#gonna think about this for the next few days | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

docrobinavitch · 15 hours ago

Text

force of nature, pull of gravity | part three

dr. robby x f!attending!reader force of nature masterlist masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, the entirety of this fic navigates grief in depth, death of mentor (adamson), death of child/family member, suicidal ideation, swearing, canon medical events, alcohol, smoking (marijuana), mentions of drug use, angst words: 10.7K synopsis: robby and reader put their issues aside as they navigate pittfest, but they're never very far. as things begin to taper off, they discuss the future a/n: hooo baby welcome to the third and final part of force of nature. this one almost killed me. i hope you love it. please note that i fucked with the canon timeline heavily. as promised, we leave off on a happy and hopeful note i think! anyway, please come yap to me about all your thoughts about them i would love nothing more. i'll still be thinking about them for quite a while. <3 syd

It didn’t feel like any of it was real. It had felt like that for about six months now, since March, when everything shut down. Except, of course, the hospital.

You don’t remember everything, it only came in snapshots. Like a damaged film reel, it played in and out, the blanks filled with static. Your therapist explained that not being able to remember was your brain’s way of protecting you. Without your permission, your mind had filed things all the way in the back, in a safe you didn’t have the key to. You alternated between being grateful and being angry. After all, those were your last few months with Adamson. You both wanted to remember everything and desperately wanted to forget.

What you remember most about that period of time, the worst of it, before the rollout of the vaccines, were the feelings. The anger, the fear, the grief. But mostly, the loneliness of it.

You were with people all day long, but not really. Masks and goggles and hazmat suits and gloves keeping enough distance between everyone. A touch on the shoulder that didn’t reach skin. A squeeze of the wrist but no warmth from a pulse. You couldn’t tell when someone was smiling or not. It was as if someone had wrapped the world in wool, muffling everyone from everything that made you human.

The first time you got sick and the test lit up positive for Covid, it felt like a moral failure of some kind.

You spent the next couple of weeks secluded to your apartment, at the mercy of your own hypervigilance, constantly checking your pulse ox and heart rate and fever. Anything that might indicate you were worsening.

But you were fine, in the end. It stayed relatively tame for you. Which made everything feel so much worse when you watched Dr. Adamson deteriorate just a month later.

“He’s gonna be fine.” You and Robby would repeat back and forth to one another almost every hour after he had been admitted for having difficulty breathing.

But then the treatment wasn’t working, he was getting worse. Robby had to put him on ECMO. And you and Robby stopped talking. Stopped seeking each other out for reassurance because it was obvious what was happening and neither of you could say it aloud.

You regretted that most, now. That you had let him stop talking to you.

Today seemed determined to drag all of those feelings back to the surface for you. Especially the feeling like none of it was quite happening. You were worried you might fully untether from your body in the face of this fucking mass casualty. You had no idea what you were going to do now, now that you had kissed Robby in the ambulance bay. Now that he had finally admitted that he was in love with you. Your head was spinning.

But there wasn’t time for you to spin out, because now they were preparing for an MCI. And Jake was there and not answering his phone. And Robby had that look on his face, like he did when the EMTs rolled Adamson into the Pitt four years ago. Like he was absolutely terrified, but his brain was already skipping past that feeling to find a solution.

It was this look that terrified you because it usually meant he thought he was the only one capable of finding that solution and he would block everyone else out to get that result.

“Hey,” You caught his wrist in your hand as you walked back into the ER, instinctually ran your thumb over the tattoo there. You could feel his pulse racing under your touch. He paused, looking down at your hand and then back up, meeting your eyes, “I’m here.”

You said, just as a reminder. Despite whatever trainwreck had just occurred between the two of you, you needed him to know he could lean on you right now in whatever capacity he needed to get through this.

He nodded, “Yeah,” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it lightly, “Yeah, me too.”

When Abbot walked into the ER, immediately, you were relieved at the sight of him. The tightness in your chest eased when he squeezed your shoulder. The both of you listened as Robby gave his speech to the staff about what was happening and what was about to happen, jumping in if either of you thought it was necessary.

“You and Robby doing okay?” Jack asked quietly.

You turned to look at him and shook your head, “I don’t know.” You swallowed, “And I guess since I’ve told him, I should tell you as well, that I… accepted a job offer at Presby.”

He stared at you for a moment, “What a fucking day.” He shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, “Alright. We’ll talk about that later.”

You stuffed some eleven blades in your pockets after Robby handed you the Primary Triage MD vest. “You know the drill?” He asked, handing you the belt with all the different color wrist bands.

You nodded, taking the belt from him and strapping it around your waist, “Assess based on mental status and pulse strength. Mental status, AVPU, alert, response to verbal, response to pain, unresponsive. Pulse next, radial, femoral, carotid.”

You weren’t new at this, but repeating the textbook instructions back to him soothed your nerves. The adrenaline rush whenever you knew a bunch of traumas were headed your way.

“Excellent,” He said and managed the smallest of smiles. And for a second, it felt like he was a senior resident again and you an intern. Before everything got complicated. “I’ll help you get started.”

You followed him out to the ambulance bay and almost immediately, a car pulled up with gunshot victims. You and Robby don’t need to speak to each other as you spend those ten seconds per patient, this is where the two of you had always worked best, side by side on patients. It’s the one place you trusted each other implicitly, where there was no gray area between you.

After getting three patients triaged and moved inside in about thirty seconds, the two of you shared a smirk and a high five, Robby wrapping his hand around yours and keeping it there.

“Bet they can’t triage that fast at Presby.” He said softly, hitting you fully with his big, woeful brown eyes.

You scowled at him and pulled your hand from his, “Don’t look at me with that face.”

“What face?”

You gesticulated towards his face with your hands, frustration clear in every movement, “Your fucking kicked puppy face.”

He titled his head, frowning, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression, “This is just my face.”

“Well it’s fucked up.” You said, looking away and towards the road, waiting for more incoming.

“My face is fucked up?” Yeah, that was definitely amusement in his voice.

You sighed, “You should go inside, they need you in there. Send out Shen to help me.” You felt his stare on you, hot and heavy, “I’ll come get you if I see Jake.”

He watched you for a moment longer before you heard him leave, the ambulance bay doors sliding open and closed.

His absence had your pulse racing again until all you could hear was the pounding of blood in your ears and the slow crescendo of the approaching sirens.

***

Robby was out to dinner with Janey when his phone rang. As he fished it out of his pocket, Janey sighed, and he knew whether or not he answered it he had already lost.

He and Janey had been together a year and a half when your niece drowned. At first, Janey was gracious whenever Robby had to cancel plans or came home later than usual because you were having a hard time. But as the weeks and months passed she became less and less forgiving.

Robby couldn’t really blame her. He knew he was being an awful partner, putting the needs of his friend above his girlfriend. He tried asking Jack to keep an eye on you instead occasionally, but Jack himself admitted he couldn’t quite get through to you the way Robby could. And lately your behavior had grown more erratic and unpredictable to the point where Adamson had forced you into another leave of absence.

The conversation between the two of you had been muffled through the family room door, but Robby had still gotten the gist of it. You were snapping at patients, often putting yourself in unsafe situations on purpose. It was obvious you wanted to physically endanger yourself and Adamson wouldn’t tolerate it in his ER. He told you to take your leave and get help while you were out. You wouldn’t be welcomed back until you got a handle on both your behavior and your grief. You had stormed out of the ER, tears of frustration rushing down your cheeks.

That was three days ago and Robby hadn’t heard from you since. At first, he thought it might have been best to give you space, but then he really started to worry. And now his phone was ringing and it was an unknown number.

He gave Janey an apologetic look, but she waved him off, and he was already out of his seat to pick up the call.

“Is this Dr. Robby?”

He rubbed at his beard anxiously with his free hand, “Speaking.”

“Hi, darling, sorry to bother you. It’s Mrs. Carpenter from 57B.”

Your neighbor. He had forgotten he had given her his number the last time he was at your apartment, in case of emergency.

“I haven’t seen her in a few days, but the last few hours she’s been blasting that Fleetwood Mac album and she won’t answer her door. I can handle the noise,” She said quickly as he tried to interrupt to apologize, “but I’m starting to get worried about her and I know you have a key.”

Already, he was nodding, “Yeah, of course. I’ll be right over.”

Hanging up, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. He really, really, shouldn’t be running at the drop of a hat to your apartment. Not when he knew it was going to upset Janey.

But even as he thought it, that he should stay with Janey, he could see the faraway look in your eyes you’d had for months now. The nails chewed to the quick, cracked and bleeding. The bruises beneath your eyes because of the constant nightmares.

He heard the arguments he and Janey had had about you over the last few months. Her saying you weren’t his responsibility. But it didn’t feel like that. Hadn’t felt that way since your first day of residency when he cleaned up the cut on your forehead. When he said he would make sure you got through the day and you had looked at him like no one had ever offered you help before.

He did feel like you were his responsibility, and if you slipped through the cracks now, he wasn’t sure he could live with that.

Robby hadn’t even opened his mouth to explain to Janey that he had to go when she was already shaking her head in frustration, “She’s not a child, Michael, she’s a grown woman–”

“She’s going through some shit right now–”

“Everybody’s going through some shit!” She scoffed, “Look, I… I understand that she’s your friend, that you’ve been friends a long time. And I love that you’re such a supportive, giving friend. But I–I’m sorry, I can’t keep being your second choice.”

Robby looked at her sadly, “You’re not my second choice.” He insisted.

She tilted her head slightly, “If you walk out to go to her right now, I’m sorry, but we’re done.”

He sighed and dropped his head, rubbing a hand down to the back of his neck, “Can’t we talk about this later?”

“No,” She said softly, “I’m tired of talking in circles with you. It’s time for you to make a choice. And I think we both know what choice you’re going to make.”

He looked back up at her. He wanted to be angry with her for giving him an ultimatum, but the truth was, they both knew it wasn’t a choice to him. He didn’t know how to choose anyone who wasn’t you. He could no longer imagine his life without you in it.

He sighed, “Janey, I don’t… I don’t want to end it like this.”

“Then don’t.”

He looked down at his phone and then back up to Janey, “I have to go check on her.” He said softly.

Janey nodded, like she had been expecting that answer, “So go, Michael.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, and he meant it. He didn’t want to hurt Janey, but you needed him.

So he showed up at your apartment that night, banging on your door and calling your name for minutes. No answer, and you were blasting Rumours very loudly. Eventually, he called out that he was letting himself in and used the copy of the key you had given him to open the door.

The apartment was a mess. Clothes strewn haphazardly, empty takeout containers stacked on top of one another on most surfaces. A coat was draped over the record player which Robby moved so he could turn off the music.

You were nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like you to leave your apartment in such disarray. You liked order, control. He had never known you to leave a dirty dish lying around. It was unheard of for a coat to not be on a hook or clothes left outside their proper spot in your drawer or closet. It scared the shit out of him to see it like this, it felt like a very blatant projection of your current mental health.

With the music off, he called out your name again, but still no response. However, he heard the shower running and followed the sound to the bathroom.

He knocked a few times, but there was no response and he started to panic. When he jiggled the doorknob, he expected it to be locked, but it was open and he pushed it ajar. He was prepared to find the worst, but you were fine, physically anyway.

The shower was running, but you weren’t in it. Fully clothed, you stood on the toilet, head out the open window, a lit joint between your fingers.

You turned to look at him and your eyes were bloodshot, from the drugs, or from crying, he couldn’t tell. For a second, he felt relief, but then he was annoyed. He had left Janey, ended things with her for good, for fear something was really wrong and you were just fucking getting high.

“Is there a reason you won’t answer your fucking phone?” He asked gruffly.

You took a drag from your joint, and watched him as you held the smoke in your lungs, before slowly exhaling in his face, “It’s in the other room, why the fuck are you here?”

He scoffed, “Because I’m an idiot, I guess.” He shook his head, “Mrs. Carpenter said she had been knocking on your door for a while and you weren’t answering, I thought–I don’t know, no one had heard from you in a while.”

“Well,” You jumped off the toilet, “I’m alive, as you can see, so you can go.”

He plucked the joint out of your hand, “Where did you get this?”

You made to grab the joint back from him, but he held it out of your reach and you scowled, “I bought it off Marcus, the guy who lives at the end of the hall. Now would you stop killing my peace?”

“Is that all you bought from him?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. You were pretty high and had also drunk a whole bottle of wine earlier, so you weren’t positive, but you thought you knew what he was implying, “Are you… are you asking… if I bought pills?”

He stared at you silently, jaw clenched.

“Is this a fucking joke? You’re joking?” Still, he said nothing. You scoffed, “Robby, I’d never do that. You know that.”

He shook his head, “I don’t know that. You’re scaring the hell out of me,” His voice broke, “I thought when I walked in here I was gonna find your body.”

You sighed, “You’re being very dramatic.”

“Am I?” He bent his head to meet your eyes, “Can you tell me honestly that you haven’t thought about it?”

You couldn’t. Since your niece had passed you had been in a sort of fugue state and when you weren’t fully dissociated, you wondered what the point was of anything. What was the point of being an emergency medicine doctor if you couldn’t save your goddaughter? And if you weren’t an emergency medicine doctor, who were you? You had allowed your career to dictate your entire adult life so far and all you knew was being good at medicine.

But maybe you weren’t very good at medicine at all, because when it mattered most you failed.

So, yeah. You had thought about buying the drugs. You had thought about going up to the roof and not coming back down. You had thought about getting in your car and heading for the ocean. But you were still here.

You broke Robby’s stare and stepped around him, turning off the shower and walking to your kitchen. You grabbed two glasses from the top shelf and a bottle of bourbon, poured each of you a generous glass and pushed one towards Robby.

He shook his head, “I don’t want any. I want you to talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” You asked softly, too exhausted to fight.

Every line of his face was etched with desperation as he looked at you and shook his head slightly, “That you’ll stop punishing yourself like this,” He gestured to the alcohol, to the disaster that was your apartment, “You can’t keep going like this, it’s unsustainable. You need help. You need to figure out how to forgive yourself.”

You swirled the amber liquid around your glass, “I don’t know that I can.”

He took the glass from your hand and pushed it away, taking your hands in his instead, “Look at me,” He said softly and your bloodshot eyes trailed up to his. His thumb made gentle circles on the back of your hand, “You can,” He said slowly, “But you have to want it. For you.”

You weren’t sure you did want it. You didn’t think you deserved to want it. But even through your drug and alcohol induced haze, you could see Robby was scared and desperate. Seemingly, at the prospect of losing you. Maybe you’d want it for yourself one day. Right now, you just wanted him to stop looking at you like that.

“Okay.” You said softly.

“You mean that?”

You nodded, “I mean it.”

He pulled you into a hug, sighing in relief as he rested his head on top of yours, “Tomorrow, we’re going to find you a psychologist. Tonight, I’m going to clean up your apartment and make you something to eat, okay? Why don’t you go lie down?”

You pulled back to look up at him, “Really? You’re going to make me something to eat?”

He smirked, “What, you think I can’t do it?”

You shrugged, “I am intrigued at the prospect, but my expectations are very low.”

He laughed and released you from his arms, “Well, we’ll see. We can always order takeout if I fuck it up.”

He burned a sauce so badly you had to throw the whole pan away, apologizing to your neighbors for the smoke alarm. Robby’s face was beet red with embarrassment as he apologized to you over and over, but you laughed so hard you snorted. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed like that.

He stayed the night and you fell asleep on the couch. When you woke up, the Sun was just beginning to peek through the blinds. A blanket was draped over you and Robby was asleep on the other end of the couch. It was the first time you hadn’t been woken abruptly by a nightmare in as long as you could remember.

***

When you heard Jake’s voice coming from the back of a pickup truck, you sprinted immediately to him, “Jake?”

There was so, so much blood all over him you thought your knees might give out at the sight of it.

“It’s not mine,” He said, tears streaming down his face, “It’s Leah’s. She was shot in the chest. I–I’ve been putting pressure on it, but there’s so much–”

“No, that’s– That’s good, bud, you did good.” You leaned over his girlfriend who laid unconscious in his lap and searched for a pulse, found the barest flutter of one at her carotid.

It didn’t look good. In fact, you thought her heart would probably stop within the next minute or so. There was too much blood, the bullet looked like it maybe had gone right through her heart.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?” Jake asked, voice breaking.

You took a deep breath, “Are you hurt?”

“I–I don’t know, maybe my leg?”

Quickly, you put a red wristband on Leah and a yellow on Jake and started taking off your bright orange vest that indicated you were Primary Triage MD, “John!” You shouted, and almost immediately, Dr. Shen was beside you, “You take over as Primary Triage, I’m bringing these two in. You good?”

“Yeah,” He said, strapping the belt of wristbands around his waist, “Yeah, I got it.”

Nurses helped you get Leah on a gurney, you shouted at someone to put Jake in a wheelchair and bring him in, ignored his frantic shouts to come with you. You didn’t have time. You hated leaving him like this, in distress, but Leah was likely seconds away from no longer being able to be resuscitated.

“Robby!” You called out as nurses were already opening an intubation kit. You heard Robby behind you before you saw him, too focused on securing Leah’s airway, “This is Jake’s girlfriend, Leah. Jake’s fine, I think he might have been shot in the leg.”

“Okay,” Robby said, and you could hear in his voice the worry warring with what he was seeing in front of him, “Okay, you go take care of Jake, I’ll take Leah.”

You had finished the intubation and another nurse had climbed on the gurney to begin CPR. They had lost her pulse, “I… I don’t think she’s gonna make it.” You said softly to Robby, voice wavering slightly.

“Let me worry about that.”

You glanced at him and recognized immediately the tunnel vision he was having. This was the problem he was determined to solve and you worried it was not solvable, “Robby–”

“Jake.” He said shortly, “Go. I’ll call you if I need you.”

You did not like this. You did not like it one bit. But you backed away, turning your attention to the rest of central that was a flurry of activity and zeroed in on Jack, “Could you keep an eye on Robby?” You asked as you passed him, “He’s working on Jake’s girlfriend who I think had a bullet tear through her heart. He has that goddamn savior complex chip on his shoulder today and I’m worried it might break him when she doesn’t make it.”

“Yeah, I got him,” Jack said, looking up briefly to spot Robby, “Jake–?”

“He’s fine,” You said quickly, “I’m gonna go patch him up now, I think he just took some bullet fragments to the leg.”

Jack nodded and bumped his fist to yours, “I’ll shout if I need you.”

You smirked, it was nice to be working with Jack again. It had only been a few shifts, but you missed the banter and the the way the two of you had worked so seamlessly together, “Same here.” You said, and then you headed to find Jake.

***

It was a while later after you had patched Jake up and made your way back to the red zone after promising to check up on Leah. Immediately, you saw Robby, still working on Leah, hopeless faces all around him.

“Was looking for you,” Jack said, coming to your side, “He won’t let her go.”

“Fuck,” You sighed, heart sinking.

“He’s wasting resources–”

“I know,” You said quickly. You knew what he was doing, because it was what you would have done. What you had begged Robby to do years ago when your niece came in and he insisted she was gone. It was what you and Robby had done together when you put Adamson on ECMO. “I know.” You repeated, more to yourself the second time.

“He thought he had the pulse back for a few seconds, but when Emery came to check it was gone again.”

You swallowed, “Okay, thanks.” You patted him on the back before heading over to Robby, biting hard on the inside of your cheek.

“Robby,” You said softly when you were close enough. Briefly, you exchanged a look with Dana who subtly shook her head at you, “Robby, I think that’s enough.”

He looked up at you and gave you a quick shake of his head, “No, no she’s right on the edge, we can still get her back–”

“How long has she been down?”

“People have had their hearts restarted after being without a pulse for thirty or forty minutes.”

“Not when a bullet has torn through it. Not when there’s that much blood loss.” You said quietly, “I know you know she’s gone. If you’re not calling it because you don’t want to tell Jake, I can do it–”

“No,” He shook his head and sighed, “No, I–I can do it.”

You waited and watched while he did one last pulse check, voice shaking as he called time of death, marked it on her wrist chart, and covered her up.

“How’s Jake?” He asked, turning back to you.

Your eyes searched him, looking for new and infected wounds. You knew they were there, hiding just below his skin. Knew it like you knew your own.

“He’s fine. There was a lot of bleeding, but it was all superficial. I debrided and wrapped the wound. He’s sitting on a gurney now to keep the wounded leg elevated.”

He nodded along as you spoke, but you weren’t sure how much he really heard beyond the fact that Jake was fine. You reached for his hand, hoping to ground him, but at the brush of your fingers he pulled away, “You should get back out to Triage.”

You frowned, “Shen’s got it–”

“No, I want a more senior attending on triage. Please.” He threw his bloodied gloves away and walked away before you could say anything else.

It was frustrating, watching him walk off like that, knowing he was teetering on the edge. Wanting to follow after him, knowing you couldn’t. He had to tell Jake himself, and then you’d be there to pick up the pieces. Like you always were.

One last time, you told yourself. Just one more, then you could let him go. You’d let him go, it was what you should do, what you needed to do. It was too late for third act love confessions, things were too broken between you. What happened in the ambulance bay didn’t change anything, but you could be there for him one last time.

“Hey,” You grabbed Dana gently by the arm as she passed you, “You’ll come get me if… If Robby seems…”

She nodded, “Yeah, of course, kid.”

You gazed off back in the direction Robby had disappeared into for one last moment before heading back to the ambulance bay.

***

Someone was knocking at the door. It pulled you from the edge of sleep back into full consciousness. You waited for a few moments as you woke, lying on your back in bed, hoping you had imagined it or he had left.

Because you knew who was at the door. You had fought with him earlier on shift. He was snapping at residents and nurses, and then he had snapped at you.

“You need to fucking get it together. You do not speak to me or anyone else like that—“

“I don’t need another fucking lecture from you, alright? I shouldn’t have raised my voice, understood. I’m sorry, can we please move on—“

“No, Robby,” You laughed incredulously and ran a hand through your hair, “We can’t move on because you insist on staying stuck on the same fucked up carousel ride.”

He shook his head, “This isn’t about Adamson.”

“Oh, give me a break. You think I can’t see that trying to fill his shoes at the same time you’re grieving him is tearing you apart?”

“It’s not. I’m fine, I can handle it.”

You sighed and looked down at your shoes, “I can’t do this anymore. I won’t enable your self destructive behaviors, I’ve asked you over and over to see a goddamn psychologist and you don’t listen—“

“That’s because I don’t need a psychologist.”

“Then explain to me why you keep showing up to my apartment in the middle of the night fully in the throes of a panic attack?” He wouldn’t look at you, jaw clenched and staring off stubbornly in the distance, “You need professional help,” You said quietly, “And if you’re not gonna get it then I can’t keep doing… Whatever this is.” You gestured to the space between you.

He shrugged, “Fine. Are we done?”

You stared at him for a moment and then sneered, “You don’t think I mean it.”

He sighed and looked down at his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets, “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay,” You scoffed, “Don’t show up at my door tonight.” You said and began walking away.

“Won’t be a problem.” He called after you.

But now there was someone knocking at your door. You waited, counted to thirty and back down again, but the knocking continued.

“Motherfucker,” You murmured and swung your legs over the edge of your bed, forced your feet to move to the door. You looked through the peep hole and saw Robby, head bent towards your door, fist resting against the wood.

Sighing, you unlocked the door and opened it just enough so you could see him, “What are you doing here?”

He looked up at you, eyes red rimmed and glassy, his chest heaving in and out, uneven breaths, “I’m sorry.” He choked out.

You ran a hand over your face, “I asked you not to do this.”

“I know, I know, I–I swear I’ll do whatever you need me to, I’ll call the psychologist in the morning, please.” He reached for you, his fingers settling on your hips, “Please.”

Every time he did this, every time he showed up, a wreck at your door, you remembered how he showed up for you when you didn’t want to be found. When you were intent on destroying yourself and everything around you. He had reached an unflinching hand down into the cold dark abyss of your grief and hauled you out. It wasn’t lost on you that he’d saved your life that year.

You didn’t know how you could refuse him.

You blinked away the wetness in your own eyes and pushed the door open further, lacing your fingers with his as you did. After closing and relocking the door, you led him to the couch, turning on a single lamp as you sat down, pulling him after you.

Robby immediately laid his head in your lap and you stroked his hair, his beard. Between his hyperventilating and sobs, he whispered apologies and promises into the bare skin of your thighs. It felt like a well choreographed dance at that point, your reassuring touch and his contrition.

When his breathing slowed and quieted, you squeezed his shoulder lightly, “Let me make you some tea.”

He sat up and trailed after you as you went to the kitchen. When you filled the kettle with water and turned it on, you braced your hands against the counter, facing away from him. It was hard to be with him like this, knowing how many times he had come here just like this, apologized and made promises he wasn’t going to keep. You were tired and worn down and still trying to come to terms with your own grief.

He came up behind you as you waited for the water to heat and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I’m sorry,” He kept repeating, peppering kisses to your shoulders. You weren’t sure why he was still apologizing. Perhaps because he knew he was just going to do it all over again a few days from now and he was trying to get ahead of it.

He pushed the straps from your tank top down and began sucking lightly at the skin, his beard scratching against your skin in a way you were all too familiar with, that sent goosebumps down your arms.

“Robby…” You said lowly, because you knew you should stop him. You knew what came next, when you’d be powerless against his touch and his kisses, all grievances forgotten.

“Please,” He murmured against your skin, “Let me do this, let me make it better.”

You swallowed hard and then turned in his arms. You placed your hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him away, “Tea first.” You said softly, and then turned back to the kettle, waited for him to step away from you, waited for your pulse to settle with the absence of his touch.

Once the tea was steeped, you pushed his mug toward him and warmed your hands around your own. You could feel him staring at you from across the counter, but you wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Do you remember when Gemma died and I refused help for months and months until Adamson removed me from the ER?”

He was silent a moment, and then you heard him clear his throat, “Yes. Of course I remember and I know what you’re trying to do. This is different.”

You looked up at that, head tilting curiously, “Really? How so? Because Adamson isn’t here to kick you out?”

He sighed, “No, because I’m not endangering patients.”

You nodded, “Maybe not the way I was. Maybe not right now. But eventually the grief and the hurt will grow so big you won’t be able to keep it from spilling over into everything. Your family, your friends, your work. It’s inevitable.”

“I already said I would call the psychologist in the morning.”

You looked back down at your mug, “I think we both know you only said that so I’d let you in. Like you always do.”

Neither of you said anything for a while after that, until finally, Robby broke the silence, “Let’s go to bed.”

You nodded, let him lead you to the bedroom. His careful hands undressed you, pulled you into him, kissed you in the dark until your lips were raw and aching. Foreheads bent together, he pushed himself into you. The sex was so good sometimes, you allowed yourself to forget. You loved his hands, the way he touched you, the way that he gripped your hips so tightly when he was about to come it left marks like ripened plums.

For a while after, you’d feel better, his arms wrapped around you as you drifted into sleep.

But then, the morning would come and Robby would leave silently. Forget everything he had said to you the night before. And the cycle would repeat.

You didn’t know how else to reach him. Part of you thought maybe if he just loved you the way you loved him, he would've gotten better by now. It was what had gotten through to you, the thought that you were worrying him, that he was scared for you. You didn’t want him to feel like that. And eventually you realized you didn’t want to feel that way forever, either. But it had been his concern that pushed you over the edge.

It didn’t seem to affect Robby that you were upset. That you felt alone in your own grief because you were so busy trying to make sure he wouldn’t drown in his.

It made you feel like a failure. So you stopped trying to reach him. You let him in when he showed up at your place, held him and let him take you to bed and you stopped asking him to go to therapy.

If he tried to pick a fight at work, you stopped taking the bait. You just… checked out.

It wasn’t long after that he turned his attention to Heather.

It devastated you, but it also felt a bit freeing. You felt like it gave you permission to fully push him out and close the door, knowing there was someone on the other side of it with him.

Perhaps it was unfair to Heather, to unknowingly burden her with that, but you could feel yourself slipping. Your therapist was starting to gently suggest that if something didn’t change, she would have to recommend an inpatient program.

So you fully disappeared from Robby’s life.

***

Robby was missing. You had come back inside as triage was starting to quiet and you thought they might need more hands inside.

You had gone to yellow to see what the new kids were up to and had walked right into Mohan giving a guy a burr hole with an IO.

You had stopped short, wide eyed as you watched, “Holy shit.” You breathed as she extracted some blood and the man began to regain consciousness.

All heads turned to you in a panic.

Mohan immediately launched into an anxious explanation, “There were no attendings, he would’ve died—“

“Samira, relax. It’s fine, it’s excellent, even. You did what you had to to save a life. Just maybe… Don’t mention this to Robby, yeah?”

She gave you a small smile, “Won’t be a problem. Nobody can seem to find him anyway.”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Nobody’s seen much of him since they took Leah to pedes.”

You shook your head, “Okay, um, are you guys good over here? Nobody’s dying?”

They all looked at you blankly like a bunch of little ducklings until Samira said, “I think we’re okay, you go find Robby.”

You gave them all and their patients another once over, not entirely convinced by their silence, and then started quickly walking to pedes.

What greeted you on the other side of the pedes door stopped you short. Robby was on the floor, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as he clutched the Magen David that hung on a chain around his throat in a shaking hand. He was murmuring something to himself in what sounded like Hebrew.

It took you a minute, but you recognized it as a prayer. You had heard him recite it only once before, shortly before he had extubated Adamson. Shema, you thought he’d called it the first time you asked. A declaration of faith. A plea for protection.

Immediately, you turned back to the door, pulling the privacy curtain in front of the glass door.

Then, you sat on the floor next to him, said nothing, but put a hand on his leg and waited. After a moment, he turned to you and buried his face in your chest. It surprised you, the way seeing him like this seemed to have your walls springing a leak. The emotions you’d kept at bay for most of the day began to push forward.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He said over and over into your chest, knotting his hands into your scrubs and pulling you impossibly closer.

You weren’t sure who the apologies were meant for. For Leah. For Adamson. For you. All he had wanted, you knew, was to be forgiven. He couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive himself and so needed everyone else to.

“It’s okay,” You said, voice shaking as you brought a hand up to cradle his head to your chest. You pressed a kiss to his head, “You’re okay.”

You held him like that for a couple of minutes, until his breathing settled enough, “We have to get back out there.” You said quietly.

“I don’t think I can.”

You sighed through your nose, “What happened? With Leah?”

“I told Jake,” He sniffled and pulled away from you, rubbing the tears from his face with the heels of his hands, “And he blamed me. And I know what you’ll say, that he didn’t mean it. That he loves me. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? The logic of it?” He raised his hands between the two of you, “Everything I’ve ever loved in my adult life I’ve broken with these two hands. Adamson, you, now Jake.” He lowered his hands and shook his head, “I’m done. I can’t do it anymore.”

You bit your lip as you tried to find the words, “You’re framing everything the wrong way. I know you’ve heard it a thousand times, but there was nothing else you could’ve done about Adamson. And besides, I was there too. I helped make those decisions. Do you blame me for what happened?”

He looked at you sadly, “Of course not.”

“What makes you any more culpable for what happened than me? Because it was your hands that physically extubated him? That’s silly.”

He ran a hand over his face, “And what about you, hm? Can you say you don’t blame me for all the pain and suffering you’ve endured the last few years? More than that, even?”

Your eyes softened as you examined each line of his face, each freckle. It was true that he had been the source of a lot of hurt in your adult life, but he had also been a lifeline.

You raised a hand to his cheek, brushed your thumb tenderly over his cheekbone, “There have been many times over the years where your friendship was the only thing standing between me and a black hole.” You swallowed thickly, “I would do it all again just for the chance to know you.”

His face threatened to crumble and he reached a shaky hand to the back of your neck, pulling you to him until your foreheads touched, “I would, too.”

“We have to go back out there.” You said softly after a few moments.

He nodded, “Yeah. Fuck.” He pulled away and rubbed at his face.

You rose to standing and he followed suit, both of you going your separate ways outside of pedes without so much as a goodbye.

***

You nearly physically collided into Janey when you were heading to the ambulance bay to check on triage, your hands immediately reaching out to steady her, “Oh, shit–Sorry–Janey?”

She smiled tightly at you and you dropped your hands, “Hi, Y/N.” Her words were terse and sharp, but you dismissed that as just stress from the crisis that had unfolded over the last few hours, “It’s been a while.”

You nodded, “Yeah, um,” You gestured over your shoulder, “I can take you to Jake, he’s doing alright, but–”

“Could you just take me to Robby, please?”

She was avoiding making eye contact with you, which you thought was strange. Lips pressed in a firm line and shoulders tensed. It was true you hadn’t seen her since her and Robby had broken up, but you didn’t remember her being so cold to you before.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You swallowed, “Just wait by the hub, I’ll be right back.”

Once you brought Robby to Janey, you went behind the hub towards Dana.

“Seems like Janey still holds a grudge, huh?” Dana said, smirking at you from over her glasses.

Things had finally slowed down enough that they could catch their breath and start getting the emergency room back up and running. You cracked open a can of Diet Coke and took a sip as you turned to Dana.

You frowned at her, “Why would Janey be holding a grudge against me?”

Dana’s smirk widened, “It is so exhausting sometimes bearing the entire historical archive of this emergency room on my shoulders.”

Scowling at her, you waited, “Well?”

“Why do you think Janey and Robby broke up?”

In truth, you didn’t think much about Janey and Robby’s relationship anymore. It was one of Robby’s longer relationships and as such, you had tried to bury your feelings for him six feet under while they were together for fear that it would be the one to take him away from you for good. Besides which, Gemma had died while they were still together, and in the months that followed your memory was pretty fuzzy.

“I don’t remember,” You said slowly, “I don’t remember much from then other than my crushing existential dread.”

She looked at you sympathetically and patted your hand lightly with her own, “Maybe you do remember how Robby was with you nearly 24/7 for a while after Gemma died. Because he was worried for you.”

You shrugged, “Yeah, sure. I think 24/7 might be exaggerating, though.”

“Well, it was enough that it bothered Janey.”

You narrowed your eyes at Dana, “Are you implying that they broke up because of me?”

“Sweetheart,” Dana shook her head, “Robby made the choices he did, it wasn’t your fault. But the way he told it to me was that he was out to dinner with Janey, someone called worried about you and Robby was going to go to you, but Janey made him choose. Said she was tired of being second choice and if he left they were done. So Robby chose you.”

You blinked at her and then turned your attention to where Robby was talking to Janey, “He said that?”

“Yeah, kid.” Dana sighed, “Janey thinks she lost him to you.”

You scoffed and turned back to Dana, “Well, joke’s on her I guess, because we both lost him.”

Dana shook her head as you walked off toward another patient, watched Robby’s head turn to follow your movement as you walked by him, “I don’t know about that, kiddo.”

***

Robby was, quite literally, too close to the edge. The moon cast shadows on the roof of PTMC as he looked out over the Pittsburgh skyline. It was early enough that he could still hear the rush of the cars below and the faint call of sirens. He had just got done notifying Leah’s family and he couldn’t breathe again. All he knew was that he wanted it to stop.

He didn’t want to tell another family he had failed to save their loved one. He was tired of having to hold the whole ER together, he wasn’t sure he could keep teaching incoming doctors when he didn’t think he deserved to keep practicing medicine himself. He wanted so badly to keep them all from making his mistakes, but the fuck of it all was that he thought that was probably inevitable. That it was a necessary evil to become a doctor.

He wanted to stop letting you down, but he thought it was too late for that. You were leaving and it was his fault. No matter what you said earlier, even if you really didn’t blame him, it was unforgivable how he’d treated you.

And a small part of him thought, as he looked over the edge, that things would be better without him. Maybe they’d make you head of the department. It was what should have happened in the first place anyway. PTMC wouldn’t lose you as a result of his failings.

Then he heard the soft padding of your footsteps behind him, a gait he could recognize anywhere, in his sleep, in the busiest train station.

You leaned over the railing behind him and sighed, “Wish you wouldn’t stand so close.” You said quietly.

“I’ve seen you stand closer.”

You huffed a laugh, “Always a competition with us, isn’t it?”

“No,” He said, “Not anymore. I’m done.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “That’s a scary fucking thing to say when you’re on the edge of a roof.”

“Yeah, well, it’s how I feel. Isn’t that what you’ve always asked me to do? Talk about my feelings?”

He heard you blow out a long breath, “The police found the shooter, I don’t know if you heard. It wasn’t David.” He didn’t say anything, so you continued, “Thought you’d want to know. You were right about him.”

He huffed a laugh, “Yippee.” He murmured, heavy with sarcasm, “Doesn’t fucking matter. People are still dead.”

“No one else could have gotten our department through a mass casualty like that with only six fatalities. Except maybe Adamson.” A beat of silence passed between you, “PTMC needs you. I need you.”

He heard the note of fear and desperation in your voice, “You don’t need me. You’re leaving. Because of me.”

“It’s not because of you–”

“Bullshit.”

You sighed, “I’m leaving to prove to myself that I… That I can do it on my own. Without you. I need you. I’ll probably always need you or want you in some capacity. PTMC is home to me, but only if you’re here.” You inhaled a shaky breath, “I’m leaving, just for a little while, because we’re destroying each other. And we both need to heal without the other. You’ve only ever wanted me when things were bad, when you were falling apart. You might not want me once you get your shit together.”

He turned to face you finally, leaning his forearms on the railing next to you, “I can’t imagine a time when I won’t want you. My only problem has ever been wanting you too much.”

You looked at him sadly and shook your head, “It never felt that way to me.”

He watched you carefully, noted the way the breeze blew a piece of your hair into your face. Without thinking, he reached out and gently tucked it behind your ear. His fingers lingered and then traced a path down your neck before he dropped them back to the railing. He nodded, “I know that. And I’m sorry.” He sighed, “But you’ll come back to the Pitt?”

“I hope so,” The corners of your lips tugged up slightly, “Depends on if you really mean it. About getting professional help.”

“I mean it.” He said, “Do you think…” He paused and cleared his throat, “Do you think you’ll ever want to give it a real chance? You and me?”

You swallowed and looked down at your hands, “I don’t know. It’s difficult for me to imagine being with you in a way that isn’t painful.”

He closed his eyes against the wave of hurt that sent through him. It was his own fault, he knew. He had had any number of opportunities to tell you how he really felt over the years. But he had hidden from it like a coward.

“I’m not… I’m not saying never,” You said slowly, “I love you,” You reached your hand forward, running your fingers gently along his jaw, through his beard, “And I’ll always be here whenever you need me. But I… I don’t want to put us both in another situation that’s… unsustainable.”

“I love you, too.” He covered your hand with his own, keeping it anchored to his cheek, “I understand.”

“Will you come down now?” You asked quietly and he heard the way your breath caught in your throat as you said it.

He stared at you for a few moments, committing the image of you up here with your eyes that glinted in the moonlight to memory. The way the softness of your hand felt against his skin. He wasn’t sure when he’d feel your touch again, if ever. The thought sent an ache through him.

“Yeah,” He sighed, “Let’s get out of here.”

***

Six Weeks Later

You and Robby hadn’t spoken since you left the Pitt four weeks ago. Even before that, the conversation had been sparse. You had helped get him a referral to a therapist at the same clinic as your own therapist. You knew he had been attending sessions because you occasionally ran into him to and from your own appointments. But you would mostly just nod at each other as you crossed paths.

Now that you were gone, the day shift felt emptier. He longed to text or call you, but held back each time.

“What’s stopping you from reaching out?” His therapist had asked during a session.

Robby shrugged, “She doesn’t want me to.”

“Did she say that?”

“I–Well, no.”

His therapist had nodded and jotted down some notes, “Do you think it’s possible that the real obstacle is that you’ve always used her as a method to punish yourself and you’re just continuing the pattern of behavior by not reaching out?”

That had stunned him to silence. And he still thought about it now, a couple weeks later, as he walked around the Pitt. He saw your ghost in every corner of this place.

When he walked into the staff break room that day, Perlah and Princess had a bunch of sticky notes around them and looked up in horror when they saw who had walked in.

He smirked, “What’s this? Recent betting pool?” He looked over the sticky notes, “I don’t remember any pools since the ambulance was stolen.”

Perlah looked at him nervously, “Uh, no, it’s uh– It’s an old one.”

He picked up a neon green sticky note that read Marriage. $100.

Robby frowned, “This looks like Adamson’s handwriting.” Princess and Perlah both just stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say, “How old is this?”

Princess elbowed Perlah when neither of them spoke, “It’s from around 2018 or 2019,” She sighed, “There was a stupid bet going around about you and Y/N. We… We were gonna revive it when she came back to the day shift, but…”

But you were gone now.

Robby blinked and waved around the sticky note, “And Adamson was part of it?”

Princess smirked, “He was one of the first to make a bet.”

Robby reread the sticky note, “He thought we were gonna get married.” He said softly, “Can I keep this?”

Princess and Perlah both nodded and then Robby headed out to the ambulance bay, the sticky note with Adamson’s handwriting still in his hand.

With his other hand, he pulled out his phone, waited for his Face ID to unlock before opening the Phone app and clicking on his Favorites. You were at the top of his list and his thumb hovered over your contact picture as he stared at the sticky note.

Do you think it’s possible that the real obstacle is that you’ve always used her as a method to punish yourself and you’re just continuing the pattern of behavior by not reaching out?

He didn’t want to punish himself anymore. He wanted to be worthy of good things, of you. Adamson thought he was deserving of good things, as evidenced by a years old sticky note. You had thought so, too, once upon a time.

He pressed his thumb against your name and brought the phone up to his ear.

“Hi,” He said when you picked up, closing his eyes at the sound of your voice, “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” You said slowly, “Sorry, is–is everything okay with you?”

“Yeah,” He said, running a thumb over the old sharpie ink, “Yeah, I just, I wanted to hear your voice. Is that okay?”

There was a moment of silence, “Yeah, of course. It’s nice to hear your voice, too.”

“How’s Presby?”

You gave a short laugh, “It’s not home, but it’s alright. I’m adjusting.”

He hummed, “There’s always a place waiting for you here, you know?”

“I know.”

He cleared his throat, “I’m off on Sunday and I was wondering, if you’re also off, if you’d want to just– I don’t know, grab a coffee, go for a walk or something. Catch up.”

You’re quiet for a while and he told himself it would be okay if you said no. If you didn’t want to see him.

“I’d like that,” You said softly, “But, just to be clear, I am accepting a platonic coffee date, yes?”

He smirked, “Yes. I just want to see you.”

He listened as you took a deep inhale, “You sound better. Therapy’s helping?”

“I think so, yeah.” And he means it. He is starting to feel just a little bit better.

“Have you called Jake?”

He bent over his knees, resting his head against his free hand, “I have, yeah.”

“And?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“It’s still not great, but he said he’d be willing to come to a therapy appointment with me. To try and start sorting it out.”

He heard you sigh in relief, “That’s great, Robby. I’m… I’m really proud of you.”

He smiled and felt his eyes water. He was so happy he had called you.

The two of you slipped into an unspoken tradition, walking side by side through the park by the river, mostly on Sundays, or whenever your schedules lined up. It was easy and it was fun and for once it wasn't heavy with unspoken grief and trauma. If something triggered a conversation about Adamson or Gemma, for the most part you were both able to navigate it without fighting, without shutting down.

Until six months have passed since you left PTMC and Robby’s walking you all the way back up to your apartment.

“Um, do you…?” You looked at him almost shyly, a flush working its way up your neck. It’s so ridiculous to think that you might have been nervous around him, it had a smirk stretching across his face, “Do you wanna come in?”

He wanted to, badly. He was overjoyed that you seemed to want his company as much as he wanted yours. But the two of you were in a good spot right now and he was so scared he might fuck it up.

Robby had stuck Adamson’s sticky note to his fridge when he had gotten home that day as a sort of unspoken goal for himself. He wanted to marry you one day, if that was something you also wanted. His therapist had told him that if he did want that, he was going to have to do things that scared the shit out of him sometimes.

Like go into your apartment when invited, even if he worried he would make a mess of things again.

“You have to learn how to trust yourself again or you’ll stay stuck here in the same patterns, shackled to your self doubt and unable to move forward.”

He swallowed, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

You lasted all of two minutes before he was pushing you against a wall and kissing you. His hands were almost frantic as they touched you, but he kissed you slowly and thoroughly, almost tenderly.

It had been years since he had been able to kiss you without there being some fight or other tension looming above you. It felt freeing that all he felt now was love and longing.

He took you to the couch, undressing you as he did and you were moaning into his mouth, grabbing at his shirt and running your fingers over the skin there. He laid you down on the couch and pulled his shirt over his head, watched the way your eyes traced down his chest hungrily.

“I missed you,” He murmured, lowering himself over you again, palming one of your breasts in his hand.

You hummed and arched your back into his touch as he watched one of your nipples pebble beneath his thumb.

“I’ve been thinking about this, about being able to touch you again, from the moment you left.” He panted and kissed his way down your chest, your stomach, until he reached the tops of your thighs.

“Me too,” You sighed, and then his mouth was on you, hot and needy, “Fuck, I missed you.”

He’s surprised to find that he still knows just what you like, exactly how much pressure to apply, how fast he needs to go to bring you to the edge. It’s muscle memory, like performing a medical procedure he hasn’t done in years, his hands still know what to do, but his brain is three steps behind. Your hand knotted in his hair and he watched eagerly as your hips bucked up and into his mouth until you’re coming and he’s sucking up every last drop of you.

When you caught your breath, you sat up and pushed him onto his back. He was happy to lie back and watch you and in fact, he relished the way you looked at him. Kissed every patch of his skin you could reach, an adoring look in your eyes. He thought he had to have been an idiot to have never noticed the way you looked at him before.

You sank down onto him, both of you sighing in unison as you adjusted to the stretch of him. “You okay, honey?” He asked breathlessly, gripping your chin in his hand.

You nodded and rolled your hips. It had been years now since he’d slept with someone and the sensation of you around him, just that slow grinding of your hips, had him seeing stars, “Jesus fuck.” He swore.

You sped up your movements slowly and he helped move you up and down, gripping your hips as you pressed your hands to his chest. He could feel that you were already barreling straight towards another orgasm, your walls pulsing around him, and that was fine, because there was no way he was gonna last much longer.

“Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?” He asked breathlessly, “I want to watch you touch yourself. Want you to come with me.”

Your eyelids fluttered open as you processed what he said, and still grinding down on him, you circled your fingers over your clit, “That’s it,” He sighed, “Just like that.”

Your moans grew louder and your hips moved faster and faster. You looked euphoric as you tumbled over the edge again and you were so fucking gorgeous, he was immediately coming, swearing as he did.

Both of you trying to catch your breath, you folded forward, laying down against his bare, sweat slicked chest. He ran a hand over your hair as you settled, watched the rise and fall of your breathing, and was overcome with such tenderness for you his chest ached and his eyes watered.

“I love you,” He said quietly, tears caught in his throat, “In case you were unsure, I still love you.”

You pushed yourself up slightly so you could see his face. Your cheeks were flushed and sticky with sweat, “I know,” You said and smirked, “I love you, too.”

He kissed you again, sighed as your fingers came up to scratch at his beard, “Could I take you out to dinner next week? Only if… If you’re ready. I want to try to do things right, this time.”

You nudged your nose against his and bit your lip. This was dangerous, this hope that was building in your chest. But he was trying, was going to therapy, was voicing his feelings as he was feeling them. Was doing all this for himself, but also for you.

“Yes,” You pushed your lips forward to give him a quick peck, “Take me out to dinner, Michael.”

He smiled against your mouth and thought again of that sticky note on his fridge. One day, he’d show it to you. That was a promise he wouldn’t break.

#dr robby x reader #mine #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt fic #dr robby fic #robby x reader #the pitt fanfic #dr robby angst #dr robby smut #the pitt x reader

249 notes · View notes

kdh-tally · 2 days ago

Note

Huntr/x and Saja Boys watching Horror Slasher movies (like Friday the 13th) and who's screaming and crying and who's laughing and who's staring deadpan?

Huntr/x & Saja Boys Horror Movie Headcannons

Prompt : My headcannons of how the kids would be when watching horror movies!

Author's Note : Can you tell I don't watch horror movies? Sorry i took forever to get to your request anon :( This is in no specific order!

Mystery

I believe he’d act differently depending on how he has his hair styled

If it's down, then he really can’t see what's going on and that really takes away from the whole fear factor.

He’d really just be hearing the jumpscares lol

Either way he’d sit there acting chill while his soul detaches from his body.

He’d say sumn like “that’s not realistic”

He’s trying to gaslight himself into a false sense of security 💀

He’ll also act as though he’s above it all but his foot is bouncing real hard so you can tell he’s nervous.

He’s the type to quietly berate every single dumb choice made in the movie in his mind.

Secretly hates how tense horror movies are, even if nothing happens.

Now, if his hair’s up?? The man is fighting for his life

Originally has a pillow in his lap just for comfort but will slowly squeeze the life out of it over time

He’d flinch once then immediately shift and act like it was a stretch

If Zoey grabs him during a jump scare he’d freeze and be like “...did you have to”

He will not scream but he will absolutely hold his breath until he feels like the tension has died down enough for him to breathe.

Won’t talk much after the movie is over.

It’s not cause he’s scared he just isn’t able to form thoughts….

“I’m gonna go shower” he says immediately after the movie is over. Once in the washroom, he just stands in the water staring at nothing.

The type to go on reddit and ask “how to not think about horror movie while trying to sleep”

The next day he’s super quiet and you just know he didn’t sleep

He’s a real demon but he would rather remain in the depths of hell with the scariest demon than watch a slasher movie with too much suspense.

Hates screams. Like why are their voices so high pitched?

They hurt his ears and make him even more tense.

Someone (probably baby or mira) will try to make a creepy joke and he says “don’t” with full eye contact.

He’d put headphones in halfway through and pretend he’s still watching.

If anyone asks him if he’s scared he’ll say “no” in that voice that means yes

He’d tell Zoey “this is fine” while clearly not fine.

My guy is gripping the couch for his life.

Abby

He’d bring snacks and forget to eat them cause he’s covering his face in fear.

He’s the one who's shouting at the screen.

“OH MY GOD WHY WOULD YOU GO IN THERE”

At first it's out of fear because he knows a jumpscare is coming but it soons turns into anger.

Like why are the main characters walking into these terrifying situations???

His blood pressure triples.

He may also cry a little bit and then laugh like “I’m not crying I’m fine”

Clutches Romance like it’s life or death

He’s the one who's hiding under a blanket and peeking out every few seconds.

Jump scare = Scream

Romance has started covering his face with a pillow after every jumpscare so his scream doesn’t scare everyone else even more.

Hides behind whoever is next to him without shame

Begs Romance or Mira to walk him to the kitchen after.

If a character does die, like one he got attached too, he’ll cry.

“She killed her dad 😨😭 She didn’t know he was possesedddddd 😨😨😭😭😭”

The type to say “he didn’t deserve that :(” even if it was the villain murderer.

At some point he realizes that the situation could actually happen in real life…

“what if that happened to us”

“We’re demons and hunter Abby”

“Doesn’t mean we’d survive 🙁”

Can’t sleep with the lights off after.

Sure the demon world was scary but you know the fire meant there was always light.

He cannot sleep without the lights.

It’s not even up for discussion.

He’d watch “behind the scenes” clips and bloopers to make himself feel better

If someone, probably baby, sneaks up on him post-movie he screams like he’s being murdered.

Will not go to the bathroom alone

Will not look at mirrors

Will not turn around too fast

He is absolutely terrified and shaken to the core but will be the first to say,

“Can we watch another?”

Romance

He’d so act like he’s fine until Abby flinches and then he flinches even harder

Tries to gaslight himself.

“pfft, it’s just special effects”

“that’s not even real blood”

Abby is clutching him but he’s also hiding behind Abby because he’s the one who needs comfort.

Jumps at every fake scare.

If someone touches his shoulder suddenly he’s doing a full body spasm.

Covers his mouth with his sleeve every time someone gets chased so he doesn’t scream.

Will NOT admit he’s scared.

Even as he trembles in very obvious fear.

The type to say “nah this part isn’t even scary” while hiding behind Mira.

I feel like he’s one of the people who narrate loudly to cover up his fear

“OH he’s gonna die. look at him. look how he’s just… yup. he’s done.”

“There’s gonna be a jumPSCARE! Oh. yea um…”

At some point just puts Abby’s blanket over his head and gives up.

Asks Mira if she’s scared as a distraction.

He’s clinging to her while he does this.

When the movie finishes, he’d joke about it later like “remember when Abby screamed? haha yeah” (even though he screamed louder)

He’ll rewatch horror TikToks the next day.

He’s trying to consume as much disturbing content so the movie they watched won’t bother him as much.

Will pretend he’s chill about it.

He doesn’t like sound-based horror.

The same way Mystery hates the high pitched screaming, Romance hates the overlapping whispering.

Says it feels like a million ants with voices are crawling all over him and screaming at him.

Hesitates to go anywhere for the next 4 days

“I was fine”

“You screamed and hit me in the face”

Kind of jumpscares himself by thinking too hard about scary stuff later

Jinu

He isn’t scared.

I feel like everyone would expect him to be scared but he really isn’t.

He'd show up to movie night with snacks and a blank expression.

“What is the purpose of this genre?”

I feel like he may also flinch at loud noises but not at the horror itself

Like the loud noises that actually make the film more scary is what causes him to be jumpy, not cause he’s scared.

Calls the killer ugly.

Tilts his head during murder scenes like a curious child.

My guy was a soul stealing demon and he’s definitely seen people get killed in many different ways.

Watching some guy get chopped with a hatched is nothing.

“Is this meant to be scary?” he’d ask and everyone’s like YES???

Unfazed when someone gets stabbed in the eye

He thinks gore is excessive but not impressive.

Just cause there's a bunch of blood doesn’t make the film scary.

Once leaned over to Baby and said “his intestines are the wrong color”

Baby who was locked into the movie almost fell off the couch because of the sudden whispering in his ear. “Jinu shut up-”

Keeps noticing historical inaccuracies in the set design

Takes mental notes during the film like “slasher = knife + dumb teenagers”

“I’ve seen worse in the mirror when I first woke up in hell”

The kind of guy that will try to comfort the scared members with a speech on how fear is a human construct

“You’re not even human???” Abby judges him so hard.

Another person that will narrate his reactions.

“Damn. There goes her head.”

He doesn’t even try to be brave. He's just genuinely indifferent

Later tells Mystery “it’s okay to feel fear” while Mystery is fully dissociating

No one understands why he’s like this

During the less tense scenes, he’d start talking about how the design reminded him of one of the spooky legends from one of his 400 years of life.

Ends the night with “Didn’t like it, didn’t hate it.”

Somehow gets obsessed with slasher movies and tries to find something that actually freaks him out.

Baby

He thought this wouldn’t affect him at alllllll.

He’d so be chill at first like “lol this is nothing”

“Guys we’re literally real demons. This is fake as hell” he’d laugh

However, the second the movie gets psychological he’d start shifting uncomfortably.

Starts the night on the floor, legs crossed, totally unbothered

By the third movie he’s lying back on the couch, arm over his eyes

“WHY do they all have mirrors???”

Makes jokes to try and keep things light

Tries to protect Abby but is clearly also getting creeped out (ends up making fun of him later)

Actually hates jump scares but will not admit it

Will randomly get super quiet during a really disturbing scene

“Yo why is this one actually messed up??”

Notices Mystery (hair up) getting freaked out and texts him “r u good??”

Acts like he’s fine but Zoey later catches him and Mystery watching some light heated anime in their shared room at 3am.

“You guys are literally watching Sailor Moon,” she’d mumble, getting comfortable on their couch beside Mystery.

“We’re gonna watch Saiki after. Are you gonna stay?” Baby would offer (which is odd of him but whatever)

Says “I’m fine” but flinches when his phone vibrates because what if someone hacked his phone and is sending him threatening messages on how he should kill his friends or else someone would come after him and do it themselves??

Also narrates to try and reduce his fear “Okay but this is too quiet. Something’s about to happen.”

Groans dramatically when characters make dumb choices

He yells at the screen.

“RUN FASTER YOU IDIOT!”

Keeps checking if the front door is locked

Leaves multiple times during the movie because he needs a break from all the gore.

The next day?

Rumi is making toast, the girls stayed over, and sees Baby “Hey how’d you sleep?”

“Great why?”

“Just thought you’d be a bit scared,” she shrugged.

“I’m over it.” He shrugs, seemingly nonchalant. Then jumps when the toaster pops

Mira

She’s the second person who isn’t scared.

She’d sit with her legs up and arms crossed, completely unfazed.

“I’ve seen worse”

She’d dead serious.

She would laugh when the killer shows up like “that’s the scary guy?”

Gets quickly bored by the plot.

She’s the person predicting who dies in what order.

She feels like almost all horror movies have the same plot too imo.

Whispers the horror tropes before they happen.

“Ah, there it is. The ‘don’t go in there’ moment.”

She does this just because it's a habit but also so Romance and Abby know when a scare is coming and they can prepare themselves.

If someone is being too loud she’ll tell them to shut up

Sips her drink calmly during decapitation scenes

Keeps handing Rumi snacks without looking at the screen

Unfazed when someone screams next to her

She’s literally the one everyone instinctively gravitates toward when they’re scared

Romance is hiding behind her.

Abby is sitting at her feet.

Rumi is on one side of her and Jinu is beside Rumi while Baby sits next to him.

Zoey is on her other side with Mystery cuddling her.

Whenever she tries to get comfy everyone else groans because she’s literally in the middle of the huge cuddle pile.

She’s critiquing the movie. Not cause she’s scared but she genuinely thinks it's dumb.

“that’s not even a good kill”

“I could take him” she’d say and no one doubts it

Won’t react to the scares but will get annoyed if the pacing is bad

She’s the least bothered and most reassuring presence at the same time

“That’s why you don’t go camping. Ever.”

Jokes about how weak the human characters are

The only one to not be scared once the movie is over.

“meh. 6/10.”

Rumi

Not scared but oddly interested?

She’d so start off cool and smirking like “this isn’t scary”

“I’ve seen real horror” she has.

She’d go dead silent when something really gross or creepy happens.

She doesn’t scream or flinch but she does freeze.

Winces at the gory scenes cause they’re just so gross.

She’s really interested in the special effects though.

“These actually look real,” she mumbles as she watches some possessed demon float in the air.

If someone (Jinu) panics next to her, she calmly pats his head.

“you’re good babe”

Will sit through 99% of it without reacting, but the last 1% disturbs her deeply

Says “ew” when things get nasty

Doesn’t do psychological horror.

She hates the babadook

Gore is fine but existential dread? not okay

“That’s not scary. That’s just sad.”

Says it at the wrong time

Will make sarcastic comments during the movie

Since she’s the last to leave the group's movie room, she checks it after the movie ends.

Not cause she’s scared… just in case.

Might subconsciously avoid mirrors that night

Secretly texts Mira like “ok this one got me just a little”

Mira is the only one who knows that she’s a tiny bit bothered.

She’s too proud to admit she got spooked, but you can tell

Quickly gets over the tiny fears and gets obsessed with analyzing the themes of the movie with Zoey.

She can watch The Conjuring alone but won’t watch Coraline

When she and Jinu ae trying to fall asleep she offers to end the night with a romcom.

This is just to clear her mind…. yea…..

Zoey

The one who begged everyone to watch it.

She knows she’s gonna get scared but doesn’t care?

She’s one of the people who watches horror movies because she enjoys getting jumpscared.

Full of chaotic joy during every scare

Places bets on who’s gonna die first.

Jumps every single time but still grins

Kicks her legs like a little kid when things get intense

“Oh my gosh she’s actually a werewolf and they don’t know she’s gonna kill them-” she spoils it for herself.

Records the others’ reactions on her phone

Kinda person who finds the killer attractive, to the displeasure of Mystery but he’s too scared to even notice.

“Oh my goshhhhh look at that~~”

“Zoey, he's holding the main character's decapitated head” Mira scoffs in amusement.

“Yea but do you see that muscle?” 🤤

Puts her feet up and gets comfy

Makes up names for the characters cause she didn’t pay attention

“Don’t go in the tall grass, Carl! C’mon Carl!!”

Covers her face and peeks between her fingers

Makes Mystery flinch on purpose by grabbing him during a jump scare

After it ends she’s like “again? different one? let’s goooo”

Teases everyone who was scared (but was scared herself)

Fully believes horror is a trauma bonding experience

Wants to do a horror concept with Huntrix one day

194 notes · View notes

tqlepatia · 1 day ago

Note

can you do Sevika taking care of reader while she’s sick? fluff <3

— “𝓣 imes like these . . . ”

content : sevika taking care of sick!fem reader, fluff. wanings : none, only puuure fluff !

You don’t remember falling asleep on the couch. One moment, you were just a little cold, a little dizzy and the next, the ceiling light above you blurred and your body gave out, curled up under whatever blanket was closest.

Sevika finds you like that hours later, wrapped up like a burrito, your face pale except for the bright blotches of fever on your cheeks, eyes fluttering open when the front door creaks.

She freezes in the doorway, grocery bags still in her arms, keys dangling from between her fingers. There’s a moment of dead silence, then:

"The fuck?" She drops the bags. "Babe?"

Your voice barely comes out. "M’fine."

"You’re clearly not," she mutters, kneeling next to the couch like she’s trying not to spook you. "Why didn’t you call me? You look like hell."

You try to smile, but even your lips feel sore. "Didn’t wanna bother you at work."

She stares. For a second, you swear her eye twitches. Then she’s muttering under her breath in a mixture of sarcasm and concern as she presses the back of her hand to your forehead. "God, you’re boiling. Yeah, let’s not bother me with your possibly dying next time."

She disappears for a few minutes. You half-doze, but hear the distant clatter of cabinets, the low hum of her voice cursing out loud when she can’t find the damn thermometer, and then—her footsteps.

She returns with her hands full: a glass of cold water, medicine, a damp washcloth, and a soup reheated from the day before

"You’re gonna sit up and take this," she says, and somehow manages to do all the things she claims she’s bad at: being gentle, being patient, being soft.

You end up leaning into her chest as she helps you drink water, one arm curled around your back to steady you, the other holding the glass. She doesn’t say much. Just "slow," and "good job, baby," and "you’re so fucking stubborn," but with her chin resting against your head and her fingers brushing sweat-damp hair from your temple.

Once you’ve eaten a few spoonfuls of soup, fed to you carefully, like you’re something fragile—she grabs the hairbrush from your room and starts brushing out the tangles you couldn’t even begin to think about.

You’re curled up between her legs now, back pressed to her chest, while her metal arm holds you steady and her human hand strokes slowly through your hair.

"You always brush my hair when I’m sad," you murmur.

"You’re not sad," she replies, tone dry. "You’re gross and sick.” You grin weakly. “Same thing.”

Her sigh is long, but not annoyed. She presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You ever scare me like this again, I’m shaving your damn head."

Eventually, she gets you into bed, even if she has to carry you. You protest, but she only rolls her eyes and adjusts her grip. "You’re lucky I love you," she mutters.

Under the covers, she tucks a heating pad against your back and slips in beside you. Her hand finds yours beneath the blankets, thumb stroking your wrist in absentminded little circles, grounding you.

She even makes tea, one of those weird herbal ones you like, blowing on it before handing you the mug, watching you sip like it’s the most important thing she’ll do all day.

Later, while you’re dozing again, she reads to you in a low voice. Something from your favorite book, the one she secretly memorized parts of. Her voice rough but steady, like a lullaby only you get to hear.

And just before you fall asleep, you hear her murmur against your temple,

"Next time you feel off… you tell me, alright? You’re all I’ve got." You don’t answer, your body’s too tired—but your fingers tighten around hers. And that’s enough. For her, that’s everything.

౨ৎ - 𝐓aglist ; @prettyinpink69 , @abbysdollie , @marieeeluvsyou , @littlelovelunette , @madzorwhatever , @zvmbitegirl , @salsalsusu , @katarandaa, @starrycherie, @moonshimegf , @watermelonshine, @zombieeepup, @laviannasfanfics, @windytulips, @genderfluidlesbain999, @dulcerbbns, @selxoxomwa, @dynacats, @supalcina, @sunshinesunflower16.

— comment on this post if you want to be added !

224 notes · View notes

gentlelovingsiscon · 2 days ago

Text

saturday passes without much further incident. you and your sister spend the whole day in bed, except the usual breaks one needs. you make her get up and do some stretches at one point, which she dismisses with a grumble until you make it clear you're serious (you end up having to tickle her, which gets the message across).

with the exception of bathroom breaks, you spend on average a few seconds at a time separated from your sister, happy to waste the day away cuddled up next to her, or on top of her, or underneath her. that's something that hasn't changed. Lena seems to sleep best when she's laying on top of you.

Sarah brings you dinner, too, along with another question about what you and your sister have been up to. you evade again, a little more convincingly this time (you think).

consciously, you know you can trust her. she knows that you're in love with your sister. you confided in her about it one night when you were drunk. you also suspect that might be why she didn't put up a fuss when you proposed Lena coming to live here. but there's something else, deep deep down. a fear that even Lena's earlier words can't fully dispel. safe with her, but what if she's the one who isn't safe with you?

all that to say that saturday passes without much further incident.

on sunday, around dinner, you manage to coax Lena out of your room for some socializing. sunday is the designated bonfire night during the warm months, so dinner is camp food, more or less. you're in the middle of one of the outdoor couches, with Sarah on your right and Lena on your left. Moss sits on one of the camp chairs. Lacy is standing at the grill tending to some burgers, and both Sarah and Moss have hotdogs on long metal sticks roasting over the bonfire. Sarah is making yours and Lena's, because you both like them burnt and Sarah can't cook a hotdog anywhere except the microwave without burning it, while Moss is cooking Sarah and Lacy's, because they like theirs cooked properly and Moss doesn't have Sarah's freakish ability to destroy food.

(when you say this out loud to the group, Lena guffaws, offended on Sarah's behalf. Sarah ducks her head shamefully and admits that it's true. the only thing she can do with confidence and competence in the kitchen is chop vegetables.)

Moss exclusively eats hamburgers, claiming “ethical concerns.”

“ethical concerns?”

you groan along with Sarah and Lacy.

“here we go,” Lacy grins.

“ethical concerns. it's simply an insane configuration for food to be in. at that point, i may as well eat a taco! plus you can't distribute everything evenly like on a hamburger; you're always doomed to get some lopsided, which means you're gonna get too much topping on one bite and not enough on another. i cannot stand for it.”

by the end of the rant, the housemates are speaking along with her, while Lena watches on, bewildered. you grin and lean into her side, “Moss has very strong opinions on food, and they cannot be swayed. we've tried.”

Moss sends everyone a shit eating grin as she takes the hotdogs off the flame. Sarah startles and looks at her stick, finding all four hotdogs black and charred. “fuck.”

“told you,” you tell Lena.

Lena doesn't react, just looking at the hotdogs with gluttony in her eyes.

>-<

in the end you slam half a dozen hot dogs and two burgers, while Lena struggles to finish her second. nobody says anything, but you see them looking at you and at each other with concern. you resolve to talk to Lena about it later. for now, you have a different idea to get her hungry.

“hey Lacy. wanna help me corrupt my big sister?”

Lena gives you a panicked look, but you grin back at her wickedly.

Lacy gives you a wink and a peace sign, saying “you know it babes. what're we thinking?”

“baby shit. we'll do more later.”

“hell yeah. one joint for babies, coming up," Lacy says with an easy grin.

Lena's panicked look changes, and she grabs you by the hoodie. “you smoke?!”

you imagine her slipping her hands beneath your hoodie, and you drift a little closer. “mhm.”

in hindsight, you're not entirely sure who catches it first. Sarah, when you start to go a little hazy, or Lena, when you start to lean in. you're not sure if Sarah grabs you from your other side first or if Lena pushes you away. you're floating for a second, until Sarah whispers into your ear, “heel,” and you pull up short, your posture stiffening a little bit.

Lena pulls away with an uncertain frown in your direction. you lean back into Sarah with a grateful sigh and let her arms fall around you, looking to Lena and telling her “yes. i smoke. these absolute degenerates got me to start smoking not too long after i moved in with them."

“hrm. fine. at least it's not something worse,” your big sister, the eternal watchdog and worrier, says. she seems to have forgotten why you're on this topic, going by her reaction when Lacy comes back with a joint in her hand. she sits in the camp chair next to Lena's side of the couch, leaning in to show her how it works and what to do.

you start to lean toward Lena, getting possessive and wanting to take control, wanting to be the one who shows her what do. but Sarah keeps you grounded and in place. she growls under her breath into your ear, “heel, puppy. do i need to get your collar?”

you whine quietly and shake your head insistently. Moss notices and smirks at you, blowing you a kiss with a wink. you turn to hide your face in Sarah's shoulder, and she runs her hand through your hair, pressing you into her collar gently. when Lena starts coughing and you try to turn to helpher, Sarah's hand goes firm, keeping you where you are. she murmurs into your ear once again, “she's okay, baby. let Lace take care of it.”

“okay…” you whisper back, whining slightly. your eyes close, and you lose yourself with Sarah's hand running through your hair for a second. when she tugs on your hair she also tugs you back to awareness, guiding you to sit up straight next to her again. you look over at your big sister, and find her frowning, her brow furrowed.

she's holding the joint out to you. coming back to yourself just a little bit, you take it, bringing it to your lips and taking a couple of drags. you lean your head back on the last one, exhaling the smoke into the open air above you and casually handing the joint off to Sarah. your sister gives you a look of wide eyed astonishment.

Lacy takes notice, saying “yeah, Penelope took to it like a duck to water. barely ever coughs.”

you flush and grin with a strange sense of pride. Lena looks like she's going to say something, but then you see it hit her. she stops talking for a second and giggles. the casual conversation between Sarah and Moss goes quiet along with you and Lacy as you all watch with rapt attention.

“feeling good?” Moss asks.

“heh… yeah…” Lena giggles, relaxing into the couch. Sarah nudges you, and you gratefully lean a little further into your sister's side.

“hey babygirl,” your big sister whispers, and you smile.

the joint comes back to you, passed by Sarah. you take a few more hits, then pass it to Lena, whispering “moderation.” Lena nods seriously, taking the joint from you and taking another hit, then passing it off to Lacy again.

after a few more passes, Lena suddenly speaks up.

“i'm hungry!” she announces with a grin. the entire group cheers, and Sarah gleefully goes about burning two more hotdogs for your sister.

the night passes like so many other Sunday nights at your house. the four of you, now five, sit around the fire, talking about what went on last week and what you have planned for next week. the pleasant buzz from smoking keeps you floating, your social battery in a funny kind of stasis. you alternate between sitting up straight and laying back against Sarah, who gladly envelopes you in her arms every time.

(you want to cuddle with your sister, but both her and Sarah have too much control over the situation for your own control to slip.)

you're not entirely sure what time it is when, a couple joints later, Lena excuses herself from the fire, citing that she's sleepy and would like to go to bed. you think it's probably around 10 or 11 at night, but everything's a little hazy. you think a few minutes pass before Sarah nudges you, nodding in the direction of the house. Lacy and Moss are preoccupied. at some point, Moss left her camp chair to pin Lacy to hers and is now making out with her furiously. classic. you push yourself off of the couch, staggering inside and heading towards Lena's room.

the door opens, revealing a dark, empty room. you make a quizzical noise. confused, you head back to your room. you'll grab your phone and text your sister.

your big sister. who is, when you open your door, buried in your bed, deep under the covers and surrounded by pillows. she's making noises, and she's holding something to her face. with the kind of slowness of thought that comes from smoking for several hours straight, it takes you a moment to realize what you're seeing. in the time it takes you to formulate a response, Lena has gone stock still and started blushing.

you kick your door closed with one foot, eyes not leaving your big sister, who you're pretty sure has one hand deep in her pants, while her other hand holds a pair of your panties up to her face. a pair of panties that you discarded into the wash yesterday, after cumming in them while grinding on your big sister's leg.

she panics, tossing the panties away with gusto, but you don't care. still high and a little clumsy, you reach behind you to lock your door. Lena flinches at the sound, but you don't care. you stalk towards her, and her eyes go wide.

“you wanna smell me?” you ask.

your sister nods uncertainly. “it smells… nice… like you used to…”

that brings you up short for a second. “are you saying… you used to sniff my boxers?”

“yes…”

a shiver runs down your spine, and you start to salivate. you crawl onto the bed, stripping off your pants as you go.

“here, big sis. take as deep of a breath as you want,” you tell her. you haven't showered since yesterday, and you've been cooped up in your warm room for most of the time since then. your sister emerges from the blankets and crawls forward. you place your hand in her hair and gently guide her closer until her nose is pressed to your bush.

she takes a deep, deep breath, and your hand gets tighter in her hair. “Pen… please… can i…”

she trails off, so you pull on her hair gently, making her look up at you. her eyes are a little hazy, and her mouth is open. “yeah, love? what do you want?”

“i want… i want my little sister to… fuck my mouth…”

you groan, delicate control slipping. your grip on her hair gets tighter, and you pull her back from your bush until her mouth is near the tip of your cock. your other hand comes up, gripping it at the base. a string of precum on the tip breaks, falling onto Lena's stomach. you maneuver your cock gently, telling your sister “stick out your tongue.”

she opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue excitedly.

“good girl," you grunt. your hand leaves her hair and comes to her cheek, guiding her toward your cock gently. "you wanna taste my pre, love?”

more had already built up, leaving a thick bead at the end. you lower your cock head until it rests on your sister's tongue. it takes a second for it to register, but after a moment Lena's eyes cross, and she shudders. like a good girl, though, she keeps her mouth open for you.

“do you think you can take me, love? if you start to gag, smack my leg with your hand, okay? i'll pull back.”

Lena's tongue retreats for a second so she can say “don't worry, babygirl, i don't have a gag reflex.” you growl and grab her by the hair again to push her head down onto your cock. you almost cum immediately. she's eager, and she's good. you're huge, and you have a lot of cum, even after E. but somehow, she still takes you all.

“fuck, Lena!” you groan, trying to hold back. “fuck, please, i-”

she pulls back, a glimmer of clarity in her eyes, and says “what did i tell you when we woke up yesterday? you can cum for me any time; little sister privilege.”

you growl at her, immediately sticking your cock back in her mouth. she stays upright, but you see the trembling in her shoulders, so you surge forward and pin her against the wall. she relaxes, and you follow her down, bucking your hips and burying your cock in her throat. every time, she takes it all the way to the base, breathing deep and even somehow.

after a moment, you notice that she inhales every time her nose is in your bush. you growl again, grabbing her head with both hands and thrusting one last time, burying her in your bush and burying your cock in her throat. you cum, rope after hot, sticky rope. your big sister gulps it down eagerly, her throat clenching around your cock and sending you into spasms.

eventually you pull your dick from your big sister's throat, and she takes deep, shuddering breaths. there's tears in her eyes, and you rush to wipe them away as gently as you can while shaking like you are. she smiles and leans in to kiss you. she tastes like cum. your big sister's mouth tastes like your cum.

#siscon #big sister little sister #big sis lil sis #yuricest #wrote this one while. you guessed it. high.#it's pretty long and like half of it is just plot but honestly the ending is pretty hot #enjoy

112 notes · View notes

supercap2319 · 1 day ago

Note

Y/n and Peter go to a Waterpark and Peter loses his shorts going down a slide

A Sunny Day at Midtown Water Park. It was the perfect day for a waterpark adventure. The sun was blazing, the lines were short, and the screams of people rushing down slides filled the air. You and Peter Parker were finally taking a well-deserved break from web-slinging and studying to act like normal teenagers for once.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Peter said, grinning as he adjusted his swim trunks. He was already drenched, his brown curls dripping water onto his lashes. “But I’m not gonna lie, this is awesome.”

You nudged him. “Told you. Sometimes the best cure for stress is high-speed water propulsion.”

The two of you had been tackling slide after slide, racing each other and laughing non-stop. But the moment you’d both been hyping up had arrived: The Vortex, a massive, twisting water slide that ended with a near-vertical drop.

“You ready?” you asked, already climbing the stairs to the top.

Peter gulped dramatically. “Nope! But let’s do it anyway!”

One by one, people were being launched down the slide with a scream and a splash. When it was Peter’s turn, he gave you a quick wink and bravely launched himself into the tunnel.

From the bottom, you waited to see him burst through the final curve and splash into the pool, which he did.

But something was off.

Peter popped out of the water, eyes wide, flailing slightly as he looked around.

“Y/N!” he whispered-shouted, voice panicked.

You walked closer, confused. “Peter? What’s—”

And then you saw it.

The naked silver of peachy skin. His swim trunks had vanished. They were nowhere in sight. Peter was standing in waist-deep water, doing his best to keep it that way, both hands firmly planted over the danger zone. No one seemed to suspect anything suspicious, but it wouldn't be that way for long when the lifeguards asked Peter to move out of water for the next patron.

You burst out laughing.

“Not funny!” he hissed.

“It’s very funny,” you snorted, holding your stomach. “Did the water slide eat your shorts?!”

Peter nodded solemnly. “They’re gone. Like, not coming back at all.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, still laughing. “Okay, okay. Stay here. I’ll get a towel.”

“Wait! Can't you just use your magic and make me new ones? Peter asked. He was still covering his, well, everything.

“I could, but should I?” You teased, pretending to think hard about it.

“Please, Y/N? Everybody already thinks Spiderman is an exhibitionist after a few naked suit incidents. I don't want people to think Peter Parker gets off being caught in the buff. I'll do anything.”

“Anything?” You caught yourself saying. “Fine, but you owe me anything I want, Parker, and I always cash in.”

“Deal.”

A few seconds later, Peter’s lower half was wrapped in crimson energy as people noticed and gasped as Peter emerged from the water with brand new red and blue trunks.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

You leaned in with a smirk. “You know I’m never letting you live this down, right?”

Peter groaned.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x male reader #spiderman comics #spiderman x male reader

116 notes · View notes

caramelmiacchiato · 2 days ago

Text

2nd movie plot idea:

the honmoon is gonna start to act weird, shining in diff colors in some points, but only rumi can sees it. shes gonna think shes going crazy... or that the honmoon is sending her a message. so shes gonna ask jinu about it (this is after she finds out his soul is in her sword) and hes gonna tell her some old secret myth that the honmoon can act as a messenger from someone in the underwold to a hunter. so shes gonna tell the girls ofc and theyre gonna convince rumi to ask celine about it. when celine hears about whats happening shes gonna get all weird like shes hiding something and w enough pressure she'll tell them that rumi's mom didnt die and is actually imprisoned there by gwi ma and that she not only knew it, but also didnt do anything to help her friend bc "sadly she brought this upon herself when she got involved with a demon" and the only way to save her is going there. rumi is gonna be devastated ofc bc wtf how could you and their relationship will get even worse. then shes gonna be super sad for a few days until mira and zoey tell her that if her mom is sending a message now, its prolly smth important so they should go. then they come up with a plan, disguise themselves as demons and find a way to go to the underworld (dont ask me how idk either). there they will find the saja boys ofc (except for jinu) and during the journey to get to where rumi's mom is we will get flashbacks of her and rumi's dad and about how loved rumi was and this will heal something in her. my ideas end here idk what happens next. prolly they find a way to save jinu, find rumi's mom and she tells some super deep secret that proves their entire life was a lie and ends up dying by the end of the movie, at some point their disguises end up being discovered resulting in many cool fight scenes and rumi goes full demon mode in the final fight against gwi ma

thats it sony pictures please hire me

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh #rumi #zoey #mira #jinu #saja boys #huntrix #rumi kpdh #zoey kpdh #mira kpdh #jinu kpdh #rumi kpop demon hunters #jinu kpop demon hunters #zoey kpop demon hunters #mira kpop demon hunters

76 notes · View notes

lila-lou · 2 days ago

Text

✨Take five✨

Summary: A migraine hits during a day of filming Supernatural, but Jensen and Jared’s calm support helps you get through it and maybe brings you a little closer.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2168

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

The sun had barely climbed past the tops of the Vancouver trees when the first take wrapped. It was only two hours into filming, and already your cheeks ached from smiling through the scenes. Playing Dean Winchester’s girlfriend in Supernatural Season 16 wasn’t just surreal, it was your dream job. But lately, the migraines had been making everything harder.

You’d told yourself today would be fine. You had slept decently. You’d eaten. You’d even skipped the second cup of coffee. But none of that mattered when the pain came crashing down out of nowhere.

It started behind your left eye. A dull throb, like a distant drumbeat. You’d hoped it would stay there, small, manageable. But within minutes, it bloomed into something sharper, pulsing, electric. Lights from the set felt like daggers. Every line of dialogue blurred. You missed a cue.

“Cut!”, someone called.

You blinked hard, trying to stay upright, trying to stay professional. Jared was off to the side, mid-laugh about something with a crew member. Jensen stood just a few feet away, in full costume, but when his eyes landed on you, the smirk faded.

“You good?”, he asked, low and casual, but his brow furrowed.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words stuck. It was hard to focus on anything except the thudding in your skull and the sick twist in your stomach.

Jensen stepped closer, voice dropping. “Y/N? You don’t look great”. That was putting it nicely.

You shook your head slightly. “Migraine”, you murmured, barely above a whisper. “Bad one”.

Without hesitation, he turned, waving down the assistant director. “She needs a break. Now”.

You hated how weak you felt, hated halting production. You were supposed to be the professional, the one who could keep up with veterans like Jensen and Jared. But right now, you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, hey…”, Jared appeared next to you like a sudden shadow, tall and warm and concerned. He had ditched the joking tone from earlier, eyes scanning your face. “You’re really pale. You gonna throw up?”.

“I don’t know”, you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut. The pounding in your skull had made its way down your neck, every sound around you amplified like someone had cranked up the volume of the world.

“Okay, come on”, Jensen said, his hand firm on your back now. “We’re getting you somewhere dark and quiet”.

You didn’t argue.

Jared had already taken your other arm gently, his touch surprisingly soft despite his size. “We’ve got you”, he said, and together they led you off the main set and into your trailer just beyond the soundstage. It was dim inside, mercifully quiet.

“Lay down”, Jensen said, already drawing the blinds shut. “Feet up if you can”.

You did as you were told, sinking into the couch like it was the only safe place left in the universe. Jared crouched nearby, rummaging through a mini-fridge and a cabinet. “I’ve got water and… protein bars? That’s not helpful. Where’s the Advil?”, he muttered to himself.

“Top shelf”, Jensen said without looking. He was already kneeling beside you, handing you a cool, damp cloth he must’ve soaked in the small bathroom sink. “Here. For your head”.

You pressed it over your eyes, letting out a soft, grateful sigh. “I’m so sorry”, you whispered. “I didn’t want to slow everyone down”.

Jared snorted. “Oh, come on. You think we haven’t both nearly passed out on set before?”.

“Speak for yourself”, Jensen said under his breath, smirking again, but softly, this time, like he didn’t want to make the room any louder than it needed to be.

You cracked a smile through the pain. “Bet you still looked cool doing it”.

“Obviously”, he deadpanned, and that earned a quiet chuckle from Jared.

Jared was still rummaging, mumbling to himself as he found the bottle of Advil and passed it to you with a water bottle. You sat up slowly, swallowing the pills with a grimace, eyes still half-shut against the dim light.

“Alright, I’m gonna go tell Kripke what’s up”, Jared said after a moment, standing to full height and stretching with a dramatic groan. “He’ll want to know why we’re down one kickass actress for the next couple hours”.

You winced. “Tell him I’m sorry—”.

He waved a hand. “Nope. Not your fault. You’re not apologizing for having a brain that hates you”.

Jensen let out a quiet laugh. “We’ve both pulled worse. Remember that time you had the flu and still tried to film the bar fight scene?”. Jared rolled his eyes. “And you made me chug Gatorade mixed with cough syrup. Yeah, I remember”.

You couldn’t help smiling again.

Jared grabbed the door handle, then paused. “Hey. Rest, okay? You’re in good hands”. He gave Jensen a meaningful look, eyebrow raised, then vanished out the door before either of you could say anything.

Silence settled in the trailer, soft and still. Jensen lingered near the edge of the couch, arms crossed, watching you.

“You sure you’re alright?”, he asked quietly, more serious now.

You nodded slowly. “Getting there. The meds should kick in soon”.

He knelt again beside the couch, not quite touching you, but close. “You scared me back there. You looked like you were about to fall over”.

“Felt like I might”, you admitted.

Jensen exhaled slowly, a soft sigh through his nose, and reached behind your head to adjust the pillow. His fingers brushed your hair, careful and warm, and you could feel how focused he was, not on anything else, not on the set, not on the scene, just on you. “I don’t know a whole lot about migraines”, he said, his voice low, steady. “Just the basics… dark room, cold cloth… maybe some painkillers if you can keep them down”.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s usually all I can do. Wait it out”.

Jensen looked around the trailer like he was mentally checking a list. “Okay. Got the dark room. Got the cold cloth. You’ve had water and Advil”. His eyes returned to yours, thoughtful. “What else helps? Talk to me”.

You blinked at him. It wasn’t just what he said, it was how he said it. Gentle. No pressure. Just open space to answer. You swallowed. “Sometimes… just not being alone helps”, you said honestly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his expression, soft understanding, maybe. Or something closer to something he didn’t say out loud. “Alright”, he murmured. “Then I’ll stay”.

He didn’t make a show of it. He didn’t joke or tease. He just shifted, settled beside the couch on the floor, leaning his back against the side of it so your arm almost brushed his shoulder.

After a few minutes, he glanced up. “You want music or silence?”.

“Silence. Unless you’re gonna sing”, you added with the faintest smirk.

He chuckled under his breath. “You really must be out of it if you’re asking me to sing”.

You closed your eyes again, trying to slow your breathing, to let your muscles relax. The throbbing behind your eyes was still present, but not blinding anymore, not with the quiet, the dimness, and Jensen beside you.

He stayed silent, content to sit there on the floor with your fingers loosely curled in his. At some point, his free hand pulled out his phone. You heard the soft taps of him typing, then the quiet whoosh of a message sent.

“Kripke wanted me back on set”, Jensen said after a moment, like he could sense you were still halfway awake. “Told him I’m not going anywhere till you’re asleep”.

That made your chest ache in a different way. You gave his hand the faintest squeeze. “You didn’t have to…”.

“Yeah”, he cut in gently. “I did”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t, not with the way his voice had softened, the way the tension had long since bled out of his words. There was something quiet and unspoken between you now, something that felt like the beginning of something not written in any script.

The silence wrapped around both of you again. You let yourself drift, Jensen’s thumb absently brushing across the back of your hand. Just once, then again, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. That small, soothing gesture anchored you more than anything else had all day.

Eventually, your body gave in. The pain blurred at the edges, dulled by the medicine, the quiet, the warmth. Your breathing slowed.

Jensen glanced up, watching the way your chest rose and fell in that soft rhythm. Your hand went limp in his, and he let it rest carefully on your stomach, not wanting to wake you.

He stood slowly, muscles stiff from sitting on the floor too long. One last glance—at your peaceful face, the faint crease between your brows finally smoothed—and then he pulled the blanket up higher over your shoulders.

A whisper of a smile crossed his lips before he left, closing the trailer door quietly behind him.

You woke slowly, the world returning in pieces, the hum of the trailer’s air unit, the weight of the blanket draped over you, the muted gray light leaking in through the edges of the blinds. Your head was still heavy, your body sore from being curled up too long, but the blinding pain had dulled to a manageable ache.

You pushed yourself up gently, wincing as your back protested. Before you could even fully sit upright, the trailer door creaked open.

“Hey—”. Jensen’s voice broke through, quiet and cautious. His head popped in before his whole body followed, and when he saw you sitting up, relief flooded his expression. “You’re awake”, he said, with a lopsided smile. “Finally”.

You blinked at him, bleary-eyed. “How long was I out?”.

“A few hours”, he said, crossing the room in just a few steps. “I’ve been checking in. Fifth time’s the charm, I guess”.

Your lips curled slightly. “You checked on me five times?”.

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Four while you were still out. Was starting to think you were just pretending to avoid more scenes with Jared”.

You gave him a dry look. “That sounds tempting, actually”.

He laughed softly and crouched beside the couch again, just like before, eyes scanning your face carefully. “How’s the pain?”.

“Manageable”, you said. “Still there, but… I can think again. Move. Talk”.

“Good”, he said. But he didn’t move away. If anything, he stayed just a little too close, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave again. “You looked peaceful, y’know. Sleeping”.

You stretched your legs slowly beneath the blanket. “That’s probably the first real rest I’ve had in days”.

“You needed it”.

You glanced down at your lap, then back at him. “Thanks for staying. For not just… checking a box and heading back”.

Jensen tilted his head a bit, the way he always did when something mattered more than he was letting on. “Didn’t feel right to leave. You don’t leave someone behind when they’re hurting. Especially not someone who makes twelve-hour days actually feel fun”.

You tried not to let that warmth swell too obviously in your chest. “Is that a compliment?”.

“Yeah”, he said, voice low. “Think it might be”.

You both fell quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It hung there, soft and charged, like something unsaid had just passed between you.

After a second, you looked down at the blanket still covering you. “Did you do this, too?”.

Jensen smirked. “Yeah. You were shivering a little. Told myself it was a professional courtesy”.

You gave him a tired smile. “You’re full of professional courtesies today”.

His eyes held yours for a moment longer than necessary. “I guess I am”, he murmured. “Maybe I’ll make it a habit”.

Before you could think of something clever to say back, he pushed off the floor, standing with that smooth, easy grace that made it hard to separate him from Dean sometimes. “I’ll let Jared know you’re up”, he said. “He’s convinced you’re secretly part-demon because you haven’t moved in hours”.

You let out a quiet laugh. “Sounds like him”.

But Jensen paused at the door, fingers on the handle, then looked back at you.

“I’ll come back after wrap”, he said, more gently now. “Just to check in”.

Your heart stuttered a little. “I’d like that”.

He smiled at you, slow and warm, and then he slipped out, leaving behind that strange, subtle electricity that made it impossible to go back to sleep.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen fucking ackles #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #spn cast

97 notes · View notes

askthehedgehogs · 2 days ago

Text

[Hello and welcome to askthehedgehogs Wedding 2.0! If you're not familiar with the ask blog, check it out for context, or just enjoy a contextless fic + art in which Sonic and Shadow get married (again). Final part only has one drawing, I was losing steam! Pt 6/6! START | PREV]

Wedding: 2.0 Shadow’s Apartment Secret Mission: Rest and recharge!

They laid in a tangle of limbs on their bed, Shadow with his nose nuzzling into Sonic’s soft stomach while his husband carefully untwisted tinsel from his quills. They had just switched from the opposite, with Sonic resting on Shadow’s chest until all the flowers had been plucked from his head. Neither of them spoke, just enjoyed the peace and quiet and one another’s slow and steady breaths. A pile of tinsel accumulated next to the pile of flower petals.

Sonic smiled as Shadow began to purr, clearly enjoying having Sonic’s fingers running through his quills to get every last strand.

He was tempted to leave a few, considering how much Shadow enjoyed a bit of sparkle, and how pretty he looked.

He wanted to say it. To tell him how beautiful he looked. To try to express the feelings that had overcome him as he took his place beside Shadow, falling in love all over again as he stood waiting to marry him. But he didn’t want to ruin this soft, beautiful moment, so Sonic kept it to himself.

One day, he would be able to sing Shadow’s praises between kisses. He was content to wait for such a day that it wouldn’t be met with resistance.

He itched to say something, though.

“So,” he began, putting the last of the tinsel aside and scratching behind Shadow’s ear. “Same time next year?”

Perhaps Shadow had fallen asleep, exhausted from the day’s events and completely relaxed on his pillow of a husband, because it took more than a few seconds for him to respond. “Huh..?”

“What’re we gonna do different for Wedding 3.0? Personally, I still think a solid gold statue of the two of us smooching sounds sick.”

Shadow groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “I am never marrying you again…”

Sonic hummed, tapping his muzzle in thought. “What if I divorce ya? Then you’ve gotta marry me~”

“No,” Shadow snorted, burying his face deeper into Sonic’s fur, “Then we’d just stay divorced. Forever.” He scrunched up his nose when his pillow suddenly became uncomfortably lively as Sonic laughed.

“Aw… you don’t mean that.”

“Sonic. I mean this with every fibre of my being.” Shadow lifted his head to look his husband in the eye. His beautiful, sleepy husband, who he knew was just as emotionally drained as he was and yet somehow smiling, somehow soft and lovely and wonderful.

“Yeah? What?”

Shadow stared at him a little longer. He had forgotten what he was going to say. “... Go to sleep.”

“To… what?” Sonic laughed again, pulling Shadow into his arms. “Can’t sleep. Still buzzing about today. Besides, we’re going on an actual real honeymoon tomorrow.”

“Exactly,” Shadow snuggled in, making himself comfortable once more. “We have to get up early. So sleep.”

Sonic groaned, sinking deep into the pillows. “Fiiiiiine. I’ll try…”

“Good.”

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of their heartbeats.

“... I love you, Shadow. ‘m glad I married you again. And the first time, too…”

Sonic wondered if Shadow had fallen asleep for real this time. He was quiet for a minute or two, no reaction to Sonic’s words aside from the twitch of his ear. “I’m glad, too. But next time, can we not invite so many people?”

“Heh. Yeah. That’s fair. Maybe just the two of us, next time.”

“Mmh. Just the two of us.”

“We could get married every day.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Mmmaybe. We could just kiss everyday.”

“Hm.”

“We already do that though so maybe–”

“Sonic.”

“Right right right. Sleep. Sorry.” The blue hedgehog pressed his lips together. “Mmph.”

“... I love you, too.” Shadow scooted just enough so that he could stretch up and press a kiss to Sonic’s chin. “Goodnight, Sonic.”

He smiled, feeling warm and loved. “Goodnight, Shadow.”

The two hedgehogs fell asleep, breathing in harmony, and dreamt of dancing in flower fields under starry skies.

✧ ✧ ✧

MOD’S NOTES

Wow, this was quite a challenge! Having more or less one week to write and illustrate this, between work and life and everything else, I hope it doesn't come across as rushed as it felt 😅 I've really enjoyed it though, thank you to everyone for the support and for coming along on this journey with me!

I couldn’t decide for ages whether I wanted them to have wedding outfits or not. I was totally torn, especially after that one time an anon gave them suits and they actually looked lowkey cute… so I compromised; they got some time in suits, and plenty of time naked and free

I, like the Hedgehogs, had to totally wing it with the vows. I literally wrote them while I was walking the dog and tried not to give them too much thought!

I first came up with the inhibitor ring/wedding bangle with cuts from the fake Chaos Emerald FOREVER ago, back when I was certain the blog would have died out long before we reached the wedding. So glad we made it this far and I got to include it! It’s the secret project Tails and Shadow have been working on all this time hehe

On that topic, they are each wearing their wedding bangles on the same wrist as the hand with the tattoo from Wedding 1.0 (Sonic’s left hand, Shadow’s right hand)

Feel free to send in questions about the wedding! We'll hopefully be back my regular ask/art blog antics soon now that the wedding is over.

#hedgehog doodles #tag: wedding 2.0 #tag: wedding 2 electric boogaloo #sonadow #sonadow wedding #sonadow askblog #sonadow fanfiction #tag: hedgehugs and kisses

116 notes · View notes

calitears · 2 days ago

Text

VLOG #2. ARE WE GIVING TEEN BEACH MOVIE?

PREVIOUS | STORY MASTERLIST

The week had gone by faster than you expected, and you felt somewhat disappointed about no longer having the excuse to see Megumi everyday.

The past few days you had spent with him had been surprisingly enjoyable. Despite how much he was perceived as ‘nonchalant’ or preferred to keep to himself, he wasn’t boring. You found out he lived further down the same street as you and Maki, allowing you both to walk home together after your shifts. Along with that, you appreciated how surprisingly easy he had been to get along with.

He wasn’t aware, but by the end of your shift Thursday night, you had left with a list of his recommendations in movies, music, and places to visit that you’d built throughout the week.

“What’s got you pondering off?”

You looked up to meet Maki’s eyes, her usual glasses replaced with a more stylized version of those typical when you think about the 60’s.

“Nothing… just reminiscing about my first week.”

“Reminiscing?”

You sighed dramatically, and proceeded to help her fix the bumpit on her head. “Yeah, no more easy shifts.”

She rolled her eyes, and once satisfied with her hair, walked out the girls bathroom with you following behind. “You sure that’s all you’re gonna miss?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well…” she started, nodding her head in the direction towards the hostess stand.

Your gaze followed, and landed on Megumi. If it hadn’t been for his slicked back hair, you would’ve assumed he had just thrown on one of his usual outfits and called it a day. Especially standing next to Yuta, who had really gone all out tonight. Bandana, button up shirt, shorts, shoes and all.

“What are you hinting at?”

“I think you like my cousin.”

“Oh, Maki shut up-“

“I’m being serious, don’t lie to my face y/n. You’ve spent the whole week with him, and i’ve seen how you try to get his attention.”

“I’m not trying to get his attention-“

Yet maki cut you off a second time, continuing, “You mess around with him, take your breaks at the same time, you’re into him.”

She looked back at Megumi and Yuta, before sighing. “Honestly i’m more surprised it’s working than anything.”

“What?”

“I mean i’m surprised he’s… reciprocating whatever you two have, guess the beach’s air finally created some chemical balance in his brain.”

“Okay? So he’s handsome, doesn’t mean im gonna go after him, plus he’s your cousin so…”

“So? He’s a grown man, he knows what he’s doing and what he gets himself into. I couldn’t care less what he does. He’s not my responsibility just because we happen to be related.”

She nudged your shoulder gently, watching as the two boys attended the first few dressed up guests that started showing up.

“I mean, obviously unless you did something insanely evil to him. But even then, i’m closer to you than i’ll probably ever be to him, or even would want to be.”

You wrapped your arms around her neck, smiling over her shoulder. “Aw Maki…”

She scoffed and gently pushed you off, but she couldn’t hide the smile that passed her face. “Alright don’t push it. Just if anything ends up happening, know I warned you that no man around here is conventionally attractive and normal.”

Maki tied her apron around her waist, and proceeded to put a few extra straws in the pocket, “I feel it in my tits he has a secret account where he thirst traps to lana del rey for attention.”

NOTES:

they ain’t got a clue in the fucking world rn

megumi lore drop

will slowly reveal what happened between yuji and yn throughout the story

and i just wanna say thank you to everyone that’s commented or like or reblogged you guys rlly do motivate me like tysm babes i appreciate every single one of you!! kisses xx 🩵

TAGLIST - open! comment on story masterlist or dm to be added

@qtnchuu @kaiiibxby @not-a-glad-gladiator @frootloopscos @oreotunes @mikasaspatas @sttaejoon-blog @viaelax @0rangej0e @rustymind @ckaulitzz @gradmacoco @getosh0e @chososcamgirl @cleomenelac @axquella @agzio180 @enchantinghonymoon @lauuriiiz @1l-ynn @piwonzne @l1v1ngzomb1e @iluvchuuyaa @missionarymia @sazzinova @good-mourning0 @taefanclub @lanovelera4 @juliarchiv3s @saeskiss @xo-nyx @linamacchiato @izukusfangirl @s3ns4ti0n4l @anqelkoz @reicyberia @yourbeautifulfairyprincess @rwura @saltypuffin1040 @hawk3y @veriiques @onmycloudyet @fushigurq @ppyn @ladytamayolover @armin-fein123 @ilovewonyo @ilybbg @denverex @tfshiz

122 notes · View notes

eepy-cookies · 2 days ago

Text

Quiet talents will remain noticed.

Characters: Legendary Cookies (+ one bonus cookie) x G/N! Reader Genre: Fluff or Romantic (see it how you will)

Summary: You have a talent, a talent that you are shy to share to the other cookies. So you instead use that said talent in a more private place, unbeknownst to you that caught the attention of someone else entirely.

Disclaimer: This is made for fun purposes only, be well aware of ooc!

Sea Fairy Cookie

You accidentally encounter Sea Fairy Cookie in the middle of the beach at midnight, she was singing peacefully and you got inspired by her. You usually just see nobody but seeing her was a surprise. Drawing her is a bit challenging while you were humming to her soft humming, but that soon ends when she saw you on that faithful night and was curious about you.

But you do expect to apologize to her since you did draw her without her permission so a bit of a misunderstanding and tension goes first.

When you show her your talents as an artist she was amazed and once the both of you reconcile you two got along pretty well.

She genuinely waits for your arrival with the stuff so she can watch you use your talents. If your talent is an artist Sea Fairy Cookie will enjoy watching you draw and at the same time help you find a good light even if there is no electricity. If your talent is a singer then it's most likely she will sing along once she got used to your beat, she loved your voice even if its bad or not after all confidence increases when if got enough warmth to it!

It has somehow become her habit to see you, it must have been fate!

Frost Queen Cookie

You encounter her once you stumble to the raging blizzard, you passed out and by some miracle you were put to safety revealing that it was Frost Queen Cookie who happens to sense that you are nearby, it was a brief conversation before you realize that your stuff is in the snow.

Frost Queen Cookie decided to find your stuff for you much to your embarrassment, and when she does she talks to you about your drawings to which you explain why you always go there.

The view and her castle was artistically beautiful that you can't help visiting there to gather references, she can think that your crazy but your artistic drawings does help her for a reason so she doesn't kick you out but gave you a good living for a few days before she escorts you out of the blizzard when you want to go home. (The art in question was giving her a good sketch of her castle and when its drawn it makes her think that you draw a good map./j)

If you are a singer, it brings Frost Queen Cookie at ease. It does gets lonely in her castle and having a companion every once and a while can still grow her cold heart.

Black Pearl Cookie

You can help it, there are eyes watching you draw while you are alone at the seaside docks. When you do look Black Pearl Cookie chuckled and swim away making you think that you are gonna be her next victim.

Tho you are pretty much wrong, she saw you draw and does admire you as both an artist and singer. For some reason your talents helps her struggle but its leaning closer to the singers talent, after all Black Pearl Cookie goes insane when its just nothing but pure silence in her realm...

Tho she would love to capture you to herself when she got the opportunity.

After all she knew she cannot welcome a normal cookie who will just betray her, but the moment she notice that you are the type that won't betray her...

Good luck.

Moonlight Cookie

In her dreams she knows your talents, and yet she still remained in her usual spot but ever since you arrive at a safer location. All you can hear was nothing but falling stars, after all you see nothings new but its still noticed by Moonlight Cookie who was secretly hiding admiring your talents.

Out of everyone she was eager to see and meet you, Moonlight admires your talents when she saw your dream as a successful artist or singer but if its both she does enjoy it regardless and as a result she evenly bring it up to Stardust Cookie when she got a chance.

She often looks forward to seeing your visits and your talents, Moonlight Cookie does admire you for your creative imagery. But if you were burned out she can lend an ear and helps you out.

After all she feels so much joy when she is with you.

Storm Bringer Cookie

Your songs caught the attention of the mighty Storm Bringer Cookie when you were at a safe place, she was not amused but she does admit that your songs are catchy so she decided to stay at a safe distance.

But soon enough she go so used to your talents she kept you safe from the other enemies, plus as a bonus your talents is something that she is the best supporter off!

When you two finally meet, you were embarrassed but Storm Bringer Cooker encourage you to continue your talents as a whole. But when you made a small dedication to her, Storm Bringer would be surprise but she continues to encourage you to do more.

...Girl... You know damn well that got her embarrassed, no?

After all she enjoys both of your talents good or not, after all improvements increases overtime.

Wind Archer Cookie

In the middle of the safest part of a forest, your talents were heard from the forest of your voice, your talents of the artist causes the biscuit animals to appear and watch you draw them. Free references and more freedom, even tho it was what you wanted and yet you can't help but feel eyes.

Wind Archer Cookie at that time was resting under a giant tree when he was tired happens to stumble upon you and your talents. He will admit himself that it was a nice pleasant sound, but he does have to reassure you that he isn't here to embarrass you but rather compliment you.

What an honor!

But when he escorts you out of the forest so you can arrive home safely, the wind tells him that he will be looking forward to see you more than just once.

After all, he enjoys your talents as a whole, it increases his purpose to protect. That includes protecting you.

Fire Spirit Cookie

If you are a daring cookie who wants to go to the Dragons Valley and resist the intense heat then your in for a ride! While you are enjoying your time in the Dragons Valley, don't forget that there are SOME places that contains echos. As a result you accidentally summoned Fire Spirit Cookie who was wondering where was the sound coming from when he was trying to take a normal nap.

Of course misunderstandings goes first-wait a second, knowing Fire Spirit Cookie. He is gonna be a good sassy (and a little bit rude if you don't take his words seriously) cookie you have ever come across.

Tho he won't deny it but he does secretly admit that you really have a good talent he cannot possess. Artist or a Singer or both regardless if it's bad or good, he enjoys it! (After all the Dragons Valley can be boring from time to time) And when he is alone he will secretly make sure that your talents remain unforgotten which results to Fire Spirit Cookie having his fanboy moment before Pitaya Dragon Cookie yells at him to shut up.

Just be WELL prepared for Fire Spirit Cookie's constant flirting and yapping, if your patient enough you can tell what he was implying.

Plus, you REALLY cannot deny that he is good at giving you ideas for your talents.

Millennial Tree Cookie

One day Wind Archer Cookie decided to introduce you to Millennial Tree Cookie when he knew he can trust you. He doesn't understand why you need his help to find more references but he knew that Millennial Tree Cookie can help. Of course, Millennial Tree was happy to see you and Wind Archer Cookie take his leave as usual.

Calming as always it reassures you to no end, Millennial Tree Cookie was happy to see you enjoying your talents and loves to give you more encouragement. As he too enjoys your talents, he patiently watches you think of an idea but even if you were burned out, Millennial Tree would calmly hold your hand and guide you alot of places that you had never seen before.

You were so grateful for him so much you decided to use your talents to thank him, he felt honored but so happy for you.

90 notes · View notes

bigmacari · 21 hours ago

Note

may I please get a Betty x reader cuddle session.. stares and begs (I love Betty she’s so augh..)

｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

Betty x Reader

☆ Cuddle Session with Betty late at night.

☆Warning(s) none

☆Author Note(s) Had this in my drafts for a bit. I think I forgot to post it? Idk, but it's so cute. I hope you enjoy <3

｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

☆ It wasn't often you felt truly and utterly relaxed. It was rare to take a breath and not have to think about the things around you. Work, school, people, money... and now, due to these glasses, objects. Your day to day life changed completely, and of course, it can be overwhelming.

Dealing with people wasn't your thing in the first place. A surge of anxiety hit you every time you tried talking to somebody. Your hands get shaky, and so does your voice. Breathing gets just that much harder.

You've gotten better though. Well, you think at least... Sure! There would be some stress here and there having to worry about a hundred- something different people - (uh, objects that is.) But the all the stress was worth it.

You've made close friends and lovers. You've gone on adventures. You've learned about the things around you.

You've helped and taken care of the things around you.

"So it was worth it." You decided out loud while laying in your bed one night. A lamp was on, a warm glow cradling the left side of your face. The sound of droplets hitting the window above you filled your ears.

"Worth what lover?" A soft voice asks from next to you. Your body flinches involuntary, not really expecting the voice. Did you really forget to take off the dateavadoirs? That's weird. Guess you were just used to them being on your face all day.

When you turn your head towards the direction of the voice, you immediately see a head of pink curly hair. It seems as though your body relaxes instantly when Betty's face comes into view. She did tend to have that effect on people. Then you feel a small warmth spread across your face. Whether it was from her or the fact you just got caught talking to yourself, you weren't sure.

Betty was lying down in the bed a couple of inches away from you. A hand supported her head while she laid on her side. A fond smile could be seen on her face. For a moment, you play around with the thought that she was smiling because of you.

"Lover?" Betty repeats once again, forcing you out of your thoughts.

"Ah- sorry, nothing. I was just thinking, I suppose..." You pause for a second, trying to look for a reason to switch the subject. Your eyes drift to the cat clock placed on the dresser. In bold red numbers, it read 12:43. Wow. That is later than you thought it was gonna be.

"Is it pretty late, isn't it? What are you still doing up?" You question in a lowered voice, realizing that most of the others were asleep by now.

Betty hums and pouts a bit while twirling one of her locks around her finger. "The same as you, though that's pretty normal for me. What's got you thinking so much that you're up so late at night?"

Betty stops twirling her hair to place a hand on yours. She runs a thumb up and down the back of it, warming it up in the process. You make a small note in the back of your mind about how smooth and soft her hand is. Almost as though it was made for this specific task.

"Feeling alright?" She asks in a concerned tone.

A small grimace spread across your face. How could you even answer that? 'Oh, you know, my entire change within a few minutes because a hacker sent glasses through my door, and now I have to make sure every object in my house is good. But I'm okay!' Jesus. That all seems too heavy, no?

Her eyes avert yours after a moment. "You know, this may not come as a shocker or anything, but as your bed, I feel some kind of responsibility to keep you comfortable."

She giggles a bit, "I know it must sound odd hearing that. But I assure you I do enjoy it. So, talk to me... or don't. We can always watch a movie or read together -"

Betty looks back up to you when she suddenly feels your hand lace with hers. You let out a deep sigh, leaning your head back a bit more on the pillow below your head.

"I think..." You start in a small voice. "I think I need a break. From talking and doing things, I mean." Holding Betty's hand a little tighter, you prepare for what you're gonna ask next.

"Can we just cuddle?" You feel blood rush to your cheeks for a second time tonight. For some reason, that was the hardest to get out. You felt silly almost, asking this beautiful lady laying in your bed to hold you.

Betty lets out a small laugh, smiling big. "If just laying here, with me, makes you feel better, then I'm glad to do it anytime time hun. Come here."

Betty lays on her back, pulling you closer to lay on her chest. She places one hand on your back and another in your hair, running through it. You wrap an arm around her, feeling the soft curve of her body. She was soft and gentle, but stable at the same time.

Taking a deep breath, you inhale her scent. She smelled like fresh sheets out of the dryer, wood, and a bit like your perfume. Which made sense. You do lay in her every night.

It takes a minute, but you let your breathing slow. You try to focus on the way she massages and scratches your scalp while brushing the knots out of your hair with her fingers. You focus on the up and down of her chest, gently rocking you asleep. You focus on the rain hitting the window above you two.

For the first time in a long time, you let everything in your head slip. It didn't matter, not here and now. All that mattered was the way Betty held you tight.

Eventually, your eyes became heavy and warmth overcame you, successfully pulling you into a gentle slumber that you could only describe as peaceful.

Betty smiles when she hears your soft snores. She looks at your sleeping form with nothing short of love and admiration. She sighs, planting a chaste on the top of your head. "Goodnight, love."

｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎

#date everything #betty date everything #betty x reader #date everything x reader #date everything one shot

53 notes · View notes

loganjameshowlett · 3 days ago

Text

SWALLOWTAIL

05: INTERUDE IN DARKNESS

pairing: joaquín torres/ex-widow!reader summary: recovery and realizations in the aftermath of Eklund's facility word count: 6k+ series masterlist | previous installment | next installment

Time passes in a sluggish drag of quiet, amniotic darkness.

You wake and drop back into sleep at random, grasping bits and pieces of information but never wholly putting together a picture. Sometimes, a figure or two skulk around the room when you rouse, sitting on the edge of the bed and telling you things in low, smooth tones that you don’t recall during your next wake window, or else fussing about in other ways. Always, the pain. All encompassing, ever present. It makes you nauseous if you try to sit up, but so does sound or any kind of light. For a stretch of time, being alive is only bearable when you lay still and undisturbed in the silent, pitch black room.

Your mental faculties and ability to stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time come back to you slowly, a shade at a time. Before you can muster speech, you reacquire listening without unbearable pain. You learn that one of your skulking figures is actually your doctor, a short, plump woman with dark braids down to her waist named Dr. Tesfaye. You learn you are in Birnin Zana, in King T’Challa’s own palace.

Sam is there to tell you all of this at the first hint of clarity in your eyes. He is a dark figure sitting at the edge of your bed, recognizable only through the familiar tenor of his voice and his hand, warm and solid, in your own. When you try to speak, the vibrations of your own vocal chords send a wave of sickening pain wracking through your body. Sam hushes you, and for once you acquiesce.

“He’s alive. Joaquín is alive, kid,” he tells you, knowing exactly what you were trying to ask. “The bullet punctured a lung, but the Wakandans have been working their magic— he’s gonna make a full recovery. It’ll be a while, but he’s gonna be right as rain.”

Relief surges through you like a rapidly changing tide. Your waking moments have been plagued by the image of Joaquín, paling and covered in so much blood, your hands desperately trying to hold the life inside of him. Your thoughts– when you’d actually been able to think– were of the worst case scenario: that when you finally emerge from the shadowed womb of this room, it would be into a world where Joaquín Torres is dead.

You turn your hand over in Sam’s so that your palms are touching and squeeze his as hard as you can, hoping to convey how grateful you are for the news. Trying to convey a thousand other emotions, so many of which you wouldn’t be able to name or explain even if you had your voice. Sam squeezes your hand back, and you know he understands.

“So now that you know, just focus on getting yourself right, okay? Listen to Dr. Tesfaye, she’s the best I’ve ever seen,” Sam instructs and you squeeze his hand again, softer this time. A yes. Yes, you will do what you’re told, if only to get well enough to leave this room as fast as you can so that you can see that Joaquín is alive for yourself. You know you won’t fully believe it until you confirm it with your own eyes.

“What she needs is quiet,” another voice pipes up from the corner: Dr. Tesfaye. She comes closer and lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and you watch him nod.

“You heard the good doctor. Get some sleep now,” Sam says, patting your hand in goodbye and standing to leave the room. Dr. Tesfaye files out behind him, shutting the door with the softest click. Left alone in your swallowing darkness, you’re asleep again in seconds.

–

It’s several more days, by your estimation at least, before Dr. Tesfaye clears you to rejoin society. By the time she gives you the all clear– a green light heavy with stipulations and a stern warning to take everything, even your exposure to sunlight, slow– you’re just about clawing at the walls from how stir crazy you’re feeling. Your concussion, Dr. Tesfaye told you early on, is one of the worst she has ever seen. No light, no sound, no music, no television, no reading, nothing at all for days on end until you hardly felt like a person anymore at all, and more like an amorphous blob slowly becoming another feature of the furniture in your sick room.

Still, you do the best you can to pace yourself. Dr. Tesfaye made it very clear that you will land yourself in a world of hurt if you try barrelling right back into life as you’ve always lived it, and the last thing you want is to spend more time locked away in the dark by yourself. When you emerge from your room and into the palace’s medical wing, it is to pointedly dimmed hall lights and the patient, smiling faces of the staff of nurses that have been taking care of you since you arrived, and Sam and Bucky, looking at you with the kind of pride usually reserved for parents looking at a baby taking its first steps.

“There she is,” Sam says, modulating his voice so that it’s carefully quiet for you— no doubt at the orders of your meticulous doctor. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a person again. I was finally able to stand long enough without getting dizzy to take a real shower,” you respond with a grin. Your voice is scratchy with disuse, but even so the pair seem to perk up even further with hearing it.

“You look good as new,” Bucky says, and you both know he’s lying, but the relief at seeing you up and actively recovering is clear on his face and in his words. In a clean pair of cream linen pajamas, your hair damp and pulled away from your face, you’re sure you do look leagues better than you did the last time anyone saw you in full light, which, you assume, was when you all arrived in Wakanda from the facility where you had been held— not that you remember for yourself. But your fleeting look in the mirror before you got in the shower had also revealed the astonishing pallor of your skin, the scabbed over red line of a cut across your temple, the painfully cracked skin of your lips. You have a while to go before you look, and, especially, feel fully restored.

“Don’t you start lying to me now, Barnes,” you joke, and Bucky’s lips quirk up in amusement.

A beat of silence passes between you all before you finally ask the question that you’ve been dying to ask for days. “Can I see him?”

“Sure, kid. He’s been asking after you a dozen times a day since he woke up,” Sam nods, his face taken over by that usual, stupid smirk of his. He points you towards Joaquín’s room before he and Bucky amble toward the medical wing’s exit. You appreciate their innate understanding that you’ll want some space for this.

You make your way slowly to Joaquín’s room. Your body aches from injuries sustained in Eklund’s facility and aches a second time over from all the time you’ve spent convalescing in bed, and your steps are shaky, unused to walking as your body is now. When you reach his door, an irrational wave of anxiety washes over you, stilling your hand in the air as it reaches for the knob. You’ve been itching to see him for days now, and according to Sam, he’s been the same way— so why the apprehension? You can’t explain it even to yourself.

Mustering some courage, you grasp the knob and push the door slowly open. Directly across from you, open arched windows cut into the sandstone wall let in the muted, fading light of sunset. The sheer, floor-to-ceiling drapes are half drawn and dancing in the warm breeze. To the right, in a mirror of your own room, the spacious bed is pushed against the wall. Your eyes pause at the foot of the bed, where the wine-red wool blanket bunches around Joaquín’s feet. Irrationally, again irrationally, you feel momentarily seized by fear at the thought of dragging your eyes upward and actually seeing him.

The sound of your name from his mouth, bright and round with happiness, finally brings your eyes up to his face. Rooted in the doorway, you take stock of the damage: a bruise blooms plum and indigo across his right cheek and up his temple, cradling one of his dark eyes like an unwanted embrace; he sits shirtless in bed, you assume for the sake of ease in changing the thick swathe of bandages that swaddle the expanse of his tanned chest; his bottom lip is split and swollen, the cut bisecting it crusted over with scab, matching the gash across your temple. But for all the grimness to his look, there are so many things that all but stop your heart in your chest under the weight of your relief. The flush of his cheeks, the brightness of his eyes, the pleased smile on his face— all of it was overwhelmingly, perfectly alive.

“Joaquín,” you murmur in response, and like a spell broken, the terror ebbs away and you can finally move your feet. You take a step towards his bed and then another, quicker, crossing the room as quick as you dare to go. There is a plush red armchair situated next to his bed, speaking to his ability to sustain longer visits than you’ve been allowed these last days, and gingerly, you lower yourself into it.

“How…” How are you alive? You want to ask, but you push the question back. “How are you feeling?”

Joaquín looks down at the bandages tight around his torso and back up at you with an apologetic smile, as if the sorry state of him is something akin to a messy room unfit for guests. “Like absolute shit, but better every day. Seriously, Wakandan medicine is crazy— they put something in here that’s stimulating my body to rapidly grow new, stronger lung tissue. They say I’ll be even better than I was before I got shot by the time they’re done with me.”

You smile, despite the sudden knot growing at the base of your throat. “Good. We all prefer you breathing.”

You meant it to come out lightly, teasing, but the words carry every bit of the weight of what happened to the two of you in Eklund’s facility. The fact that he almost died, that you all almost lost him, is so tangible in the air between you that you feel as though you could reach out and grasp it.

Wordlessly, Joaquín turns his hand over so that his palm is facing up, a silent invitation. You take it carefully, minding the IV port on the back of his hand. The weight of it, warm and solid, has you fighting off the sudden urge to sob in a way you don’t think you ever have in your entire life.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment or two of silence.

Your brow furrows, and you cock your head to the side. “For what?”

Joaquín shrugs and then winces. “You know, for not giving up on me in there. For trying to hold my blood in. For reminding me that help was coming, and giving me something to try to hold on for.”

You blink, and blink again. It hits you then, as it has several times since you agreed to help out on this mission, just how unused you are to all this— the sentimental side of things. A team that cares about each other beyond the professional. It barely took a week for you to know that you would give your life for him– for Sam and Bucky, too– without a thought: an instinct. And not just because you are expected to give your life for a mission, or a cause. Not because of the kind of professional kamikaze instinct that so many had at SHIELD, like they were all vying to become a hero, a martyr, for glory they would never get to see. This is something else entirely.

“Well, you know,” you shrug, an imitation of Joaquín’s faux casualness. “I’ve somehow become fond of your presence, constant bad jokes and all.”

Joaquín huffs out a breath, the closest thing to a laugh that he can manage with the lung and the broken ribs.

“Can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” he says. He’s grinning, and you can’t seem to take your eyes from the little crease at the corner of his mouth born from the action.

The pain that has been plaguing your skull begins to creep back in between one breath and the next. You fight the urge to bring a hand up to your temple, but you can’t fully swallow your wince in time to keep Joaquín from seeing it.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, thick brows drawn together suddenly in concern.

“I’m sure they told you about my concussion,” you say and he nods. “The pain has entered a ‘comes and goes’ sort of phase, it seems.” Your tone is dismissive, like the whole thing is beneath his worry. Though, in the back of your mind lurks a memory from earlier in your royal hospital stay: Dr. Tesfaye, doing her best to keep you awake as she explains in her ever-gentle tones about the long term, possibly permanent, side effects of your concussion, and therefore the importance of you being a compliant patient. Even a great recovery, she explained, probably wouldn’t leave you the way you had been before. You’ve been thinking about that a lot, as your brain has gradually become capable of thinking again.

“Know that I have definitely gone crazy and you need to put me down if I ever, under any other circumstances, try to send you away, but I think you need to get some rest,” Joaquín says. This tone of his, cut through in equal parts teasing and dead-serious concern, is beginning to become very familiar to you. It’s sweet, the way he worries, and even in doing so aims to make you smile. It’s a kindness you can’t ever remember knowing from anyone else, soft and bright as spring.

You don’t want to go anywhere– you’ve barely been in the room for a few minutes– but even the last red, waning lights of dusk are starting to take a toll on your head. You sigh, and when you blink that hurts, too. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Hey, I’ll be right here when you feel up for another visit,” Joaquín says, squeezing your hand. “Literally. I’m not allowed to try to walk yet.”

“That must make it much easier for Sam to keep track of you,” you observe sagely, and Joaquín gives another of his cautious wheezes, his free hand coming up to his chest to preemptively try to ward off the pain the action brings.

“I’ll be giving him the runaround again soon enough, mark my words.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll all rue the day,” you say, lips quirking up in something of a smile. “I’ll see you around, bird boy.”

You’re nearly to the door when you hear Joaquín’s voice behind you, soft and seemingly filled with the same kind of contentment you feel at seeing for yourself that he’s alive. “Bye, mariposa.”

It takes concentration to ensure your steps don’t stutter. You slip into the hall, the door clicking softly closed behind you, and begin the slow, pained amble down the hall to your own room; all the while Joaquín’s voice repeats in your head, layered soft and tender and relieved and calling you a nickname that he had chosen for you himself, like you mean something to him, like you’re important enough to him to warrant this small intimacy. It’s a completely foreign concept and frankly makes you dizzier than the concussion does.

–

It’s a day and a half before you leave your room again. You still have an ache waging artillery warfare in your skull when Bucky shows up at your door and asks if you can spare a few minutes for a debrief and update meeting. This, you know, really means ‘can you spare upwards of an hour while we ask a list of four hundred questions, half of which will have really very little bearing on anything at all’. You tell him yes, you can, because being stuck in this room is making you insane. And maybe if things get too tedious you can throw up on the meeting table and they’ll let you leave early. A girl can dream.

“Dr. Tesfaye wants you using this today,” Bucky says, reaching around your half open bedroom door to pull a wheelchair into view.

You level him with a stare, crossing your arms over your hospital pajamas. “Absolutely not.”

“You have a brain injury and the meeting chamber is almost all the way across the palace,” Bucky informs you bluntly, hand still firmly planted on one of the wheelchair’s handles.

“I am aware of the state of my brain, Barnes,” you huff. “But I didn’t lose function of my legs, last time I checked. I can handle walking halfway across a building.”

You don’t like the way Bucky is looking at you, like he knows exactly what has brought on this wave of petulance. “If we leave here and you’re not sitting in this chair, Dr. Tesfaye is going to upbraid me somethin’ awful.”

“Only if I fall,” you counter. “So just catch me if you see me going down.”

Bucky’s answering sigh is long suffering, but he moves aside so that you can walk out of the room on your own all the same. Part of you– the weary, sore, half-dizzy and half-nauseous part of you, the part of you managing your gargantuan, eternal headache– longs to just sit in the chair and let Bucky push you to the meeting chamber. The rest of you would rather cut off your own feet and army crawl the rest of the way there.

There’s a part of your brain that you’re never able to turn off: a little school uniform-clad tween, hair braided back away from her face, hands covered in blood. She watches every decision you make now with the merciless cruelty of her handlers, marveling at your unbelievable weakness every time you choose kindness, or mercy, or rest, or a hundred other forbidden things. If you were to sit in the wheelchair, you know she’d think the rest of your team should have cut their losses and left you for dead, if this is the kind of weakness you were going to bring back with you.

Your aching body desperately wishes to shut her up, but she wins out this time and you proudly, slowly shuffle your way down one wide, opulent hall after another. Bucky walks just behind and to the left of you, pushing the wheelchair the whole way like he’s ready for you to change your mind.

–

When you reach the meeting chamber, it’s already filled with half a dozen people. At the head of the long stone table, Sam stands in uniform, deep in conversation with who you assume to be King T’Challa, based on the general air of royalty about him. General Ayo sits at King T’Challa’s right hand, and a few of her fellow Dora Milaje sit across from her, also in uniform. Nearest to the door, Joaquín is sitting in a wheelchair pulled up to the table. He wears a loose shirt over his corset of bandages today, and seems to be sitting up with a fraction less pain than the last time you saw him.

When Sam spots the pair of you entering the room, a smile splits his face and he turns, halting his conversation with the king in order to greet you. “I was starting to wonder if you got lost!”

“She wanted to walk herself,” Bucky says by way of explanation.

“So the concussion hasn’t made you any less stubborn, then,” Sam says, and you feel yourself swell up with a weird kind of pride.

“I made it, didn’t I? And anyway, I heard it’s chic to be fashionably late to things,” you quip and Sam laughs, shaking his head.

Caught up in your easy banter with Sam, you don’t notice King T’Challa walking down the length of the table until he is right beside you.

“Agent Swallowtail,” he greets, and you make a concentrated effort not to jump at his unexpected voice in your ear. “I am pleased both to meet you, and to see that your recovery is coming along well.”

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness,” you reply, miraculously managing not to stutter. You are not feeling equipped to meet a king, exactly, and you desperately hope that you’re not making a fool out of yourself right now. Is Your Highness the right thing to say? “Thank you, truly, for your hospitality and your stellar care— I owe the entirety of my recovery to Dr. Tesfaye and the rest of your medical staff.”

“Dr. Tesfaye is a miracle worker, indeed,” King T’Challa agrees warmly. “We are honored to host yourself and Mr. Torres through the remainder of your recoveries.”

He saves you from entering a possibly neverending loop of gratitude by turning to the group at large and saying, “Shall we begin?”

You take the cue and settle yourself gingerly into the seat next to Joaquín. Bucky moves down the table to sit next to Sam, who has taken the seat on King T’Challa’s left. As you sit, Joaquín shoots you a grin and a small wave that almost draws a snort out of you from sheer childishness.

“Hey,” he whispers, as King T’Challa walks back to the front of the room. “This is crazy, right?”

“What is?” you ask, feeling decidedly like a child passing notes behind the teacher’s back.

“Hello? Being debriefed by a king? Like, of an actual country?” He returns in a much more zealous whisper, and you roll your eyes as if you had not just been thinking the very same thing.

“Play it cool, bird boy, before you embarrass Sam and Bucky in front of their friends,” you say, tilting your head in the direction of the other half of your team.

“They’ll have to forgive me, ‘cause I don’t think I can play it cool.”

Before you have the chance to respond, King T’Challa clears his throat and, surprising you, moves aside and yields the floor immediately to Sam. Sam thanks him, shifting awkwardly for a moment in front of the gathered room before launching right into what he needs to say.

“Roughly a week ago, Bucky and myself, along with a detachment of Dora Milaje, extracted two of our team members from an underground facility on Cambodian soil, which is believed to be owned by a man named Carter Eklund,” Sam starts. You have a feeling most of this is for your and Joaquín’s benefit, considering you’ve been down for the count for most of the past week. The idea that you had been moved over international borders without being aware of it causes you to shift uncomfortably in your seat— just another thing to add to the tally of fucked up nonsense Eklund has managed to do to you and your team in a very short amount of time.

“By the time we reached the facility, it was empty of personnel aside from a small contingency of guards. The second floor, where we found our people, was set up for a staff of scientists and researchers of at least two dozen, but able to accommodate more. The first floor consisted of twenty holding cells, several of which showed signs of being recently used or inhabited. We can assume a much larger staff of guards than what we encountered had also, at one point, been on hand,” Sam continues. “Basically, Eklund and his team had the capability to evacuate, and quickly. Everyone left behind was dead, and the guards injured in our firefight took themselves out via cyanide. These are people committed to keeping their secrets.”

Your head is beginning to swim by the time Sam is halfway through his debriefing. With more context and your slowly (god, agonizingly slowly) healing brain, you’re generating more questions than you can even keep up with. Really, it all boils down to one thing: what is Eklund’s aim— and what purpose did abducting you and Joaquín serve?

“They weren’t able to get away completely clean, though,” Sam’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and your head jerks up, surprised, sending a sharp shock of pain through your skull and down the back of your neck. “They wiped all their terminals, but someone careless left behind a cache of paper files. Better than that, they left behind a piece of tech–”

“The Aetos Device?” Joaquín blurts out, clearly unable to keep his questions to the end.

“We weren’t that lucky,” Sam says, shaking his head curtly. “However, Princess Shuri– whose presence is greatly missed in this meeting– asked to take a crack at it herself when we got it back here. Her findings point to this device being able to alter an individual’s genetics in some way, much the same as the Aetos Device.”

“It alters genes in what way?” You ask, taking a cue from Joaquín. If your bruised brain is going to make sense of all this new information, you need to ask your questions as they come up.

“We still aren’t sure. You can imagine Shuri and the other scientists and engineers who have looked at it are reluctant to test it on anything,” Sam answers. “But the simple fact of its existence– along with Eklund acquiring the Aetos Device– is starting to paint a picture of what he might be doing.”

Several devices that can alter a person’s genetic makeup at the press of a button, a facility full of holding cells… the picture being painted for you is dark, indeed.

“So, if Eklund disappeared before he could be apprehended or traced, what’s our next move?” You ask, grim determination to see this mission through feeling fully rejuvenated.

“We’re chasing the one lead we do have,” Bucky cuts in. “The files left behind indicate that this is just one of several facilities across the world. The information was coded, of course, but we feel confident that we’ve cracked the locations of a few.”

“With my blessing, General Ayo, the White Wolf, and Captain America will each lead a small team of Dora Milaje to these locations, for now strictly on reconnaissance. We need far more information than we have before we strike in a bigger way,” King T’Challa finally speaks up.

Three teams, Bucky and Sam and the Dora Milaje, but…

“What is my assignment? Whose team am I going with?” you ask, looking between Sam and King T’Challa.

“You’re not going anywhere, kid.” It’s Bucky who answers, and you turn a disbelieving gaze on him.

“What do you mean? This is our mission. You asked me onto this mission— remember?”

“You’re not cleared for field duty, and I can’t believe I have to tell you that,” he shoots back. “You need rest, and as it stands, your injury would make you a liability in the field.”

Bucky has never been one to mince words, but the bluntness of being called a liability in the field still stings, even coming from him. You can feel little schoolgirl you behind your chair, glaring daggers into the back of your head. You turn away from him, trying instead to appeal to Sam.

“I can hold my own in the field, Sam. I’m healed enough to do a recon mission,” you say, the insult of your insinuated weakness creeping into your voice. Defensive, vulnerable. Your skin crawls with the shame of it all.

“This isn’t a punishment,” Sam says, leaning forward and splaying his hand on the table like he’s trying to get closer to you, to get through to you. He addresses you not with his Captain Leadership voice, but something gentler. It makes you want to scream. “If you want to recover as fully as possible, you need to stay here and do that. And, frankly, I’m not giving you a choice.”

“I didn’t realize that I signed away my autonomy when I agreed to join you on this mission,” you grind out, and you know it’s not a fair blow. Sam closes his eyes against the words, and you’d feel sorry if you didn’t feel so indignantly angry.

“You and Joaquín are staying here, and that’s final.”

You set your jaw and turn away, disengaging from the conversation. You know you’re acting breathtakingly infantile, but there are so many emotions coursing through you right now that you can hardly begin to parse through, and a clearer head is not prevailing. You feel laid bare, exposed and called out for being a weakness by the very teammates who are supposed to be able to rely on you. It feels like a failure, but there are undercurrents of something else, too. A fear makes itself known in the first question that springs to your mind after Bucky calls you a liability: what if they don’t want to work with me anymore?

And why should that matter? You told them when this all began that you would help for this mission, and that would be the end of it. You hardly wanted to work with them at all, in the first place. And now– god, now, some foolish part of you has gone and gotten used to having them around. The lonely part of you that you continuously suppressed in your solitary Prague life relishes in having a team again, people to bounce ideas off of, people to have your back. Knowing that you’re never alone in a fight. But the plan hasn’t changed; after this business with Eklund is wrapped up, you’ll go back to Prague and your work rescuing Widows, and the rest of them will go back to America, to keep on being heroes. How could it be any different, no matter what you might want?

A ringing silence envelops the room for a few eternal moments after Sam’s words, and you sink into the discomfort of it all. You hope he feels bad for ordering you around like a child, though you know that’s not fair either. A lot of things aren’t fair, now and forever.

Joaquín’s voice cuts through the silence, eventually. “When are the teams leaving?”

“Approximately one hour,” Sam answers. “We wanted to bring the pair of you up to date before we leave, but we need to jump on these leads before they can disappear on us.”

Joaquín nods. “Can we stay in the loop on comms?”

“On a need to know. You’re not supposed to sit around here waiting for news from us, you’re supposed to work at getting better while we’re gone,” Sam assents.

“Getting better does involve a lot of sitting around, Cap,” Joaquín says, raising an eyebrow.

Sam waves a hand. “We’ll keep you updated, kid, what did I say?”

Within a minute or two, the meeting dissolves around you. Bucky pauses next to you when you stand, hand on the wheelchair and a stern look on his face.

“Let me wheel you back before I go,” he says, all command and no question.

“What makes you think I’d be more willing to do that now than I was twenty minutes ago?” You respond, making no move to get in the chair.

“Kid, come on,” he sighs, and your first instinct is to shout I’m not a kid like you’re in some teenybopper movie. You manage to swallow it down.

“We can get wheeled back together,” Joaquín says from beside you, voice oddly chipper inside of the weary tensions between you and Bucky. You look down at him, and he gives you an oversized smile, like he’s trying to convince you.

You are tired, and your headache has been growing in size since the beginning of the meeting. And given how your entire team already, apparently, sees your weakness— well. Fine, what the hell. Wordlessly, you drop down into the wheelchair, missing Bucky’s small, triumphant smile behind your head.

–

You allow yourself the evening to wallow. Your room is dark, as usual, but Dr. Tesfaye has finally allowed you a radio: an old-school one, chunky and with a million dials and buttons, because she didn’t want you to be tempted by the screen of an iPod or a phone. It’s no great loss to you– you don’t keep any social media accounts for obvious reasons and only keep a phone in order to keep in touch with the spider web, who are used to people dropping off the face of the earth without explanation for days or weeks at a time. Besides, you can still only listen to the radio on a low volume without it sparking awfully in your head.

Still, it’s nice to have a soundtrack to your wallowing.

You lay in the dark, covers forsaken against the heat of the night, and feel angry. Indignant. Upset. Deeper down, sad and afraid. The anger, the upset, those are easy to dive into. You are a professional, and like everyone else in a field like superheroism– or, the shadier, not-so-heroic, not-so-beloved kind of thing you do– you’ve run ops with injuries worse than the one you’re contending with right now more than once. The idea that you have suddenly become useless to Sam and Bucky, that your spot on this team could so easily be usurped by the general and her Dora Milaje, burns. Even when you know Sam hadn’t done it out of any malicious intent, even when you know he did it out of care for you.

And that leads you to the other, harder, more obfuscating feelings. The sadness sits heavy like a stone in the pit of your stomach, shifting and heavy and inescapable. Here these three are, bursting into your life, as unpredictable as a box of fireworks. Upending everything you’ve set up for yourself in Czechia without even trying. Because, before their arrival, you really had almost convinced yourself that the loneliness was manageable, that you were doing okay. That you didn’t need anyone else. The carefully structured stability of your life is gone now, felled with one blow like a hastily built stack of cards.

There’s the fear, too. Fear that, after forcing you to confront that your life as it had been is not your life as you want it to be, they’ll leave you behind to pick up the pieces and figure it all out on your own. That, if they can leave you behind once, they can easily do it again. The logic doesn’t follow– they’ve left Joaquín back in the palace to convalesce as well, and you know they’ll be taking him back with them no matter what– but your tenuous position among their ranks doesn’t hold the kind of promise that Joaquín’s does. And god, but the shame of having to ask– the shame of wanting to ask– you think it might be too much to bear.

Rolling over, you tug yourself into a fetal position. Knees tucked into your chest as tightly as you can comfortably manage, your own arms a solid weight around your body. The night sounds of the palace and, beyond it, Burnin Zana, drift in through your open windows and mingle with the low, soft notes emanating from the radio. You breathe in and out, deeply, slowly, the way Annika had taught you to once upon a time, back when the Red Room had still felt like a short-lived nightmare— anxiety inducing, horrible, but escapable, impermanent. Before it became apparent that being physically rid of the Red Room didn’t mean being rid of it entirely. Before it became apparent that the miles between you and that place don’t matter, not really, that the loneliness and uncertainty and paranoia they ground so deeply into you as a child is an iron-barred cage you will carry with you for the rest of your life.

Breathing in and out, slow and steady, you will yourself to sleep.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #bucky barnes #captain america #sam wilson #the winter soldier #the falcon x reader #marvel x reader #tfatws #marvel

40 notes · View notes

bloodandiron-if · 1 day ago

Note

Re: sneaky kiss on the cheek.

How would the ROs react if the MC actually wanted to whisper them something, but maybe the RO turned their head the wrong way or too fast or something, and instead *dramatic pause**gasp* they brushed lips?

- - -

⚠️ CONTENT INCOMING ⚠️

- - -

OPERATIVE D-6

They freeze.

Completely, entirely, still—like a deer staring down headlights at point-blank range.

Their eyes search yours like they’re trying to confirm if what just happened actually happened… or if their brain glitched again.

Then they look away. Fast. Almost ashamed, like they overstepped, even though it was clearly an accident.

But later? Alone? They’ll replay that moment like a damaged tape loop—one second of contact, one breath too long. Not a kiss, not a word. Just you. Close enough to be dangerous.

And they'll never look at your mouth the same again.

- - -

DETECTIVE JUNO REYES

The second it happens—barely a graze—they jolt slightly.

Not because they’re mad. Not even because they’re flustered. It’s more like the shock of intimacy catching them totally off guard.

They blink. Once. Twice. Their brow furrows, like they’re trying to calculate how to breathe again.

“…You trying to start something?” they ask, tone casual, but low. Too low. Like they’re covering something up.

They don’t move away. They just watch you—measuring, waiting. And if you don’t deny it?

They’ll look at your lips next time you talk. Every time.

- - -

NICO/NIA RUSSO

“Whoa—”

Their voice catches. Then they lean back, wide-eyed for a second—and then they smirk like they just discovered a dirty secret.

“Okay, okay, that was an accident…” they say, drawing it out, but there's this glint in their eyes now. Mischievous. A little too interested.

“…Unless it wasn’t..?”

They’ll tease you for the rest of the day. Might even start turning their head “accidentally” when you lean in again, just to see if lightning’ll strike twice.

- - -

KIERAN/KIERA MYLES

They turn. They pause. They register the contact in real-time—and then they go still. But not with panic.

Oh no.

They smirk. The slow, devastating kind.

“Well,” they murmur, still maddeningly close, “if that’s what you wanted to say… you should’ve just done it properly.”

It doesn’t matter that it was an accident. They file the moment away like intel—stored for analysis, for pressure, for leverage.

And later? They’ll bring it up in a quiet hallway or after a shared glance. Just to make you squirm.

- - -

ALEX/ALEXI MONROE

They panic.

The second your lips brush, they pull back so fast it’s almost like they got shocked. Their eyes go wide, and their face flushes with instant, full-body embarrassment.

“I—I didn’t mean—wait, no, I didn’t think you were—”

They stop. Realize you didn’t pull away in horror. Realize they’re making it worse.

“…I’m just gonna shut up now.”

They won’t be able to look you in the eye for a bit—but they’ll replay it all night. And they’ll lowkey start wondering what it would’ve been like if you had meant it.

- - -

ROWAN/RHEA CARTER

They don’t move. Not at first.

There’s a pause—a thick, unbreathable one—where they just… look at you. Like they’re trying to decide if the world just shifted a few inches sideways.

“…That was close.”

They say it like it matters. Like if it had been any closer, they might not have let go.

And then they pull back, slow and careful, like every inch of distance is calculated. But their voice stays low.

“Next time, don’t whisper. Just say it. Or don’t.”

And they won’t admit it, but they’re still thinking about it tomorrow.

#bloodandiron-if #interactive fiction #interactive story #wip game #ro asks

50 notes · View notes

empressdede · 2 days ago

Text

Never Ending - 4

Previous. Next

Did you miss me? I missed you 🥺 and for that I come bearing gifts! Hopefully yall won’t drag me for taking forever and a day to update😭 Stay comfy, it’s a short read but I swear it’s worth it.

The sound of the flat iron clinking shut echoed through Ciera’s room, followed by Sadè’s loud sigh of satisfaction.

“Boom. Done. You’re a masterpiece.”

Ciera squinted at herself in the mirror. Her curls were half-up, soft around her shoulders, with subtle waves falling down her back. Her skin glowed, cheeks tinted naturally from the blush of nerves. She wore the soft blue dress they’d picked out together—nothing over-the-top, but enough to make her feel… special.

“You really think I look okay?” she asked quietly.

Sadè, sitting behind her on the edge of the bed, threw a pillow at her. “Girl, you look better than okay. You look like a Disney princess with better brows. Jon is gonna lose his mind.”

Ciera gave a nervous chuckle and looked down at her hands. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not,” Sadè said. “You’re going on a date with the boy you’ve been crushing on since middle school. It’s actually happening.”

Ciera paused. “I think that’s what scares me. What if it’s not everything I thought it would be?”

Sadè leaned forward, resting her chin on Ciera’s shoulder. “Then at least you gave it a shot. But I don’t think you have to worry. Jon’s had it bad for you forever. You should’ve seen his face when he saw you at your locker earlier.”

Ciera smiled faintly, her heart doing a small flip. “He said tonight would be unforgettable.”

Sadè smirked. “Then let it be.”

⸻⸻

The doorbell rang at exactly 6:00.

Ciera froze.

Sadè peeked through the window. “Oop. He’s out there. Black tee, fresh cut, chain catching the light—yep, he knew this was important.”

Ciera grabbed her denim jacket and forced herself to walk, even though her legs suddenly felt like jelly.

When she opened the door, Jon was standing on the porch with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a single sunflower.

He blinked slowly when he saw her. “Damn.”

Ciera laughed despite herself, cheeks hot. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than usual. “This is for you.”

She took the flower, fingers brushing his. “A sunflower?”

“You always drew them on your notebooks. Thought it might be your favorite.”

Her smile deepened. “It is.”

Sadè, watching from behind the doorframe, gave Jon a subtle thumbs up. “Y’all be safe! Don’t stay out too late!”

Ciera rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”

They walked to his car, a clean black sedan with a faint cherry air freshener scent, and the silence between them was comfortable.

Once inside, Jon glanced over. “You nervous?”

“Maybe a little.”

He reached over, buckled his seatbelt, and grinned. “Don’t be. I got you.”

And the car ride to the restaurant was kind of quiet, they had a few back and forth rebuttals but Ciera was actually too nervous to keep up with him.

All she can think about is how good he smells up close, and how this was finally happening.

⸻⸻

Jon took her to a cozy little restaurant tucked between a record shop and an old bookstore downtown. Brick walls, warm lighting, and jazz music floating in the air—it wasn’t a chain, and it wasn’t loud. It was intentional.

They sat across from each other in a booth. The menus were laminated and smelled like lemon cleaner.

“So,” Ciera said, opening hers. “Is this your secret spot?”

“One of ‘em,” Jon said. “Thought we’d start with food. Get the nerves out.”

“I’m not nervous.” She lies.

“Sure you’re not,” he said with a smirk.

They ended up ordering the same thing—chicken alfredo with garlic bread—and spent the meal falling intjo easy conversation. Nothing felt forced. Jon asked about her classes, and Ciera teased him about his handwriting. He talked about his older cousin getting married soon, and she laughed at how nervous he looked just talking about weddings.

He watched her a lot—more than he usually would’ve dared to in the past. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The small dimple that appeared when she smiled too big. He wanted to capture every second.

“So,” she asked, sipping her lemonade, “why now?”

“Hm?”

“You waited all this time to ask me out. What changed?”

Jon leaned back. “I stopped being scared of hearing ‘no.’ And maybe… I stopped pretending I didn’t care.”

Ciera tilted her head. “You always acted like you didn’t care.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I always did.”

That quiet admission pulled something in her chest.

“I’m glad you asked,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled. “Me too.”

When Jon paid for the bill, a small pout stayed on Ciera’s face as she realized that the night was coming to an end.

Jon chuckled, when he turned to face her. “Why the pout? I thought you were ready to run home.”

Ciera gave a small shrug, “Don’t get to cocky Fatu, but I am enjoying myself more than I thought I was.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m not ready to go home yet.” She confessed.

Jon smiled, stood up from the table and extended his hand out for her to grab. “Who said the night was over?”

The sky was deep navy by the time he parked near the edge of the city park and walked her toward the real surprise.

They passed a small hill, rounded a trail, and Ciera gasped softly.

A tree sat in the center of the clearing, its limbs strung with soft white fairy lights that glowed against the dark. Beneath it was a setup of folded blankets, big pillows, and a small cooler beside a tablet already propped up for a movie.

“Jon…” she breathed.

“You like it?”

Her voice caught. “This is beautiful.”

“I wanted it to feel like us,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Simple but… something you’d remember.”

He pulled out the tablet and gave her a little grin. “I downloaded ATL.”

Ciera’s jaw dropped. “You did not.”

“I did,” he said. “You always said that was your favorite movie.”

“I didn’t think you actually listened.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ciera, I’ve been listening to everything you say since the sixth grade. Even when you pretended I was annoying.”

She laughed, sinking into the pillows. “You were annoying.”

“And yet, here we are.”

They laid side by side on the blanket as the movie started, the soft rustle of leaves above them and crickets humming in the background. She felt his arm brush against hers once, twice—before he finally let it settle there.

As they were getting through the film, he reached into the cooler and handed her a bag of her favorite candy.

“You remembered this too?” she asked.

“Like I said… always listening.”

Ciera’s heart swelled so big it was almost hard to breathe.

“Get comfortable.” He ushered softly and Ciera leaned against one of the oversized pillows, a small smile tugging at her lips as the movie flickered across the screen. Jon was stretched out beside her, one arm behind his head, the other resting loosely on his knee.

They weren’t talking, but it wasn’t awkward. It was quiet. A comfortable kind of quiet.

Still, Jon glanced at her and nudged her thigh gently with his.

“You know I remember the first time you ever said ATL was your favorite movie?”

Ciera looked over, amused. “Do you?”

“Seventh grade,” Jon said. “You were sitting behind me in homeroom. I had my headphones in, and you tapped my shoulder just to tell me my music was too loud.”

She laughed. “Okay, I remember that. You were playing T.I. like you were running the block or something.”

“I was,” he grinned.

“You were twelve.”

He chuckled and continued, “Anyway, you told me ATL was better than any of the music I was playing, and I should watch it if I wanted to ‘learn some real culture.’”

Ciera gasped. “I did not say that.”

“Oh, you did,” he nodded. “And you said it with full confidence. You even quoted New New at me and walked off.”

Ciera covered her face, laughing. “Wait! Stop, I forgot I was so extra.”

“I thought it was dope.”

She peeked at him through her fingers. “You’re just saying that now.”

“Nah,” Jon said, a little softer now. “I remember because… I don’t know. It was just you. Even back then, you had this way of saying stuff like it was law. You always made me listen.”

Ciera lowered her hands slowly, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “You never said anything. You always acted like you were too cool for me after middle school.”

Jon looked away for a second before glancing back at her. “Yeah, I played it cool. But I was never really detached. I saw you.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “You saw me?”

“I mean, I noticed stuff,” he shrugged, playing it off but not quite hiding the sincerity in his tone. “Like when you cut your hair freshman year and dyed the ends burgundy.”

Ciera blinked. “That was so random.”

“But you did it ‘cause you were dealing with your grandma being sick. You barely talked to anybody that month.”

Her heart paused.

“…How’d you know that?”

“I always kept tabs,” he admitted, quiet now. “Even when we weren’t talking.”

She stared at him, eyes wide.

“Sounds weird but you’re someone I just couldn’t shake.” Jon said. “Even when we were in different classes, different groups. I’d hear your name, see you at the other end of the hallway, and it’d feel like… like a piece of me remembered who I used to be when we were close.”

Ciera felt like the air had shifted. That flutter in her chest was no longer butterflies—it was something deeper. Something that felt like truth.

“And here I thought you didn’t care,” she whispered.

“I did,” he said simply. “I always have.”

She swallowed hard, glancing down at her lap. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She finds herself asking for the umpteenth time tonight because, this couldn’t have been the first time she noticed he really liked her.

“I didn’t know how,” he replied. “And part of me thought you didn’t care anymore. You always had that look like you were five steps ahead of everybody. Like I couldn’t catch up.”

She looked at him again. “That was me being scared. I wasn’t trying to leave you behind.”

They stared at each other—quietly, openly—for the first time without jokes or comebacks as shields.

And then Jon smiled, gently. “Guess we’re not so far apart now.”

“No,” she whispered, “we’re not.”

And after a while she turned slightly, her voice quieter now. “Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you ever… wish we’d started this sooner?”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. But I think we weren’t ready.”

“Maybe not.”

“But I always wanted this,” he added.

She looked over at him. “Even when we stopped talking?”

He met her gaze, not a trace of humor in his gaze. “Especially then.”

Ciera’s breath caught. The air between them shifted again, slow and aching. He wasn’t teasing now. And neither was she.

“I used to wish you’d text me,” she admitted. “But I didn’t know what to say.”

“I didn’t either. But you never really left my mind.”

She reached over slowly, her fingers brushing his.

“You’re being real soft tonight,” she whispered.

Jon grinned. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

They both laughed quietly, the kind of laugh that came with too many emotions to name. The movie continued in the background, but neither of them was really watching anymore.

At some point, he turned toward her and said, “I want this to be the start of something.”

Ciera’s eyes searched his. “Me too.”

“You’re not scared?”

“I’m terrified,” she said honestly. “But with you? I feel safe.”

Jon exhaled, like he’d been holding that breath for years.

He leaned in slowly, the space between them narrowing by inches.

And just before their lips met, Ciera smiled.

“You’re gonna make it real hard to act like I don’t like you after this.”

Jon smirked. “Then don’t.”

And she wouldn’t.

Their kiss was soft—like a whisper, a beginning, a promise.

VIP TAGLIST : @wrestlingprincess80 @whatdoeseverybodywant @pr0tost4r @paigereeder @alyyaanna @raya-hunter01 @mzv11 @trippinsorrows @partypoison00 @isabella-2025 @jstarr86 @chrisevanswife0405 @fearlesschimera @cyberdejos2 @whowrotethenote @potatosackk @ajaxcleaningsupplies @sayyestoheav3nn @chasssssworld @christinabae @glittergirl7 @itskii01 @fame-ass-ers @li-da-savage @ashykneee @kianaleani @holisticcoach @pittieprincess22 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amandairene88 @luvrsluxe @venusesworld @norababora @callmekayd @chrissyxcxox @keyera-jackson @wabi-sabi1090 @psiloveyOu @baybehkay @nybearsworld @transparentphantomface @sassginaswanmills @fafomama @wooahmiri @theusotwinzcom @westcoast-babygirl @prettygixlnica @blackchickinthedesert @abandonedkooee @mackfinstathrowitback

#empressdede #empresswriting #wwe #black reader #jimmy uso x black reader #jimmy uso x oc #jimmy uso x reader #jimmy uso x black oc #jonathan fatu #Jonathan fatu x black reader #never ending

46 notes · View notes