long time.“ Wendie was already impatiently bouncing on her feet, waiting for the game to start; “Come on, you silly girls.“ Seeing your captain ready and focused made you finally give in. Slowly you stood up from Lucys lap; “Coming.“ “Yeah, let’s kick some asses.“, she laughed as she followed you outside.

This game was important and everyone on the field knew it. You played in the midfield, Lucy behind you to your right. Immediately, it felt like back in the US. You knew exactly where Lucy was moving without seeing her and she could read your body language so well that every pass to you was timed perfectly. It still was a hard-fought game, but Ada managed to put the ball behind the keeper, scoring the only goal of the night and winning you the game.

As you walked around the pitch, high-fiving your team mates after the final whistle, Ada stopped you. Her gaze wandered from you to Lucy who stood close by, joking with Wendie; “Your connection is remarkable… It feels like you’re connected by some invisible string. Are you two…?“ Before she could even finish her question, you burst into laughter; „Lucy and me? Oh no.“ “Oh, you’re not?“ “No. We just know each other for a long time.“, you explained, feeling your cheeks flush. Gratefully, you noticed Wendie walking towards you and nudging Ada; „Leave the children alone, Ada.“ Rolling your eyes, you reminded her; “We’re not children anymore.“ “We’re even older than Ada.“, Lucy chimed in. “Exactly.“ Your captain shook her head with a long sigh; “Still children if you two don’t see what’s in front of you.“ “I See a successful season in front of us.“, Lucy replied, gracefully ignoring what Wendie had hinted at. “Oh yes. It will be golden.“, you smiled. The English defender grinned back at you; “With many trophies.“

It turned out that she was right with her prophecy after all. You did win the league but even more importantly you did become the winner of the women’s champions league. What a glorious night in Kiev. Olympique Lyon won 4:1 against Vfl Wolfsburg.

As the referee ended the game you beamingly jumped into Lucy’s arms: “We’re the champions of Europe, Lucy!” “I told you.”, the brunette shouted back equally happy. On your team’s side it was pure happiness, on the other side the german team was devastated. Ecstatically you whispered into your friend’s ear: “We won.” “Yeah, we’re the best.”, the defender nodded proudly.

In that special moment under the night sky, you suddenly felt brave enough to do something which you normally would not have done, because you’d have feared the possible consequences afterwards: “Close your eyes. How does that win feel?” “Amazing. For a lack of better words.”, she told you, still with a huge grin on her face which encompassed all the feelings for which the English woman did not find the words yet. Before you could overthink anymore of it you kissed her while Lucys eyes were still shut down. Surprised the brunette replied to the kiss, first cautiously than more passionately. But Ada interrupted the two of you as she called your name. Your cheeks still red from what just happened you told the blonde: “I’m on my way, Ada!” “Wait..what?”, the defender found her voice again and looked dazzled at you. Shyness overcame you: “I’m sorry, I don’t know how-“ “Oh. It’s fine. Happens to the best of us, right.”, Lucy tried to shrug it off. Nervously you agreed: “Right.” Meanwhile Ada took your hand to lead you to your celebrating teammates.

Wendie who watched you two from afar asked the confused English woman: “Lucy, what was that?” “Why are you asking me? She did that.”, Lucy countered. The French woman glanced at her curiously: “And how did it made you feel?” “It just happened in the excitement. It’s fine.”, Lucy answered. Although her heart felt heavy saying these words. A small smile appeared on Wendie’s lips as she observed: “You look disappointed though.” “I’m not.”, her teammate grumbled. Trying it with a more cheerful tone she added: “Let’s go celebrate with the other ones.”

After a few glasses of champagne, you noticed that Lucy was sitting alone: “Lucy? Why did you stop celebrating?” “Huh? Oh. Just wanted a break.”, the brunette explained. Hurt you commented:” You’re trying to avoid me, right.” “No, I don’t.”, she said stubbornly. “Lucy.” “It’s fine. Really.”, the defender told you. The silence between you two became unbearable so you offered her:“I can leave if you prefer that.”

“No.“, Lucy answered curtly. Confused, you repeated; “No?“ “No, stay.“, she clarified, still not looking at you. You sat down next to her with a sigh; “If you want that.“ “I do.“ As the silence threatened to get too big once again, you gathered your courage and steered the conversation to the obvious topic; “The kiss…“ But Lucy interrupted you before you could finish; “I know. It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.“ She was finally looking at you. Your breath hitched involuntarily. As you spoke, you could feel your jaw tense: “No, it was not an accident. I was just a coward.“ “What do you mean?“, Lucy frowned, equally surprised about the confidence in your voice. “I wanted to kiss you since the start of the season but it always felt like the wrong time… at least that’s what I told myself.“, you admitted.

You had no idea how Lucy would react, but did not expect her features softening as she asked; “Wait. You did?“ “Yeah.“, you confirmed, looking down at the ground. Upon Lucys quiet laugh, you immediately had to look up again. “Shit. You should have done that much earlier then.“ Lightly, you tilted your head; “But what if you didn’t feel the same way and I’d have ruined everything?“ “But I do. So you missed your chance to do it earlier.“, Lucy grinned. “So…?“, you struggled to put your thoughts into words. Amused, Lucy repeated; “So?“ “Was it too late to tell you that?“, you asked carefully. Gently, Lucy slipped her hand into yours; “No, it was the absolute perfect time.“ “Would you give us a try then?“ The defender nodded; “I’d want nothing more.“

There were so many emotions that you could not process at this moment. But there was one thing, you knew you wanted to do; “Can I kiss you again? This time with open eyes?“ “You can kiss me all you want.“, Lucy laughed, tilting her head towards you and waited. You leaned forward, pressing your lips on hers. Her hand rested on your thigh as she deepened the kiss. When you broke apart, she grinned; “I could get used to that.“ “Me too.“, you agreed before Lucy pulled you back into another, longer kiss.

Barcelona 2023

“Hello Aitana and Lucy.”, Sarina Wiegmant greeted the two Barcelona players with a big smile. Only a couple of minutes earlier she has been in a deep talk with their club head coach. Surprised the defender looked at the Dutch woman: ”Coach?” “Oh I was watching you and Keira tonight.”, for a moment the England coach stopped in astonishment than she added, Wait, who’s that?” “Lucy’s wife.”, Aitana answered grinning. Amused Lucy took your hand in hers:” Thanks, Aitana. Yes, that’s my wife.” “I did not knew you had one!”, Sarina gazed startled at the two of you. The defender laughed: “Surprise. I do.” “Why was not she at the World Cup?”, the blonde asked noisily. Her player replied winking: “She’s Spanish.” “That was one reason, the other one is still carried around by Mapi.”, you added grinning. Playfully your wife gasped out loud:” Oh no, don’t tell her!” “No, tell me.”, the Dutch woman demanded. With a sigh Lucy turned to one of your closest friends since childhood:” Wait. Mapi!” “Oh do you want your little girl back?”, the Spanish defender asked smiling innocently, while holding your baby in her arms.

As Mapi mentioned the news, Sarina’s mouth went wide open:“Little girl?” “Yes, she needs to get to know Sarina.”, your wife nodded. Eyerolling the Spanish defender gave the brunette her daughter back:“Fine but she won’t play for England when her time comes the Spanish federation might have changed for the better.” “You don’t actually believe that, do you? She’ll play for England.”, the English woman decided. “Okay but let her at least play for Barcelona.” “We’ll see about that.”, your wife answered.

Meanwhile Sarina cooed over your little girl:” Hello little one, nice to meet you. Don’t listen to those adults talking about your future.” “We’re just making sure, she’ll have a good career.”, Lucy defended her position. Softly her coach looked from your daughter to her: “I know but let her be a child first.” “Don’t worry, we’re just joking. No one’s pushing her into something she doesn’t want to.”, the brunette reassured the Dutch woman. “True, we’re making sure of that.”, you continued. “Very well. So where did you two met?”, Sarina changed the topic. A dreamy look appeared on the defenders face:“A long time ago. We were both playing in the US for North Carolina.” “Really? I played there too. A long time ago.”, the blonde replied amused by that coincidence. “There’s no way, Sarina.”, Lucy chuckled. “But it was a long time before you. I think we might have had the same coach though.” A sound of disbelief came from your lips:” Did you had Dorrance too.” “I did.”, Sarina told you. Almost admiring the defender concluded:“So did Lotte and Alessia, that man taught football generations after generations.” “Who would have thought that.”, you said. “Not me but it’s kinda cool.”, Lucy admitted.

You looked at her and Sarina as you remarked: “It’s like we’re all connected through invisible strings. Somehow we all ended up together at some point in time and place.”

#lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #woso one shot #barcelona femeni #engwnt #lionesses #lucy bronze imagine #barca femeni #engwnt x reader #mapi leon x reader #woso community

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